#but anyway. who will stop me (sound of crickets)

[daisychainsandbowties]

not to be evil but my dad just brought these back from his hiking trip

which (consider) means that i have all the ingredients for that drink where you mix sour candy with Monster energy and then??? presumably suffer. and like. the less i think about this the more it seems like a good idea

[ellecdc]

ohhhhhh what about “i didn’t know you slept like that. it’s cute.” with potter!reader and regulus when he finally moves into potter manor?

the winter games

Regulus Black x Potter!reader who brings him home for the holidays [730 words]

CW: parents letting the two sleep in the same bed? we keep it rated PG though

Regulus wanted to be annoyed with you.

He wanted to be annoyed that you all but forced him to spend the holidays at Potter manor, worse still that it was with the likes of your brother and - perhaps even more worse - his brother. He wanted to be annoyed that your parents were as lovely as they were. He wanted to be annoyed that he very much enjoyed dinner, and he even wanted to be annoyed that your parents trusted the two of you enough to share a room.

He wanted to be annoyed.

Except now he was padding out of your bathroom with his toiletry bag in hand, sharing a soft smile (Sirius) and a half-hearted glare (Regulus) with his brother down the hall, and walking into your room that your parents must have decorated in preparation for your return from school.

There were two sets of bedding on your queen sized bed; a red twin-sized duvet with green pinstripes on one side and a green twin-sized duvet with red tartan on the other. 

One side for the Gryffindor and one side for the Slytherin, apparently. There was also a little care package on what Regulus assumed you had deemed to be his side - the left side. 

His side of the bed was the left side. 

He wanted to be annoyed. But fuck if that didn’t just warm something long thought cold and dead in his chest. 

“You okay?” You asked with a smile, and Regulus couldn’t help the petulant scoff that escaped his lips.

“I’m fine, amour. You can stop asking me that; I’m not going to combust.” He muttered as he pulled the corner of his duvet away from the bed. 

“Behave yourself.” You chided around a laugh as you untucked the bedding on your side of the bed, too.

Your side. 

He wanted to be annoyed. 

“Do you mind if I have a fan going?” You asked him then over your shoulder, and Regulus shook his head; that was fine. He preferred sleeping on the colder side too. 

You had the fan going as you settled under the blankets. “Do you mind if we have some ambient sounds playing? I usually listen to rain but it can be anything you want; crickets, waves, a river - but that one makes me have to pee - uhm… rain forest, thunder storm, muggle traffic, whales, Tibetan bowls, heartbeat, blizzard-”

“Rain is fine, darling.” Regulus laughed, quickly schooling his face when he remembered that he wanted to be annoyed.

You let out a quiet thanks and started your ambient sounds. 

Regulus watched then in abject fascination as you secured your hair safely on top of your head and wrapped it up in a bonnet, sprayed some lavender scented spray onto your pillow before holding it out to Regulus who shook his head in no thanks, and pulled a face mask over your eyes, finally laying yourself down into your bed. 

“What?” You finally asked after a few moments of silence.

“What do you mean, what?” He asked.

“You’re staring at me.” 

Regulus laughed again. “How would you know if I was staring at you?”

He watched your lips slowly stretch into a smile. “I can feel you staring; don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.” He laughed, causing you to pull the corner of your eye mask up so you could peek at him with one eye. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“I just didn’t know you slept like that.” He offered then, turning onto his side so he was facing you, loving that you turned over to do the same. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” You asked disbelievingly, still smiling at him. “James said it’s an entire production just to go to bed.”

“Your brother’s a numpty.” Regulus grumbled, acquiescing at your raised eyebrow. “You’ve got your routine down pat anyway.”

“That’s true.”

“How do I fit into it?” Regulus asked, and enjoyed the way your smile turned wide and wistful. 

“We’ve got loads of time to work you into the number.”

Regulus felt a surprised laugh bubble out of him before he couldn’t take it anymore - wanting to be annoyed be damned - and pressed a kiss to your lips; barely needing to lift his head from where it rested on his pillow on his side of the bed to do it. 

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect role for me, amour.”

[vixstarria]

Seeing stars

Welp, I wrote more porn.

Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader

18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.

I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.

This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.

Approx. 2,900 words

AO3

“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.” 

You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets. 

Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight. 

“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.” 

“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.” 

“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.” 

Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.  

“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?” 

“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.” 

“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”  

“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.” 

“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?” 

“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.” 

Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle. 

“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?” 

"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased. 

“I hate dancing,” he said. 

“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?” 

“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.” 

“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned. 

“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?” 

“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh. 

Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before. 

“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?” 

“I didn’t let him.” 

He laughed. 

“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?” 

You had to think for a moment.  

“Are we counting Volo?” 

“Sure.” 

“Then just Karlach and Withers.” 

“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.” 

“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?” 

Astarion was silent for a few moments. 

“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”  

Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth. 

“Stop laughing,” he said.  

“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.  

“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.” 

“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered. 

Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan. 

“That’s not my back, Astarion.” 

One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly. 

“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?” 

“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.” 

“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.  

“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.” 

His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.  

“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.  

“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.” 

His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.  

“You can try,” you taunted him. 

Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.  

“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you. 

It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars. 

You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.  

“Ast… what..”  

You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll. 

“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”

His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans. 

“Let go, darling... I know you want to.” 

It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it. 

Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip. 

“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.” 

“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.  

“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up. 

You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more. 

“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred. 

A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.  

“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.” 

You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you. 

You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.  

“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...” 

He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.  

You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t- 

“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body. 

You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.  

“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?” 

“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip. 

“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.  

You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again. 

“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?” 

He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night. 

“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.  

Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well. 

“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...” 

Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you. 

“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.” 

‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.  

“Your what?” you gasped.  

He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.  

Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.  

He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.  

Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go. 

“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his. 

“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.  

You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.  

You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face. 

Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear. 

“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder. 

You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips. 

“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.  

“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea. 

You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements. 

“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder. 

His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.  

“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips. 

He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.  

“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear. 

He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.  

You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.  

Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke. 

“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.  

“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?” 

“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk. 

“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes. 

He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.  

“Is that so?” he said softly.  

You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..? 

“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.  

Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.  

Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.  

You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with. 

“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.” 

Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.  

“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.  

“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying. 

“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”   

“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled. 

“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”  

He chuckled at that. 

“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.  

“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered. 

“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”  

“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.  

“Five.”  

“It’s seven, dear, I counted.” 

“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-” 

Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.  

“Do not finish that thought, darling.” 

You grinned from behind his palm.  

“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.  

“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”  

You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.  

“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly. 

“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.  

You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.  

Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.  

~~~~~

Follow up bonus scene

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

Next in series - Confession

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears

[stervrucht]

[AO3]

David Bowie plays on the radio and Steve drums his fingers along the steering wheel of his car as he contemplates. He is truly too good for this world. Now he is running errands for Dustin like some common soccer mom. The kid only had to give him one pout – one! – and Steve felt all his resistance crumbling. So, there he is on a Friday evening, seated in his still-running car in a Hawkin’s trailer park.

He stops his car in front of Eddie’s trailer and listens to the music as he gathers the willpower to leave the car.

Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace, Bowie sings on the radio. 

How fitting

Outside, dusk is setting in and the world colors purple. Closing up Family Video had taken longer than he anticipated due to a difficult customer who couldn’t decide between The Thing and The Nightmare on Elm Street and had asked Steve extensive questions to make up his mind. 

Steve used to be fine with horror movies, but given recent developments (give or take his life the past few years), he isn’t into horror anymore. Out of the two, The Thing is probably the worst offender. Those crazy fleshy monsters hit a bit too close to home. Although, Freddie Krueger does have some vague Vecna vibes to him.

Steve is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door of the trailer open until Eddie knocks on his window with his knuckle. With a jolt, Steve turns to roll his car window down. Once it is fully open, Eddie leans forward, his arms resting on the car.

“Sup Harrington.” Eddie’s hair falls forward and the low-cut tank top reveals his chest, framed by the silver chain of a guitar-pick necklace. 

Shaved, Steve notes.  Then, realizing he is staring, he tears his eyes away, coming face to face with Eddie Munson who gives him an amused look.

“Oh uh, right” – Steve coughs nervously – “Dustin asked me to give you this…” he unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to the passenger seat where he grabs the cardboard box of some nerdy game.

“Here–” He hands the box to Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Hell yeah, Talisman. Took Henderson long enough.” Eddie pushes himself away from the car and inspects the box for a moment. When he turns back to Steve, his eyes move towards the car radio.

“I didn’t take you for a Bowie fan.”

“Oh, I’m not really … Robin must have left it in. It’s … alright, I suppose.” 

“And what type of music does Steve find more than alright?” 

Eddie flashes him a cheeky smile and Steve finds himself somewhat intimidated. Whatever his answer, someone like Eddie will probably find it lame. Steve isn’t all that passionate about music anyway and mostly listens to whatever is on the radio.

“Maybe Queen, The Bee Gees…” he lists in no particular order.

Eddie tuts. “Such a proper boy.”

Although he expects it, Steve still winces.

“I should introduce you to some real music,” Eddie says thoughtfully, then – “Wanna come in?”

Steve takes a moment to think. His parents are out, so it isn’t like he’s expected at home. He has nothing to do tonight except watch some movies (perks of the job). Although the prospect of hanging out with Eddie doesn’t thrill him, it might be the more interesting option.

“Sure,” Steve turns his car off, rolls the window back up and opens the car door. Eddie takes a step back, giving Steve some room to get out. 

Eddie’s eyes move to his chest and Steve realizes he is still wearing the stupid Family Video vest. He quickly takes it off, crumples it and unceremoniously throws it in his car before shutting the door again. With a quick turn of his key, the car is locked.

Steve follows Eddie towards the trailer. It is a warm summer’s night and the shadows of the trees grow long under the purple sky. The trailer park is surrounded by ample woods and fields from which the sound of crickets flares up.

“You coming?” Eddie waits for him at the door. Steve doesn’t realize he stopped moving and quickly makes his way to where Eddie is standing.

“After you, King Steve,” Eddie says, holding open the door with a dramatic bow.

Damn, Eddie is kind of annoying, isn’t he? No wonder Dustin gets on so well with him. Two peas in a pod. Steve lets out an unamused scoff.

Once inside, Steve stands in the middle of the…living room? Kitchen? He isn’t sure what to call such multifunctional rooms. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he waits for Eddie to put the game away.

The main room is crowded and messy. It is the complete opposite of his parents’ living room, which is kept meticulously clean and organized – with the help of their cleaning lady of course. The coffee table is stained with water circles from mugs and the like. Something unthinkable to Steve. If he ever puts a glass down without a coaster, he will face his mother’s wrath.

“Beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen. He already turned his back to him to make his way to the under-table fridge.

“Sure.” 

Steve is getting sick of standing around and decides to move to the small beige sofa. It is littered with clothes and after a moment of hesitation, he shoves them aside and sits down.

“You’re fucking tense,” Eddie says as he hands Steve a can of beer. He looks down at the pile of clothes and without hesitation grabs them and throws them in a different corner of the room. Then he lets himself fall onto the sofa next to Steve, which objects with a loud creak.

The sofa really is quite small and granted, a bigger one probably wouldn’t fit. The middle of it sagged considerably too, dragging its occupants to the center.

Steve feels the warmth of Eddie’s jeans-clad legs against his own. They are probably sitting a bit too close and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

The can lets out an audible hiss as Eddie opens it and takes a quick sip from his beer. Then, he puts it down on the table and jumps up again.

“Fuck, I was gonna play you some music.” He hurries past the kitchen into a separate room. 

Steve opens his own can – cheap store-brand beer – and takes a nervous gulp as he waits for Eddie to return.

He is starting to reconsider his choices this evening. Perhaps he should just have watched Back to the Future again. Instead, he is in the trailer of some guy he kinda-sorta knows because they have shared custody of some annoying kid (one of Steve’s best friends).

“Oh yes, this will be good.” Eddie re-emerges cradling a few cassettes in his arms like he is holding a baby. He squats in front of the coffee table and releases the collection of plastic cases on top of it. Steve eyes the contents, but he recognises none of it. Then he looks over at Eddie – the flesh of his knee peeks through the hole of his jeans and Steve wonders if Eddie made it himself or if it had naturally torn by use. 

Eddie shifts through the cassettes with ring-clad fingers, picking a few up and turning them around to look at the back of the plastic cases.

“Let’s start with Rainbow,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing the cassette (a hand holding a rainbow over mountains on its front). He walks over to a small side table next to the front door where an old-school cassette player stands.

With a loud click, the front of the cassette player opens and Eddie puts the cassette in and closes it again. Immediately, music starts playing.

“Fuck, hold on.”

Eddie rushes over to the kitchen, rummaging through some drawers until he finds what he is looking for.

Victoriously, he holds up a pencil to Steve and clicks his tongue. Steve takes another gulp of his beer as he watches Eddie move through the trailer with a skip in his step. He is actually excited to let Steve hear his music. Steve feels strangely flattered and he lets himself fall back on the sofa. 

The music stops and Eddie takes the cassette out. Using the back of the pencil, he rewinds the tape. Steve looks at Eddie’s hands as he works. The rings are kinda cool. Maybe he should let Robin pick out a ring for him too. Although perhaps not with skulls and crosses like Eddie wears. Maybe something more simple, like a signet ring or something.

Steve is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the cassette player click shut again. 

“Your player doesn’t rewind?” Steve asks.

“Steve” – Eddie puts the pencil behind his ear and turns to look at him – “I live in a trailer…”

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks. 

Shit, sometimes he forgets his parents are very well off and some things are considered luxuries instead of the default. He made the same mistake with Robin too – multiple times – but it was hard to prevent. He thinks back on his car – not particularly expensive, but also not as beat-up as Jonathan’s. Does Eddie think he is some spoiled rich boy?

“Right, sorry.” Steve takes another mouthful of beer. Eddie turns around again to put the cassette in the cassette player. 

A song begins to play, the sound reminds Steve of something alien – not really like music at all. Once the drums kicks in Eddie begins to bob his head on the beat, his hands hitting an invisible drum. He dances across the room, drumming his invisible drumsticks along the wall before falling back onto the sofa, stringing his fingers as if playing a guitar.

“Shit, I should really learn this on the guitar.” He leans forward to grab his can of beer. Condensation forms on the outside and when he picks it up, a wet circle is left on the table.

Eddie kicks his feet up, white sneakers hitting the wood of the coffee table and the cassettes rattle. He takes a deep swig of his beer and audibly sighs. 

Steve leans forward, arms resting on his thighs and can between his knees. Once the music actually began, it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t understand the long intros though, and preferred it if music would just start.

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad” – Eddie scoffs – “You, my friend, have not been exposed to nearly enough good music.”

Steve chuckles. “I thought Bowie was pretty acceptable by –” he looks Eddie up and down demonstratively, “ – your kind.”

“My kind, huh?” a smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s lips. “And what would that be, exactly?” 

Well, shit. Steve drove himself straight into possible-insult town. Eddie eyes him curiously, one elbow resting on the sofa’s backrest and his hands holding his can in a way Steve could only describe as cool. 

“Well, you know…” he trails off.

“I know…?”

“Eh, metalheads, I guess?”

“Ziggy Stardust isn’t metal, you know that right?”

Steve sighs exasperatedly. “I know, ugh. I mean he’s–”

“Weird?” Eddie finishes.

Steve takes another gulp of beer, desperate to compose himself. “Yeah,” he answers lamely.

“I suppose he’s pretty weird, huh?” Eddie eyes the ceiling of the trailer while taking a lazy sip from his beer. “Did you know he used to be gay?”

Steve looks to Eddie, who is still eying the ceiling, head lying back against the sofa’s backrest. 

“Used to be?” If Steve is to believe Robin, there is no ‘used to be ’ when it comes to being gay. You either are or you aren’t. Now he thinks about it, Bowie seems somewhat queer with his tight suits and styled hair, but that is what girls dig, isn't it? He has heard countless girls swoon over men just like that.

“You never had a gay phase, Harrington?” 

Steve nearly drops his can.

“Gay….phase?”

“You know, live a little, try some shit, see what sticks –”

“I can’t say I have,” Steve mumbles, his eyes now firmly fixed on the can in his hands. He plays nervously with the lip, pulling it in tandem with the music before taking another sip.

“With a pretty face like yours, you might actually get some good ones.”

Steve chokes on his beer. Actually chokes, and he hits his chest with a fist to get himself to breathe again.

“W-what?”

“How can you know what you like when you never tried it?” Eddie sits up straight, pulling one leg to his chest as he turns to Steve. His dark eyes seem like a bottomless lake and Steve feels small under his gaze.

“H-have you?” Steve stutters and it is utterly embarrassing. Why is he so rattled by some stupid revelation? 

Wait, did Eddie just call him pretty?

Eddie smirks at him like they are sharing in a secret, and perhaps they are.

“Fuck yes, if someone tells me not to do something you can bet your ass I will do it. Besides, humans are humans, big fucking deal.” 

“So – was it a phase? In your case?” Steve asks carefully. He isn’t really sure why he asks. Maybe it is part curiosity. He never seriously considered relationships with men. Some are nice enough to look at, sure, but marriage, a house, children – that is only meant for a man and a woman right? A world in which someone just casually tries homosexuality seems…foreign. 

“Hm, I guess so … Wow, don’t look at me like that Harrington. Are you disappointed?”

“W-what, no!” Steve really doesn’t know why he is getting so flustered. He suddenly feels self-conscious under Eddie’s piercing eyes and runs a hand through his hair – a nervous habit.

“Fuck, you are – well, alright, maybe for you I can arrange an encore.”

Before Steve has time to respond, Eddie pushes himself upright and leans one knee on the sofa between Steve’s legs. He feels the cold metal of Eddie’s rings under his chin as he lays a sprawled hand on his throat and tilts his head. 

Steve freezes, air caught in his chest as Eddie leans over his face, his breath hot on his lips. Steve’s right hand uselessly holds on to the near-empty can – afraid to spill it – while his left hand digs into the sofa next to his thighs. Then, Eddie leans down, capturing his lips with practiced ease. Steve feels his long hair tickle his cheeks and the scruff of a five-o-clock shadow grace his chin. 

Eddie’s lips move over his, slightly chapped and rough in a way that couldn’t possibly be a girl. Without meaning to, Steve feels his own lips move against Eddie’s. 

Well, now he couldn't pretend it was just something happening to him. He had graduated to an active participant. 

Kissing Eddie Munson. Eddie freaking Munson.  

Robin was going to have a field day.

Perhaps the most surprising part is how he doesn’t hate it. He likes the feeling of stubble on his chin, the hard corners of Eddie’s jaw, the way Eddie pushes him back onto the sofa and he wills Steve’s mouth open with a sweep of a thumb and the cold metal of rings on his face. A hot tongue explores his mouth, stroking it against Steve’s in a way that makes him gasp.

Steve has never experienced anything like it. Usually with the girls he dated, he took the lead. Kisses were usually shy and timid. Eddie is completely different. He knows what he wants and he isn’t afraid to get it. Steve feels something stir in him as he presses back.

Eddie bites his bottom lip, taking it between his lips, and breaks away from him. Steve feels breathless and blinks up at Eddie. His hand reaches over to Steve’s right side, gently taking the can from his hand and setting it away on the coffee table. He turns back, eyes dark and Steve wills his mouth close as he regards him. 

Was he gay? Shit, he doesn’t really want to think about it now. Humans are humans was what Eddie had said right?

Steve reaches out, sliding his hands behind Eddie’s neck, and pulls him back. Eddie moves himself into a more comfortable position, placing a knee on either side of Steve’s thighs and straddling him. Eddie’s hands reach for Steve’s temples, threading themselves through Steve’s hair – rings catch on the strands but Steve doesn’t mind the painful sting as it pulls. He just wants to get Eddie’s lips back on his – and so he does.

Their lips meet, fiery and hot. Open-mouthed Steve explores every corner of Eddie. He lowers his hands to Eddie’s back, playing on the edge of his tanktop and the hot skin underneath. If it works for girls, surely it works for guys too right?

He runs his hands up the side of Eddie’s chest, a thumb over a nipple, and Eddie gasps into his mouth. Steve feels heat settle in his crotch and he is glad he chose to wear jeans made of thick fabric rather than thin trousers. Steve’s hands move over Eddie’s chest, feeling the smooth muscle of it and the roughness of regrowing chest hair.

Eddie’s fingers reach the hair on the back of Steve’s head and yank it back, exposing Steve’s throat. He lets out a surprised yelp when he feels Eddie’s mouth latch to the delicate bow of his neck and suck. 

Steve is learning a lot about himself in the span of less than an hour. The way Eddie tugs his hair, and has his way with him is sending a pleasant jolt straight to his cock.  And Steve can’t help but moan under the ministrations of Eddie’s mouth as he sucks and bites. 

“Y-you’re gonna leave a mark,” Steve breathes.

“That’s the plan,” Eddie mouths against his neck. Then, he licks his way up into Steve’s mouth again.

Shit, he is kinda into this. Steve isn’t sure how he could ever go back to girls now he knows what it feels like to be touched by calloused fingers and kissed with such force. 

Eddie’s hand leaves his hair and travels down to the rim of his jeans, pulling out his shirt in the process. Steve feels the ghost of fingers running along its edge and the muscles in his stomach tense pleasantly in response.

Eddie breaks away from him, his breath ghosting over his lips as he searches Steve’s eyes. 

“You wanna take this further?” Eddie asks, his eyes flitting over Steve’s face.

Steve feels drunk, even though half a can of beer isn’t nearly enough to even get him close to being buzzed. He is also turned on. Ridiculously so. But fuck, what does taking it further even mean in this context. Steve feels like a virgin all over again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his arousal from Eddie.

Not that they are not actively engaged anymore, anxiety hits Steve like a bag of bricks.

“Uhh…” is all Steve manages to utter.

Eddie throws himself off Steve’s lap onto the empty spot next to him on the sofa. He puts his feet on the table again, hands behind his head.

“You’re right, maybe that’s enough for tonight.” 

It doesn’t escape Steve that Eddie’s jeans look a little tighter than usual.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the voice of Rainbow’s singer cutting through the tension. 

“I thought you said it was a phase,” Steve asks after he finally gets his breathing under control.

“Oh right, I should have clarified” – Eddie grins up at the ceiling – “The gay thing was a phase. I figured I was into both.”

Both? Wasn’t that something only hippies preached with their free love? Somewhere, Steve feels a wave of relief washes over him. He never seriously considered someone could like both. He has some serious soul-searching to do once he gets home.

“Huh,” is all Steve replies. Eddie’s eyebrow quirks in interest as he side-eyes Steve.

“I, uh…probably should get going.” Steve puts his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up. Eddie doesn’t move from his position, but his eyes follow him with interest.

“If you’re ever in the mood for a sequel, you know where to find me.” 

Steve nods, because what else can you do in reply to such a comment? He is baffled at the ease with which the words escape Eddie. There is no shame or self-doubt.

As he lays his hand on the door handle, Steve looks back one final time. Eddie’s feet are bouncing in tandem with the beat of the drums and his eyes are closed. He looks so absolutely unshaken by their encounter that Steve feels almost jealous.

Steve is anything but unshaken.

“See you around,” he offers.

“See you, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice is playful, even though he doesn’t move.

When Steve is safe and sound in the driver’s seat of his car, he leans his head against the steering wheel and stays there for a moment. 

What the hell just happened?

He turns his mirror to his neck and traces the hickey that Eddie left on his throat with a finger. He would have to ask Robin for some make-up to cover that up. 

She is going to love this story.

Steve sighs and pushes the mirror back into its original position. When he starts the car, Bowie continues to sing like nothing happened.

Yes, he was alright, his song went on forever, Bowie sings and Steve groans as he hits the gas.

***

It is Saturday morning when Steve walks up to the Buckley residence. He passes the garden fence and walks around the house to the backdoor.

Hawkins was struck by the beginning of a heatwave and at this point, the temperature was bearable as long as one didn't move too much. The perfect day for a visit to the pool, but too hot for videos. 

Which is why Steve is sure today won’t be too busy at Family Video. Fine by him. 

The quiet days he works with Robin are always his favorite. Sometimes Henderson comes over – either with his friends or alone – and they mess around with the cardboard cut-outs or watch a movie on the little TV screen hanging from the ceiling. Steve has zero regrets about missing out on college. Everything he loves is right here in Hawkins.

He pulls at the red handkerchief around his neck. It is against company policy to wear scarves (and probably too hot too) but Steve needs something to cover up the damage of his little adventure with Eddie. At least, until he gets his hands on some skin paint stuff – or whatever girls call that type of make-up.

He enters through the backdoor straight into the kitchen, where he finds Robin’s mother clearing the table of breakfast plates. The room smells faintly like toast.

“Morning, Ms. Buckley!” he calls, already moving towards the hallway. Steve hears her respond, but he's halfway up the stairs by then.

“Rob!”

“Just a second!” Her voice is muffled. She opens her door, fixing an earring. Her eyes flick to his scarf before meeting his gaze.

“Geez, you’re early.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve walks straight past her and throws himself on her unmade bed.  Robin pays him no mind and she walks over to her dresser again. From his spot on the bed, Steve can see Robin's face reflected in the mirror as she fusses with her hair. When she reaches for a pouch, Steve is suddenly reminded of why he is early to begin with. 

“Do you have that face-stuff?” he asks as he sees Robin pull a pencil from the pouch.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than ‘face stuff’.”

“You know, the skin-colored goo.” Steve makes motions over his face as if he’s painting.

“Concealer?” Robin’s mouth is open in concentration as she lines her waterline with black.

“That’s it!” Steve throws himself off the bed and walks over to Robin.

“Sure, I’ve got some,” Robin puts down her pencil and rummages through the pouch again. She pulls out a small beige bottle and holds it up for Steve. He reaches for it, but Robin pulls away.

“Does this have anything to do with your avant-garde fashion statement today?” She looks at his scarf again.

Steve laughs sheepishly and pulls his scarf aside. Robin’s eyes widen at the dark hickey on his neck.

“Jesus, Steve! It’s massive” – she leans in closer – “Was it Rebecca? Never thought she’d be the type...” Robin reaches for his neck but Steve pulls away.

“What? No!” – Steve lets go of the scarf – “I stopped seeing her like five weeks ago. Get with the times, Rob.”

“Well, sorry I can’t keep up with your busy love life.” Robin turns back to the mirror. She definitely isn’t sorry and Steve wouldn’t exactly call the origin of the hickey ‘love’. A lapse of judgment, maybe, or something uniquely in the corner of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. 

“Can I get the stuff now?”

“Fine,” she says and she pushes the bottle in his hands.

***

Outside the car, the world passes in a flash of yellow fields. The windows are down and the scent of drying grass fills the air. Steve turns the music up to drown out the thundering sound of the wind as it enters the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel while he uselessly mouths along with the music. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but that can’t stop him. The fact it annoys Robin when he does so makes it even more fun in his opinion.

“You’re in a good mood,” Robin remarks while she digs through her bag.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m working with my best friend,” Steve chirps.

“Uhuh, right,” she replies skeptically. She puts her bag back between her legs on the car floor and fiddles with something in her hands.

Steve’s eyes are focused on the road before him when the music suddenly stops.

“Hey! I was listening to that!”

“I thought you said Bowie was ‘overrated trash’” Robin says while opening the case to another cassette. 

“I didn’t,”

“You so did, and you called his pants too tight,”

“Whatever, driver decides,” 

Robin sighs and pushes the cassette back in. “When I get my license, it will be Blondie all day every day. You better prepare yourself, dingus!”

