#the cats are all i have. i spend more time with them than with the only 2 humans i can interact with without throwing up (mom and sister)

[hannahssimblr]

Afterwards, my parents call. Obligatory. Happy Christmas, son, kind of thing. Tap. Camera. Their faces show up on the screen, heads uncomfortably close to one another, as though they are trying to create the illusion of happiness. For who? I think. I already know your marriage is fucked. 

“Is it late?” My mother is saying, and I tell her no. Just an hour difference. It’s past eleven.  

In the background, granny complains about a stain in the tablecloth. Ah, I think. That’s for who. Playacting happy families to please a woman who has never experienced pleasure in her life. 

It is one of those calls with a lot of pauses. Dead air, where nobody knows what to say. All waiting for the minutes to tick down, to reach an acceptable time to hang up. 

“You’ll get our gift when you get back to Berlin.” That’s dad, speaking in that way where he doesn’t open his mouth all the way, can’t be bothered moving his jaw. 

���Thanks. What is it?”

“The 4S,” he says, at the same moment mom says, “it’s a surprise.”

“Nice, thanks.”

“Your iPhone working out okay?”

“Yeah, could be better, though. Could be the 4S.” 

Nobody says anything. Sounds in the background. The television on. Running ads. 

“You were missed this year,” says mom. “When are you coming home?”

“March, I think.”

“Do you think you’ll bring Astrid?”

Glancing now at her, reading her book at the head of the bed. She looks up and pulls a face. 

“I’ll ask her.”

“I know Ivy wants to meet her.”

“Yeah, I know that. It just depends on our schedules and stuff.”

“Are you being respectful to her family?” That’s dad, out of the blue, like he’s been holding that one in.

“No,” I say.

“I know how you are with grown-ups. If I found out you’ve been rude or ungrateful towards them… It’s generous of them to take you for Christmas, and I hope you’ve been gracious.”

“Yeah, dad, I’ve been literally so nice. What did you think I was going to do to them? I’m an adult, like. You don’t need to talk to me like this anymore.” 

“Well, I know some things don’t change so easily. May I remind you of the calls we got about your behaviour from other parents and your teachers?”

I heave out a sigh. The insanity of his idea that Gitte might phone him in Ireland to complain about the behaviour of his twenty-year-old son. “He didn’t thank me for the Rødkål,” she’ll say somberly, and he’ll be humiliated, forced to apologise on my behalf, promising to discipline me appropriately at the end of term. 

“See? You act this way, sighing like a teenager, and then wonder why I worry about your behaviour. When you grow up and consider the impact this attitude has on the reputation of this family, then—”

“Ivy’s gone to bed, has she?” I continue conversationally and force him to stop talking through my favourite tactic, pretending he is not there. Mom nods. “She was up early opening her presents.”

“Mad that even when there’s no Santa anymore, she’s still doing that.”

“Yes.” Her mouth twitches like she thinks she’s smiling. “Not as early as a couple of years ago.”

“Yeah, the four o’clock wake up call was not ideal. Did she like the polaroid camera?”

“She loved it. Already ran out of film taking pictures of a cat in the garden.”

“Classic.”

Silence. “How are your finances?” 

Irritation blooms in my chest. The urge to hang up the phone. “Fine, I think. I don’t know.”

“You’re being careful with your money?”

“Yes.”  

“Ivy would have been happy with something worth ten or fifteen euros. She doesn’t need expensive things from you. Just a token would do. One of those Pillow Pets.”

“It’s fine. I’ve enough.”

“Okay, because you know when it’s gone, it’s gone, Jude. We’ve agreed–”

“Yes!” I cry. “Yes, I know. It’s fine. I have money.”

“Okay. I hope you didn’t spend more than you needed, is all I’m saying. It’s natural to want to impress people with gifts, you know, especially when you have a girlfriend, but if she really cares for you, then she won’t expect–”

“I have to go. She’s calling me.”

Astrid looks up, frowning. 

“Oh,” says mom.

“Yeah, sorry, she needs me to do something. I have to go. Thanks for the iPhone, or whatever. I’ll thank you again when I get back to Berlin. Tell Ivy I was asking after her. Bye.” End Call button. They’re swallowed by the home screen. 

I fall sideways onto the bed while Astrid’s mouth curls up. “Your phone conversations with your family are quite stressful.”

“Mostly because they don’t know how to be normal.” I wriggle my head toward her lap. “What are we reading?”

