#like severe at this rate lmfao

[weaponsdrawn]

do you think theres anything to actually look forward to anymore /genq

[swan-orpheus]

What I said about The Incident or the Conversation: I'm fine. It's nothing.

Me days later listening to the same song on repeat:

[marsixm]

i understand why people imply you cant be “real friends” with someone until you hang outside work but both myself and the person i get along with most at work essentially only 1. go to work 2. run personal errands and 3. spend time with (essentially) immediate family 99% of the time and are tired constantly. i’m extremely aware i have so much shit id like to be doing besides hanging out, and i’m aware the other person has zero time for anyone but his wife and kids. like i’m just setting myself up for disappointment constantly due to a metric i didn’t even set

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one in a million when i watch smthing in the horror genre and don't end up disappointed to/and/or pissed off about it so like "also yeah i liked it. ooo" is like relative to that an off the charts rave review of media of the millennium. also i did think about mh a lot along the way so would recommend its affect/effect if you like mh's horror too

[redrockbutch]

Lately I've been thinking abt how I never got my pandemic stimulus because I was constantly in fight/flight/freeze and/or seconds away from a panic attack or meltdown etc and everyone around me refused to believe me when I talked about how I was utterly incapable of doing things on my own (and then were surprised when I couldn't do things on my own) and while I'm mad at that and wish I had that cushion of savings, I don't think there's any world in which having it would have helped. Not w the situation I was living in. There's no way I would've been able to keep any of it, and then I'd just have more abuse to feel guilty about not somehow magically stopping.

[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. 

[fawnsflowerbed]

A/N: MY FIRST COMMISSION AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FLOPS ON THE FLOOR AND ROLLS BACK AND FORTH!!!!!!!

This was a request from my lovely sunshine anon, following the shenanigans of Vendetta Leon with his hybrid puppy girl!!! Please enjoy <3

Warnings/content: 2nd person (you/yours), fem pup hybrid reader, Vendetta Leon is referred to as daddy! Some mention of strict leon but he can’t stay mad at u, lots and lots of fluff!!! Headcanons!!!

Word count: 2,250 approx.

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What does he do when she has zoomies at night like the lights are all off and he's in bed and she won't stop running around LMFAO

Zoomies in the Kennedy household are either a joy or a NIGHTMARE. It truly depends on how Leon’s feeling.

Often he finds it adorable. After a long day of work, climbing into bed after shutting the house down for the night, he hears a THUD followed by several thump thump thump thumps of you rushing off from wherever you were sleeping, most likely your bed in your playpen, but sometimes right in front of the fireplace in winter is too tempting. Your feet - or rather paws, as he jokingly calls them to see you puff, huff, and giggle at him - scurrying around the house, sliding across wooden floorboards, following the headlights of passing cars when the beams rush across the walls through the windows. Running back and forth between the rooms to squish your face up against the glass at squirrels or birds, whining quietly because you know you have to be a good girl and stay quiet but that crow is staring you down and you WANT to bark at it! A yip or two might, just might, slip past your lips. He can’t help but roll his eyes with a tired smile on his face, listening to you try so very hard to not disturb his slumber.

Soon enough you hear a short, brief whistle, ears perked up at the sound. It makes your feet pad from side to side, whimpering at the concept of him being awake - both out of worry and excitement. You’re quick to zoom your way over to his room, peeking your head over the edge of the bed with a quick wagging tail.

Leon’s voice is warm and rasped as he ruffles your hair, a gravelly chuckle rumbling from his throat. “Got some leftover energy there, sweetheart?” You nuzzle right up into the touch, loving the affection as always. “Gonna need to buy melatonin at this rate, pup. Either for you or for me.”

On the off days where he’s tired or grumpy you get a bit of a glare, but he just can’t stay stern with you no matter how hard work has been on him. He spoils you, he knows he does. But how could he be strict on you when you stare at him so apologetically with those big puppy dog eyes? Doing little paces back and forth around his bed to work off the extra zoom in your bones, he sighs and pats the bed for you to curl up next to him with a happily tapping tail thump thump thumping against the bedsheets.

What would he do if she played too rough with him and bit or clawed too hard? (She'd feel bad ofc)

Wuh oh! Tug-of-war and fetch are two high things on Leon’s more favoured games to play with you. He gets a bit of a workout, whilst making sure you get plenty of exercise so you’re nice and tuckered out for bed. Plus listening to you growl and giggle, shaking your head back and forth excitedly. You just love him, you love spending time with him, yapping happily and sprinting after the ball to plop at his feet with a big grin. Throw it again, Leon. Throw it again, and again, and again for the next 20 minutes, Leon.

 But you’re still a puppy hybrid after all! So sometimes you get too ahead of yourself, and you grab at his hand too hard with your canines when he’s trying to take the ball off of you to throw it, or you reach out your hands and scratch a bit too roughly at his forearms to get an advantage in tug-of-war. 

He’s always quick to pull away with a hiss or a quick sound of pain, giving his hand a shake out, rubbing over the scratched skin. He reacts fast so you have time to realise what’s happened, just to be sure no other injuries occur. And it’s like a switch flicks in your little dog brain. Immediately you’re climbing between his legs with big sad eyes, whining and whimpering out apologies and pawing gently at him, your ears pressed to your hair sadly. You hurt him! Oh no, no, no. That wasn’t supposed to happen, you were playing!

Usually it’s not too bad, nothing a bandaid and a good clean won’t fix. Often it works as a good reminder for him to cut your nails or give you a few extra bones and toys to gnaw on, but that broken look on your face makes his heart hurt every time. Especially if you start crying over it if it’s pretty bad. After ensuring it’s not the end of the world he’s always running his hand over your floppy ears, shushing you as you hiccup out sorry over and over. He knows you don’t mean to hurt him, you’re a good girl.

“No no no, hey,  it’s alright darlin’, no tears. Just means you got strong teeth, that’s a good thing. Means you’re taking care of them. Let’s save it for the ball next time though, ‘kay? Teeth don’t belong in daddy.”

“You’re still my good girl, puppy. Just go easy on me, daddy’s not exactly getting any younger here.”

How would he go about things if she was more quiet than normal/sad?

That would be odd for him. He’s gotten so used to you being this bright, bubbly thing full of life and laughter. Pawing at the door and yapping happily at him coming back home, spinning in little circles with a whipping fluffy tail. Back when he first got you it threw him off guard, how smiley you were, but he grew to love it dearly.

But today you’re… off. You look up at him from where you’re flopped on the couch, tail tapping softly, as you give him a small smile. And he has to admit, it aches a little. Watching you pace the house rather than sprint around it, how you stare at your food rather than truly digging in and chowing down, embracing your dog-hybrid side. It’s especially clear with how much you sleep. Napping around the house wherever you can, your posture a mess, eyes droopy with bags under them. That’s when he realises something’s up.

He tries to initiate from time to time, rolling a ball in your direction. “You wanna play ball, baby? Wanna fetch?” Nothing. Won’t even run at the sound of the treat bag shaking.

It’s like a sledgehammer to the heart seeing you dejected. No night zoomies, you rarely join him for cuddles in bed, gnaw sluggishly on your chew-toys and you simply stare out the window with slumped ears. He just can’t keep going with it. It’s too different. 

“Here puppy, c’mon.” It’s a brief call from the living room, and he listens out for the sound of your collar jingling with each slow step. He can already see the way you’ve forced the corners of your mouth up into a plastered smile. But your eyes, those puppy-dog eyes, are glossier than usual. And he frowns.

“What’s going on, huh? What’s wrong, sweet thing?”

He knows the nicknames get you good. And soon enough you’re climbing up into his lap with a low hanging tail tucked between your legs. He can’t help but chuckle softly, oh how quickly you cave. You’re a cuddly thing after all, snuggles are your weakness. “There’s my clingy girl, there we go. There she is.” He’s pushing the hair out of your face, a quiet sigh passing from his dry lips. “Talk to me, sweetpea. C’mon, tell daddy. I wanna listen, wanna know what’s wrong with my girl.”

And it’s true, he does. 

What if he's trying to work from home/read some files but she keeps bugging him for attention/affection or to play?? :3

Working from home was supposed to be easier for him since getting a puppy hybrid. And sometimes it is. You lay by his chair in his at-home office, one large calloused hand running over your silky ears, your soft snores or the light tap of your tail making the perfect white noise for him to get paperwork done. 

But, once again, you’re still a puppy. So sometimes he hears you wander your way in to sit by him on the floor with a thump. And then come the eyes having a little look-see at the papers he has spread out, a small mumble of “Whatcha doin?” passing your lips. 

That’s how he knows you want something.

It only evolves from there. Pushing his reading glasses up onto his head to ruffle your hair. “Workin, pumpkin. The usual. Go on now.”

You do not in fact ‘go on now’. He thinks you do, assumes you do, by the sound of your feet trotting out of the room. Likely to find something else to do.

Wrong.

He feels you nose at his elbow, soft yet demanding in your own sweet way, and he arches a brow at you. There you are, again, sitting at his feet with a ball in your mouth. In your lovely puppy brain you associate Leon’s work with his stress. And stress is bad for your Leon. But playing always makes you feel better, so it must be play time! And at the thought of playtime, now you have to play or your tail will wag so fast it flies from your jittery body.

“Play?”

He scoffs just a little. “No, not play, darlin’. Work.” Of course he humours you, takes the ball and turns to toss it down the hallway. Soon enough you're dashing after it happily, very convinced your plan is working. And so you come back to him with the ball in mouth, dropping it at his feet. Only this time he gives a short shake of his head.

“No, puppy. It’s not play time. It’s work time.”

“But I don’t like work.” You whimper meekly up at him. It’s true. Work takes him away from you for hours so you have to wait by the windows for hours. 

“I know baby, but daddy has to work so he can get you all the stuffed animals and treats you want.”

“But I don’t want those, I want daddy.”

Owch, that hurts a little, he won’t lie. Why do you have to be so damn sweet? You’re giving him a cavity by just being next to him. So he caves. He always caves. He’ll get the work done once you’ve had half an hour of running around and you conk out cold on the couch. 

“How about this, hm? This is called a.. Wait fuck what’s it called- a compromise. Yeah, a compromise. Don’t repeat that f word, though. No- no stop giggling and listen, silly girl.” Two hands gently clasp your own, shaking them gently to keep your attention as you laugh your sweet laugh. And yes, he can’t help but smile too.

“I’ll give you all the play you want if I get half an hour’s worth of work in, okay? Every ten minutes if you’re extra good I’ll throw in a few rounds of fetch.”

That’s a done deal for you.

A few of my other headcanons are that puppy reader is HORRIFIED of the vet.

It either goes two ways, in which Leon has to stand there holding your hand as you shake like a leaf the entire time. Picking you up like a baby since you go rigid once you realise this is in fact NOT the park!!! You have been LIED TO!!!! DECEIT!!!!!! Staring him down with big pathetic eyes at his act of treacherous betrayal. “I know, I know, but you need your shots.”