Steve hums in satisfaction as the music comes back on. Maybe he found it somewhat grating in the beginning, but it was growing on him now. That, of course, had nothing to do with Eddie Munson.

“Did you know he used to be gay?” Steve suddenly says.

“Bisexual, Steve, and of course I know that. The question is, why do you?” From his periphery, he can see Robin staring at him.

“I just heard it somewhere,”

“Somewhere…” Robin repeated. She leans over to put the other cassette back in her bag. 

Steve is relieved when he sees Family Video come into view. It’s not like Robin will forget their conversation, she is far too smart for that. And he really does plan on telling her about what happened yesterday, he just has to find the right moment. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t even be today. 

Steve pulls into the parking space and hops out of the car. He locks his door and throws the keys over the car to Robin. She fumbles in her attempt to catch it and Steve is once again reminded that Robin is a band dweeb and not an athlete.

“Let’s open this baby up,” he says as he tosses the store keys into the air and catches them overhand.

“You’re such a show-off” – she walks past Steve into the store and continues without looking back – “For your information, there are no girls around…”

“Yet,” Steve finishes and Robin groans in response.

There wouldn’t be any girls around for most of the day as it turned out. 

As Steve expected, it was a slow day. The only people who visited were those who probably wouldn’t be found dead sunbathing, nerds who never stepped outside (except to rent a video, apparently), and old people looking for something nice to watch with their grandkids. 

Somewhere between the shelves, Robin is putting returned VHS tapes into their rightful place. Meanwhile, Steve sorts through new arrivals and adds them to the computer system. In the back of the shop,  a guy has been staring at some science fiction movies for probably half an hour by now. Category basement nerd, Steve decides.

They had been working in relative solitude. Steve looks up as he hears the bell signal someone’s entrance. He is greeted with a curly head of hair.

“Henderson!” Steve stands up and throws himself over the counter. The secret handshake is a must and cannot be skipped. 

Shake, box, Star Wars sword thing, guts.

Dustin smiles wildly at him. 

Just as Steve is spilling his guts, the bell chimes again. He looks up, readying himself to apologize to the poor customer he has no doubt scared off with his wild gestures when he comes face to face with dark bottomless eyes.

“Munson,” Steve is probably gawking, at least a little and Eddie looks amused at the scene in front of him.

Dustin, oblivious to it all, immediately starts talking. 

“I was just about to grab my bike when I ran into Eddie. He offered me a ride in his van. Mom’s at the pool today, says it’s too hot to stay indoors; she practically kicked me out of the house,”

“Right,” Steve wasn’t even looking at Dustin as he yapped on. He somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. It was strange seeing him in daylight now. The darkness of dusk had made their whole interaction the night prior seem like a dream. Now, face to face with Eddie, Steve was hit by the reality of what had transpired. He felt profoundly awkward.

“ – You should totally get a van, Steve!” Dustin’s voice pulls Steve from his thoughts and he tears his eyes away.

“Y-yeah, probably not. I like my car,” he composed himself, deciding to focus his attention on Dustin rather than Eddie.

“Hey Dustin”  – Robin walks from behind the shelves, carrying a now-empty crate. Her eyes land on Eddie with a hint of surprise – “Hey Eddie,”

“Got anything good yet?” Dustin asks Robin eagerly.

“You’re in luck–” Robin says as she puts the crate away, “We just added The Dark Crystal to our collection,”

“Sweet!” He hears Dustin call when Robin leads him away to one of the shelves in the back.

Steve is left alone with Eddie and doesn’t know how to compose himself. A part of him feels nervous under Eddie’s dark gaze. 

Eddie walks over to the counter and leans against it.

“Cool gig,” Eddie says as he looks around the store. “Do you ever get to keep the cardboard cut-outs?” Eddie points his finger at a life-size cut-out of Indiana Jones that stands proudly at the front of the store. Steve’s eyes involuntary drift back to his fingers again and he really ought to stop that. Sooner or later, Eddie will catch him staring.

“I don’t, but Keith does sometimes,” 

“Sweet,”

A silence falls between them and Eddie kicks his feet. The guy in the back still hasn’t made up his mind and a little distance away Dustin is eagerly explaining something about the ‘Gelflings’ to Robin.

“Hey, uh, are you doing anything next Friday?” Eddie asks suddenly. 

“Nothing yet,” Steve is desperately trying to stop his heart from beating at such an insistent pace and he hopes his voice comes out as nonchalant as he intends it to.

“You wanna…I don’t know…hang out or something?”

‘ Or something’. What does ‘or something’ mean ?

“Yeah, I– …yeah, sure” Steve fumbles a bit, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. A smile grows on his face.

“Cool,” Eddie says.

He pushes himself away from the counter and walks up to a shelf to inspect some of the movies. He leans forward, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and hums a song that sounds vaguely familiar. Steve stares at the interlaced fingers behind his back – adorned with silver rings – and shivers at the memory of their coolness against his neck.

“Cool,” Steve echoes.

***

The whole week, Steve had thought of countless excuses to cancel hanging out with Eddie on Friday, but in the end, none of them carried any weight. He couldn’t get Eddie of his freaking mind and the sappy romance movies that played on the television screen at work didn’t help either.

Eddie had visited Family Video again – once – with Dustin to return a movie. Apparently, they regularly hung out when Steve was busy at work and he felt something akin to jealousy. He had always been Dustin’s role model. Heck, the kid even started wearing his hair like him (thank you, Farrah Fawcett). That was until Eddie somehow inserted himself into the equation. Now, Dustin had grown out his hair and was wearing that ridiculous Hellfire shirt religiously; so often, Steve sometimes wondered if it was ever washed at all. 

Eddie had corrupted him, and maybe he had corrupted Steve a little bit as well.

“You seem nervous,” Robin remarks as she flips through a folder, biting in the back of a ballpen. 

“Well, I’m no–” Before Steve can finish his sentence, Robin continues.

“I haven’t heard you talk about your dates the whole week. Whoever gave you that ridiculous hickey has some serious hold over you –”

Steve feels his shoulders tense. The idea of Eddie having any kind of hold over him was crazy. Steve is cool, Steve is casual. Steve is definitely not nervous about his casual hangout with Eddie tonight.

“ –It’s Friday, aren’t you supposed to be on like three different dates tonight?” she continues.

“Uhm, well–”

“And you’ve been acting weird all week. Things are adding up to a very weird sum. The ‘buying thirty watermelons’ kind of weird sum.”

“You have such a way with words,” Steve rolls his eyes as he finally regains his composure.

“Steve!” Robin throws her pen at his head. He ducks, but the pen hits him anyway.

“Robin!” he mimics her tone.

“It’s someone’s mom, isn’t it? God, Steve–” Robin pulls a face in disgust.

“It’s not someone’s mom! Geez, Rob, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“The kind that acts all mysterious and weird, and suddenly listens to music he hates!”

Maybe going out of his way to buy a Rainbow cassette had been somewhat uncharacteristic. Of course, Robin would pick up on that.

“A guy can expand his tastes…” he trails, hit by the ambiguity of his statement.

Robin sighs, picks up her pen from the floor and gives him an irritated glance. 

Steve hears the bell chime just as he closes the door to the vault in which they store cash overnight. It is only a couple of minutes before closing time and Steve grunts audibly as he raises himself into a standing position. Entering a shop this close to closing time is a certified dick move and Steve is not above sending whoever entered away, customer service be damned. 

“We’re closed!” he yells as he walks back into the shop from the backroom. 

“Eddie’s here for you,” Robin calls without looking back at Steve. 

Sure enough, Eddie is standing at the counter. He is wearing a tank top and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun; his skin gleams with sweat from the heat outside and around his neck hangs a wiry set of headphones. Wind from the air conditioner pulls at his hair. When their eyes meet, a smile creeps on his face.

“Sup, Harrington…I’ve brought the van.” He holds the keys up demonstratively, dangling them from his index finger.

"He brought the van!" Robin exclaims looking back at Steve, her eyebrows raised and a sly smile playing on her lips. Steve can almost see the moment of realization dawn upon her as if a lightbulb had been switched on in her mind.

Steve scratches the back of his head. “I promised Robin a ride back–” 

“No problem, We’ll drop her off. I’ll bring you back to pick up your car later.” 

Steve casts Robin a quick glance and she shrugs in response.

“If Robin’s fine with it…” he trails.

“A van,” Robin whispers as Steve joins her at the counter and elbows him in his arm.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but still can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

***

Twigs crack under Steve’s shoes as he follows Eddie through the forest. The canopy of the trees offers ample shadow and Steve finds the heat more bearable here than when they had been walking alongside the road. Still, his shirt clings to his back and sweat is slicking his hair as Steve runs a hand through it. 

When Eddie asked him to hang out, he didn’t expect they would be hiking through the forest behind the trailer park during a freaking heatwave. 

He looks over to Eddie. His bangs cling to his forehead and the veins on his arms are thick as his body fights to keep cool. Despite the oppressive heat, there's a glint of excitement in Eddie's eyes.

“There it is.” Eddie stops and looks somewhere in the distance. Steve squints and follows Eddie’s gaze. Between the trees, he can see the shimmer of water, and he realizes Eddie has taken them to Lover’s lake. 

When they near the water, Eddie ups his pace, stepping around some of the bigger rocks and boulders near the lake’s edge like he has done it a thousand times before. Steve tries to keep up, but his unfamiliarity with the landscape slows him down.

At last, he is standing on the pebbled lakeside. The sun is already lowering itself into the embrace of dusk and Steve thinks they have maybe two hours of light left before sundown. He looks to his right where he sees Eddie standing above a pile of wood. When he gets closer, Steve realizes it is actually an old stranded fisher’s boat.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Eddie remarks.

Steve looks the boat over. It’s medium sized and some of its wood has rotted away. A good portion of it is covered in graffiti, and half of it sits in the water. It has probably been there for years.

“You bring all your conquests here?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie climb onto the boat. The question is mostly meant to be lighthearted, yet he feels a sense of anticipation as he waits for Eddie to reach the deck. 

Eddie squats and looks down on him. “Nah, just you.” 

Somehow, those words make Steve’s heart flutter and his cheeks heat up. He quickly looks away, pretending to search for footing to scale the boat.

When Steve reaches the deck, Eddie is sitting cross-legged facing the lake. 

“This is a nice place,” Steve says, sitting next to Eddie. He lets his feet dangle from the side and follows Eddie’s gaze. Across the lake, some people linger, cooling down before heading back to their hot homes. Some children are playing in the shallows and their joyful screams carry over the water.

“Your work?” Steve asks as he gestures to some of the writing on the boat. The wood is covered in crude phrases, names, and dates – some of them are carved, but most look to be written with a sharpie.

“Some of it is.” Eddie pulls out a pocket knife from his jeans and hands it to Steve. “You can add to it if you want.”

Steve turns the knife in his hand. It is a classic red Swiss knife and it lays heavy in his hand. 

“Here–” Eddie twists around and Steve follows suit. Eddie’s fingers are tracing the wood behind them, running them over the carvings in the wood. “– I think I did this about a year ago.”

Eddie removes his hands and Steve can finally get a good look. It’s nothing crazy, just a simple ‘Eddie was here’ carved in crude scratches – eternalised in some rotting wood in a town no one cares about.

Eddie holds up his hand to Steve and he realizes he is asking for his knife back. Steve hands it over.

Eddie flips out the knife and bends himself over the carving. Steve turns back around, looking over the lake again as the sound of scratching fills his ears.

“All done!” Eddie says after a while.

When Steve turns back, he sees his name freshly carved into the wood, right above Eddie’s original carving.

Steve + Eddie was here

“You wanted to immortalize this?” Steve asks amused.

Eddie flips the knife closed again and shoves it into his pocket. “A year ago, I’d never thought I’d be sitting here with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. Guess that’s pretty fucking special.” Eddie casts him a toothy grin. 

Steve had to agree though. If someone had told him a year ago he would be hanging out with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson on a Friday evening – rather than spend his night on a date or at a party – he would have declared them crazy.

“I suppose so,” Steve replies.

All is quiet for a moment, save the sound of leaves rustling by a welcome breeze. Steve closes his eyes as the wind kisses his sweaty skin.

“I got you something,” Eddie says, breaking the silence and he stands up. Steve’s gaze follows him and his eyes widen when he sees Eddie move his hands over his head to pull his tank top off. 

“But let's take a dip first…it’s hot as balls.” He throws the sweaty tank top at Steve, who slaps it out of the air before it can hit him. The fabric lands heavily on the wooden deck.

“I didn’t bring my trunks,” 

“You don’t need those here.” Eddie gives him a knowing smile as he kicks on his shoes.

Eddie is lean and he has a nice back, Steve thinks. Not particularly broad like some of his former teammates on the swimming team, but not bad for a guy who spends his time playing board games. His torso is littered with fading scars from the Upside Down and Steve has a fair amount of those himself.

“Get on with it, Harrington!” Eddie is already stripped to his underwear when Steve tears his eyes away and finally tugs his own shirt over his head.

A dip in the lake was a fantastic idea and Steve felt himself relax now that he was slowly but surely cooling down to more humane temperatures.

Steve tries to keep his eyes away from Eddie as they make their way back to the boat. The fabric of his boxers is clinging to his skin.

Eddie lays himself down on the deck, using his jeans as a pillow while he fiddles with his headphones. 

“C’mere Steve.” Eddie pats the space next to him and Steve reluctantly seats himself. Eddie is working the buttons of a walkman.

“Remember when I said I got you something?”

“That was like twenty minutes ago,” Steve feels borderline offended at the implication.

Eddie gestures for Steve to lay down as well and Steve complies begrudgingly, resting his head next to Eddie’s on his crumpled jeans while he stares up at the blue sky. He feels exposed in just his boxers and now Eddie wants them to lay side by side.

“Here.” Eddie hands him one half of the headphones while holding the other side to his own ears. Suddenly it dawns on Steve why they’re lying as they are. Eddie wants to let him listen to music. Steve moves half of the headphones to his ear and sure enough music starts playing.

“I put some things together I thought you might like.” Steve can see Eddie turn his head towards him from his periphery and study his face.

“You made me a mixtape?” Steve asks. The idea of Eddie putting together a mixtape for him was…well, really thoughtful.

“Now you say it out loud it sounds kinda lame,” Eddie laughs.

“No, it– it’s really nice.” Steve offers. 

He closes his eyes and listens to the unfamiliar tunes. Eddie did quite a good job at picking music that he might like. It is definitely less intense than Rainbow – the voices are less shrill, the guitar less cutting, and the drums beat at a lower frequency. It’s nice, ridiculously nice, and Steve can’t think of an instance when someone has ever taken the time to put something together for him like this – not even his ex-girlfriends.

They lay there for a while, each holding one end of the headphone. The people on the other side of the lake must have left by now because the only things Steve can hear are birdsong, the sound of rustling leaves, and the music that comes from the walkman. The breeze feels cool against his damp body, and he wonders why he had never done this before – stay at the lake until the sun went down.

Steve can almost feel himself drift asleep when Eddie nudges him.

“Steve.” Eddie shakes him gently by his shoulder.

“Hm, lemme be…” he whines without opening his eyes.

“You’re gonna be mosquito food.” Beside him, he hears Eddie getting up and when Steve finally opens his eyes, Eddie is already wearing his tank top. 

Steve hadn’t realized how long they had laid there. Only a small line of sun was visible in the distance and Eddie’s figure was dark against the pastel sky.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need my pants,” Eddie says as he points at Steve’s head.

“Oh right.” Steve finally sits up, handing Eddie the makeshift pillow of his jeans.

Once they’re both dressed, Eddie leads them back through the forest. The sky is pink and the trees form black outlines against it. Steve walks after Eddie, who points out when to be mindful of a hidden boulder or a sudden dip in the forest floor. 

They take Eddie’s van back to Family Video so Steve can get his car. The whole car ride, Steve can’t help the feeling of nervousness that sits in his stomach. 

Today kinda felt like a date. 

Normally he would be on the other end of it – driving a girl home after a movie or something. And then, once he stops the car in front of her house, the girl would fidget and Steve would place his arm on the back of her car seat, confident and reassuring. He would tell her he had a good time and if she did as well, he would seal the deal with a kiss.

But this was Eddie, and they had been just two guys hanging out. 

Two guys that had made out a week ago. 

But that didn’t mean anything. It had just been Steve’s one-day gay phase and he got it out of his system now, hadn’t he? Eddie had only offered out of a misunderstanding, or maybe some weird kindness.

Shit, this train of thought was not helping Steve whatsoever. If anything, it had just made the nervous flutter in his stomach worse.

Eddie stops the van and the red neon light of Family Video plays with the curves of his face.

“There we are.” Eddie pushes himself back into his seat with his arms stretched on the steering wheel. Steve makes no movement to get out. They sit in silence for a while.

“About last week–” Steve starts. If he doesn’t acknowledge it now, he feels like he might go crazy. Besides, he doesn’t know when or if they’ll have another moment alone.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. We can forget about it if you want…” Eddie says without looking at him. His shoulders are tense and his grip on the steering wheels seems to harden.

“No…it’s not–” Steve tries, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Don’t worry Steve, I get it. I know what people say about me –”

“But–”

“ –and it doesn’t have to mean anything. People make out all the time–”

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. He’s kind of sick of Eddie not letting him finish his sentences and is ready to return the favor.

He leans over, turning Eddie’s head towards him and kisses him. Hard.

Eddie’s mouth is parted, mid-sentence, and Steve feels teeth beneath his lips. By all accounts, it’s a shoddy kiss – not his best work – but it seems to do the trick.

Eddie loses his grip on the steering wheel, hands moving to Steve’s shoulders instead as he eagerly returns the sentiment.

“Fuck, Harrington, aren’t you full of surprises,” Eddie breaths against his lips.

Steve leans back into his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

“You talk too much,” he says as he opens the door of the van.

By the time he hears Eddie get out of his van, Steve is already opening the door to his  BMW.

“Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls as he jogs over. When he’s standing in front of Steve, he pulls at Steve’s arm, running his hand down and urging Steve’s palm up. He shoves something square in his hand and closes Steve’s fingers around it.

“Next Friday, same time?” Eddie asks him, searching his eyes.

Steve nods silently. He stares after Eddie as he walks back to his van. He opens the door and turns one last time, giving Steve a two-fingered salute before getting in. 

Steve hears the sound of the motor swinging on and looks at his hand. In the dim neon light, he stares down at a small cassette. Steve can hardly read the black letters in the red light, but he realizes Eddie has written something on its white label.

From Freak, to Hair. 

[AO3]

[sailoryooons]

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.

| Masterlist | Ask | Make Me Your Villain Collab | Taglist

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. 

[luvtak]

corona borealis, lfx

✧ genre/tw rambly soul-crushing fluff, one sweet kiss!!, lovely as a pet-name, felix being an undeniably sweet bf like always and hearing a bedtime story <3 , largely unedited.

✧ w/c 952 <3

✧ a/n definitely not brought on by asea felix are you kidding... he's so lovely i just had to dawdle on about it somewhere so here you go! also, the thought of telling lix a bedtime story makes me wanna cry i hope i'm not alone. mwah!!

His arm is hot around you, keeping you safe from the scary silhouettes the shadows bring, and the night is breathing. A group of you had come to this little campground for a night away from the city lights, and while the two of you are alone you can still hear the rest of the boy’s nighttime sounds mixing in with crickets and critters. 

Your boyfriend stands beside you, listening intently as you tell him stories of the stars. Usually, these tales come from the comfort of your bed–rustling under covers and speaking into his mouth, sharing breath and love until you fall asleep, tracing false shapes in the plastic stars adorning your ceiling. But tonight, under the cover of a too cold darkness you tell him his bedtime stories beneath the sky. 

His face is tilted up, looking to see where your fingers are pointing, and the soft glint in his midnight eyes makes you pause. You’ve never known someone who looked so alive, someone with a sun for a soul. Felix has the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, alight with joy and senseless mischief–eyes wide with wonder at the constellations rising above him. 

Looking at him is dizzying; that feeling when you put your arms out and spin so fast you fall, a carousel going so round and round. You feel like flying, rising up like the moment Icarus’ wings took him up and away. 

Sometimes you wonder if it’s normal to feel like this… if everyone in love feels as though they are the creator, the inventor of such depraved desire and compassion for another. Surely, you must be the first–no one else had felt Felix’s fingertips on their skin or his lips sweetly drinking them in. How could someone say they’ve encountered a deeper love than this when your sweetheart is the embodiment of love, Venus as a boy. 

He turns to you in your moment of hesitation, smiling at you with all the care in the world. He loves you endlessly, burns for you and the soft caress of your affection. You can tell he doesn’t know why you stopped speaking, but he’s happy just the same–sharing your space and time, living in this moment with you. He remembers the first time you told him a story, speaking the words softly, he thinks he fell in love right there. 

“What’s that one?” he asks, catching your still raised hand in his own. 