“My new book.”

“From Mia? You haven’t sacrificed it?”

“She has good taste, unfortunately.”

“Hm.”

Her hand comes to my scalp, stroking it with her nails. I love that. Let my eyes close as tingles cascade down the back of my skull. “That is the first time I’ve heard your father’s voice.”

“Oh, yeah, he and I don’t really talk except on special occasions.”

“He sounds highly strung.”

“Hmph,” I chuckle. “Understatement. He thinks his life is on the precipice of catastrophe at every moment. He has the central nervous system of a man being hunted by a charging bear.”

“He doesn’t think very much of your manners, does he?”

“Doesn’t think much of me in general.”

“That’s a shame,” combing my fringe back from my forehead, looking at me with a gentle expression. “I think there’s a lot to love.”

A fluttery feeling in my stomach, like how I felt before we were together, when I’d still only touched her in my imagination. I want to trust her. Betrayed her earlier, with Mia in the study. Should have been loyal, knew she’d tell me about her past when she was ready. Times like this when her face is soft and open, I feel I could tell her anything in the world, but it’s only fear, I don’t know, habit, even, that prevents me. Always coming close to saying something about myself, but never doing it. Since when am I like this? This is who I am to people in Berlin. Was in Dublin, too, I suppose, but it’s worse now. I don’t want it to be worse.

“He basically told me I was shit my entire life,” I say. Oh God, a confession. Lingering there. Astrid's face doesn't change. No shock or disgust.

“As a child, too?” She says.

“Yeah, he… well, he didn’t really raise me. That was Maureen, in America. She did all the actual work. He’d visit some weekends at college and hang around the house acting completely bored, like, obviously, just waiting to leave again. All the pictures of us together, he’s not even smiling or anything. Kind of trying to, maybe, but his face always looked so strained. I dunno. I think it was that he just didn’t want a kid yet. He would have, later, but I tried to ruin his plans, being born and all. He had this rigid life plan. He’d go to college, become a dentist, have a lot of money in the bank, then he’d meet a woman, get married, and have a baby. It all happened upside down for him, and it freaked him out on a cellular level. If you knew him it’d make sense. He gets agitated when things aren’t done the right way.”

“Too bad your mother seduced him, then.”

I smirk. “That’s probably what he’d say, yeah. It was all her fault, or whatever.”

“She was just too sexy to resist.”

“Ugh, please.”

“She is beautiful, your mother. You can tell she was even better when she was young. Not that she is old, I suppose. No wrinkles that I have ever seen.”

“She’s thirty-nine, and she gets injections in her face.”

“So what?”

“Well, whatever. She ruined his plans then. We did, the two of us. I had the power to ruin his life from within the womb, which is pretty cool, actually. He was so mad at me, it was like he refused to form a bond out of stubbornness alone. He knew how to do all these things, like fish and sail and shoot, but never taught me how. Maureen was always on at him to take me on trips.”

“And he didn’t?”

“No, he did, like, about twice, but I always ended up doing something that annoyed him. Like being frightened by dead animals, which was obviously unforgivable. He was going on then all the time about how soft I was.”

“Being soft is okay.”

I glance up at her. “I’m not that soft.”

“If you say so.”

“Well, anyway, basically he just doesn’t respect me, and I don’t respect him, and we kind of barely tolerate each other and always have, and were forced to exist under the same roof for like, eight years after we moved to Ireland. He thinks I’m fundamentally stupid, and lazy, and lacking foresight and follow through, no backbone, weak, stupid, rude, a pathetic excuse…” I break off, sudden horrible sensation, like I might actually cry. Sad. It’s only Christopher, but being in Astrid’s lap while she touches my hair like this has me in a vulnerable condition. A six-foot-three baby, upset because his dad didn't pay him attention. 

“You’re not those things,” she murmurs. “He’s wrong.”

What I want to hear. She doesn’t do that a lot, reassure me. She assumes I don’t need it, and sometimes, it’s what I prefer. Getting to feel a bit invincible. Could be the influence of her environment that has her like this, surrounded by the memories, old photos, Nicklas’ mother, earlier, saying hello to her in the long grass like a ghost from simpler times. Whatever it is, I like it. I like her here. Even the ugly things.

“I like talking to you like this,” I murmur. “It’s nice.”

“Mm, yes.”

“We should feel okay doing it more, I think. You can tell me things if you want to. I’ll never judge you.”