You don’t bite, you don’t growl or bark, you just stare wide eyed at the wall like you’ve seen a ghost. Whimpering during the whole appointment, he usually has to grab your chin several times so you’ll actually look at him rather than the posters on hybrid health that might freak you out even more. And if they even try to give you a vaccination you’re clambering up his body as if he’s some sort of chiselled, stubbled tree in a leather jacket. And yeah, every time he can’t help but laugh.

“Oh come on, sunshine. It’s just a prick, you’ll be alright. You’re my brave girl, aren’tcha? You my brave girl, yeah? Yes you are, you’re my sweet girl, my brave baby.” He pries and coos so the veterinary nurse can jab you, plaster a hello kitty bandaid over the spot, and hand you a treat. Thank GOD that’s over.

In other cases you have a regular checkup with female vets who coo and coddle over how pretty you are, your tail whipping happily between your giggles. Usually Leon just leans against the wall and watches as the nurse takes your jaw and tells you to say ‘ah’, with the ladies gasping out a ‘Oh look at those clean pearly teeth!’ so you wiggle around. Yeah, those times you like the vets. 

Squirrels are your arch nemesis. Especially since Leon won’t let you take the time to learn how to climb a tree. Let’s face it, seeing his puppy girl halfway up an oak trying to catch a chipmunk would give that poor man a heart attack.

You’re an end of the bed sleeper when he first gets you warm to him, and then he can’t get you out of his bed. Not even in a like, innuendo way, he just comes home in winter to you curled up under his covers waiting for him to get home. You're a huge cuddler, a giant snuggle bug. Yes, you do two or three little circles before lying down.

Every yawn is accompanied by a deep coo of “Aw, sleepy girl.” from Leon, and every stretch given a “Oo, big stretch.” Yeah, he’s that kind of puppy owner.

And he loves you to absolute bits!!! He never thought a puppy was exactly what he needed in his life <3

[analogwriting]

Star-Crossed

Prologue: Zemra

Corazon x gn!reader word count: 3.2k a/n: I'M BACK BITCHES. here's the mafia au i've been dying to do. hopefully y'all like it lmfao. also, i think i'm just going to keep text normal size this time around.

“You can’t keep running forever, y/n.” A voice rang through the empty warehouse, making you grimace.

You were currently crouched behind a crate, holding your arm with one hand; gun in the other. A bullet went clean through your arm. It stung like hell, but you didn’t exactly have time to stitch it up right now. Quickly, you ripped off your sleeve, tying it around your bicep to at least try to slow down the bleeding. You were lightheaded, but you couldn’t let yourself pass out. 

You’d already taken down two guys. How many were left? You weren’t sure. There was only one voice but the other’s could be keeping quiet for all you knew. Your eyes closed and you took a deep breath to calm yourself down so you could listen. One set of footsteps. One person breathing. Good. Just one left. Now…where was he?

Bingo.

You took a deep breath, opening your eyes. “You’ll bleed out at this rate. Just give in.” Man, did this guy ever shut up? His voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you. You moved, twisting out from behind the crate and aiming your gun. “If I’m going down, I’m not going down alone,” you said, firing your gun and landing a shot right in between his eyes. At least if you did end up bleeding out, so would three of their men.

The man dropped and you let out a long sigh that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. You leaned against the crate, closing your eyes. How the hell did you get in this situation again? Right. Your father sent you here to try and negotiate with the Donquixote family. Turns out it was just an ambush and three men had jumped you. They were pretty low level men, but an ambush nonetheless. You were almost slightly offended they’d send such weak people, but you were also glad. You tried to tell your father it was a dumb idea, but he didn’t listen.

Fuck, you didn’t even want to be here. You didn’t want to fucking do this anymore. You just wanted to focus on your studies and become a doctor. You were tired of death and destruction. You wanted to help people. You hated every bit of this, but your father was the head of your family and you didn’t want to disappoint him. You felt like you had no choice. He never said anything like that, it was just something you told yourself. You loved your father and just wanted to make him proud.

You’d thought about leaving several times before. Something told you that your father would probably let you. He wasn’t an awful man and he knew this life wasn’t for everyone, however you were his only heir. A fortune you didn’t fucking want, but you felt like you had to do it.

You closed your eyes once more, taking a deep breath before heading out of the warehouse. You needed to head back. This was a bust and your father was going to be pissed. After all, his only child was injured because of his own decision. He truly held too much trust in people - even if they were his rivals.

The Donquixote family was your father’s number one rival as he was theirs. There were other mafia families around, yes, but your two families were the strongest and most influential. As well as had the most territory. It was only natural for you to rival one another. You also didn’t typically go on runs like this. Since you were your father’s child, you were usually well protected and out of harm’s way to ensure the safety of an heir or whatever the fuck have you. Your father was trying to get rid of the bad blood and reach some kind of truce. He was never one to really be involved in turf wars. He just wanted to be left alone to do his thing but the Donquixote family made that difficult. 

You were his olive branch and they had tried to metaphorically snap you in two. Physically? They just tried to riddle you with bullets. You weren’t doing this shit again though. This was the one and only time. Your father wouldn’t put you in a situation like that again, not that you’d ever agree either.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you headed out of the warehouse and down an alley. You were worse for wear - you just needed to make it to your own hideout, then you could take care of yourself. Everything would be fine.

Just as you were turning a corner, you ran smack dab into someone, sending them toppling backwards. You stumbled as they crashed to the ground. “Oh shit, I’m sorry I-” You froze as you looked at who was before you, eyes widening.

Donquixote Rosinante. 

You pulled out your gun, pointing it at him and backing away from him. Your arm was long forgotten at this point as your adrenaline picked back up. What the hell was he doing here? The last you heard, he was missing. How was he here? Were those rumors a lie? Was your information false? So many questions swam through your mind as your anxiety rose. Was he part of the ambush?

He finally gathers himself, locking eyes with you as he sees you; moreso the gun you were pointing at him. You’re glad that you were wearing a face covering that masked half your face. There was no way he could be able to tell who you were. 

He doesn’t look scared that you’re pointing a gun at him as expected of someone in a family like yours, but he slowly lifts his hands in surrender. “I don’t know who you are, but I don’t want to fight.” He spoke slowly, watching you like a hawk. His eyes glanced to the injury on your arm.

You narrowed your eyes at him, grimacing. “And how do I know that? How do I know you weren’t about to ambush me like your buddies did?” 

Confusion consumed his features as he looked back at your eyes.. “Ambush? Buddies? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me. Why the hell else would you be lurking around in an alley?”

He looked at you for a long moment, but still didn’t try to make any sudden movements. “Well, it seems you know who I am, so I suppose you also know that I’ve been missing? I’m in hiding. I don’t want any trouble.” 

“How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be on the ground before you if this was planned would I?”

You opened your mouth to respond when a small voice spoke out. “C-Corazon? Is it safe to come out now?” You went rigid as you heard a child’s voice. Panic rose in Rosinante’s eyes as the voice rang through the alleyway. He looked at you, silently pleading. Is this why he had went missing? He had a kid? Well, if he had the kid, he’d probably call him ‘dad’ not ‘Corazon.’ What was going on? 

Immediately, you uncocked your gun and hid it away. You weren’t about to let a child witness any kind of violence. The man before you looked surprised by your actions, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t uncommon for some families to indoctrinate children at a young age to be a part of the ‘family business’. You were a prime example of that. For as long as you can remember, you were taught the ways of the family. That didn’t mean you thought it was right.

“N-Not quite, kiddo. Just wait a bit longer, I’m still checking.” Not once did he take his eyes off of you, wary of your presence; even without the gun. You didn’t blame him, you weren’t exactly on the same side and you had just pointed a gun at him. As far as he knew, you were enemies and you could pounce at any moment.

“I’m surprised you’re not trying to hold the kid against me,” he said to you tartly. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, scoffing. “I’m not a monster. Kids don’t need to see the ugly side of things.” Your voice softened slightly without really realizing it. Rosinante’s face seemed to mirror yours as it softened as well. 

“At least we agree on something.”

You stuck out your hand and he flinched, making you roll your eyes.“I’m trying to help you, moron.”

“Why?”

“Cause you’re no longer in this life, why would I hold your past against you? At least one of us got out.”

Rosinante looked at you for a long moment before tentatively reaching out, taking your hand. You helped him up, the man quickly towering over you. Fuck, you heard that some of them were fucking tall, but it was different being next to someone of such stature. He looked like he wanted to ask you something before the two of you were interrupted.

Coughing rang through the alleyway causing the man before you to go into a small panic as he took off. ���Kid! I told you to stay inside!”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Is he sick?” you asked, following the other.

“What does it matter to you?”

“I can help. I’m a doctor,” you said with resolve in your voice.. Well, you were technically still in school, but you were his best bet in this situation. You weren’t about to let a small child die on your watch. He stopped, looking at you for a long moment. The coughing started up again along with the child weakly calling his name causing him to run over at a faster pace. 

You felt your body move before you could process what was going on. Rosinante went down but you caught him right before he smacked his face on the pavement. “Careful. You can’t help him if you’re down for the count,” you lightly scolded. He just looked at you, shocked that you caught him. You helped him up once more and he stopped in front of one of the alleyway entrances.

You gasped at the sight. The child looked so small and frail - it was clear that he was very sick. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was older than he looked. “What are his symptoms?” Rosinante quickly knelt down, catching the small boy as he fell from his coughing fit. You saw the bright red contrasting with his pale lips.

“We need to get him to the hospital. We can go to the one I work at I-”

“No, no hospitals. No one can figure it out anyway. I’ve taken him to every doctor in the region. I also don’t want anyone looking into us too much.” A deep frown set on the man’s features and you shook your head.

“You didn’t bring him to me.” You looked at him with determination in your eyes. “I will find out what’s wrong with him and I will help him.” Rosinante blinked as he looked at you. “Why?”

You shook your head. “I’m not going to let an innocent child die. It’s against my whole oath as a doctor.” The child coughed again, whining softly in pain. He looked from the child in his arms back to you before nodding. “Please help him.” The desperation in his voice hurt your heart, but you nodded back. “Let’s go.”

--

Once at the hospital, you were able to immediately check them into a room. The hospital you were currently at wasn’t the busiest hospital and it was currently slower hours anyway. Not to mention it also wasn’t flu season, so you didn’t have to worry about that either. It was a run down close to a shack kind of place.

It also helped that you were somewhat of a star pupil - you could do just about anything you wanted and no one would bat an eye. 

After settling down in a room, you looked at Rosinante. “I’m going to need to run several tests. I’m going to have you wait in the waiting room.” Panic rose in his eyes and he was about to protest when you held up your hand. “If I wanted to kill him or use him against you, I would’ve done it already. I would never hurt a child, know that if nothing else about me. Also, I don’t need a hovering parent. It drives me fucking insane.” You rolled your eyes at the last part. Nothing annoyed you more than helicopter parents. You were the doctor, not them.

He seemed to mull over your words before finally resigning. 

Now you could do what you needed.

--

You gathered all the samples you needed and began to run tests. While you waited for results, you let Rosinante back into the room to sit with the patient. You never asked his name, planning on erasing all evidence that they were here to begin with. You didn’t need anyone coming around and snooping. The cameras around here were broken anyway; that worked in your favor.