“Oh, it's a crown, see?” you can see his eyes tracing the points, finding the shape that connects the points together. “It’s Ariadne’s wedding tiara, she was a princess of Crete who helped Theseus slay her brother the Minotaur Asterion. After they escaped the labyrinth, the prince left her on the Island of Naxos where she was found by Dionysus,” 

“He left her there?!” he gasps, your sweet boy forever confused by ill intentions, even in a story. 

“Yeah, he’s so lame, right? Anyway, after the God finds her on his island they fall in love and eventually marry… the crown was her wedding present, and after she died Dionysus flung it into the sky to honor her.”

Felix is quiet for a long time after this, inhaling the story with all the deference you deserve. After every narrative he takes his time to think about how he feels about it: the first time you finished a movie with him and he was quiet for fifteen minutes before he told you he liked it, he is like that now. Quietly staring at the sky, not ignoring you for his hand still made its path up and down your arm and you know if you called his name he’d answer, but you don’t want to interrupt his silent seeking. 

His life is noisy, spirited, and wonderful in all the ways a beautiful boy like him creates, your infatuation came in chaos–in mindless chatter and kitchen counter dance parties, but you fell in love in silence. In the moments when the world was quiet and all you could hear was his heartbeat, the drawling intake of his lungs filling and releasing. You adore his voice, but just existing with him, sharing the same air would be lovely enough for a lifetime. 

Finally, after minutes of staring ahead, he speaks–softly but with no less intensity, 

“If something were to happen to you I would make you into a constellation.” 

His eyes, bright with longing stare into yours, and you know he’s not being funny. He means it with all of him, means it with every atom of his being. 

Shocked and in love with him you laugh, bursting with fondness never hidden. “I love you too,” you say, for you know that's what he means. A love that spills from his veins whenever he thinks of you, so massive and consuming that the words aren’t enough. “I’d make a constellation for you too, it’d be the prettiest one in the whole sky.” 

When he moves closer to you, you can feel the smile radiating on his shadowed face–sweeping his grin over the plane of your cheekbones. Scorching your skin where his lips touch, a traveling forest fire of kisses. When his journey ends, sliding his mouth over yours the flames grow, getting taller and taller as his caress goes deeper. 

The night is chilly, but there is no need for a coat when his arms are around you–sweeping you into his embrace with only the stars to watch. 

“Lets go to bed, lovely” he muttered, breathing through open-mouthed kisses and shared smiles. Leading you to where your tent lies, to where stories and sleep await you–love and life and dreams filled with him, your constellation of a boy. 

© LUVTAK 2024

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Research - Jiraiya

Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, titfucking, cum eating, fluff, has the nerve to be romantic lmaooo

A/n: Day 2! Jiraiya is the perfect mixture of raunchy perv and gentlemen and if I get to use my bring back one character card it's gonna be on him 😭❤❤❤

Read on Ao3.

The door slid open, but not with ease. 

"Jiraiya?" You pushed past the scraps of paper, potato chip bags, and discarded notebooks interfering with the door’s lower half.

You let yourself into the small apartment and surveyed the damage.

“In here.”

You strode to the living room and there he was: Jiraiya sulked in his chair, lording over an apocalyptic desk. You had never seen so many sheets of paper in your life.

“Is ―” You broke off as a groan lodged itself in Jiraiya’s throat. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Clearly something was up, and you didn't know what gave it away ― maybe it was the putrid smell of defeat or the dozens of crumbled rejection letters your feet swam in.

Again, Jiraiya groaned. He leaned into a chair creaking under his weight. His enormous arm lay slung over his eyes to block the nonexistent daylight, his tailed hair roping around the floor. 

He hummed tiredly. "You didn't come to collect rent, did you?"

“Jiraiya,” You began with a tone to emphasize what came next should be obvious, “I don’t ask for you for rent, remember?”

It had only been a few weeks since you had let Jiraiya stay in one of your units rent free to finish his latest pulp novel ― how has he forgotten? 

“Ah,” he said. “That’s right. Remind me once this infernal book is finally done to include my appreciation for your hospitality in the acknowledgements.” His other hand shot out as if to give a toast. “To the kindness of strangers!”

A hinge of hurt sent you frowning. “So, I’m a stranger?”

Silence. Jiraiya peeked to admire you. 

“No, you’re not.” He shrouded his eyes again. “Sorry. Shouldn't have said that.”

You approached him, circled his defeated form like a concerned mother hen. “Are you ill? Do you need something?”

He finally removed his forearm. “Have you had much luck with love, (Y/n)?”

You perked. “Hm? I ― What do you mean?”

He quirked his head at you. “C’mon. You know what I mean.” 

“Well … I mean …” Your face grew warm. You nodded. “Yeah. I mean …” This part was under your breath. “... depends on what you mean by luck …”

“I knew it.” Jiraiya sighed and collapsed against the back of his chair. “You weren’t fooling anyone with that pretty face.”

You grew warmer under the spotlight of the compliment. “I …” He thinks I’m pretty?

“You’ll never know how good you have it,” Jiraiya said. Without ceremony, he abandoned the chair to pace around the room. “Do you know how hard it is to write about the raunchy threads of everlasting love when you’ve had no real practice?”

You blinked. Not the first time the man’s diction has thrown you for a loop and thoroughly bewildered you. 

“Raunchy ― raunchy threads ―?”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’m really cut out for this.” Jiraiya shook his head. “Even success doesn’t guarantee satisfaction with one’s work. Who knew!”

“Jiraiya,” You implored. “You have a series of bestselling novels under your belt.” You playfully pushed at his shoulder ― what bit of it you could reach anyway. “Everyone struggles. You shouldn’t give up so fast!”

Silence, save for the crickets demanding attention tucked away in outdoor bushes.

Jiraiya laughed, a heaty, deep laugh from his belly. 

“Now you sound like one of my students!” 

You shrugged. “I’d offer to help, but you never let me, remember?”

Jiraiya stopped, as though an idea had held its arm out to stop his pacing. 

“You have …” He turned to you. His eyes flickered downward to study you. “Say … Would you … be up for helping me now?”

You threw him a suspicious look. “Depends on how I’ll be helping.” 

Jiraiya’s expression shifted ― nervousness etched onto his face. “Ahem … well …”

He began pacing again. Your brows creased as you followed his movements. What was he up to?

“It’s just,” he began. “When you’re writing, there are just so many unknowns. Things I can’t possibly know, being such a loser with women.” He socked the side of his head with a fist, seemingly convinced in his dried-up state the abuse could lead to some heart-stopping revelation. “Things I can’t even begin to imagine ― you know, ahem, despite the job description.”

“You’re stalling,” You teased. “It’s never good when you stall.”

Jiraiya faced you. You leveled with his chest, the sheer enormity of the man baffling in comparison to you. 

You probably would’ve been scared. 

If it hadn't been him.

Jiraiya reached out. His palm touched the wall, leaving you semi-caged in as he leaned toward you. 

“I’m going to do something,” he muttered. “Something I’ve always wanted to do. Promise not to hit me?”

“Why would I hit you?” You hoped he could not hear the tremble in your voice.

Jiraiya shrugged. “Minimal success with the fairer sex has taught me to proceed with caution.”

Your stomach knotted into itself. The shadow of his intentions fluttered vaguely over the penumbra of your mind. 

“Okay,” You whispered.

Jiraiya inched closer ― every inch a century ― and bridged the gap between you and him, his lips brushing yours before securing them in a soft kiss.

Soft. Gentle, both his lips and the technique he used. 

It was a good thing, too; for if he had used any more force, you surely would’ve died on the spot. 

His unoccupied hand came to cup the back of your head, cajoling you closer. Your lips moved on his while hands cupped the sides of his face. His rough-textured skin laid under your timid touch. Jiraiya hummed in appreciation. His tongue flicked out to ask tentative permission into your mouth.

But once you offered it, he pulled away. He held your gaze for a few seconds before retreating. He stopped midway to press a reverent kiss to your exposed shoulder pad. 

When he parted from you, you trailed his every move back to his disastrous desk. 

“Sorry,” Jiraiya murmured. He laid a hand on the back of his chair for support. “If I went on, I wouldn’t have stopped.” 

You said nothing, only sucked your lips in to taste the phantom of Jiraiya’s kiss.

“Hopefully, I’ve made my true feelings known,” he said. He leaned over his desk for a second before swiping something from it, one sheet of paper amidst many. 

“You …” You trailed. “You … Me?”

He approached you with a chuckle nestled in a smile. “Yes.”

He leaned over the wall, cool-guy style, and the position strangely suited him. You were still recovering as his eyes roved over the sheet of paper limp in his hold.

“I’m sure you also know now all my female love interests are secretly you,” Jiraiya went on. “I’m just so good at remaining subtle, I bet you didn’t notice.”

You had, in your wildest dreams, thought a character or two possessed your likeness, but you had never been so full of yourself to have actually imagined ― 

He offered the paper to you. “This is the scene I’m stuck on. Would you mind reading it over for me?” 

You blinked. It felt like a thousand things were happening when, really, one thing had happened at a time. But so many things. 

“Su ― Sure.” You took the paper. 

You read it, Jiraiya suspiciously close to you, peering over to watch you review his work. His scent dizzied you ― pinewood and paper and pencil shavings, hardly a dazzling combination, but it was him. So it was.

You read. You understood. You blushed.

Jiraiya’s lip-corner quirked, seemingly suspecting you were at the end of the scene. 

“I wanted to make my true feelings known before I suggested this ―” Jiraiya tapped the paper with a finger. “I didn’t want you thinking for a second I was trying to use you for anything.”

You laughed, prompted by the absurdity of it all. He wanted you to ―

You smirked.

“So,” he began, a flirtatious lilt to his voice, “will you do it?” 

You turned to him, tipping your head up to stare at the bigger man. 

“I’d be happy to.”

“Hold still ― hah ― that’s good, argh, that’s gooood ―”

Jiraiya sat above you, face strained. His mouth hung open, the heated huffs of his breath warming your skin, prompting your sensitive nubs to perk. 

You laughed; it was fun to watch him come apart like this, better than any vague fantasy.

“How does this even come up in the story, Jiraiya?”

Jiraiya chuckled amidst the pleasure. “Hehe, ahem, well …”

You squeezed your tits against his cock, presumably to shut him up. Jiraiya stilled, breath sharp.

His shaft sat nestled, secure in the valley of your breasts. You sat your chin on your collarbone to glance at the red, flared cockhead twitching up at you.

You licked your lips. “Is this what you’ve been seeing in your mind’s eye?” You gathered your breasts and began to jerk him, cupping him between your tits. “Picturing me like this, underneath you?”

Jiraiya leaned forward, his tail of hair falling inches from your face.

You cupped your breasts around him, working them against the sensitive skin of his excited cock. 

“I can’t imagine why you got stuck,” You purred, eyes narrowed on the gorgeous man above you.

“Ah, aahah …” Jiraiya’s mouth hung open as his hips worked in tandem with you. “Too enthralled with the real thing ― aargh!”

“I love seeing you like this,” You breathed out.

“I’m sure you do ― aah, gods, they’re perfect!” Jiraiya retrieved his cock to slap it against one tit before securing it in the slit you'd made for him. He jerked his hips; they stuttered as you closed any further gap between his cock and your pillowy breasts. “You’re perfect.”

He opened his eyes ― wrong move; just in time to see your tongue flick out and swipe at his cockhead.

“Urgh!” Jiraiya planted a hand beside your head to secure his balance. “Who knew you’d be such a natural at this?” 

“I did say I had experience, didn’t I?” You swiped and sucked at his cockhead with a hungry mouth. “Did you ― mmf ― forget?”

“Head’s kinda cloudy right now, admittedly ― aah!”

His cock dangled at your mercy, following the swift up-down motion of your breasts. 

You continued egging him on amongst his moaning. It was heavenly, watching the Great Toad Sage come apart just by the use of your tits. You licked and took his cockhead into your mouth, popping it out before speeding up your motions. 

“C’mon,” You urged at the hastening of his breath. “C’mon, Jiraiya, mmm …!”

“Please stop talking,” Jiraiya said. “Nurgh ― so good.” He cracked an eye open to smile weakly at you. “I’ve gotta last, y’know?”

You stared crookedly. “Why?”

“Research purposes ― ah, oh, gods ― we’ve been over this.”

You paused, your breasts falling flat at your sides.

“You know we could always just do this again right?” 

Jiraiya popped both eyes open, collecting himself just enough to speak clearly.

“You’d let me?” he said. “You’d really let me?”

Your eyes flickered over his face lovingly. “Yes.”

“Huh … I guess you’re right.” He smirked, stars in his eyes. “Totally right.”

You rolled your eyes. “S’what I just sai ―”

Jiraiya kneaded at your breasts, thumbs grazing over the precious nubs. You shuddered as he gripped them, adjusting his hips ― and gave a thrust.

He grunted as he took the reigns, thoroughly fucking your tits at his own preferred pace. You gasped as he pinched a nipple in his grasp, twirling it between huge, calloused fingers.

“Aha ―” His cockhead brushed repeatedly over your lips. “Jiraiya ― ah, hah ―!”

“So good,” Jiraiya hung his head back, exposing the raw muscles of his pectorals, the beautiful outline of his collarbone to you. “Such a sweet girl, letting me use you like this …” 

Your cunt throbbed from the heated praise. Again, you licked out for him, your tongue swiping at his cockhead, swishing into the slick slit with each jut of Jiraiya’s hips. 

Jiraiya gritted his teeth. His cock twitched in your hold. Against his own desires, his pace quickened. His abdomen barreled into your chest, skin to heated skin.

He groaned, lurched forward, more animal than man. “I’m gonna ―”

“It’s okay, do it ― cum for me ―”

Jiraiya threw his head back. He released with a growl, his seed patterning your clavicle, your chin, your lower lip. 

He panted as the thrums subsided. He recovered, staring down at you. A string of his cum dribbled down the side of your face. 

Sense returned to him; he frowned. Without fanfare, Jiraiya un-straddled you, as though it was the most gentleman-like behavior he could muster in that moment. 

“I’m sorry.” He let you up. “Let me get you a ―”

You laughed. You collected what was left of him and licked it off your finger.

He went bug-eyed. “You ― you want to ―?”

“Of course,” You said. You patted his inner wrist, having been left limp on the floor in surprise. “It’s okay ― it’s okay,” You insisted as Jiraiya moved to stop you.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” 

You swept up his spent, swallowed, and he watched you with an amazement you couldn’t name. 

“You weren’t lying, were you?” You muttered, turning on your side to face him on the floor. “You really don’t know how these things work? You haven’t …”

Jiraiya recovered enough to perform a halfhearted shrug.

You gasped, tilted your head. “You’re not ―”

“No,” Jiraiya said before you got carried away. “I’m not a virgin, just … Never been super lucky.”

Jiraiya’s fingers brushed against the soft skin of your inner wrist, calloused fingers trailing the faint train of your veins. “Until now.”

[honeybeefae]

For ACOTAR bingo, can I request a nsfw mating ceremony with Cassian? I love the idea of an Illyrian mating ceremony 🔥

Tradition (Cassian x Reader)

BINGO: Mating Ceremony

(AHHHHHH this was so much fun to write! Also, I came up with these vows all on my own and I’m kind of obsessed with it. I know Illyrians are famous for treating their women less than kind but consider this an adapted version where it’s more tender. I hope you guys enjoy it!!)

WARNINGS: Smut

“Under the moon of the Mother, I take you under my wing and into my soul.

I promise to protect and provide for you, to care for you, and to worship you every 

Morning, noon, and night. You are the wind beneath my wings, the stars that guide 

Me, and the spirit that was destined to follow mine to the ends of time. I swear this 

By the Cauldron, the Gods, and the Mother above, from this day until we 

Become anew. This I promise to you.”

The entire crowd erupted into applause as Cassian pulled you into a kiss, dipping you dramatically as you grinned into the kiss and threw your arms around his neck. You felt like you were on cloud nine and you knew your mate did as well, especially as he picked you up and spun you around. 

Rhys, who was officiating the mating ceremony, clapped both of you on the shoulders with a warm smile. The two of you turned toward your friends, your mouths holding the brightest smiles they had ever seen, before walking down the aisle that was covered in petals of roses.

You were quickly swept away into the grand reception, which you were all too happy to plan and decorate. It was a little fancier than Cassian was used to but the way you looked in your dress and how happiness just radiated off of you, he didn’t mind at all. 

Traditional Illyrian dishes as well as more modern fae meals were served to everyone, wine and other cocktails flowing freely as the two of you drank and danced the night away. As the night went on you couldn’t stop his wandering hands from getting lower, your giggles of anticipation only spurring him on. 

It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that you finally called it a night. Feyre, Rhys, Nesta, Elain, Az, Amren, and Mor were the only ones left as they wished you a pleasant honeymoon. You clung onto your mate as he walked with you into the open field just past the party, both of you smelling of wine and excitement.

“Shall we, my mate?” You cooed, smirking when hoisted you into his arms. He gave you another long, passionate kiss before taking off into the night sky. 

You squealed at the takeoff, the ground below you spinning before you closed your eyes and relished in the wind flowing over your body. Cassian watched you, absolutely entranced with your beauty, and felt his heart skip a beat. He couldn’t believe you were his. 

He swooped down as he found the small cabin made for just the two of you. It was a mating gift from Feyre and Rhys, somewhere far away from the river house which you assumed meant they knew what the two of you were going to be getting up to. 

The only sound that could be heard as you landed were crickets and your laughter as he carried you through the front door and straight to the bedroom, dropping you in the middle of the bed. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Cassian flirted, watching as you rolled your eyes playfully.

“I think this might be the tenth time but I certainly won’t complain if you tell me once more.” You smile, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night, not that I normally can anyway.” He murmured, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. “You are breathtaking…and all mine.”

Your heart fluttered at the low tone of his voice as you stood up to kiss him, enjoying the way his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. The urgency grew the longer the kiss went, his hands groping your ass and needily tugging at the strings of your corset.

“I’m going to rip this damned thing off of you.” He growled into your ear, kissing your neck as you playfully hit his arm.

“Nuh-uh, this is a special dress, Cass. Give me two seconds.” You hummed, running your thumb over his pouted lips before slipping out of his arms and into the bathroom. 

It was the first time you felt like you could breathe since this morning as you took a moment to rest against the door. Collecting your thoughts, you began to hurriedly undo the ties of your dress. You and Cassian had had sex before but this time would be different, this time you were mates. 

It felt like you were going to lose your virginity all over again.

You rushed to prepare yourself, adjusting the lingerie that you hid underneath your dress. There were some supplies sitting on the bathroom counter that you used to freshen up as well. It took you all of five minutes but you knew how impatient your mate could get so when you finally emerged from the bathroom, he was already waiting with his hand raised to knock.

Shyness blossomed inside as he devoured you with his eyes, looking down at the floor and taking a deep breath. You felt two fingers come underneath your chin before your head was lifted to meet his gaze, his lips inches from yours.

“Why are you so shy?” He purred, voice dripping with sex. “Let me see you.”

After taking a small breath you took a step back, letting him see all of you. His pants were straining from how hard he already was as his nostrils flared and eyes darkened, licking his lips as he started walking towards you.

Despite yourself and your desire for him, you started staggering backward, your heart skipping as your knees hit the back of the bed. Cassian gave you a feral grin and pushed you backward gently, his body following yours as you fell onto the soft mattress. 

“Gods,” His breath ghosted over your lips while his hand trailed up your leg, catching on the garter on your upper thigh. “What did I do to deserve you?” 

“I think I’m the one who got lucky.” You whisper, cupping his face and pulling him down to connect your lips. His scruff scratched against your skin in a tantalizing way, sending a pleasant hum that went all the way to your core as his fingers got closer and closer to where you needed him most.

The scent of your arousal was already thick in the air by the time he caressed the lace of your panties, watching every expression you made as he dipped a finger in shallowly to test you out. It made you gasp, your hips moving to try to get him to push in deeper. 

“I’m going to try my very best to be gentle with you,” Cassian said while pulling your underwear down and letting it fall to the floor. “But I make no promises.”

He thrust two fingers into you slowly, making sure to flex them inside to stretch you out for his cock as you felt your entire body heating up. You bit down on your lip and groaned, breath hitching when her curled his fingers in search of that sensitive spot inside. 

“Cassian-” You gasped, the rest of the sentence dying on your lips when he finally found it. His lips latched onto your neck as he sped up his fingers, making sure to hit that spot every single time until you were already on the edge of coming undone. 

It was becoming too much, too fast, and you wanted him to slow down so that this moment wouldn’t be over so soon. However, your mate had other ideas. He could see you trying to squirm away so he placed a heavy arm on your stomach, pinning you still.

“Now, now, princess. Don’t try to get away from me.” He growled into your ear, looking down to watch his hand fuck you before back up to your face. “I want to feel you cumming all over my fingers. I want to feel that delicious pussy clench around me, feel you drench my hand and the sheets. Do you understand?”

You nodded, your toes already starting to curl as he held you down. You had no choice but to feel everything. He clicked his tongue and bit down on your ear, tugging it with his teeth. 

“I want a yes sir, princess.”

“Y-yes sir,” You whimpered, your back arching as he smirked and started using his thumb to rub small circles on your clit. It pushed you into heaven as you tightened around his fingers, your mouth hanging open in a silent cry as pleasure washed over you over and over again. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl.” Cassian praised into your skin as he fucked you through the orgasm, moving his arm off your stomach so he could yank down the lingerie and free your breasts. He started lavishing them with his tongue, taking each nipple into his mouth to suck and bite. 

All of the attention was sending you into overstimulation and you were grateful when he removed his fingers, your eyes hazy as you watched him suck all your juices off. 