“I have nothing to tell you. Nothing is important.”

“Okay.” Sleepier. The world taking on a dreamy, surreal feeling. “If you want, you could come to Ireland with me in March. See where I grew up.”

“Oh, you make Ireland sound so boring.”

“You said the same of Denmark, and here we are. I think it’s grand.”

“That is only your perception.”

“You really wouldn’t come? It will be even more boring without you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ivy will be so sad.”

“Ivy will survive.” Her hand moves to my face, skimming her nail gently down the bridge of my nose. Mystical finger shapes cross my vision. “Tell me what you will do there.”

“Play by play?”

“Mm.”

“I’ll meet Jen,” I say. “And maybe we’ll go to the pub. My friend Shane might join. Lives in Dublin now. They meet up sometimes. His girlfriend, too. She’s nice.”

“Mm.”

“And, I dunno. I suppose I might take Ivy to the cinema. Get her out of the house. Get pizza. She likes taking the train into the city together, looking out over the bay and all. Maybe we’ll–” a yawn escapes me, “maybe we’ll go up the coast. Cliff walks. Dead cold in March, mind, but so nice. Seagulls are villainous, there. Ravenous for chips, they rip them out of your hand.”

“Yes, mm,” she’s not really listening, but I don’t mind. Talking just to talk. It’s about being together more than anything. The importance of just touching, laying against the other, fingers intertwining lazily as white tufts appear, drifting outside the window. 

“Snow,” I say, interrupting my own monologue. “It’s snowing.”

Hardly looking up. “It won’t stay.”

“I’ve never seen snow on Christmas before.” Magical. 

“It’s just a little. Not proper snow.”

“A white Christmas.”

“No, another grey one.”

Suddenly, it’s all wonderful. Her, and me, and here. Love as a concept. And the snow coming down in little flurries, the quiet space between one year and the next, where time is slow and nothing is urgent. Not knowing if you’re supposed to wish on the first snow, but wishing anyway, for more of this, her, us, for a peaceful year. 

“Will you kiss me?” I whisper, so quietly she doesn’t hear me. 

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

She does. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[justivik]

A LITTLE DEATH.

; yandere! twins x fem! reader

tw: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE. smut, cnc content, abuse, p in v, a lot of kinks if u want idk and not a lot of yandere stuff

You left your books in the locker, already old and worn out, and sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the fatigue accumulated from school. The teachers, with their endless homework, and the projects they left only added more stress, offering no respite.

Your school days used to be normal and relatively uneventful, until you met them...

They were twins, strange twins. They maintained a questionable reputation but were attractive enough to distract from your personality; the older one was outgoing with an obsession with bladed weapons, and the younger one was introverted but with a fascination for the warmth of fire.

They were both fascinated and obsessed with you.

You still didn't know the reason, but you hated the position you had found yourself in. Every day you saw them coming towards you, like two Siamese cats, and they tormented you like a little mouse. It all started from the time you talked to the first twin; you helped him with a chemistry assignment and showed interest in his knife collection. Soon after, the second twin came into the picture, as you became concerned when his arm was burned.

The familiar figures appeared in your field of vision and panic set in. You shoved all your notebooks in at once, leaving a mess in the locker, and ran out into the crowd. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light of the campus, anxiously searching for the parking lot. The crowd around you didn't help calm your mind, but at least it kept you distracted. Before you could get away from the bustling area, however, you felt a sudden tug on the sleeve of your backpack, something that made you take a step back and stare in surprise at those eyes that, though they sparkled with a flirtatious sparkle, also reflected a darkness that unnerved you.

“Who are you looking for in such a hurry?” The voice of the older of the twins came through clearly, echoing in the air, as if it could make everything around you stop.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat instantly growing larger. You tried not to look directly into those piercing eyes, but you couldn't help it.

“Answer him, don't be rude” the other twin insisted, lightly slapping your back, you turned to see him with a dirty look but he just smirked at you mockingly.

“I'm not waiting for anyone, leave me alone”

You struggled some more to free yourself, but the older man held you even more firmly, as if he didn't plan to let you escape so easily. His hands were strong, his presence commanding. Something inside you stirred, you knew he was playing a game you didn't fully understand.

“Why are you like this with us? We just want to be with you, and this is how you treat us?” His voice sounded almost plaintive, though the frown and crossed arms gave him an air of defiance. The tone of his voice, that intertwining of frustration and desire, made you feel more uncomfortable than you had imagined.