As the results slowly came back, trying to figure out what was wrong with the child accompanying Rosinante was like an impossible puzzle. He would have symptoms of some things and when you thought you had your answer, another test result would prove you wrong. You were pouring over different case studies of less known illnesses. It was something you did in your pastime anyway. 

Then you finally connected enough dots for a diagnosis. One result you had in reminded you of a case you had read not too long ago. It was a specific disease that attacked small children and could be deadly if not caught in time. There were only about a dozen or so cases pertaining to it too. You could only hope that it wasn’t too late.

“Can I talk to you in the hallway?” You looked at the tall man who hadn’t really left the small child’s side. He looked between you and him before nodding. He joined you in the hallway.

“I have some news.” 

The blond’s face fell. “You couldn’t figure it out, could you?” He sighed. “It’s fine. I expected as such-”

“Pessimistic much?” You let out a small laugh and he looked at you, startled. He didn’t even let you so much as say a word before he started talking hopelessly. Though, you didn’t blame him. If he went so many places and they couldn’t figure it out, how could he have hope?

“Does that mean?” His eyes widened, hope shining through. You smiled at him, nodding. “I pulled two all nighters, but I figured it out.”

He scooped you up in his arms and spun you around. Your face immediately heated, starting to feel dizzy. “Oh this is wonderful! Thank you so much!” 

“O-Okay, please put me down!” You felt sick being spun in circles like that. “Oh right. I apologize.” He set you down, beaming at you. “I can’t believe it. I had lost all hope. We traveled to all kinds of hospitals near and far. No one could figure it out. How did you do it?”

You shrugged. “My specialty is knowing too much about cases that have small numbers. You never know when you might need to know it.” You looked at him. “Seems my weird hobby came in handy, huh? Now, let’s talk treatment plan.”

--

Back in the room, you started administering the right, and very specific, medications, a certain diet while he was on said medication, and having Rosinante do certain exercises with him as well. Though, the tall man was clumsier than anyone you had ever met in your life. You ended up having to make sure you moved them to the small gym whenever they did the exercises because he kept running into everything. Sure, this hospital might have been run down, but you weren’t about to let him make it even worse.

It wasn’t long before there was improvement in his behavior. Color was returning to his face, he was coughing less and less, he seemed to have more of an appetite. And before you knew it, he was just fine. 

You never once asked for the child’s name in the month you worked with them, knowing Rosinante wanted to keep this all under wraps. He wanted to be able to get out of here cleanly and you didn’t blame him.

Today, you were looking over his charts in the desolate hallway and the man peeked his head out of the room. You looked up at him, blinking. “Can I help you?” He slipped out, closing the door. “I just…want to thank you again.” 

“You really don’t have to-”

“But I want to. You’ve done nothing but help me despite how we met. You’ve done so much for us without asking for anything in return. Even going as far as letting us get out of here without a trace.” 

“You’re out of that messy lifestyle and I’m determined to help you with that. If I can’t get out, at least someone else can.” You made a face, shaking your head. If you couldn’t get out of this, you wanted to make sure someone else did. A small idea sparked in the back of your brain, but Rosinante quickly drew your attention from it.

“Before we go, am I allowed to know the name of our savior?” 

The entire time you were working with him this past month, you never once gave him your name. You also kept your face hidden behind a facemask and hair in a bonnet. You just didn’t want to risk it. Your colleagues also steered clear as you pretty much threatened them all. You told them not to answer any questions about you either. At least no personal information. You didn’t want him to know who you were, not that you were even sure he would if you showed yourself. 

Though, if he knew your name, he’d definitely know who you were. 

“I think it’s best if you didn’t.” You shook your head. “It’s easier that way.”

“Fair enough.” He let out a long sigh, looking through the window and to the boy who was currently sleeping on the bed. 

“You’re good to leave as soon as he wakes up if you want. We’re done with his treatment and he seems to be stable.” You paused. “I have one request.”

Rosinante nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

You shot him a look that read that you weren’t messing around. “Keep him out of that lifestyle.”

He blinked at your words before nodding. He smiled. “Of course. That’s the plan.”

You smiled through your mask, nodding back. “Good.”

He looked at you for a long moment before looking at your arm. “How’s it healing?” he asked.

You blinked, looking from him to your arm. You shrugged. “As good as a bullet wound can be, I guess.”

“Was that from the ambush you mentioned when we first met?” You nodded with a sigh.

“Who was it with? My family I assume? Why?”

You just looked at him, shaking your head. That was too much information still. He pursed his lips together, nodding. “Gotcha. Well, I’m glad you’re better. Thank you again for everything you’ve done for the both of us. I mean it.”

With that, he headed back inside.

[brehaaorgana]

America is a wonderful place where if you go to urgent care and feel faint because you need stitches in an open wound they call 911 without asking or telling you and then the EMTs:

Check your pulse

Check your blood pressure

ask how you're feeling

Ask if you want a ride to ER because urgent care is insistent you need it

And you say no, this is absurd, I just feel bad because I tripped over uneven sidewalk on my way to get a real meal for the day and my chin is bleeding and urgent care hasn't done anything about that, so I do not want an ambulance ride that costs $900 and don't think I need it.

....they say "ok, cool," and THEN YOU GET SENT A BILL FOR $84.17 FOR AN AMBULANCE YOU DIDN'T CALL AND ASSESSMENT QUESTIONS YOU WERE ALREADY ASKED, ALONG WITH BASIC VITALS ALREADY TAKEN BY URGENT CARE MULTIPLE TIMES.

Damn I didn't know I had the OPTION to refuse them checking my heart rate and ask if I went unconscious after I fell (again). My head hurt so I didn't even stop to think about whether or not I would be charged for continuing to recline in the exam chair and letting them squeeze my arm for the third time in a row.

Didn't know I would get a bill for signing a form saying "no thank you I do not need ambulance ride."

Haven't even GOTTEN the e.r. bill yet lmfao. Because urgent care doctor refused to treat me, called 911 and kept trying to insist I take the ambulance.

And I was like "hell no. My neighbor/cafe owner is gonna pick me up, I need to get my house keys, eat more food (since y'all didn't even have JUICE FOR LOW BLOOD SUGAR!!!), and then hes going to drive me to the proably less than HALF A MILE FROM MY HOUSE TO THE HOSPITAL."

I'll be extremely upcharged for the ONE WHOLE STITCH I NEEDED (plus tetanus shot, which fair), but at least fucking E.R. didn't tell me they can't handle someone nearly fainting while actively bleeding because it might mean a severe heart issue or whatever else they were convinced I was dying of.

[carpathianspaceprincess]

To Be A Soldier - (hbo!)Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: In which you have gotten yourselves and your young cargo into quite a dangerous situation. Now you have to decide who can be saved, but you're nearly out of time and Joel is as stubborn as ever. Rating: E. Minors DNI. CW / Tags: Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Desperation. Soft kiss. Non-gendered reader. Detailed description of wounds and several mentions of death and/or bodies. Established relationship. Open ending. Recommended listening: The Day After Tomorrow - Phoebe Bridgers. A/N: HELLO DARLINGS!! dawg idk what this is. It's been in my drafts for at least three weeks while i hummed and haaaaed over it. Realised halfway through that I was subconsciously pulling from my own personal relationship with death and grief, particularly towards the end. (aka I have daddy issues lol) PLEASE interact if you liked it (or hated it!). Also note I hate sad shit LMFAO this is the rare angst for me - there will be more and this is not the end of the story.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Maria assured you this job would be a breeze. All you had to do was drop off some cargo over the river. “Cargo” being Johanna, a girl of around six, who was to be reunited with her ecstatic parents after several months of Maria trying to locate them. How hard could it be?

The ride up was familiar terrain, and with the promised payment of around 200 cans (two hundred!) sitting safely in a storage unit, you considered the whole thing a win-win. The only con? You’d been forced to leave Ellie at home, a conversation you’d mistakenly left to Joel. You tried to explain that the bridge crossing was safely abandoned, and assured her you’d be back the day after tomorrow, but she wasn’t having it. 

“I miss you when you’re gone! You can’t just leave me behind again!” 

“It sucks, I know… what if I bring you back something cool to make up for it?”

“Fine, but you better make it good.” 

“I will, I promise.” 

Having smoothed things over, you’d started out optimistic; Joel allowing the brush of your hand against his own as you passed folks shoveling snow and raking leaves, cheeks rosy as summer faded and made way for the fresh, icy winter air. You delighted at Joel’s unexpected patience and humor for Johanna, and as the three of you rode, your laughter hung between the dense firs like streamers. 

Then a FEDRA unit caught your unsuspecting trio by surprise up near the river bank, a mere two hours after setting out. Things had spun out of control quickly, and in the scuffle to escape Johanna had suffered a fall. You’d found the only cover you could in this shithole of a shepherd’s shack, fending off gunfire while you and Joel tried to figure out how you’d get back to Jackson with no horses and dwindling ammo. In your effort to push the little girl under a solid table for cover, you’d been careless and exposed yourself to the aim of one remaining officer.  

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Fuck!” You stumble, back thudding against rotting wooden panels. “Fuck i’m stupid. fuck. fuck. fuck!”  

 “Shit.” Joel kneels over you, wild eyes reflecting your own. The steel of his shotgun  gleams in the blistering sunset. Flustered concern etched in his forehead. “He’s down. How bad is it?.”

Wheezing in the dust and dripping sweat from your furrowed brow, you move your unsteady fingers over dirt-scuffed denim to get a better look at the sizable hole entrenched in the muscle of your inner thigh. 

“Ahhh..I- I don’t know. Pretty deep.” 

You shoot a dirty look to the bloodied bullet sitting just to your left. What a piece of shit. How could something so small cause so much fucking damage?  

Warm, velvet red ripples steadily from the split skin. 

“Bullet still in there?” He’s breathless. 

“No.” You bite out.  “Clean shot.” 

You lift your hand, blood sticky and gross on your palm. He clicks his tongue as if it isn’t that serious, but the way his face whitens betrays him. This was all wrong. He should never have let you take this job. He should’ve convinced Maria to pick someone else. 

“Okay. Okay. That’s alright. Scooch up now, I'll grab the kit.” 

“No, no i’ll do it. Just…keep watch. I’ll be alright.”  You rebuff his hovering anxiety, with more certainty than you feel. Mostly for his benefit.

Waving his hesitant form away with marginal annoyance, you grumble out a half-serious “s’fine.”  

You will be, right? Fine? You’ve been through worse injuries than this. It’s not like you’re infected.  Reaching up to rifle through the drawer beside you one-handed, you note that you can no longer feel the sting of your fingers, pinched over the wound to keep it closed.

Joel still hasn’t moved an inch, so you wave him off once more, needle and thread secured in hand. “Need you to keep your eye on the driveway, Joel.” 

 Christ, It’s only your lives at stake here. The last thing you need is him losing focus when he’s the only one with a gun, and you need him to actually use it if you want to make it out of this alive. 

He reluctantly concedes, mumbling to himself. Anger and adrenaline still burn bright and hot in his chest at the sight of your wound, so while you pull on the edge of the thread with your teeth to free it, he turns away to focus on something else that isn’t covered in your blood, eyes landing on the corpse of the last soldier outside. 