Cassian kissed you once more, quick and hungry, before raising back up to undo the ties of his pants. You could see how hard his cock was and weren’t surprised by the wet spot that had formed on his boxers, your mouth watering as he unveiled himself. 

“I love when you look at me like that.” He smirked, stroking himself a few times before climbing back over you. “I want to fuck you like this so I can see your face when I make you cum all over my cock. Do you think you can be a good girl and do that for me?”

“Yes sir.” You smile, your body still tingling from your last orgasm as he rubbed himself up and down your soaking cunt. Cassian pushed in inch by inch until he was bottomed out inside you, a full body shiver running through him from how good you felt.

His hands grabbed yours and put them above your head as he rocked into you, his wings stretched out as you arched into his thrusts. Your already lust-filled head was going into overdrive from the gentle way he was fucking you, too much and yet not enough at the same time.

There was a small spark lighting up in your chest as you stared into his eyes, both of you sharing the same breath, and when you pulled him close to whisper your dark desire that spark turned into flames.

“Please, Cassian, please just take me. Fuck me. Don’t hold back.”

Something shifted in his face as he watched you, waiting to see if you were going to change your mind, before you were suddenly lifted into the air with his hands grabbing your ass as leverage. He shoved you against the wall, the coolness a nice contrast to how hot your body was. 

“You want me to use you like this? Fuck you like a barbaric Illyrian?” He snarled, biting down on your shoulder as you cried out for him. 

“Yes, Cass, yes!” You whined, that thread in your soul slowly unwinding as both of you neared your climax. Cassian could feel it, his desperation growing each second as his wings cocooned the two of you into your own little world. 

Your nails dug into his muscled arms as you pressed your forehead against his, your chest heaving as white, hot light seemed to explode from every nook and crevice of your soul. This was unlike any orgasm you had ever felt. It felt like you were the only two alive, the only two that mattered, and for the first time you felt everything that Cassian was. 

Love. Lust. Wonder. Comfort. Mate. Mate. Mate.

He nuzzled into your neck, right where your pulse was fluttering, and inhaled deeply. It was a primal reaction to the bond and before you could blink he bit down again, a carnal urge to mark you in every way possible. 

“You’re all mine. All. Fucking. Mine.” He followed his words with sharp thrusts, his balls tightening up with the need to release. You nodded, craning your neck as he continued to bite and suck every inch of exposed skin. When you had enough mind to open your eyes, you saw just how close his wings were.

You reached out and stroked them softly, letting your nails rake down them which sent him toppling over the edge. He roared into the night, spilling himself deep within you as left a final bite right above your breast. It was raw and carnal and everything you wanted as you followed him with your third orgasm of the night, milking every last drop of his cum.

Cassian held you still on his cock until he went soft, raising his head just enough to see the marks he had left across your beautiful skin. He grinned when he saw how red and purple they were already becoming.

“I love you, Cass.” You murmured, wiping the sweat off his brow as he gingerly set you down on the floor. “More than life itself.”

“From this day until we become anew.” He echoed his vows from earlier, kissing you softly as the bond between you sang with happiness and devotion. You couldn’t believe how blessed you were to be mated with him, to be able to spend the rest of your lives with this man.

And as he gave you that smoldering look, his eyes alight with mischief, you were also thankful for how blessed he was with that insatiable appetite reserved only for you. 

[whackk-kermitt]

Remember Me?

Genre: Oneshot (Female Reader)

Summary: Years after Ragnarok, Kratos finds a familiar face knocking at his door. Turns out he's not the only God who abandoned Greece.

Warnings: Subtle mentions of classic Greek gods and their treatment of women👎. No explicit content, but some suggestive conversation. (also mentions of young Kratos- who was quite the Playboy)

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Spring had come in flush with bright florals and on-and-off rain. The cabin was glowing in the early evening light. Birds and crickets chirping goodnight and hello to each other. The day had been a peaceful one.

Kratos had returned from a hunt, deer meat cooking above the fire. The smell wafted through the small cabin making it feel a little more homely. Kratos spent these days in between Atreus's visits home, mostly alone. Yeah Mimir was there, and he was good company, but there's not much they had to say to each other now a days.

Kratos was finally enjoying his retirement from Godhood without death, pain, and struggle around every corner. But these mundane days are starting to way on him. Nothing to do except hunt, built, and intend to the land. He very rarely ventured farther than Midgard, or the realm between realms. His days of adventure were over. He couldn’t help but admit to himself that he did feel quite lonely; having no one to enjoy these moments with.

Yes, it was peaceful, but peace is often an illusion.

Atreus would stop in every month or two and stay a while. They'd catch up and he'd rant to his father about the places he's been and the people he's met. Every now and then, when Kratos wasn't ready to say goodbye yet, he'd come up with something he needed to do, so Atreus would tag along.

But a simple knock at the cabin door made both him and Mimir- who sat on his perch in front of a book- perk up. It was not but a few days ago Atrues departed for another journey, so it wasn't him- and he would not knock anyway. Freya? No, she's busy in Vanaheim. The dwarves do not come to visit him, so not them.

Kratos grunted to himself, standing from the table and approaching the door. He hesitated only a second before pulling it open.

It would be out of character for him to gasp, but he almost did. Before him was a face he had not seen in a long time. A face he had thought he never would see again- someone who he had believed had died.

“Well I be damned, it is you.” She smiled.

“Y/n.” He said plainly.

“Kratos.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, taking in each other’s appearance. it had been years, and both their ages have begun to show. More his than hers, he'd noticed. The years have been kind to her.

“Aren't you gonna invite me in?”

“No.” She may have been an old friend, but she was still a goddess, and nothing good comes from a God knocking at your door. “What do you want?”

“Simply to see you.” She shrugged. Her eyes were bright and her body was relaxed. “I heard your name mentioned in a village by the lake. Had to see for myself if it was truly you.”

“Why?”

“Why so abrasive, Kray? Been to long for you to trust me still?”

Yes, but he couldn't say that to her face. It felt wrong. They had… history.

At his silence, she sighed, “I will leave if it's what you wish. I just missed you old friend.”

Before she turned she fought a glimpse of his lips hesitating, she waited to give him time to find the words. He sighed long and deep.

“I thought you had fallen with Olympus.” It was not a question, or him digging for an explanation. He sounded so tiered, and his eyes seamed so mournful. He was voicing how he had hurt when they parted, a hurt she knew all to well.

“Same here.” Here eyes cast downward for a moment. “It is why when I heard your name, I- I had to see.”

Her eyes were always so easy to read.

He stood aside and she looked surprised for a moment that he had changed his mind so quickly. This was new for him, and she won't complain.

Smiling softly she entered the home.

“Well hello there, Las.” Mimir greeted with admiring eyes. Kratos warned him with a glare. “Off the table then?”

“Kratos,” She began with a sly chuckle. “I'm beginning to think that you have a thing for severed heads.”

Mimir gave an offended gasp. “Brother, there was another? I thought we had something special.” He joked but he was genuinely curious as to what the pretty lady had meant. The questioning look he gave her said it all.

“Medusa,” Y/n stated, a sad look briefing her features. “A tale for another time, uh…”

“Mimir.” He supplied.

“Y/n.” She introduced with and alluring smile.

Kratos motioned her to follow him around to the table. She sat as he prepared cups and cutlery for dinner.

“What are you doing here?”

She read between the lines, similar question as before but with a different meaning.

“After the fall of Olympus, there were no more burdens chaining me to Greece.” She paused, remembering something unpleasant. “I traveled away, similar to the way you did, I presume. I found myself in a world called Egypt. It was fun. Chaotic and full of interesting people. Yet it never felt like I could build a home there. After a few years, I grew bored and began traveling again. Eventually, I found myself here in Midgard, and you know the rest.”

He hummed listening to her talk. Her voice was the same as he remembered. Even and calm, almost like a song every time she spoke. As far as he knew, her words were the only ones he heard during his time in Greece, that never came around to be lies. Anytime she had spoken to him before, she had always been honest if she was unsure about anything. She had never lead him astray, and it was the only reason he had ever trusted her in the first place.

But if he was being honest with himself, trust had little to do with allowing her into his home.

“Any you?” She eyed the room. Taking note of all the years of life spent here, and presumably not just by Kratos. “You have family?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “My son Atreus, and the head.”

“Oi, brother.”

“And Mimir.” He corrected himself. Y/n chuckled at that.

“And his mother?” She asked softly, unsure if she still had the right to ask personal questions such as those. She had already come to the conclusion that the mother had passed, looking around the state of the home. There was evidence of a woman, but not for a long while.

“Dead,” He said simply. “She fell ill, nearly ten years ago now.”

“My condolences.” She bowed her head.

Kratos placed a plate of seasoned meat before her with a cup of water before serving himself and joining her at the table. She chuckled at his newly found ability to cook. She would not comment on it at the time.

As they began to eat, they indulged in comfortable conversation. It had been a long time since Kratos had been around someone who knew him. Truly knew him. Not just the stories and prophecies he's been tangled up in. It felt nice to have someone's eyes on him. He had felt before, and again now, that she had been a true ally to him. Y/n had never cared for the God of War, nor the rumors and stories amongst the residents of Greece about him. She had only ever spoken to him as Kratos. Talking to her awakened feelings in him that he feared died with Faye. A feeling of comfort in being seen.

She asked some questions about his life, and where it had taken him since they parted. He talked briefly about Faye and his journey with Atreus after her passing. He told her of Ragnarok. And she commented on how he'd always found himself in trouble with other gods.

While they ate and caught up mainly him talking about Atreus- his eyes had a life of there own, not shying away from admiring her. She had not changed much. Something Krotos noted was her laugh lines; she's had a happier life since abandoning Greece. Much has happened, but he can honestly say the same for himself. He was happy she found some joy somewhere.

“And what of you?” He turned the conversation away from himself. “Did you ever marry?”

“No,” She laughed shaking her head slowly. “No man ever worth my hand.” A sad look in her eyes for only a moment. If he had not been staring so intently he would have missed it.

“You had many options before..”

“None who were worth my hand.” She stated again. “Or at least none who were worthy and willing.”

This he did not quite understand. She was as intelligent as she was graceful in her beauty. A humble and modest woman. She was the most sought-after for marriage in all the time he knew her. He had figured it was why he had never been able to pursue her more than idle flirting. She was above him, worthy of more.

She laughed slyly at his eyes moving over her, confusion written on his face.

“That is way, Kratos.” Her head shook. “Few men has ever looked past my body, so few men were worthy.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. Kratos was guilty of this. He knew it. All his years, encountering her by chance and seeking her out for aid in his quests for revenge, they had flirted and bantered, but that was it. He had gotten to know her without ever asking questions or listening.

He was ashamed of the man he used to be, a womanizer. She had always worn loose-fitted gowns, but he had still seen glimpses of her figure through it. He'd flirt and she’d flirt back, but she'd never let him touch her. Never let him have her the way he wanted to. Her eyes would always make him feel like she wanted him to, but her words always told him no. She'd often leave him with an itch he'd let any other willing women scratch. Because he would not cross the line so many other gods did. But all the same, he had once treated many women as throw-away fun.

He is glad she never swayed from her standards and belittled herself for a man. It was respectable and dangerous considering the men of Olympus.

She would've made a fine wife if he had the maturity then to recognize it.

“I am sorry.” It came out more pitiful and emotional than expected. He regretted the things he'd elude to with her back then.

“For what?” She asked stunned by a sudden apology.

“Not seeing past your beauty.” He chose his words carefully. if she was planning to settle in Midgard, it would be nice to have an old friend to talk to. offending her was the last thing he wanted to do.

“But you did.” She smiled. “You were just not willing.”

“I was not.” He refused. He couldn't believe anyone would see that version of himself as worthy of women like her. He had had trouble believing Faye would see him as worthy once he opened up to her about his past, once she knew the kind of man he was once. So surely not a woman who had seen it firsthand could truthfully say he was- then or now.

“It is a shame you do not see you as I do, Kratos.” She sighed deeply. “Sure, you were a man led by emotion and hormones,” Pausing to chuckle. “But you treated me kindly and fairly. You never hurt me.”

“Aww.” Mimir sighed happily.

Kratos groaned eyeing the back of his head. Y/n laughed nervously, forgetting someone else was in the house. She did not mean to get that personal in front of a stranger.

“Sorry, ignore me! I'll be reading.”

“Anyway.” She stood grabbing the empty plates.

Kratos stood taking them from her hands, making her frown.

“You cooked.” She demanded.

“You are a guest.” He retorted, taking them to wash. She smiled at his back, enjoying being in his company again. He smiled ever so slightly for the same reasons.

“What will you do now?”

“Oh,” She thought, looking up to envision her coming answer. “Likely travel a bit, find a cozy place to settle for a while.”

Kratos hummed turning back to her, watching as she leaned against the table. His eyes took in all of her. Her body was covered in a gown and light armor. Boots and straps fitted by no blacksmith or tailor known to these realms. The colors complemented her skin and hair fairly. She seemed to be traveling light. Her gear would not aid her well in traversing these realms.

“You're staring again.” She mused.

“You travel light, it will not do you good in these parts.” He explained. He did not want her to conclude that he was the same man driven by lust, as that was not the case anymore. “Before you go far I will introduce you to the dwarves.”

“Dwarfs?”

“Blacksmiths- good ones.” He nodded. “They will fit you with what you’ll need.”

“Thank you Kratos,” She smiled to him sweetly. “But I do not see myself going far.”

“Good.” He smiled back ever so slightly.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Not proofread.

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[vintageseawitch]

this is what i think of when third party voters go around acting morally superior because they don't want to get their hands dirty like the rest of us. they're toddlers having temper tantrums because instead of using the system in a way that could benefit them in the long term like the extremist Republicans have been doing for decades, third party voters refuse to participate in local civics & then claim the entire country is already fascist. they're so cute in their naivety if they think the US can't get any worse.

what the fuck do you think will happen if you try to protest against a government with a military as massive, lethal, & expensive as ours. who do you think will be sacrificed first? oh what's that? crickets? thought so. i'm a white woman but i will absolutely use my voice to point out leftists can be racist as fuck & the anti-blackness in your spaces can be absolutely fucking wild. not everyone leftist is white, but many that are can be pretty problematic.

if you think i'm selfish then fine. if you state that you would gladly exchange my life for a Palestinian like one of you said in a comment to me a few weeks ago then fine. i'm out here fighting to make sure the people who live here in this country don't experience our own Holocaust.

if you have a problem with people wanting to fight this while claiming you're anti-genocide, you're a fucking liar & a hypocrite. you won't know what the fuck to do in a true fascist country. i don't doubt there are pockets of fascism already existing here but you thinking it's already the worst it can be is as infuriating as people who think the government is creating their massive hurricanes using weather machines. you sound just as childish & delusional. you already sound like children because you will never take responsibility for your choices if it ends up helping him win.

jill stein's campaign is a sham. she is deliberately running as a spoiler. she's a wealthy white woman who lives in a mostly white affluent neighborhood. she's going around lecturing black people about white supremacy. she is getting funds from Republicans as well as help from trump's lawyers. Lockheed Martin has given her money. she's involved in shady as fuck index funds for companies that harm the environment. she only started talking about Gaza during this election cycle to hit you in the feelings so she can bank on it. she made a whole stink about needing a recount, raised a bunch of money for that, & then that money disappeared who knows where. do you all hear this? do you care? no, you're just like maga with their orange Jesus. you don't give a FUCK about stein's red flags because she's "different."

if Harris loses & you blame anyone but yourselves, you're cowardly traitors who threw us regular Americans to the wolves because of your precious fucking principles. history has shown time & time again that protest voting typically allows something worse to take control. it's hardly ever beneficial to the people. you're vile. you don't want to make this world a better place by allowing so many near you to suffer & die. if both sides are the same then please tell me you're okay with another trump presidency. or just shut the fuck up.

i look forward to more potentially heartwarming messages saying that my life doesn't mean shit from people who allegedly are against the death penalty & are pro-human rights 🥰

please vote, don't stop talking about Project 2025, etc. i hope enough of us vote in a way that these pathetic third party voters don't gain any kind of traction. at this point i'm just angry at their hypocrisy when they don't even listen to other protestors who live here & are begging them to not vote third party. i refuse to listen to y'all not take responsibility for your part. Project 2025 will hurt us all but apparently you're okay with that or you think it's already here. smooth brain takes all around. anyways good luck & stay safe to anyone who votes blue 💙

[metaladam]

Adam walked out of the brothel room with Bee, out of breath, his neck covered in hickeys. Breathing heavily he'd put his helmit on and made his way to the microphone, lifting it up and causing a loud feedback blare to echo across the ball room.

" Oh shit, that sucked, here let me figure this out. *panting* give me uh *panting* like 30 seconds. Oh boy....*panting* whoooof."

He'd spend the next several seconds gulping down multiple bottles of water, the sound of it going right into the microphone. After panting a bit more he'd begin once again.

" Sorry about that. I just had a good lay, bro. I tell you what, I used to hate furries, I'd call um the scum of the earth, some real degenerate losers and shit. But man, after shoving my cock into Bee's sizzling wolf pussy for an hour I think I am about to take it all back. Seriously, there was steam coming out of that thing."

He'd take another long break to drink a few more bottles of water.

" Anyway, looks like everyone's having fun! Lucifer! ( @themosthatedbeingg) Hey bitch! Looks like some big wigs have been hanging around our girl ( @infernal-feminae!) I bet she'll be layin' some pipe real soon! All good though brother, we can gossip about her together! I'll tell you about my heartache, you can tell me what the inside of Lilith's asshole feels like! I know she let you, brother, just the look and smell of your kid ( @chasingrainbcws ) tell's me she's an ass baby!

Anyway Lucifer is not alone though! We got God's little vice regent right here! Michael! ( @cast-you-dxwn) and his smokin' hot date he can't keep his hands off of ( @deifuriae)! Man oh man are those two in love! I gotta tell you Michael! With how much you are obsessed with her its shocking as fuck none of her kids are yours!

But yeah, the ball has been pretty cool so far! I got laid! Satan is probably gonna get laid and traumatize one or two people, if he does not get into a fist fight with Mikey the cuck over there! But there are some bigger things going on then just this ball! We all know Hells has its problems! You know what problems they won't have in a decade? The elderly and the disabled! CAUSE WE ARE JUST GONNA KILL UM!"

He'd shout and wait for what he thought would be a huge bout of laughter. When he heard only silence he just did it again. Jumping in the air this time and throwing his hand in the air as a signal.

" CAUSE WE ARE JUST GONNA KILL UM!"

Nothing, just random crickets somewhere.

" Fuck, tough crowed. Anyway though Hell is not the only place that's fucked up! Come 2025 us angels are gonna play more active role on Earth! What is the number one problem for humans? War and poverty! STOP IT! JUST STOP IT! You know how we are gonna stop it babes? What do humans fight over? FOOD! Who handles food? FARMERS! Where is most of the land on Earth?"

He'd wait for a moment for someone to speak up, when no one did he'd answer his own question.

" UNDER WATER BITCH! That's right we are gonna teach humans to perform agriculture under the ocean! YOU EVER HAVE A SEA BEAN, SOME SEA SQUASH, SEA PUMPKINS, SOME MOTHER FUCKING SEA SALAD YOU FUCKING CUNTS?! WELL ITS COMIN! ITS COMIN NEXT YEAR JUST LIKE I DID A FEW MINUTES AGO!

Of course we all know food is not the only problems humans have, what with social media and all the shit going on that people like Vox have brought down to Hell with um! its getting bad bro, they are sexualizing chicks, and its getting to the point where even I have a problem with it!

But yeah! We are looking at some exciting new times in Heaven, we got a new milking industry going on! Angels like milk, I like milk! I like titty milk, and that's what we are gonna harness! I am talking getting the hottest babes and milking them bro, selling that shit out on the market! Angel titty milk coming this year! No one steal my idea! I fucking thought of it first!

I'm a big thinker everyone! I am an artist! A big brained philosopher! but you don't need to be a big brained and big dicked chad like me to get shit done! Pat yourself on the backs kids, you are the future!"

"AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

*drops the mic*

@qveenofgluttony

[winterlynightlystories]

Welcome to Hawkins

Tw; swearing, mention of child abuse, mention of injuries.

To not steal my work, thank you!

Billy Hargrove/Male reader (he/him)

Summary; you find Billy on the side of the road, bloody and angry. The worse part? You are not alone in the dark.