You felt trapped, as if his every word was just another noose tightening your breath. You took a deep breath, seeking a moment of calm to collect your thoughts. Why did they keep insisting?

“I don't want to make you feel bad, but I just don't feel like I fit in with you” you finally managed to say, the words coming out with some regret, but also certainty. The feeling of being out of place, of not understanding why they were watching you like this, was even more uncomfortable for you than any other.

“Of course you fit in. If we're inviting you to spend the afternoon with us, it's for a reason. Do you know how many girls have tried to get into our plans? And you...you're just wasting the opportunity.”

The older twin's tone was becoming more persuasive, almost accusatory, as his eyes kept watching you with a mixture of frustration and a strange hopefulness. You could feel the tension in the air, as if every word out of his mouth was a challenge.

You felt caught between the desire to make them understand that it wasn't that easy for you and the growing discomfort of being under their constant observation. What did they really want from you? Why were they so insistent that you become part of their world?

“Do you really think it's that simple?” you asked, though the insecurity in your voice betrayed your thoughts. You knew their invitation wasn't as harmless as they were trying to make it seem. They were playing with your hair as you chose your words.

The oldest one let out a low chuckle, but his gaze was still fixed on you.

“You just don't get it, do you? We're not asking you for anything weird. We just want you to stop running away.” His voice, though warm, carried an urgency you couldn't ignore.

Silence settled between the two of you, and you could feel the weight of his presence, a warm sensation began to be felt on your arm, a noble but possessive caress. The younger one prostrated himself behind you letting his breath tickle you while the older one played with your hands.

“Come on, hang out with us for a while.”

You thought about it so much that you didn't have time to realize that they were already directing you to their carpool, maybe spending an afternoon with them might change your mind.

“Let me go, this isn't funny!” you moaned at the boys' warm touch against your button. The firm contact against your sensitive skin covered by your panties made a wet patch form.

They both started laughing excitedly, whispering various sick ideas of how to make you come or even the desire to take you by force and use you as their own living sex doll. They had such macabre ideas that they sounded sadistic and of course they were.

“Stop moving, love. You're going to have to take it whether you want to or not.” The younger one began to loosen his belt while the older one held your arms behind your back with one hand and the other painfully massaged your clitoris. You noticed the great length the youngest twin was carrying.

“God, I'm getting so hard”

He threatened as he smiled.

You protested uncontrollably but your nose was already touching the boy's hard abdomen.

“Open.”

Forcefully you opened your mouth as your hair was pulled hard to perform such an action, his member slowly entered to get used to the warmth of your mouth, lewd sounds rang throughout the room.

The older one complimented you and stroked your hair while the younger one grabbed your jaw and generated perverted comments. Your head was spinning as the tip of the cock hit your uvula, allowing you to breathe for four seconds before taking it again until your face became a mess of cum and saliva.

Now it was the other guy's turn, your head was crushed against the bed by the young man while the boy took off his boxer shorts and then lubricated his member with your liquid, he played with your entrance while you moaned with disgust but at the same time excitement.

You liked being held like this, you even liked them liking you and having them obsessed with you, being your stalkers and acting like an innocent lamb every time they came near you. Now they are taking you by force and without permission.

“Ah! f-fuck” you moaned highly when you felt his member open your entrance.

You felt so full having him inside you, you bit your lip as you looked at the boy who a few minutes ago abused your mouth and of course he would do it again. They were both moving their hips and their mouths were leaving sounds so high pitched they were driving you crazy, they were moaning your name and kinky nicknames like it was a love song.

“N-ngh, so fucking...g-good” heaving breaths only pronounced pleasure.

“I'm going to cum” pronounced both boys then moaned at length as their faces contorted in pleasure and your eyes turned white from so much pleasure too.

Your body collapsed at the end of that act, your breathing was up and down and you could only feel the long fingers of one of the twins playing with the dripping semen and reinserting it into your entrance.

It was going to be a long night.

hi guys 😔😔

[paradisedumpling]

Lucky

TROPE: best friends to lovers; non-idol!au

CONTENT WARNING: slightly suggestive jokes and minor swearing; otherwise all fluff

SYNOPSIS: who would've thought going camping with your best friend would lead to a confession

A/N: hi! if you feel like you've seen this before, you probably have. this is a repost from my old vlog, enjoy!

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"Alright guys! Are you all ready?" Minji's dad clapped his hands together after he closed the trunk of his car.