He knows he should feel bad that he’d gunned down that young boy without hesitation, should feel guilty. Some of these “officers” were still just kids, shoved out in front of threats as fodder. 

But he doesn’t feel bad. He’ll do it again.

FEDRA radio static crackles from beneath the rest of the bodies splattered in the overgrown grass.

“Second unit ten minutes away, over.” 

Okay. No reason to panic. You have ten minutes. This is fine. 

You try hard not to focus on the mess as you thread the rusty needle with far more force than is required, slippery hands pressing the tip into the top section of flesh that’s split open. You push, wincing. 

And the stupid thing breaks. 

Snaps in two. Like it’s nothing. 

No. no. no no no no. 

Joel’s back is turned, and he misses the horror splashed across your features. Your heart beats out of your chest.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

 “I broke it.”

 He whips around, reaching for you immediately. “What? Broke what?” He spots the split metal beside you, red thread hanging limp, and picks the two ends up with an unreadable expression. 

 Forcing your eyes down purposefully into your mangled, pulsing leg, you barely see the fat lining through the ripples of blood and muscle. Fuck, that’s disgusting. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, you tear your sweat-soaked flannel over your head, pulling it as tight as you can stand. You can’t stitch it up, so this will have to do for now. 

You shiver. Then two hands are firmly gripping your shoulders as you wither beneath Joel as he looms over you, dizzy and disorientated in panic. You grip his wrists to stop from losing face. 

“Fuck. Okay…s’fine…just keep it wrapped. Won’t be long til’ the last of those dirty fuckers show up.” The timbre of his voice is deep, trembling. “I’ll take care of them ‘n then we get the hell out of here. We’ll head straight to Tommy’s..” He pauses. “You just gotta hold out for a bit longer, okay?” 

You nod but can’t bring yourself to look at him as he brushes his large palm against your cheek in reassurance, standing to take his position against the wall by the door. You chew on your lip, tasting blood. How long can you really last like this? Night is closing in. The temperature is dropping fast. Your flannel is already wet. The reduced circulation will slow it down, give you maybe fifteen minutes of grace to figure something out. 

But then what? 

The faint rumble of engines sends electric shocks zip-zapping up and down your spine and Joel stands up straighter, index finger hovered over the slope of the trigger. He’s itching to pull it, to kill them all,  end this horror of a day. Bury it in the past where it belongs. He’ll take you back home where it’s safe and run you a bath and forget this ever happened, banish it to the recesses of his nightmares. 

Glossy with cold sweat, your pulse flutters. The ominous creep of a slippery puddle has begun to form between your inner thigh and the mottled floorboards. You count the seconds. And breathe. In and out. In and out. Think. think. think.  

The silence is suffocating as you mull over your possible options. You could look around for another med kit, but what would be the chances? Plus, you can barely move and it would be a waste of energy. What about something to plug the hole? Tampons, pads…anything? Sweeping the barren room, you can’t see shit in the shadows except Johanna’s small frame, lying flat against the mattress.  She’s been eerily still and quiet throughout the standoff, and you wonder if she’s afraid. Tear tracks stain her little cheeks. You chide yourself at forgetting to check on her. 

“You alright, honey?” 

She nods, but you notice the odd angle of her leg, and how she quivers. You had forgotten how dependent young children were, because Ellie was older and fairly self-sufficient now. An adult could potentially manage with a broken leg on foot for a while on regular terrain, but not a 6 year old. She needs a doctor, antibiotics. Joel will need to carry her back to Jackson. 

The thing is, the numbness in your thigh that’s creeping steadily toward your hip tells you that the bullet has almost certainly nicked your main artery. Logic suggests you’d never make it to Jackson in time to stop bleeding out. Not even if you could run, let alone being unable to walk by yourself. 

You watch the blood pool and spread, sinking into bug-bitten damp planks. Soaking the soil beneath. There shouldn’t be this much of it. 

You turn back to Joel warily, angling yourself so that only your good leg is facing toward Johanna. She’s already seen far too much today. 

“How many rounds you got left?” You ask. 

“Enough.” He lies.

“Even if you manage the whole unit, I can’t run like this.”  You gesture to your leg, but he doesn’t look. 

“I’ll carry you. S’fine.” He swears, wavering. Convincing himself. 

“Look at me, Joel.” You hiss. 

You’re glaring at him as he methodically checks every part of the gun and frustration bubbles up inside you. You do not have time for his denial. 

“Joel!”  

He looks up at the sound of your growing desperation and you shift, grimacing as your thigh pulses with blistering pain. His eyes lower as you gingerly lift the shirt so he can see how bad it really is, plastered and dripping in the evidence of your failure. The uselessness and futility of it all. He starts toward you. “Don’t fuckin’ take it off! Jesus christ.” 

“Hand me the gun, Miller.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

You try to push back the tears that are brimming in your eyes. How can you convince him?

“Cop on, for christ’s sake. You only have two hands. If you give me the gun you can get the hell out of here and ta-”

You don’t get to finish your explanation as he slams the shotgun down on the table. The walls shake with the impact of it. “What kind of man do you fuckin’ think I am? Huh? You really think i’d leave you here? Abandon you?”

You exhale gratuitously, trying to get ahold of yourself so you don’t ruin this more than you already have. “It’s not about me Joel.” You plead,  “I know what kind of a man you are. But look at that kid, she can’t fucking run!” 

“ Don’t make this difficult for me” You whisper, biting back a wave of grief at how beautiful he looks in this light, even in his anger. 

His eyes bore holes into yours. Silent. Unwavering. He won’t let you do this, there has to be another way. He’ll find it. 

You look him dead on, mustering all the courage you have left in you. 

“Could you live with yourself? if you let her die, just because you’re too much of a coward to let me go?” You almost regret the weight and severity of your words, but you’re pulling your last card here. Somebody has to survive this mess and you’ll do what you have to do, though it breaks your fucking heart to know you’ll never get the future you were imagining this morning - that you’ll  never feel the warmth of the sun again or be able to see Ellie grow up, never have the garden you wanted so badly, or feel the rush of exhilaration when you ride out with Joel for a job.  You’ll die right here when he leaves you behind and you have to make him do it.

Because if he doesn’t take the girl and get the fuck out out, all three of you are done for. 

“You’re a dad, Miller.” You change tack, voice softer now, lilted. “You know what you have to do.” Your heavy, tired eyes flit to the left. 

He’s silenced by that, pained gaze turned to where the youngster is sat. He knows her leg hurts and he can see the bone is resting at an odd angle. You’re right, she can’t run. But there has to be something he can do.

Joel looks at her like he has to double check several times before turning back to you - words twisted and caught in his throat.  A large, soft hand rests on your thigh. “I-I’ll find another needle and thread and we’ll patch you up right here, okay? You…you can run if it’s stitched. We’ll make it.”  

Tears burn your eyes as you see the devastation mirrored in his own. The longing. You turn your head down, snaking your hand through his curls and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. Savouring every part of him as much as you can. 

“I’m dying, Joel.” You release the words in one breath, but you surprisingly find you accept them easily. Naturally. You’d thought it’d be difficult to actually acknowledge it, but there’s no apprehension or venom in your voice. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ dare say that.”

You open your eyes and take him in, heartbroken. All orange and red and purple, soft and dream-like.  A smile touches your cheeks and Joel marvels at that, how beautiful and angelic you are, even while you’re bleeding out in front of him. It’s too much for him and his chest constricts painfully. How could he have let this happen? You can’t be dying. He won’t let you.

“You have to let me go, Miller”  

His head ducks down and he swallows thickly. Joel has felt helplessness before, more times than he cared to remember. This time it’s also denial that crushes him as he scrambles, trying to find a solution he knows already doesn’t exist. This is all happening too fast, his whole life falling down around him. What would he say to Ellie? She would hate him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not if he did this. 

 “I won’t. I won’t fail again.” 

Panic rises in you at his reluctance and you grip his hand as tight as you can. “You’ll fail me if you don’t get that girl to a doctor! I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t make it home to her mama, Joel.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You add, softly, though he shakes his head ever so slightly. 

You hear the disruptive crackle again. “Unit dropping in five, over.”

He stands abruptly and you do too, taking his outstretched hand and letting him support your weight as you both peer across the lawn, searching for the vehicles, but unable to see much beyond the winding driveway and thicket of trees. 

The engines are a little louder now. Shouts and orders echoing distantly from empty streets and the valley edges. There’s nothing else alive here to make noise, save for a few infected wandering the edges of town. 

Joel’s arm slides comfortably around you and you lean into it. So warm and good. Always there for you. Looking after you. Supporting the weight of your whole world. And as much as your exhausted body is begging for his touch, screaming for the comfort of his arms, dying for him to pick you up and carry you home and wrap you up to lie lazily in his bed, it would be real fuckin’ selfish of you to give in. 

Your heart pangs as you think of Ellie. She’ll never forgive you. 

Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t care anymore and you look at Joel, really look, trying to etch every detail of this man’s face into your memory. God, he was beautiful. Every gentle line and every hair, the tug of his soft mouth and the glint of his eyes. 

Your left hand grips his over the cold metal and you steel your resolve. This time you have to be the strong one. For him. For her. 

“Give me the fucking gun, Joel.” 

There’s a moment of silence where you think he might fight, might try to convince you there’s another way, try to make you run with him even though you can’t even stand up properly. But  his grip relaxes and a huge wave of relief washes over you. Adjusting your position, you struggle unceremoniously with his help to a spot underneath the window that’ll give you the cover you need while you do this last thing. Your muscles relax against the floor, eager to rest. He reluctantly lets you slide down. 

At the kickback of a truck that’s too close, he moves over to Johanna and crouches, motioning for her to climb onto his broad back. “Come on now, sweetheart” 

“What about her?” The girl’s voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Don’t you worry honey, I’ll be right behind you.” The lie is smooth and sweet in your mouth. Too easy, too sure. Parental. Joel’s been rubbing off on you. You reassure her even as you begin to tremble. 

Joel’s expression is unreadable and he takes a shaky step toward you, holding his cargo carefully. She clings to him and you try to steel yourself.

Doors shut and slam in the near distance, and you realize they must be equipping and briefing down at the turnoff because they don’t know you know they’re coming. You give Joel a pointed look at the open back door, a silent directive. Go. They’ve parked up. You need the time.  Instead, he advances til he’s right in front of you.  

“What are you doing?” You croak, not wanting to prolong this, for his sake as well as your own. Aren’t you suffering enough? “You gotta go, Joel. You got like, five minutes to put as much ground as you can between us.” 

“Let me look at you, for christ’s sake.” one last time. Committing to his own memory your sure grip of the shotgun he taught you how to use, searing into his brain the way your hair is curling in the humidity and the pretty silhouette of your nose. The inky brush of your eyelashes. When he’d picked you up two years ago in Arizona, you couldn’t even set a trap. Now here you are, willing to do the unthinkable for a child you don’t even know. 

Would he still have stopped to throw you in the back of his truck, all that time ago,  knowing now that going with him would end this way? That you’d never even make it to 30? That being with him was a death sentence? 