~~~

Hawkins was a weird place. Even before the Byers boy went missing, the town faced strange things. Electrical anomalies, weird sightings in the forest and sometimes animals would meet a gruesome end. By now you were used to it.

Until the Hargrove came to town.

Hawkins was a small place where everybody knew everyone. There was no secret, not even inside your home. Even if you went in the middle of the wood, by morning the whole town would be aware of what you did. So it was no surprise they were met with mistrust.

Because it only took one look for everyone to agree; there was something wrong with them all. Especially with the father, you thought. With the way, he spoke to his son and how Billy would sometime flinch when his father moved his hands. It was obvious that something was going on.

And then they all met Billy Hargrove at school. Violent, racist, and always ready to fight. He tried so hard to be the king of the school, it was almost pathetic. But he was good to party with, you heard.

For your part, you disliked him. Billy and you would always fight; in the corridors, after school or even during sports class. Sometimes he would win, but most of the time? You would show no mercy and beat the shit out of him.

You weren't violent, some would even call you peaceful. But peaceful doesn't mean harmless and you refused to let Billy Hargrove do as he pleased.

You also pitied him.

No one was blind to the bruised he would try to play off as accidents or results of fights that never happened. Or how he would flinch, even so slightly when someone accidentally slammed a door or dropped something heavy. Or the fear his eyes would hold for a second when someone would throw a ball of paper and it would pass close to his head.

It broke your heart.

And there was nothing you could do.

That night as you drove, the forest on each side of the road, you kept thinking about the Hargrove boy. You wondered what kind of person he really was underneath all those masks he wore to protect himself.

Halfway through the forest, something caught your attention. At first, you thought it was a dead animal, maybe a deer. But then, it moved.

- “Shit!” you cursed, hitting the brake. “Hargrove? What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked, getting out of your car.

Because sitting on the side of the road was the one and only Billy Hargrove. Hair messy and bloody lips, Billy seemed to come out of a fight as the loser. But something was terribly wrong; his eyes were red and puffy and wet as if he has cried.

- “Fuck off man.” Billy snapped, looking away.

- “Seriously?” you sighed “C’mon city boy, I'm driving you home.” you added, eyes turning to the forest.

- “I said, fuck off! Or are you deaf?” replied Hargrove, making you grunt.

- “Oh, shut up. You think I'm leaving you here to be eaten by a bear?”

- “There aren't any bears in Hawkins.” objected Billy, scuffing.

- “Ah yes! I forgot it was my imaginary friend Steve who killed those animals!” you replied sarcastically. “Now you either get in the car by yourself like the good boy you are, or I'll get you in.”

- “Fuck. You.” slowly said Billy, smiling. “Anyway, why do you care so much? We are not friends or anything.”

- “Because there is no way I am leaving you here in the middle of the night!” you snapped, approaching him.

- “Wait, wait, wait! Don't tell me you are scared?” mocked Billy. “Seriously? Scared of the dark, Y/n?”

- “No, not the dark, but of what's hiding in it,” you said, seriously, stopping in front of Billy.

Billy was about to reply something when you heard the eeriest scream coming from the forest. You both froze, staring into the darkness. There was no sound, not even a cricket, or wind. It felt just wrong. Like a second before the disaster. And you felt watched like a prey being stalked.

- “Hargrove, get in the car.” you said, voice shaking as you saw a large shadow move between the tree. “NOW!”

You grabbed him by the collar and turned on your heels. Without another word, you two ran as another scream came from the forest, closer this time.

You barely closed the door before turning the engine on and driving away as fast as you could.

- “What the fuck was that?” asked Billy, looking behind. “That wasn't a bear!”

- “I don't know! I don't fucking know, man!” you replied, still freaking out. “It was too skinny to be a bear. Maybe a sick deer.”

- “Bitch, are you serious? Deer don't stand on their back legs!”

You didn't have the time to reply to anything, spotting the shadow on your left. In the dark, you could not really distinguish anything, but you could swear it was now running on four.

- “I don't want to sound dramatic, but I think it's following us.” you said.

- “How...”

Billy never finished his sentence. Instead, you both screamed when a tall shadow jumped in front of the car as you hit the brakes.

Standing on its back legs, the creature had smooth skin, almost like an eel” you thought. But darker. Like charcoal or shadows. And its head was like a flower.

You almost screamed again, feeling Billy gripping your arms and digging his nails into your skin.

- “What the fuck. Man, what the fuck is that?” he asked, his voice a mumbling mess.

- “Don't ask me! I don't know!” you whined, hands shaking on the wheel. “Man, I can't do a U-turn and there is no way I can drive in reverse in the dark.”

- “Then just run over it! Do something!”

And you did just that.

Pushing your car as fast as it could toward the creature. Maybe it knew what you were trying to do, or maybe it got scared, but seconds before the impact, the creature jumped out of your way. You sighed in relief but didn't slow down.

You heard Billy’s breath slow down before you felt his forehead on your shoulder. If he was crying, you saw nothing, because God be your witness, you were too. Not letting go of your arm, Billy actually tightened his grip.

- “Tell me it's gone. Please tell me it's gone.” he begged with a small voice.

- “Yeah, I don't see it anymore,” you replied.

- “I don't think I can go party anymore.”,” said Billy.

- “Yeah. Welcome to Hawkins.” you scoffed. “So, mind guiding me to your place?”

- “I'll rather not” he whispered.

- “Mind if I take you to mine then? I'll give you some of my shit and will take care of those bruised. I know where my parents hid their alcohol. God, I need a drink!”

- “As long as you share that drink, that sounds good to me. But I'm taking the bed!”

- “Fine princess!”

Billy said nothing and you relaxed. Heart still racing in your chest, you wondered of it was that thing who was responsible for the latest slaughter in the nearby farms. Or killed those missing outsiders. A part of you also knew you needed to call the sheriff, but the other knew it was useless. No one would believe you and you didn't want to put Billy in more danger.

So to your home, it was.

[itsmistyeyedbi]

late night courage

Pairing: F!Detective/Farah Hauville

Word Count: 2,5k

Prompt: First

Tags: @happyhauvillebday

Summary: Dinner at Tina’s leaves much food for thought for Farah. The conversation that ensues takes a turn that neither of them were expecting.

She never knows what to do with…this.

With people like her, genuine and hopeful and bright. People who choose to be those things, to embody them, despite the experiences they have and the things they've seen that give them every right not to be. Zuri admires them and their spirit that seems to be as sure as the rising sun. She can never quite grasp that kind of strength, no matter how much time she has spent imitating it. She can be warm and hopeful…and genuine, when she let's herself be.