"Yes!" You all agreed with excitement. The six of you, plus Minji's family, are going to spend the first week of summer break at their lake house and you were all very excited about it.

"Dani unnie, come sit with me and Minji!" Haerin unlaced her arm from yours and pulled Danielle in her direction as she hurriedly entered the car after her girlfriend.

You looked at their disappearing figures with betrayal all over your features. You knew exactly why she did that. A warmth sensation started spreading over your face when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders.

"Ready to go, pretty?" You didn't have to look at Hanni's face to tell she had a smile on her face. You simply nodded at the girl and followed her inside the car, avoiding eye contact with her as you did so.

As soon as you entered the car and closed the door, you turned around to give Haerin a panicked look. But she only smirked at you, eyes traveling to Hanni beside you and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. You sighed in frustration and turned around, feeling your face warm, hoping Hanni wouldn't notice your face and how stiff you were beside her.

The thing is, you had a massive crush on your friend Hanni. It had been a couple of years since you'd known her and had slightly different feelings for the vietnamese girl compared to your feelings for your other friends. But it had only been recently that you had realized what your feelings for the girl at your side were and now everytime you were with her, you'd become a blushing mess.

Haerin, being your ride or die, and also a very observant person, was the first one to know about your crush on Hanni, although you were pretty sure she told Minji since the two of them started dating a few months ago. The older girl always gives you two suggestive glances whenever you and Hanni are together. And the cat-like girl has been trying to set you two up at any moment she got. Including right now. On this five hour car ride. Where you'll spend all of this time sitting beside Hanni. The thought made your face get even more warm than before, fingers playing with each other at your lap.

"You okay, girl? Your face is all red." Hanni looked at you in concern as Minji's dad started the car, putting her hand on your forehead and then on your neck, frowning. "You're warm." You swear you heard Haerin snickering at the backseat.

"I-I'm okay, Han. It's just the weather. You know how I am during the summer." You muttered, trying your best to give her a smile that didn't look awkward. She looked at you for a few seconds, but seemed satisfied with your response as she nodded and turned to talk to Hyein.

You occupied yourself with watching the street, leaning your head against the window and taking deep breaths in hope of calming your lovestruck heart.

It worked for a few minutes, until you felt wind being fanned in your face and you looked around confused, seeing Hanni smiling at you as she fanned you with a paper fan.

You blinked for a few seconds, feeling yourself getting flustered again at the kind gesture. "Thank you, Hanni. Won't your arms get tired, though?" You looked at her hand. She was fanning pretty fast. "I can do it myself if it's too much for you."

"Nonsense!" She simply smiled at you and you failed notice how her eyes sparkled at the cute way you were looking at her. "My girl's hot and I'll gladly cool her down if I can." You knew she didn't mean it that way, but your mind short-circuited at her words and this time you knew for sure Haerin was laughing at your red face and dazed expression.

You only hummed softly at her words, avoiding eye contact and leaning to lay your head on Hanni's shoulder, partially wanting to get her gaze off of your face, and partially hoping with this new angle she would get some of the air on herself too. The weather was indeed warm and you weren't sure if the air-conditioner would be effective with seven people in the car anytime soon.

"You're cute." Hanni giggled as she booped your nose, turning her head to bicker with Minji about a comment she made you honestly didn't hear. The only thing you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears.

You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, once again trying to calm yourself down. Hanni was still your friend and you didn't want to make things weird, specially because you knew she would eventually realize you only reacted that way with her. Hyein was already taking notice of your exclusive behavior around Hanni. It wouldn't take too long for her to realize too. And you didn't want to ruin your friendship over a stupid crush.

You felt your phone vibrating inside your pocket and you opened your eyes to grab it and unlock the screen, seeing a message from Haerin. You looked back at the younger girl before going to answer her.

bro's a cat 🐈: You're such a fool in love.

You rolled your eyes at the text, looking back at her once again to give her an annoyed face before quickly replying.

You: Said the one that would blush and giggle everytime Minji looked at you before you became official.

You smirked to yourself as you pressed send, suppressing a laugh as an answer came only seconds after.

bros a cat 🐈: I DID NOT GIGGLE.

Was the reply, alongside an angry cat emoji. It made your smirk get bigger, the tip of your tongue between your teeth as you felt mischievous with the opportunity to tease your friend back.

You: YES YOU DID.

You: I bet you still do.