He’s not strong enough to say that he wouldn’t have done everything exactly the same, and he thinks that’s fucking selfish. But what was his life without you? Knowing your warmth and your life and your joy, could he have ever consciously chosen to live without it? He’d never meant for this to happen. He had promised to protect you, not to leave you behind to die in some dirty shack. After all you’d been through and all the cards you’d been dealt, he’d sworn to make sure he’d take care of you for the rest of your life. That pain and death would be kept at bay. That you wouldn’t have to worry anymore. 

 Anger and despair and frustration all battled for dominance inside him, leaving him raw and broken  in front of you. He’d coped with so much death, lost Sarah’s mom, then Sarah. Nearly lost Ellie. How could he give you up like this? Even when there was no other choice, no other way?. 

In that moment he feels completely pathetic in the light of your bravery. Guilt crawls up his spine, twisting and pulling. He’s failed you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You, frustrated,  sniff back the sob that’s trying to break out of you. “No, Joel, it’s-”

“I’ll come back. Tonight.”  He interrupts, tormented. His own sorrow crashing over you both. You shake your head. He can’t. Plus, you don’t want him to see whatever sorry state you’re sure your body will be in by that time. 

“You gotta stay with Ellie, Joel.” 

 Reminded suddenly of the book in your bag and not wanting to forget your promise, you use your good leg to boot it over towards Joel. “Here,” Worn canvas slides along the floor and he retrieves it with his free arm, pulling the strap over and looking inside, realizing he’s looking at the book you’d been yarning your mouth off about.

“Promised her i’d pick something up. She was so mad at me for leaving her behind.” You offer, laughter mute and subdued. 

He pulls it out. 

“Give it to her yourself.” He returns, pleading. 

Your gaze softens. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”

He curses and runs a hand over his face and his pain in tandem with your own is unbearable. So you close your eyes. The smell of him is still so intoxicating and you breathe deeply, willing it to linger, to comfort you.

The truth is, you’re only being brave for his sake. You know that if you let him see how afraid you really are, he’ll never be able to leave. You lean back against the wall, hoping it will ground you.

All of a sudden, his warm mouth is on your forehead pressing a kiss into you, and the intensity behind it blinds you despite the fact you can’t see anything anyway. The kind of kiss that’s supposed to stay with you. The only way he can. You’re dizzy, suddenly. You defy the urge to reach up and keep him held tight against you forever. 

“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”  The hope in his voice almost breaks you. If you do your job right, there won’t be enough of you left for that.  

“I’ll be here.” You let the sobs tear through your body, gripping the shotgun as if it’s the only thing grounding you. Your heart squeezes painfully. Sounds become louder. Boots on gravel, metal clicking. You were out of time five minutes ago. 

“Go.” You cry, unable to hold it back. You are fatigued now, everything hurts, every cell in your body is aching for rest and comfort and he has to leave now. 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

He has to force his legs to move, every bone in his body, every instinct denying the act. The weight of the little girl in his arms barely registering. She’s passed out from the shock, breathing steadily against him.  He can’t tear his eyes away from your shaking hands as he backs towards the door. 

 I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. Please forgive me.  Please be alive. I’ll come for you. 

The thud of his boots grows quieter, and you wait several minutes (trying not to fall into the clutches of a greedy sleep) until there’s nothing but the encroaching sound of your killers and the hum of their vehicles. Blinking away your tears, you realize with mid-sob that a warm weight is over your lap, stifling the chill that ripples away from you like waves in a pond. Eyes adjusting back to the light, you  discover the culprit is his tattered, worn leather jacket. Of course. It’s been placed over you so carefully, so quietly, that you didn’t even notice. 

Clutching it against you, you allow yourself to let go now. You cry and cry and cry until you’re empty, choking, throat hoarse. You don’t care if the FEDRA boys hear you, you don’t care if anyone hears you. Joel’s gone now, he won’t have to listen to this pathetic demonstration of your fear. 

Please, God, let her live. Let her live, let her live. I’ll do anything you want. Keep her alive for me. 

Joel’s not a believer in higher power, but you are, so he prays to your god anyway, as the scent of fir smothers the air, and the cacophony of the forest sounds too much like you. Reminds him of your sweet smile and the honey in your brown eyes as the sun dipped into them. How many afternoons passed by, lazily drenched in summer heat, like two cats gorged on life? How many moments has he spent, mapping and memorizing you? He’s walked away, but everything inside him is still there, in the shack with you. He hopes that you won’t be cold now. That his jacket will keep you warm enough and that maybe, maybe, you can slip away before FEDRA even gets to you. Maybe you can hide. 

It’s logically close to impossible.  

He feels like a hypocrite, muttering promises under his breath as he stumbles through the night, and wonders how could he pray now? Offer words up to a God who had condemned you both here? And who was God to choose? To turn the wheel, throw the dice on who’s life to give and who’s to take away? How was that fair at all? To take away your future like that? His future, too? 

He also makes different kinds of promises. Ones he’ll keep to himself that involve his baser self. An eye for an eye. They took you from him? He’d take everything. Destroy the whole organisation from the inside out. 

FEDRA and the whole damn world could go blind for all he fucking cared. He wasn’t fighting for justice. You deserved more than that. You deserved to have somebody avenge you. You deserved to know that you meant enough to somebody, were loved enough, that they’d tear apart the world for you.

 He doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life. 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

You hiccup,  wiping your blurry eyes on the back of your hand with your shirt. His shirt. Sniffing and hoping Joel won’t find your face covered in tear stains and snot after you die, (despite the absurdity of it, you’d be so embarassed) you cock his shotgun and take a preliminary aim out of the corner of the hole in the glass window pane. By your own calculations, It’ll take the six men at the bottom of the winding driveway about a minute to get up the lawn, and you need to give Joel as big of a head start as you possibly can, although he’s likely already far enough away. You spot three more younger boys bringing up the rear.  They walk slowly and using your other hand, you pull the leather jacket over you, settling against the window frame further because you’re tired and you’re  done moving. 

“Come out with your hands up, Miller!” 

You bite your lip and stay silent. You wanted to wait as long as possible before engaging them and having them realize Joel isn’t with you, but one of the older officers with a “commander” badge fastened to his lapel slipped your eyeline and has come far too close to your position near the door.  You decide quickly that you’ll pick him off before he can spot you. With a twitch of your index and a bang that’s absorbed into the hungry night sky, the man’s dead in the dirt with a splatter the size of Texas covering his front. 

Unexpected chaos erupts. The younger officers are not as well trained as you had assumed they would be. To your dismay, they immediately panic,  breaking formation and begin firing.  Your own shots only take down two more. 

The planks of the door blister and break and shrapnel and dust fills the air. You instinctively turn away from the window.  “Shit!” 

You have seconds left to reload and you’re too slow. But you’d known it was coming to this. Every moment of your life, every choice you made, leading you to this moment. You know you must look pathetic like this, crouched under the frame, bleeding out, cowering. In pain. But you’d do it all again for him.  Joel was safe now, he’d make sure Johanna got back. That was all that mattered. 

Your life in exchange for theirs. You, for two futures. More than fair. Jackson wouldn’t suffer through the winter. Ellie would still get her book. Joel still had time, he could find someone else, maybe even love again. 

Boots thud and voices yell and a piercing pain suddenly blooms from your chest. Vermillion unraveling over your chest like an unfurling flower in spring. The door collapses into the frame and soldiers spill into the shack. Everything is hazy and distorted, shapes dissolving this way and that, voices shrill and every noise and sensation amplified. Faceless men. Toy soldiers. The overstimulation is painful, and you feel someone shaking you - hard. Another is clicking his fingers in front of your eyes, trying to keep you conscious. 

“Hey, look at me! Miller. Where’s Miller?!” 

“Don’t worry boys.” You cough out, laughing.  It’s strange in your ears. Everything is ringing.  When Joel finds your shot-up corpse, he’ll lose his mind, and as much as you hate that he’ll have to see it, you get a kind of sick satisfaction knowing they’ll have to suffer at his hands for what they’ve done. That your pain won’t go unpunished.

“He’ll…he’ll be back for-” You can’t manage to finish  because blood has backed up in your throat, but you’re sure they get the picture.  The iron taste is  final in your mouth, filling up your lungs.  You stop trying to hold yourself up, there’s no point. The soldiers are yelling, still trying to communicate with you. You’re done now. 

As you hit the floor with an exhausted thud, you close your eyes against the sensory overload and it’s as if your subconscious knows you must be on the way out, because as FEDRA hands pull and grab at your shivering body and slick liquid pools on your stomach and waist, you’re enveloped  by the arrest of your own memories, soaked in endorphins, dripping in affection. Your favourites flash before your eyes. The afternoon in the wheat field, your poems, the first time you’d met Ellie. His hands on your body for the first time, delicious currents rippling through your skin at his touch. His kisses, soft and luxurious, every touch for you so contradictive to everything else he had to handle in his life. The fire in your veins a result of his devotion to your pleasure - a way for him to reconcile the other things he’d had to do before you came along. 

You know it isn’t real, know it’s that thing that happens to your brain when you die, but in your delirium you can swear that you hear Ellie’s tinkling laugh, feel the tender relief of Joel’s hands hot over your skin, melting away the bitter pain of the cold. You know you feel his breath on your neck and his kiss on your temple. You take it all, and you reach out - knowing he’s there. Whatever happens now, wherever you go, he’ll hold you. He’ll keep you safe. 

“It’s cold here. It hurts, Joel.” 

“‘S okay baby. I’m here now….no more pain. No more cryin’.” 

He’s mouth-wateringly warm. 

“I’m so afraid…so…so tired” You try to remember how you got here and what you were doing, but everything is so heavy around you, suppressing you.  

“I know y’are. I know. You did well, sweetheart, we’re so proud of you. You’re so brave. My brave girl. But I need y’to let go and rest now, can you do that for me? ”  

Of course. You’ll do anything he asks. You acquiesce easily, curling into him. So, so sleepy… 

“Okay. Will you stay with me?” 

“ I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

You let go and dip gently into the black, waiting abyss.

[heyitsjaysblog]

Lips and Hands That Soothe.

Words: 3926 | Rated: M | Female! Reader Insert  x Astarion (Y/N, E/C, H/C, H/T)

Synopsis: You are absolutely exhausted after the battle between Myrkul’s Chosen, Ketheric Thorm. You and your companions finally begin the trek to Baldur’s Gate. While on your way to the city, many of your fellow travelers take note of your pained state. Astarion devises a plan to grant you some relief. 

Warnings: Act 2 Spoilers! Swearing, mentions of blood, blood/bite kink, heavy petting, fingering?!

A/N: Grad school is kicking my ass!!!!! So, I apologize for not writing as much! I deadass started this like a few months ago and just finished it. I have, however, planned more to add to my fic series, along with a couple of ideas for more reader inserts! I am planning on doing a few for Halsin next, along with one intended for Gale, so I am also open to more ideas if anyone wishes to read more from me. I hope you all enjoy, it and that this isn’t terribly out of character! I was partially inspired by being super sore after the gym & work one day, and thought to myself: what would a massage from Astarion be like??? 

Gonna go repent after writing this too LMFAO.

***Also, a key just in case: 

Y/N: Your name 

E/C: eye color

H/C: hair color

H/T: hair texture

- - -

You are completely, and utterly exhausted. 