But what's a heat lamp to the sun?

It's nothing compared to the real thing.

And yet, some of them are drawn to her anyway. Like a moth to a flame, not realising that the warmth they want to bask in is not as gentle as the sun. It could burn them to a crisp, because there is such a thing as being too close for too long. It could burn them, even though it doesn't want to. Even though it craves their company, their touch.

It would be easier if she could stay away but she never really can. She never really wants to. So she falls into a familiar song and dance of getting as close as she can without letting them in, giving as much warmth as she can without burning them, keeping her distance when they get too eager and fly closer to the flames than they should. That push and pull that never satisfies but keeps them safe.

How much is that safety worth?

Farah makes her question that everyday.

Zuri is questioning it now with Farah at her side, the back of their hands brushing against each other as they stroll towards her car. Her pinky twitches and she glances at her, her heart stopping for a second when their eyes meet. It's taking everything in her not to take her hand in hers, to feel their fingers intertwine.

She looks away, focuses on her surroundings instead - the sound of their footsteps are accompanied by the chirping of crickets, softening the silence of the night. The sky is dark and speckled with stars, a gentle breeze makes the skirt of Farah’s dress tickle her skin, her pinky grazes hers and there's a fluttering in her stomach-

Okay, this isn't working.

Zuri swallows and moves her hand away to hold it in her own instead, massaging her palm with her thumb. She needs to get a grip. They've been alone for what, two minutes? And her impulse control reverts to the one she had in highschool - useless in the face of someone who has an interest in her. She won't be rash about this, not when it comes to her. Not when she doesn't think she can give her what she wants.

The fluttering turns into a churning when she catches the disappointment on Farah's face.

She hates how often she causes that. She never wanted to be the reason she feels that way. But the little disappointments are better than the one that would come if they were something more…right?

Zuri turns around and leans against the hood of her car, eyebrows furrowing slightly as she smiles at Farah. She returns it as though she was never anything less than content, the streetlight closeby bathing her in a golden glow, tracing the curves of her face and bouncing off of the coils of her hair. God, she looks like an angel.

“Did tonight go the way you hoped it would?”

Right, the dinner. With Tina. It..slipped her mind for a second there.

She shrugs one shoulder, peering at the house they just left. “I figured it would go well the moment you agreed to come. You two are pretty similar, I couldn't see you not getting along.”

“That's to be expected when I'm the type of company you keep. Who wouldn't like me?” Farah gestures to herself with a grin.

Zuri shakes her head, laughing softly before they fall into silence. Something about the question lingers in the air between them. Or maybe it's just in her head and Farah is being her usual self. Either way, she doesn't know what to do with it yet.

So she changes the subject.

“Speaking of the company I keep,” she raises a brow. “What were you and Tina talking about when I was gone?”

Farah's eyes widen and then she laughs, the sound making her heart stir in her chest and before she knows it she's doing the same. Softly, just like before, so she can hear her laugh ring out around them and imprint itself in her mind again.

“You're still thinking about that?”

“Yes, you were being all sneaky about it! I wanna know what was up.”

It's a genuine question, despite the timing. Something was definitely going on with them and were a little too enthusiastic while dodging her questions. They're clearly already a duo she'll have to keep her eye on.

“It's nothing crazy, seriously. We were just talking about you.”

Zuri turns her head and narrows her eyes. That's the obvious answer so it doesn't tell her much.

“Me?”

“Yup.”

Farah watches her gleefully, rocking back and forth on her feet. The silence continues for a few short seconds before she scoffs playfully. “Don't act like you didn't know. You mean a lot to both of us, of course we'd talk about you.”

Zuri’s hands press against the hood of the car as she leans forward and aims a light-hearted glare her way. “I know that I was the hot topic of the night. What I don't know is what about me was being discussed. So spill.”

“We were talking about how you're doing,” her grin softens into a weak smile as she rubs the back of her neck. “Or how you're not doing. In a general kind of way.”

“Oh.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. How did that even come up among the conversations about supernaturals and how wrong books and movies have been about them? Was Tina worried about her? Was Farah? Did something she say make them think they needed to be?

“Man, Tina warned me about this but I thought I'd manage to make it home before caving.”

Zuri blinks and looks up at Farah. When did she look away? How did she manage that when she's standing right in front of her, her eyes the colour of honey when it's held up to the sun, framed by long lashes and soft with concern.

“It's funny,” she continues with a frown on her face. “I've been talking about how busy things have been lately and how we barely get to spend time together, but…it's always been busy for you, hasn't it?”

“I don't know, has it?” Zuri can't say it hasn't been busy. The little moments she's managed to steal away for herself feel like they happened months ago, fleeting as the flicker of a light. And even those moments couldn't be deemed relaxing, not when a part of her was holding its breath, waiting for the next threat to her life.

“You can tell me,” she urges gently. “You know that right?”

“I know,” Zuri sighs. She deserves a more honest answer than that. “I guess it has been busy.”

Farah offers her a wry smile and steps closer to her. “That means this probably isn't going to be as easy in the future.”

Wait what?

“What? Us?”

“Oh, uh- well, I mean,” she lets out a nervous laugh, her eyes darting to the ground before meeting her gaze again. “I meant us spending time together but that works too. But now that I think about it, I don't know how easy either of those things have been.”

“You know that isn't because of you, right?” The words rush out of her mouth before she can think or process the surge of shock she felt. “If anything hasn't been easy, it isn't because of you. You being around is probably the easiest part about all this.”

“That's a relief to hear. I was getting worried for a second,” Farah jokingly wipes her forehead but the motion is too stiff to be playful, the relief too obvious in how the tension in her face eases.

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about on that front.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” she mutters before shaking her head and continuing before Zuri can respond.

“Anyway, what I'm trying to say is - it's okay to not be okay after getting sucked into all this supernatural business. I don't think anyone would be if they went through half the things you've been through. And I hope you know that whenever you need a shoulder to cry on, or just…need me, I'll be there.”

She pauses and leans forward, her shoulders raised close to her ears as she smiles sheepishly. “We all will be, but I am hoping you'd sorta kinda want to come to me first,”

She's far too sweet for her own good. Zuri chuckles, her eyes lingering on the curve of her lips before looking back up at her. Warmth blooms in her chest and spreads across her cheeks while she wraps her arms around herself.

“You'll be the first to know when I need a shoulder, I promise,” she says softly. “And um, thank you.”

Farah nods and rubs her arm with her hand, her face growing pensive as she takes a breath. It doesn't seem like she's finished yet. Zuri watches her, trying to reassure her. She can wait however long she needs to to hear more of what she has to say.

“And about that ‘us’…you don't have to worry about that.”

Zuris stomach drops when she says that. It must show on her face because her eyes widen and she frantically corrects herself, waving her hands in front of her.

“Nono, I'm not saying- what I mean is you can take your time. There's no pressure, I'm not going anywhere,” she reaches up to fiddle with the unicorn pendant hanging from her neck. “But whatever you decide, whenever you decide it, I hope we can still spend time together like this. For however long we can before some bad guy swoops in to steal you away.”

Shit. Zuri doesn't want her to think she doesn't want her. She does, more than she's wanted anyone in a long time. She just… doesn't know how to do this anymore. To make something last. As much as she wants to erase any doubt Farah has in her mind, it wouldn't be wise to rule out the possibility of there being no them, would it? They've been walking the razor's edge for months too, so who knows if she'll even want her afterwards? She could move on from her, find someone who's worth all the waiting she's done.

Zuri looks down at the cobblestone road. The thought of that hurts more than it should.

Shit.

Say something!

“I-” her voices hitches, she clears her throat before trying again. “I…don't know how much time we'll have to spend like this.”

That's what you chose to say. Great work, Zuri.

“Neither do I,” Farah's feet enter her view before a finger and a thumb is on her chin and tilting her head up, amber eyes unwavering as she gazes at her. “But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. You are so worth trying for.”

A shaky breath leaves Zuri’s lungs. Everything inside her comes to a halt, like every part of her wants to focus on nothing but the sound of Farah's voice. Like her words have stunned her entire being into silence.

That's just it, isn't it? That's what matters, if someone is worth trying for, outcomes be damned. And she believes that she is, despite…well, everything.

“Zuri? You okay?”

Something inside her comes undone, and a wave of emotion washes over her, kickstarting her body into gear and slowly forming a lump in her throat. She might not know how to do this, but for her, she'll try. She'll do whatever she can to make this work, no matter how scared she gets or how heartbreaking the end is. Being with her is worth whatever pain might come. And if she's the reason for any burns, she'll make sure to be the balm too.

It looks like it took Farah saying what should've been obvious to her out loud for her to get it.

Wow.

“Yeah,” she blinks a few times and clears her throat. “I'm okay. I'm okay.”

Farah lets go of her chin, barely moving an inch before Zuri’s hand grabs hers, her grip gentle as her thumb runs over her knuckles.

“Farah, I- you're so,” laughter bubbles up her throat, brief and maybe a little bit hysterical as she covers her face with her free hand. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. You're cute when you're flustered,” Farah says with a wink.

Zuri smiles bashfully and stares down at their hands. Her skin is warm and smooth against hers. She squeezes it gently and swallows before continuing. “You're worth trying for too. You always have been and I… feel a little ridiculous that I'm only really understanding what that means now. I'm sorry it took me this long.”

“Um, no problem,” Farah stares at her for a moment, eyes wide and lips parted. “Is this going where I think it's going?”

“Yeah, it is.”

She beams and rises on the balls of her feet before quickly settling herself down. Zuri's heart flutters in her chest. She seems so excited, ecstatic even for them to finally be in a relationship. She shouldn't keep her waiting any longer.

“I know you've wanted what's been going on between us to be something real. Something more than flirting that doesn't go anywhere. I wish I could've given you that sooner but,” she pauses, taking a deep breath to quell the doubt creeping into her mind.

She holds Farah's gaze and lets it spur her forward. “If you still want that, want me, I'd like to give that to you now-”

Farah flings herself at Zuri. She lets out an oof as their bodies collide and arms wrap around her neck. “Yes! Please do! Like, right now if you want to.”

Zuri giggles and wraps her arms around her waist, breathing in the burst of zest and citrus from her perfume. Their hearts beat in tandem against their chests, hands clutching at each other as they hold each other close; she's so warm… holding her is like holding the sun.

Farah gives her a squeeze before pulling away enough to see her face. “Of course I still want you. I never stopped, and I never will.”

Heat settles in Zuri’s cheeks as she tries and fails to respond, all that comes out is a string of incomprehensible, half-spoken words that are shortly interrupted by laughter.

“God, what are you doing to me?”

“Let me know when you figure that out so I can keep doing it.”

Zuri huffs, shaking her head and smiling softly. “You know, I don't usually ask people out. Not with it meaning what it means right now. This is a first for me.”

Farah snuggles into her, her cheek pressing against her neck. Her voice is muffled, but she can still hear her smile.

“I'm glad you did.”

[alexandra-emerson]

Some Thoughts

(For readers horrified by what’s been going on in fandom who want to help)

Twats

I’m sad that some authors have been pulling their works from AO3, though I totally get it. But I’m not going to add to the “don’t sell fanfics” commentary much. I’m working with a lawyer to get mine taken down from Etsy, and it sucks, but I think this is an opportunity to talk about the fandom community as a whole. Specifically, what you can do to keep it alive and healthy.

I think it’s easy to sit at home, read about this illegal fanbinding drama with interest, run to AO3 to mass download your favorite fics, pat yourself on the back for not buying or selling fics illegally or not adding them to Goodreads, then move on with your life. But I would argue this passive attitude is just as harmful to the community, in some ways.

The Criticism Ratio

You all have probably heard that you’re supposed to deliver compliments and criticism with a ratio of 5:1. This is because negative comments stick in our heads more, so even if you were balancing the good and bad, or giving twice as many good comments as bad ones, the bad ones carry so much weight, they still seem to be winning.

With writing, I would argue this ratio is probably more like 10:1. Because it’s so personal. And most of us are so new to it. And it’s so much freaking work. I timed it once, and one chapter typically takes me 12 hours to write. That doesn’t include editing, or the hours my beta puts into editing. Then, to float all that work out into the world and get negativity back … oof, it makes embarking on the next 12 hours, and the next and the next VERY difficult.

My Experience

I’ve been an author of some popular fics in both the Harmony and Dramione spaces. On the Harmony side, I’ve dealt with personalized attacks, not just against my stories but against me as a person. And when that was going down, there weren’t a ton of fans speaking up on my behalf. I got a lot of DMs telling me those bullies were just the “loud minority” but from my point of view, with my supporters sounding like crickets, they felt like a majority. 

(Quick note to my Harmony readers: No I’m never writing Harmony again, get over it, and stop following me to every work I write next to ask me when I’m writing Harmony again. You had your chance to support me, and you fucking missed the boat.)

On the Dramione side, the public spaces are more moderated (thank God) so I’m less likely to stumble upon downright bullying. But this space is overwhelming in how BIG it is and how much conversation goes on about my fics. I always feel like the last to know when there’s some big Tik-Tok boom happening with one of my stories, when a story gets added to Goodreads, when there’s a reddit thread discussing the flaws in ‘Timeless’, when it gets posted for sale on Etsy, when someone popular binds it. It’s very hard to keep up with this giant fandom and it’s too much to handle at times. Which means if people don't send us things directly, we don't see it.

I also get this thing in Dramione that I didn’t get as much in Harmony where people act afraid or embarrassed to reach out to me. They’ll say things like, “I’m so sorry to bother you…” or “I’m sure you hear this all the time, and I know you don’t need to hear it from me too, but your works are great…” I think in Dramione people assume because it’s so big, other people are taking care of things, but that’s not the case. There is a lot of activity, for sure, but not much of that is making it back to the author.

My Ask

So anyway, think about the role you play in fandom. Are you contributing to the compliment bank, or the criticism one? (Remember, abstentions go with the majority. And in this case, every negative experience holds x10 weight).

Good things can be as simple as sending a quick note like, “Just letting you know I thought about your story today” or “Here’s another kudos because I just reread this gem!” It can be correcting a negative comment or review you see out in the wild, so that if the author ever stumbles across it, they see that their people are out there, sticking up for them. Ten people can instantly negate a bad comment with ten positive ones. Then if the author ever finds it, no harm done.

We all know the bad things that harm fandom, so there’s no need for me to rehash them here. But don’t forget that the passive things can be just as harmful. Things like: Rating a fanfic on Goodreads, because it’s already there, and you really want it to count towards your goal. Downloading a story, loving it, and never letting the author know. Reading rude comments online, complimenting yourself for not being that mean, then scrolling to the next thing.

My challenge to fandom is this: Let’s fill that compliment and support bucket so full that when an author does encounter a negative experience with one of their fanfics, they have a giant, fluffy pillow of endless love to fall back on. Let’s make those rare moments of nastiness truly feel like a minority to our creators. It’s not a ton of work. Our fandom is so flipping large, it just takes a tiny comment from each person to keep our community feeling like a fun, positive place to play.

[fabuladorah]

My top 5 fave DBDA charachters

1. Crystal Palace

2. Charles Rowland

3. Night Nurse

4. Niko Sasaki

5. Jenny The Butcher

Honorable mention: Tragick Mick and Edwin Payne.

WARNING LONG RAMBLING!!

1 - Lemme be superficial first, her looks are simply iconic, i worship her hair and witch-core clothes and the way her powers are potrayed (those white globes, the three eyes, quick flashed) just make me go brwwww. And then there is hee character arc... which is *chef kiss* so, so good: she doesnt know who she is, she thinks people didnt really like her, she is sure her parents are looking for her, her first instict is to be mean, but then for what is she being mean for anyway, so she stops. She drags the boys from Big ol' London all the way to an small town in America just to save a little girl, because she is alone and scared. Her abusive demon ex, even after exorcised, is still haunting her. She offers her life to save an stranger she had just met (an stranger who had been kind, an stranger who had understood her, an stranger who had a place while she didn't). Her abusive demon ex shows that maybe she wasnt a good person after all. She misses her mom. She give away her powers (her strenght, her core) to be free from her abuser. She gets her power back, she buries her abusive demon ex alive in her mind (the place where he had her prisoner) with the help of her FAMILY (she didn't know who she was, she didn't know were she was from now she knows) she wrestles a thousand-year olds witch seconds after gaining her mind power back because she CAN AND SHE WINS. She has her memory back, she was an horrible person, her parents weren't looking for her (she missed her mother) and now she needs to go back home and she needs to make things right. Seriously what's there not love about her? Crystal Palace, please understand, you'll always be famous.