You quickly typed something else as the three dots signaling Haerin was replying appeared.

You: Minji has you wrapped around her fingers so bad you don't even listen to people's opinions anymore.

You heard Haerin gasp from the backseat, turning around to catch her with an embarrassed face and red cheeks.

You: Only baby Minji's.

"What's with you two?" Danielle asked as you and Haerin shared looks, laughing at the catlike girl's clear embarrassed face at whatever you texted her.

"She's teasing me!" Haerin's squeal got the attention of the other girls as she pointed at you accusingly.

"You started it!" You were quick to defend yourself, looking at Minji's questioning face, one of her eyebrows raised. "She called me a fool, Minji!" This time, you were the one pointing at the other girl.

"Let's not fight in the car, girls!" Minji's dad yelled from the driver's seat, looking at the six of you through the rearview mirror.

"Dad's right." Minji said with a sigh. Although she knew you two never fought and just bickered, she didn't want to stress her dad any more than he already was. He wasn't exactly happy about being the one driving the six of you alone, since her mom was in another car with her brother, sister and grandma. "Rinnie, stop teasing her. You know that's mean and she's trying her best." The three of you shared knowing looks at her last statement. "And you stop teasing my girlfriend! She's only trying to help." Minji pulled Haerin closer and planted a kiss to her temple, making you and the others groan at the PDA.

"Geez, go killing the mood with your couple stuff." Hanni rolled her eyes, nudging your shoulders to get your attention. "Can you believe them?" She whispered to you. "Wasn't Minji the one to establish a 'rule' to not do couple stuff around us?" You giggled between yourselves, leaning against each other as you tried not to laugh loudly and get caught by the older girl.

"You're all just mad you're single." Minji teased and you had to hold Hanni back from firing back, glancing at Minji's dad looking nervously between the rearview mirror and the road.

"Let's see how you guys will be when there's a new couple in the group." Hyein said, laughing to herself as the five of you looked at her in shock.

"You're not crushing on anyone are you?"

"You know you're not allowed to date, Hyein-ah! You're too young!"

"Who's the person? Sorry, kid. I need to have.... a conversation with them."

"You're not allowed to date, end of debate."

"Absolutely not!"

Hyein blinked as she stared at the five of you after being bombarded with your disapproval of her dating anyone. "I wasn't talking about me though?" And then she looked at you.

"Glad you weren't. Cause even if you were, we wouldn't allow it." Hanni said, clueless as the other girls caught on Hyein's eyes on you, also staring as your face grew red again.

The car was silent for the next seconds, only being filled with Hanni asking Minji's dad to put a playlist on. You could feel all the other four girls staring at you and now you knew all of them knew about your crush on Hanni, except the girl in question.

"Wait." Hanni suddenly said, Perfect by One Direction now playing in the car, turning to look at the youngest in the group. "If it wasn't you then who was it?" You stared at Hyein and shook your head violently, silently begging her not to say anything too obvious.

"Hm.... No one!" She squealed. "You're just all old enough to date and Haerin unnie and Minji unnie are already dating so it's only a matter of time until the rest of you find someone too that's what I meant!" She rambled quickly, giving you and the vietnamese girl an awkward smile. You mouthed a 'thank you' to her, which seemed to calm her down a bit as Hanni only shrugged her shoulders and nodded at the girl.

"Oh! I love this part!" Danielle chimed in, starting to sing the song, hoping to change the subject and make everyone's mood more bright. You felt grateful for that and you were sure Hyein was too, after almost spilling the beans about your apparent not so subtle crush on Hanni.

"This girl, I swear." Hanni mumbled to you, giggling quietly to herself before joining Danielle on the song.

You giggled nervously, looking at her as you got mesmerized by the sight of her singing passionately to her favorite band. You just hoped no other close calls would happen in this car trip...

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"Alright, kids! Go to the bathroom, relieve yourselves and wash your faces! We'll meet in the restaurant over there to have lunch!" Minji's mom clapped her hands a few times to gather all of your attention as she spoke.

You had made a stop at a gas station to fuel the cars, go to the bathroom and eat.

Stretching your arms above your head you let out a loud sigh, watching as everyone dispersed to do their necessities or buy snacks at the gas station convenience store.

"You're not coming?" Hanni's voice startled you, thinking she had followed Danielle and Minji's sister, Minyoung, to the bathroom. You turned your head to look at her, smiling unconsciously.