By the Gods, if you had just a moment to rest your eyes or a place to drape your weary bones, you would be the happiest woman in all of Faerûn.

And yet, you are still walking. Or in your case, stumbling. Merely moments away before taking a severe tumble toward the ground, which may just grant you the respite you are so desperately aching for. 

You and your misfit group of companions have come quite a long way from the Illithid wreckage off of the Sword Coast. It’s a mystery to you that you’ve all even managed to get this far, and you’re sure that the sentiment is shared. The whole reason you have been walking, or stumbling for this long, is due to the fact that you all recently bested the Chosen of the Lord of Bones, Myrkul. Fighting Ketheric Thorm was a feat that you truly did not think you would be able to succeed in overcoming. Your comrades were sure at one point that you were done for. However, with their support, as well as Dame Aylin’s, you were able to see another day. 

Another long and tiring day. 

You find yourself walking the rubbled path to Baldur’s Gate, now clear of the Absolute’s forces. While you all surely rested the night of the battle, your muscles still ached. Not even Shadowheart’s healing spells have managed to fully soothe the gnawing pain you suffered from being thrown around. Granted, you weren’t the only one winded and wounded, but your companions were slowly starting to realize that they may need to set up camp much sooner than they anticipated.

As you continued to trail rather behind them all, the pace of the group slowly began to halt. 

“...Why are we slowing down?” you ask, as your eyes dart towards each of your companions.

“Solider…” Karlach begins to speak.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you’ve seen better days,” she adds, her brows arching into a concerned expression. 

“What?- No, I’m fine…I could just use a small break, is all,” you explain, dismissing her claims. However, you are far from fine. Not far from your side, Astarion quickly scans your face, fairly aware that you’ve lied through your teeth. If anything, he’s gotten to know you rather well over the past couple of weeks with the amount of time you’ve both shared. 

And he was certain that you were moments away from passing out. 

“Darling, I think she’s right.” he adds, as a look of apprehension surfaces on his face. 

“Perhaps it’s for the best that we find somewhere to set up camp…” he suggests, as some of your companions nod in agreement. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Gale chimes in, now utilizing his quarterstaff to keep himself upright. 

“In fact, I think we may have some Waterdhavian cheese, baguettes, and cured ham within our camp supply pack…perhaps I can quickly prepare something for us all.” he adds, with a reassuring smile. 

With a heavy sigh, you agree with them all as you allow yourself to be navigated to a nearby clearing, immediately finding a fallen tree trunk to collapse upon. 

- - -

After completing a rather savory meal prepared by Gale, you found yourself sitting on top of your bedroll, which was situated right before the campfire. Your (e/c) eyes indolently studied the dancing flames, as you rested your chin within the palms of your hands. Before you begin to doze off, your ears detect approaching footsteps before a figure takes its place beside you. A pallid hand swiftly runs through your (h/c) hair, slightly surprising you before you sit upright.

Astarion blinks before snickering a bit to himself at your reaction. 

“Apologies, my dear- did I startle you?” he asks, as you begin to rub at your eyes. 

“It’s alright…I think I was beginning to fall asleep.” you explain, taking his cold hand into yours. As you run your fingers over his pale knuckles, Astarion continues to look over your face, taking into account the deep dark circles under your eyes.

“...How are you feeling?” he asks, wondering if your state has improved even slightly from earlier. 

You raise your shoulders to shrug, before offering a response.

“A little better. Just still feeling sore…it’s like my muscles are crying out for help.” you explain, as you look into his vermillion eyes. They appeared to burn even more red than usual, which typically tends to happen when Astarion has yet to feed. In fact, you can’t recall the last time he had even done so. Normally he would hunt, in addition to drinking from you, however, you can’t think back to the last time you spared some of your blood for your vampiric lover. While you have been so fixated on your aches and pains, it seems as though Astarion had his share as well, judging from the small, purplish-green bruise nestled underneath his eye.

“...What about you? When’s the last time you’ve fed?” you inquire, causing Astarion to wave off your insinuation. 

“You don’t need to worry about that, my dear. I’m sure I can procure… something later from the woods.” he attempts to assure you. 

“Besides, I don’t think I could bring myself to drink from you in your state. If anything, you need rest.” he adds, causing you to roll your eyes. 

You were fine! 

A long and good night’s rest should nurse you back to health in no time. 

“I told you all, I’m okay!” you exclaim, attempting to raise yourself to your feet as proof, only to immediately make contact with the ground once more. You let out a groan in response, laying flat on your back from your failed attempt.

Astarion raises his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter, as you playfully nudge him with your foot to get him to stop laughing. 

“You poor, poor thing,” he says as he helps you sit back upright, causing you to grunt from the movement. 

In doing so, Astarion’s eyes light up as an idea comes to him. 

“In fact, I think I have something in mind that can potentially grant you some…relief,” he says.

As your mind cycles through a myriad of different things he could be alluding to, your brow quirks up in curiosity.

“And that is…?” you respond with a confused expression.

“A massage, of course. I’m known to give rather good ones…or so I’ve been told,” he says with a playful smirk.

“Perhaps I can come to your tent in a bit, and help rid you of some of the tension you have built up.” Astarion suggests, prompting warmth to begin to generate within your cheeks. 

“Hm…I can’t say I’m in the state to turn down a massage…” you drum your fingers across your chin, playfully considering the offer, despite already having your mind made up. 

“Come to my tent in 10 minutes.” you eventually state, causing Astarion’s toothy smile to surface. He swiftly stands, before dramatically offering out his hand to help you up. You roll your eyes in response as a small smile surfaces on your face. Taking his hands, he pulls you up from your seat, causing another groan to escape your lips. 

“Go get comfortable, my sweet. I’ll come find you shortly.” he assures you as you part ways, seeming rather excited as he walks back to his tent. 

You giggle a bit to yourself as you watch him stride off before walking towards your tent in the opposite direction, picking up a lone lantern as you continue to make your way there. As you reach your quarters, you open up the flap before immediately lowering yourself down to the ground inside, bringing the enclosed lantern in with you. Upon setting the lantern down on a nearby leather chest, you release a deep sigh before beginning to remove your armor. Your arms are unreasonably heavy, making this an even more difficult task. As you undo each layer, you become more and more aware of some of the bruises you suffered from the day before, attempting to carefully maneuver the rest of your clothing without accidentally disrupting one. Once you get fully unclothed, you sigh to yourself as you lift one of the cushions in your tent to retrieve a loose-fitting linen camisole with its matching pair of shorts. You once again lift your arms to pull your nightwear over your limbs and onto your body. Once you accomplish this task, you sprawl your body out onto the scattered cushions on the ground of your tent, finally bringing your eyelids to a close. 

It isn’t too long before you detect the sound of what appears to be someone beginning to undo the flap of your tent. As your body shoots upright, you recognize the pale, slender fingers undoing the ties of your tent’s entrance. The flap falls, revealing Astarion, with a wooden crate that appears to contain a myriad of different glass bottles. 

“May I come in?” he inquires, with his distinctive smirk. 

“You may,” you respond, with a quirked brow as you watch him lower his head before stepping into the tent. He then proceeds to set down the crate and remove his leather boots, before sealing the flap once more.

“I thought with the tadpole you no longer needed to be invited in?” you teased, as you watched him situate himself on the cushions alongside you, prompting him to snicker a bit at your joke. Your eyes once again scan the crate that he brought inside. It appeared to be filled with glass bottles that seemed to store different creams, emulsions, and expensive-looking oils. 

“What in the hells…is all of that?” you whisper to yourself as your eyes flit between each bottle, a smile growing on your face as you stare in disbelief. 

Astarion blinks as he studies your face, wondering why his collection of products seems to be startling you. 

“Well…you seemed interested in receiving a massage, and I found it only fair to give you a proper one,” he says with a grin. 

“I see…” you respond, as you watch him crack his fingers, causing you to giggle a bit at how seriously he’s taking this process. 

Astarion’s gaze meets yours before his brows pinch together in frustration. 

“Well…?” he inquires, before continuing his thought. 

“Don’t just sit there ogling me. Come here, and get comfortable!” he says, patting the cushion before him as he urges you to find a place in front of where he kneeled.

You roll your eyes with a small smile before crawling over to him and turning so that your back faces him. You sigh a bit as you let your shoulders fall, attempting to obey his command and “relax”. Attempting to further ease your comfort, you fold your legs as you situate yourself within the cushion.

Your gaze faces forward, yet you are tempted to turn around and watch what Astarion is concocting once you hear the movement of glass shifting behind you. Letting the biting curiosity take hold of you, you start to turn your body backward before Astarion realizes that you’re watching his every move. He tuts, before taking his cold hands and gently turning your head forward once more, causing you to laugh. 

“No. Peeking.” he states firmly, before continuing with what he was doing originally. 

“Just…close your eyes, or something-” he suggests as he unscrews a glass bottle of oil before letting the liquid fill his palms. As you hear him rub his hands together, you jump a bit as you feel cold, slender fingers make contact with your skin. Ever-so-slightly, Astarion takes his pointer fingers to move your (h/t) hair out of the way, before beginning to gently massage your neck. You sigh a bit, focusing on the flickering flame in your lantern, as you close your eyes. You then shift your posture to move further back into him. His hands glide across your skin before deeply digging into your shoulder blades, causing you to hum in contentment. 

That…actually feels good, you thought to yourself. While you’ve come accustomed to how skilled Astarion is with his hands, you could have never imagined one of his massages feeling like this.

As he continues to work, he directs most of his motion into the center of your neck, right in between your shoulder blades. You stir a bit, as he hits a part of your body that houses a very distinct knot. 

Lowering his mouth to your ear, his soft lips brush against it before he speaks in a low whisper. 

“Do you feel tension here?” he inquires, causing an electric ripple to run through your core at the sound of his voice. 

“M-mhm…” you swallow, somewhat startled by the sensation of his words practically reverberating through you. 

As he pulls away, he slowly begins to work at the knot, carefully making sure to make firm, yet articulate motions to help alleviate the pressure. You let out a breathy sigh, further relaxing into his touch. You take notice of the oil that he applied to his hands, which seemed to be growing warmer and warmer as he used it to massage you. An odd feeling, as both his naturally cold touch, and the warming effect of the oil work together to coax the tenseness of your muscles. The aroma of the oil fills the tent, giving off the scent of spiced citrus. There were notes of sweet almond, cinnamon, and clove, but more specifically, something that you’ve come to grow very familiar with. A scent that smelled so comforting, and distinct. Your nostrils twitch as you attempt to determine the scent.

 It could only be that of…

“This oil you're using…is that bergamot?” you ask, causing Astarion to halt his work. 

If you knew that would be the case, you wouldn’t have spoken at all.

Astarion chuckles a bit to himself, somewhat shocked at the fact that you were able to recognize it so easily. 

“You are correct, my sweet,” he affirms your suspicion, before resuming the massage, beginning to move further down your back. 

“A rather impressive guess.” he commends you, causing you to smile to yourself. 

“It wasn’t so difficult to assume…the smell reminds me of you,” you say with a soft smile, as a rosy tint settles into your cheeks. Once again, however, you jump a bit as you suddenly feel Astarion’s lips brush past your ear. 