2 - Wait one second *close the door* *inhumans sounds* *open the door* okay now lets start. He is not the brain, he is the brawn, he is the protector. He couldn't protect himself. He died defending a boy he didn't even know, he died because he hated senseless violence, he died by the senseless violence. He fears being a bad person — he think he is a bad person, his father's son. He is terrified, so he'll lie, he'll smile. He was just a boy, he died young, he wanted to grow old, he hates to be dead, but he loves Edwin. He chose Edwin over Heaven — this boy, alone, died young and had been his light during the darkest, final, moment of Charles' life. It was an easy choice. I just really, really love Charles, because of all that, but also because he is charismatic af (all Jayden's hard work) and funny and he foes around with a fucking cricket bar, I should've started with that... he has a cricket bar, your Honour, I rest my case. And and I just love charachters with this """savior complex""", this responsibility of being alright to take care of others, of smile and lighting the mood because no one else will do that.

3 - she's an overworked work and that's my kinda shit. The whole point of her job is to protect and care for the lost children, and being honest to god I know she would shoot a kid right in the head if it meant finish her job and thats so fucked up and hyprocte of her and i just absolutely worship her. Also, her whole life views being changed because of a funny man she met inside of a whale is just--- I think she is underrated, and people are missing her angst potential, but I will not be the one to tell you how to write her because dude my english is going to shit as we speak.

4 - I know this is kinda dissapointing, but my whole reason is that she is Niko. That's it.

5 - She is a dyke running a butch shop, thats actually so cool I could die. On her first appearence I thought she would kill Crystal and the boys (again) and thats how I like my women. Also its really refreshing to seen that there is an adult who cares about these kids... the talks she had with Crystal and Niko, yk, she is so mature and smart and wants to help and she is like so cleary trying not to get attached and failinh tremendously, cmon she saw Crystal going to meet her abusive ex and was like "Nuh uh u aint going alone and I AM TAKING THIS MF CLEVER WITH ME" based af. Local lesbian accidentaly addopts four kids (two of which are dead)

Bonus: okay I feel like I gotta justify myself: I DO NOT HATE EDWIN, okay? I love him, he just didnt make the cut. And about Tragick Mick, cmon he is a goddammned (LITERALLY) seal and runs a funny little shop and saved Niko's life. We love him. We adore him. Tragick Mick may not have the sea, but he has the people!!

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Request:  fuegoleon nsfw fic with wife s/o who's really hot? Fuego has been really busy with work lately and s/o feels neglected and sadly tells him one day that she's the only one who wants him but he doesn't want her? And it kinda hits a switch in fue, because he just can't fathom his wife thinking that HE doesn't want her, and he goes feral? Overstim, breeding kink, Dom!Fuego Lots of adorable aftercare too of you're okay with it🥰

A/N: Hiya! I got immersed into this while writing it, and it’s not 100% on with her telling him that she’s the only one wanting him, but the theme is there. This is also the hardest smut I’ve written to this day, I think, because while my Fuelara smut has been longer and more romantic, this is harder. Anyways, I do hope that you like it. And now I need a cold shower 🥵

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader (written in 1st person POV)

Fanfic type: Oneshot

Genre: Smut, hurt-comfort

Length: ~3.0k

Warnings: smut, cunnilingus (reader receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, no mention of birthcontrol, overstimulation (reader receiving), breeding kink, one mention of face fucking but no actual act, implied cervix fucking, crude language (”fuck me”), reader and Fue and married (established relationship), Fue says “I love you” mid act, Dom!Fue, aftercare minors DNI

It’s quiet. Well, if you don’t count the crickets. A part of me is surprised that there are already crickets at this time of the year, even if the summer is warm, which is why I have the window open in the first place. And another part of me is still glad that I can still hear them.

Another, much smaller, part. The part is muffled under the sigh that leaves my lips in an effort to relieve the restlessness in my body. But even if I wandered off from the open window, I’d find my way back to it soon enough I’m sure. Because the cool night air feels as if a caress against my skin.

A caress… that I crave for. The caress that I’ve longed for… for too many nights.

They say that the time your relationship is passionate is short, a few months, a year if you’re lucky, and then it starts to die down. I suppose I should say that I am luckier than most people then, granted that it took so long for us to get to this place. We had a good run… But that makes is sound like we would be heading for a divorce, which is far from the truth.

It’s not… bad… our relationship. It’s just more like a partnership. A business deal. And I could certainly do a lot worse, which argues against divorce.

Plus… I still love him.

And I hope… I hope that he still loves me. He says that he does, but the lack of touch, more than the generic hand on the shoulder in passing, speaks a different tale.

I hope that he loves me… and I hope that he still wants me.

There’s a thought that occurs to me, a very distasteful thought that makes me nauseous for a passing second.

But I know that he’s not the kind of a man to cheat on his wife. He’s not the type of a person to go behind one’s back and seek comfort in the arms of another.

I still love, and trust, my husband.

He’s simply a busy man, that’s all. And he is busy. There is a lot on his shoulders. I want to trust that, that’s all there is to it. I want to believe that he’s just tired… But there is not even a gaze to my direction anymore. Before, his busy schedule didn’t stop us. Though a long, sweaty night, or just a few hours of passionate, romantic love making was preferrable, a quicky was never out of the question.

And I swear, all the times I went down on him in his office, behind his desk, despite him feeling conflicted about doing such a thing in his office, he loved it. The way he smile, and the glimmer in his eyes told me that he drank it up like a starving man.

Besides, he never seemed all that … un-eager to do so. If anything, he seemed more concerned about my integrity than anything else. But we were married, and me going down on my husband was far from a scandalous thing. Though the rumours, and the noble circles might blow it out of proportions for some time, who cares? They can blow it out, and I can simply blow my husband.

Come to think of it…. How long has it been since the last time I went down on him?

How long ago was it that I last… satisfied myself?

It doesn’t feel right doing so in our bed, when he’s in deep slumber right there. And he could walk in on me in the shower, though I suppose that’s just wishful thinking.

I no longer know. All I do know is that it’s been long… far too long… And I have to wonder if he really does want me anymore… Because… though I’m only a few years younger than he is, maybe my body has changed away from his liking. Maybe I’m not… firm enough, perky enough, thin enough… Though I don’t think I have changed all that much since we met.

I… think…?

I don’t think I have changed that much. But maybe that’s just him losing his rose coloured glasses.

Maybe…

I sight to myself again as the loneliness I feel wraps around me as if a blanket, but that blanket just makes the warmth between my legs intensify and a knot form into my lower stomach which is trying to grasp onto something that isn’t there.

The door opens and closes behind me, and I hear another heavy sigh.

“My love? You didn’t need to stay up and wait for me,” his tone is warm and caring, but it is also tired.

I can’t blame him for it. I can’t blame him for being tired.

“I know….” I tell him as I walk away from the window and closer to him with my arms wrapped around myself, pressing the silken fabric of my nightgown against my skin even tighter. “And I know that you’re tired, but… there’s… something I want to talk to you about,” I admit, because this has gone for long enough. And there seems to be no end in sight to his schedule, so this night is as good as any.

“What is it?” He asks, and the question is fair. It’s frank, on point, and it is fair.

“I’ve… been… I’ve been wondering if…” I glance at the ceiling, because though this is hard, it’s a lot harder than I think. Because I don’t want to admit that I feel neglected. I don’t want to admit that I feel a yearning for him, even if I do. Though some time back I wouldn’t have as much as blinked about telling him that I want him.

Because I did. I do… I do want him.

“Yes?” His eyes are full of worry. There is a small frown on his face as he stands there, so close to me.

I can feel his warmth radiating through the air, and I can smell the faint scent of his lavender hair oil.

By gods how I miss that scent… I miss busying my nose into those auburn locks as his hands run over my body and I… miss him moving over mine, under mine… in mine…

I miss… him. All of him…

“Tell me, what’s wrong,” he implores again, this time with a tone that is both concerned and unwavering. He wants to know. He wants to know, because he cares. I know as much.

But it doesn’t make it any easier. However, regardless of whether it’s easy or not, I need to tell him. This is something that just needs to be discussed.

“I…” I utter while looking to the side. “I know that you’ve been busy lately, but I’ve…” I trail off again, because though that’s true, it’s only loosely connected to what I want to say.

So, I take a deep breath, and swallow, before whispering: “Do you… still… want me…?”

He takes a moment. But the moment, which must be no longer than a few seconds, feels much, much longer. It feels like an hour, a day, one fifth of an eternity.

“Do I still… want you?”

There is amusement in his tone. It is disbelieving amusement. It sounds like the question is absurd to him. Much more than to me.

“My love… Every night that you’re not next to me, I ache for you. Every day I long for you. And… I know that I’ve been tied to my job far too much as of late, it’s every day that I find myself craving for you.”

He takes a step closer to me. The warmth radiating through the air grows stronger, and I can hear his breathing growing lower, heavier… louder.

His hands take a hold of me…

“I crave… for you…” he whispers like sin, like the words that drip from his lips would be sweet like honey, decadent and filled with lust that he is feeling, just as me.

I turn to look at him, and I press closer to him, but that’s the last thing I realize before finding myself on our bed.

His frame, which is much broader than mine, is over me. His eyes, in the dim light of the bedroom, seem dark, like velvet, but the spark cast by the light of his flames, makes him seem hungry. It tastes like passion, feels like lust, and sounds decadent, like sin itself.

But I don’t mind the sin, not if it’s him.

I don’t mind the way he rips off my nightgown with an apology.

“I’ll buy you a new one…” he half whispers, half growls.

But I don’t mind.

I most certainly don’t mind.

I don’t mind as he pressed his head between my legs, and licksssss…

But it’s just a tiny, little kitten lick with the tip of his tongue.

I can still feel his breath gliding over me, over my clit, over my folds and his right there! But all he does is make the little lick that doesn’t satiate my hunger.

“Please…” I utter, but that’s when I realize that he’s just admiring me, because…

“You look gorgeous from every angle,” he tells me before pressing his mouth against my lower set of lips.

And he is hungry.

His tongue dances around, dips inside of and swirls around as my walls try to hold onto him. I try and I try as I clench the sheets in my fists. It’s been so long, and it feels so good… The way his tongue moves in and out and around in me…

And I want him in!

“Please!” I cry out to him and all he does is press his face harder against my folds as his fingers press harder against the tender flesh of my ass.

He hums, sending vibrations through me, and that’s when my toes curl and I see stars.

But that’s not enough for him.

I can feel his tongue licking around everything that flowed out of me with my orgasm, as he’s casing another high of mine.

His nose is pressed against my clit, and occasionally he flicks it with his tongue. And every time he does, I can’t help but mewl at him. Be-cause! Because… I need him, I want him, inside of me!

And his tongue isn’t enough. It is just not enough!

“Honey! I want-,” I manage through my pants, and I’m sure he can hear the desperation as my legs tremble. As they shake under him.

He lifts his head, and my hips jerk up, as if they’d crave for the touch as much as I do, and my legs open wider for him. Which makes his eyes glance down to my trembling, wet core, and then to my eyes as a smirk, a proud, grinning smirk frames those purple eyes that look like lust and velvet.

“I can’t… take this teasing anymore,” I tell him as my body is already on edge from the stimulation.

“Well…” he utters, looking pleased, and a bit smug, I have to admit. But then again he has every right to look as smug as he does, because he just make me cum for the 4th time tonight. “If you so wish,” he continues as he climbs on top of me and takes off his pants.

His cock is hard. It’s pointing upwards and the tip is oozing with precum.

It is twitching.

And it takes everything in my not to crawl down, shift down under him, against the sheets, and engulf that cock into my mouth.

He has never, properly, fucked my face, and he probably wouldn’t because he prefers me to be able to breathe. But if I did, that’d probably be the closest we’d get to it.

It might be, but I don’t have time to think about it more, as his cock is already sliding over my wet slit effortlessly, teasing my sensitive bundle.

I moan, and I gasp, but not in the way I would if he had inserted it.

He’s teasing me more, and as much as I love it, I hate it. Because this isn’t-, it’s not what I-

I don’t use crude vocabulary in bed. I don’t curse. And I’m bad at dirty talk, but…

“Fuck me,” I tell him.

His eyes open wider. He seems surprised by my words. But the surprise is quickly overtaken by more amusement.

“Breed me!” I tell him.

And he chuckles. He chuckles, but there is devilish intent in those eyes that stare down at me.

“You wish my seed to paint your insides that badly?” He asks with a smirk, and he has every right to smirk.

“Yes.”

And then he pushes in. With one. Swift. Motion.

My back arches, and I see stars again as I cum.

And through the white noise, through the sound of blood rushing in my ears, I hear him chuckle with a pleased sound. He is pleased. Because the way he has stimulated my body to this point, made it possible for me to cum with just him inserting himself inside of me.

“I’m going to cum inside of you,” he tells me, and I love that he tells me, that he whispers it against my ear with that low, sultry voice of his. “And then I’m going to…” he pauses, to choose the words, but instead of what I might expect, he chooses the words, the crude words that I chose a moment before. “I am going to… fuck you, with my sperm still inside of you.”

And by the gods, this man, this man who is my husband, who has talked so eagerly about starting a family with me, is driving me to oblivion in the best possible way.

He pushes in, and out, and in and out and I… loose track of how many times I cum. But when he pushes down once, and hard, and warmth spreads within me, the corners of my lips tug up because I know that he came.

He came and he’s still in me, plugging me up so that all of his seed stays inside of me.

“And now, my love…” he murmurs against my ear as his hand settles onto my cheek.

He lowers down, and pressed a kiss onto my lips. One, hard, passionate kiss…

And then his hand trails down to my neck… his big, broad hand that could wrap around my neck effortlessly… It trails down, and down, and down, until he scoops my legs and he presses me into a breeding press.

“I’m going to rid any loneliness from you,” he promises as his hips pump up. And. Down.

His hips slap against mine, as he pins me down. And his cock reaches all the way to my cervix. It’s like he wants to give it a French kiss.

And he can. He can. He can, he can, he can…

My walls clench around him, and I can feel my fluids mixing together with his between our legs. The damp, sticky feel that I don’t mind.

I don’t mind.

I don’t think to mind.

Because I’m focused on every groove, every vein of his cock as he slams in, and out, and back in me again. The way my body clenches around him, trying to keep a hold of him. Desperately tries to embrace him as he slides out, and then back to me again.

Drool drips from the side of my face as my eyes roll back, and all I can think is the building ecstasy in me.

His breathing rings next to my ear, and it’s growing unsteady. And still…

“I love you…” he murmurs, nearly growls as he slams his hips against mine for one… last, time, pressing himself against my cervix.

My toes curl, and my fingers press against the skin of his back so hard as I scream out his name while coming undone under him.

I can feel my body twitching from the pure bliss. Trying to clasp onto him again. But I’m also growing relaxed as I’m coming around from the orgasm.

He pulls out and lays down next to me as his fingers trail over my skin with a feather light touch. His eyes are on me, looking around, trying to spot any signs of discomfort while simultaneously admiring me.

I turn to my side while catching my breath, and snuggle close to him, against his chest.

“Are you alright, my love?” He asks as his fingers draw circles onto my back; his words cascading onto me like a dawn, like silk and every good thing in the world.

“Yes,” I tell him, while still trying to gasp for air, but there is a smile on my face.

He leans down to place a kiss onto my head before laying down properly next to me, head on the pillow. His eyes are still looking over me, but now the gaze is filled with almost only admiration, no searching for signs of discomfort. Because there aren’t any.

Only those of fulfilment.

He still loves me, and wants me. Just as I still love and want him.

And even when I close my eyes, I can still feel him lying there, his hand carefully tracing over my skin. He’s so close, so very close that I can almost feel his heart beating for me through the air.

But the thing is, I know that it’s there without feeling it. I had simply forgotten it. I had forgotten how he, how this stern, loyal, loving and caring man is when he is in love.

Now I remember, and I never intend to forget again.