“May I go lower?” he asks, as he gently tugs at the straps of your linen camisole. Your eyes flutter open slightly, as they meet his finger lifting the string of fabric. You offer an eager, yet shy nod, prompting Astarion to smirk in response. 

“Excellent.” he says in a low voice, pushing the strings of the camisole down past your shoulders, which causes the fabric to fall down your frame and gather at your waist. The cool air causes your nipples to erect, and once again, Astarion’s hands make contact with your body. As your eyes flutter closed, Astarion’s hands glide further down your back, while he cautiously moves around the bruised patches of skin that he comes across. His fingers lightly trace down your spine, before his hands settle on delicate, unbruised skin. He then carefully kneads into your back, causing your posture to shift. As he continues to carry on, a moan builds in within you, forcing itself out of your lips. 

Somewhat embarrassed, you raise a hand to your mouth, which causes Astarion to chuckle a bit at your reaction. 

“Careful, my love…you may wake our companions.” he jokingly warns, although, he truthfully did not care if others heard.

Suddenly, his hands glide upward across your skin, before slyly making contact with your breasts. With a firm, yet gentle touch, Astarion’s pale hands begin to cup your breasts, causing the tint in your cheeks to grow darker. He begins to massage them, softly brushing the pads of his thumbs over your erect nipples. Another moan spills out of your mouth as Astarion brings his body close to yours. Your arousal builds, causing a pleasurable burn to begin to develop in between your thighs. As he continues to tenderly massage your breasts, you throw your head back into his chest, shifting in your seated position, before Astarion lowers his lips down to the exposed flesh of your neck. He then gingerly peppers your neck with soft kisses, before moving to suck at the skin, intending to leave a hickey to match the other bruised patches of skin you possess. 

Becoming rather amused with all of the squirming and moaning you seemed to be doing, Astarion couldn’t help but pull away, only to take you into his arms and gently pull you back into his lap. A light squeal erupts from your lips before you relax into his hold. You suddenly become very aware of a growing bulge in Astarion’s trousers as it rubs against your sex, causing another ripple of arousal to echo through your core. 

Astarion continues to explore your body as his hands glide down your side, moving toward your stomach until he eventually meets the waistband of your shorts. At this point, your clit is practically thumping in concordance with your heartbeat. 

Pressing his lips towards your ear, he whispers, “Shall I go lower…?”

Your breath hitches before your eyes flicker open. 

“Astarion…you don’t have to-” you start to speak.

“You’re absolutely right. I don’t have to,” he interrupts your thought, using his free hand to guide your chin, as your gaze met his.

“I want to,” he assures you, as his scarlet pupils lock onto your (e/c) eyes. 

A smirk tugs on his lips before he moves his face closer to yours to press a soft kiss onto your lips. You lift a hand to his cheek, desiring to deepen the kiss as long as you can. While doing so, your other free hand takes grasp of his hand, maneuvering it towards your shorts. Astarion smiles into your kiss, reacting to your forwardness. As he pulls his face away, his hands slowly creep into your shorts, and the pads of his fingertips finally make contact with your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips as you turn, positioning yourself so that your back once again relaxes into his chest. As he holds you, his one hand further rubs down the folds of your labia, while the other once again returns to cup and massage one of your breasts. Astarion traces one of his fingers around your entrance, sighing as his finger is coated with your slick arousal. In doing so, he rhythmically rubs two fingers against the inside of your folds, causing you to moan once again. As he continues to go back and forth, occasionally circling your clit with his fingertips, your body twitches as you begin to grind against the friction as well. The feeling was driving you mad, and if anything, you could think of only one more thing that would further send you over the edge.

As your body arches against his, you tilt your head slightly to the side, exposing your neck. With a free hand, you attempt to reach back, trying to guide his face towards your neck once more. 

“Bite me.” you say, as his eyes widen a bit by the proposal. 

His gaze quickly meets yours, looking for confirmation, only to be met with another eager nod. As you confirm your request, Astarion lowers his head towards your neck, planting a delicate kiss at the crook. He takes his other hand and cradles your head. As he teases your entrance, Astarion fangs graze against the sensitive flesh of your neck before piercing the skin, all the while dipping two of his fingers into your body. Your body arches once again, biting your lower lip as you stifle a deep moan. Blood starts to stream down your neck, past your collarbone, and drips down your chest. As your blood coats his tongue, he can’t help but moan into your neck as well, causing a flutter of arousal to echo through your core once more. Sweat beads on your forehead, as you clamp your eyes shut in pleasure. His fingers work in and out as he steadily fingerfucks you with little to no resistance. You shudder from the sensation, growing wetter and wetter from feeling filled by him, and him alone.

Astarion continues to suck at your neck, simultaneously thrusting his fingers with ease. He could practically feel your heartbeat thumping against him, and as the pace slows, he pulls his fangs out from your neck. He drags his tongue along the bitemark, attempting to quickly cleanse the wound. As he finishes drinking from you, his hands shift from cradling your head to directing attention back to your clit. With the combination of circular motions, thrusting, and rubbing against that one particular spot, you were only but moments away from cumming. 

“A-Astarion…I-I’m-” you begin to stammer, before reaching climax, and practically gasping for air as you feel a complete release come over you. 

“That’s it, my love…” he coaxes you with a low tone as you coat his fingers and hand as you orgasm. Your body practically goes limp as you recline further against him, and he can’t help but snicker at your ecstatic expression. Bringing his fingers to his blood-stained mouth, he sucks on the two that were just previously inside of you, wanting to taste your arousal. Astarion moans a bit as he shuts his eyes, taking in the flavors of you, before he licks away the remaining blood from his lips.

As you enter a state of blissful stupor from your orgasm, you slip out from his lap before falling back onto the cushions of your tent and wiping away the sweat from your forehead. A contented sigh escapes your lips. 

Astarion’s brow quirks in curiosity, as he was very interested to know what you were thinking.

“Well…how do you feel now?” he inquires as he takes a nearby rag to pick up any of the blood that may have dripped down his chin. The purplish-green bruise that once sat on top of his cheek now seemed to have faded away upon him feeding from you.

With your eyes still shut as you lay on your back, still basking in the aftereffects of your orgasm, a rather goofy-looking smile surfaces on your face. Truth be told, a massage and an orgasm were almost exactly what you needed to temporarily forget about all of the bodily pain you were experiencing from your previous battle. 

“That was…” you begin, before pressing a hand over your bare chest. 

“I feel fucking amazing.” you finish your thought with a laugh, slightly opening your eyes to meet your lover’s once again. 

Astarion chuckles a bit at your response. His eyes look you over and a pleased expression forms on his face. 

“Well, my dear, I’m glad I could be of service,” he says with a smirk before an inquisitive expression takes over. 

“Y’know, truth be told, perhaps I missed my calling as a masseur…” his voice trails off as he briefly ponders the thought. 

You giggle a bit, before turning to face him. 

“Well…now it’s your turn.” you announce, as Astarion’s eyes widen in anticipation, once again being caught off guard by your forward demeanor.

Abruptly, you take the frilled collar of his white shirt into your hands, pulling him down towards the cushions with you. 

You desperately wanted to return the favor.

[shinesurge]

You mentioned something about your body not letting you comic by the end of arc 5, are you talking about repetitive strain injuries or just discovering health issues that aren't made worse by doing a comic?

Repetitive stress injuries; almost the entire reason I've struggled to keep a consistent update schedule the last few years is because I can't usually get in a full day's work more than two days in a row without needing several more to recover. The spirit is willing but the flesh is aging, and even doing this full time, at that rate this comic isn't getting anywhere near done lmao. If the next two arcs take another ten years there's just no way. Part of why I'm working on getting the novels underway is as a failsafe for getting the story finished in some capacity haha

IS worth considering though, the last five years have been. Especially difficult mentally and physically, and I do feel like things are finally starting to level out to where they were when I was able to work consistently! My current situation is infinitely more healthy and safe, and I'm doing everything I can to stay well enough to work more. I'm not banking on it but who knows, maybe getting away from Tennessee and everything in it combined with working out again will get me back up to speed. Nothing is set in stone here! I'm just sort of doing what I did with the December deadline and trying to plan ahead since making this comic at all is sort of a totally insane undertaking for a single human lmfao

[nishloves]

okay i saw a few accounts doing this so i thought to ask you, would you beat svt in a fight????

omg lmaoo i would love to rate this asfkakakaka, okay so- realistically, any of them could beat me in a fight (except maybe jeonghan) but- BUT i'm delulu so i'd still rate them <3

can seventeen beat me in a fight?

seungcheol - 7/10; would definitely devour me if he ever fights me lol, but i don't think he would uk- like that one fan-meeting where he let a carat win in arm wrestling? he's probably gonna do that until i rile him up or somehow got him to be competitive- then, its not even a fight, i'll be tasting dirt lmao.

jeonghan - 3/10; yeah im winning- now listen, i was an ex athlete and i do go to gym so it's not even a question- that man has a constitution of a cereal box you accidentally kept at the very deep dark end of the cart. i would win unless- he somehow stabs me or gets his boyfriends to fight me.

joshua - 7/10; this gentlemanly man won't lay a finger on me just to keep up with his image, while his eye will be twitching and his lips morphed into a crazed smile as i instigate him lolol it's all fun and games until he punches me, then i'm done.

junhui - 3/10; this man nearly cries- fighting with anyone who is not a member or a friend and is a carat on top of that? would just let me hit him to shut everyone up lmfao until i take his coconut- then he will go cocococo on me <3 [ reference : SVT RECORD JUN MUKBANG BANGKOK ]

soonyoung - 5/10; yes i know about the saesang-car lore, but he is also our squishy pookie adorable hamst- tiger and he absolutely adores carats and anything which isn't a friendly competition- he just won't partake in it, would get pouty if asked to fight a literal carat, until i called him "hamtori", one kick is all it takes i guess? and im still in love with him.

wonwoo - 8/10; best believe that i'm not even willing to participate in this- wouldn't really do anything and would just stand there 🕴️like this. and i try to headbutt him and fall on my butt in response, he is still standing like 🕴️this.

woozi - 100/10; holy shit im running away before you even try get me to do this!!!

minghao - 9/10; you see *nervous chuckle* i will try to keep him calm, i really would but if he gets annoyed of my buffonery i am slashed.

mingyu - 6/10; see, i firmly believe that it wouldn't even faze him if i punch him (although, a lot many have said that my slaps and punches do hurt) that man would just accept his fate and be ready for a beating, but if he even slightly pushes me- let's enjoy the visual of a 6'3 man apologising to a 5'7 girl while there are tears in my eyes and i'm trying to tell him that it's alright.

dk - 1/10; this sweet heart of a boy is NOT fighting me, he would accept his fate and show me his cheek ready to get hit but UNO REVERSE i take his hand and treat him to icecream.

seungkwan - 4/10; this man has a severe syndrome of all talk and no show, the only reasons im losing is 1. he's screaming all around and i've gone deaf because of him or 2. he seriously seriously tries.

vernon - 2/10; he just doesn't care- why is he fighting me? why do we need to fight? why should he fight? can't i just punch him once and get it over with?

dino - 6/10; now normally, normally he is going to accept his fate (like mingyu) and just be ready to get hit. then i say something idiotic and then i eat dirt. hehe.

[ghostoffuturespast]

No Friday field notes last week? 🥺👉👈 tell me one cool nature thing you saw last week. Saturday I got to see up close near my porch a robin with a beakful of worms. It's funny how they just kinda hang out and wobble with how they hold them. I also saw a wasp crawling along my sliding glass door so I got to get an up close look at its little face.

Oh! And Friday after my tattoo I heard a common nighthawk!!!!

Hey! Lol, I didn't realize the field notes would be missed so much! 🌿🌱🐣 🧡 Makes my little nature heart happy to hear though.

I try to do the field notes weekly, but there are times when I just might not have the gas to get to them. Summer is the busiest time for me work wise and this past month has been insane. Tail-end of field trip season, so I probably saw several hundred K-12 students in the span of 2 weeks, got sick, and then I've been coordinating installation and maintenance for a native plant garden.

June is gonna be even crazier because I've got back to back weeks of summer day camp (which I still need to put the agendas together for by like tomorrow lmfao), prepping for a booth at a comic-con, planning a community art event, field restoration workdays, more garden stuff, and I'm taking a plant identification course too, but the classes are on one of my days off, so I will technically only have one day off a week for the entire month... I will do my best to keep posting these regularly (because I do love doing them), but if I skip a week, just know it's probably because I passed out and am taking a nap.

Aw, mama Robin with worms! They are very cute when they are out hunting for food and I've seen quite a few out my office window this past spring. Bug faces are so fascinating to see up close, getting them to stay still long enough to get a good look is the hardest part though. Saw a neat metallic green Thread-waisted Wasp the other day (no idea on the species) , striking and beautiful! And a Common Nighthawk! I've yet to see or hear one, so that is very cool that you did.

What else have I seen... Lots of baby Bunnies and Prairie Dogs (all adorable), and the Bald Eagle chicks in the (4?) nests we've been monitoring are all fledging too which is very exciting! They're all getting ready to leave the nests. And the Pronghorn mamas are all about ready to pop, so hopefully we'll be spotting some babies soon.

Late spring flowers are starting to bloom here on the prairie! Rocky Mountain Columbine (Aquilegia caerulea) on the left and Western Wild Rose (Rosa woodsii) on the right. I'm very proud of those Columbines because they were incredibly sad when I planted them last year and they didn't flower. But they bloomed this year!

On my home brew native plant garden project, I'm happy to report I did manage to get 12 out of the 14 species I planted to germinate, with roughly 50% success rate, which is pretty good. (The seeds for the Little Bluestem and the Winterfat I think were blanks unfortunately, so I'll try again next season.) And my vegetable garden is getting there too. Snap peas and zucchini!

But, yeah, getting ready to blow half a paycheck on plant starts for my front yard lol...

[sushisocks]

since sean was the first to die(rip king😔), we never rly saw him deal w the death of the other members. how do you think a situation like that would go and who's death would impact him the most?

Oooh boy, what a great question!! 

So, I do think Sean would feel obligated to keep things light, but we also KNOW that he’s the one that likes to remember people and talk about the ones he cared for. I can 100% see him being the main push for letting people feel grief in a safe manner; Sean would be the one sitting at the campfire telling funny and heartwarming stories about the dead person, and encouraging other people to open up and share stories too.

At the same time, I 100% see him being weighed down HEAVY by certain deaths in private. If he survived past Arthur’s death, for example, that would absolutely rock his world. Same with Lenny’s death; if not from a shipping perspective, simply because Lenny is the youngest gun, is smart, and a friend of Sean’s. I think that would put some things in perspective for him real quick, and internally he’d be having a REAL bad time. Thing is, Sean isn’t really one to show a whole lot of negativity, so I don’t think this would be apparent to anyone who didn’t know how to look for it.

Additionally, I do genuinely think both Kieran and Molly’s deaths would hit him HARD. I’ve talked with several friends now about how Sean, Molly, and Kieran do all three have a connection with Ireland, and probably did feel a faint sense of kinship over it. Molly feeling unsafe and more alone after both Sean and Kieran dying right after one another makes a world of sense, even if she wasn’t really close to either of them, simply because of what they represent to one another. I can imagine her death hitting Sean in a similar way, and Kieran’s death would also absolutely sour certain things for him – ESPECIALLY since if you get all their possible interactions over the course of Horseshoe & Clemens Point, the two DO actually develop a repertoire between one another. 

Hosea’s death is a rough one, I think. Sean and Hosea’s relationship is of great interest to me, because there’s a LOT of conflict there, and Hosea is definitely among the– Less kind gang members, to Sean. Still though, Sean does clearly have some regard for Hosea as a wiser older man, as shown by him actually asking Hosea about their situation, clearly seeking advice and/or comfort regarding it. In large part I think Hosea’s death would be somewhat overshadowed by Lenny’s, to Sean at least, but there would very much be a sense of… Indignation, maybe? The context of this being one of the founding members of the gang, Dutch’s partner in crime, this voice of authority, now dead for what? 

Sean, at his core, is a people person. There’s no way any of the deaths wouldn’t leave an impression.

One thing I can then see happening is… A sort of disillusionment for Sean, when it comes to Dutch & the gang? Imagine all these rapid rate deaths of people you care about, and when you look to your leader he doesn’t really… Do or say anything? About it?? 

I think, similarly to my reasoning as to why I think Sean would’ve sided with Arthur in the end had he gotten that far, Sean isn’t as fully sold on every aspect of Dutch’s talk nor as fully invested as Arthur and John are (with their specific daddy issues lmfao). That WOULD allow Sean to grow more critical, and as more people die, I can imagine us actually getting to see Sean possibly become more– Well, for a lack of a better word, more Arthur-like. “He’s just a younger version of you” and all that, here’s Sean at around the same age Arthur was when he lost Eliza and Isaac, watching people that matter to him die through a failure of leadership, if you will. It makes sense to me that Sean would start harboring a similar sense of anger, that would probably start grounding him a bit more. 

This is all obviously assuming that Sean survives and everything happens the exact same way, which, as I’ve talked about before, I think is extremely unlikely! But it’s an interesting thought experiment for sure!!

Thank you so much for this question!! I enjoyed writing this a lot, and Sean’s potential journey in the story when surviving his scripted death has always been a point of deep fascination to me, so I LOVE getting to think abt stuff like this!!!

[gontagokuhara]

What if I also asked some pointy objects hypotheticals once again 👉👈👉👈 I want to like ask me silly little questions without asking anything that may reveal The Lore™ so as for my 3am hypothetical questions (i could only think of 3):

-are meetings mandatory/can anyone call them?🤔

-generally how do the demis fare in school (since they all have different schooling and kokichi allegedly cheats off of kaede 😭)

-[in regards to all the characters/pairings,] on a scale of most toxic to least toxic which pointy objects pairings do you think are at the ends of the scale 😭

(Ngl last question was a self-indulgent way to share my opinions LOL for most toxic I vote junko+mikan BOOOO let my girl mikan go (although idk if she's all that good from that whole betrayal thing and attempted child murder thing but still booooo THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE U MIKAN) , for most healthy I vote hmmm uhm I actually vote Maki and Kaede!!! I LOVE their communication and lore in this story this fic singlehandedly made me ship them 10× more than shuichi+kaede actually) Okay BYEEE goodnight heart emojis *LOUD SNORE* mememmemeeme

HELLOOOOOO CIDER MY BELOVED <3 as always i adore your questions and comments and you have brought me some FUN ones so here we go off beneath the cut to indulge the terminal pointy objects brainworms

(spoilers? no. but i Do do some dancing around some interesting topics. teehee)

so: godly meetings! we've heard quite a bit about them, but don't actually know that much other than: they happen when important events take place, they're meant to be kept hush-hush from mortals, and even at the best of times they're kind of a veritable shitshow with even Career Politician Kiyotaka losing his patience with how they pan out. a big group of silly characters from this series all in a group yelling at each other following big things happening.....where have i heard that before?

to answer your more specific question: theoretically anyone could call a meeting, and they definitely have in the past, but generally one of the big five gods are at the helm. in which case they are mandatory, but whether or not all of the gods (of which there are a few dozen) show up is......another issue entirely. lmfao. most of the big five rarely ever go Lmfao it's usually hajime/makoto, celeste skipped the last several for uh. Rantarou Reasons. usually only hajime Or nagito go so one of them can stay at camp. most times absences are more of an annoyance than anything but since the spear went missing (and junko started calling meetings) said absences end up with a way worse impact.

but in Normal times like i said usually hajime or nagito stay behind, and unless there's an absolute emergency one of them is always at camp to keep an eye on the kids. which includes schooling for a lot of them! and as for our year-round kids (gonta, miu, kaede, kokichi, maki, ryoma, kiibo, kaito): it's about what you'd expect. gonta does all of his work by hand while everyone else has an online schooling that hajime and chihiro set up, they take it a varyingly amount of seriously no matter what hajime and nagito tell them about university, kokichi says he just cheats off kaede but secretly they both cheat off each other. tbh most of the summer-only kids go to fancy expensive private schools because they've got (generally) the better parents; angie's the only one that doesn't because she lives on her island with sakura most of the year.

and finally: toxic yuri/yaoi rating <3 you're so real actually for this one to give your hot takes (correct) and i will always take the opportunity to go on about my characters no matter how minimal to the story they are. SO for the purposes of this ranking instead of ranking them one-by-one (i tried tbh and it was really hard :sob:) i'm gonna put them in categories, descending in order of bad -> good

messy messy this is the stuff soap operas are made of:

junko/mikan (toxic yuri of a whole different breed THUMBS DOWN)

celeste/[REDACTED] (toxic yuri: classic edition)

gundham/fuyuhiko (relatively new relationship, both incredibly dramatic, they flirt by arguing)

messy but relatively functional:

makoto/byakuya (common problem-causers amongs the gods, definite flair for the dramatic but operate usually as a unit)

hajime/nagito (married longer than practically anyone else, large amount of people rely on them and places a large amount of trust in them as a team, this drives them kind of insane however. also izuru)

touko[+syo]/komaru (very solid in their relationship however have a tendency to be terrors about their children. in syo's case a terror in general)

flourishing. unbothered. except for the obvious:

kiyotaka/mondo (intense in contrasting enough ways that they balance each other pretty well. as long as maki isn't involved)

sonia/chiaki (new relationship, they hype each other up well, still figuring out how to break the step-sibling news to kiibo and himiko)

aoi/sakura (also an ancient relationship. eternal honeymoon phase. the most Straight Chillin pair among the gods due to loophole of hina living In The Ocean while sakura lives on the island with her non-bio child)

the demigods:

tenko/himiko (middle school sweethearts. very puppy love and sweet. have never had eyes for anyone else)

kiibo/gonta (newest relationship out of the whole bunch. less than 1 day together but hardcore mutual pining for AGES. especially protective of each other)

kaede/maki (untoxic yuri for the win. also very very fresh with even LOOONGER pining oh my god. intimate deeply impactful world-altering girl best friends -> girlfriends arc FOREVER!!! still have some stuff to figure out but their bond runs down to their bones)