"Yeah, just getting my limbs awake again." She laughed, imitating the stretch you were doing seconds before. "Thanks for waiting, Han. You didn't need to." You pressed a peck to her cheek, skipping ahead as she stared at you with a dazed smile on her face. "Last one to get there has to eat a spicy apple!" You laughed as her expression turned into a dumbfounded one, turning fully to run to the bathroom.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Hanni ran after you, not caring if the people around you were staring or not.

After doing your necessities, the six of you plus Minji's siblings found yourselves at the trinket store by the restaurant while you waited for the food to get ready.

"Oh, look!" Minji's older brother, Minhyuk, turned around with something on his hands, making a show of suspense before revealing a funny looking wooden bear. "I found Minji over here!"

"You ugly motherfu–" You quickly walked away laughing as Minji and her brother began bickering, not wanting to be in the middle of their harmless sibling fight in case they got in trouble with the store's owner.

Walking down a section you haven't seen yet, you spotted many different keychains and fridge magnets on sell and decided to carefully inspect them, wishing to buy something to take home for your family when you're back.

Picking up a cute little bee keychain, you smiled to yourself before you felt a familiar hand slipping on your free one and a weight on your shoulder.

"Do you like it?" You turned to show the item to Hanni, watching the girl bring her free hand to hold yours and inspect the bee keychain, her head never leaving your shoulder as she did so.

"It's cute." She concluded, smiling at you. "Who's this for?"

"You." You giggled as she shoved you away in embarrassment, turning her attention to the items on display to pretended to be unfazed. "You don't want it?"

She mumbled something you didn't understand, still not looking at you. But as she laced her arms with yours once again you knew she liked it.

You became distracted watching Hanni's beautiful concentrated face as she looked through the souvenirs, mindlessly nodding along to whatever she was saying as your cheeks began hurting with the amount of time you stayed smiling at her.

"I'm getting you this." She stated suddenly, shoving a keychain in your face as you blinked away confusedly. She giggled, knowing you were distracted.

Finally inspecting the item she still had close to your face, your eyebrows furrowed at the four-leaf clover. "Thanks?"

"Don't be silly." She tugged you towards the cashier, passing through Hyein and Minyoung with a basket full of things to buy you weren't even sure they had space to store. "It fits your vibes."

"I didn't say I didn't like it!" You dropped your things at the cashier, greeting the store owner quickly, pulling your credit card out to pay for it all. "Why a clover though? I got you a bee because you're Hanni."

"And you'll understand my gift soon." She smiled at you, and was about to say something again when some loud knocks startled you. The two of you turned to see Minji's father impatiently ushering you all from outside the door, signaling that the food had arrived.

Everyone quickly payed for what they got, all of you splitting the bags of things the two youngest girls bought as it got too heavy for just the two of them.

But before getting to sit down at the table to eat, Hanni pulled you to her, whispering in your ear. "Oh, by the way." She says her next words rather seriously. "When we get there, I wanna talk to you in private."

You whipped your face around alarmed, but the vietnamese girl only smiled at you and sat down, engaging in an excited food talk with the other girls.

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The rest of the car trip was calm, with most of you sleeping the rest of the way while you and Hanni silently listened to music on your shared playlist.

Her words never left your mind, an additional nervousness in your chest besides the usual one from being this close to her.

When you finally arrived at the Kim's lake house, you barely had any chances of bringing and leaving your luggage in the room you were staying as Hanni dragged you away from the house.

You only managed to catch Haerin's questioning gaze and shrug before you were both out of the door and heading who knows where.

"Hanni?" You tried to ask but she only shushed you, tugging your hands as she ran with a big smile on her face.

And you couldn't help but appreciate the moment. The way Hanni's black hair flowed gracefully down her back as the wind hit her. The big playful smile that only seemed to get bigger each time she turned to look at you, which in turn made your face warmer each time. The laughter both of you began letting out at some point mixing together with the gentle chirping of birds and the oh, so present water sound from the lake. And the realization you had every so often in simple but magical moments like these that everything felt so perfect and in place with Hanni. So belonging. So right.

Being in love with your best friend was certainly one of the best feelings you could ever feel and you were forever grateful for having her in your life.

When you arrived at the lake pier, Hanni hurriedly sat down and pulled you with her, bringing you flush to her as she pointed to the ducks peacefully swimming in the water.

"Do you think they ever think about life?" Despite her eagerness to arrive here, she asked you quietly, possibly trying not to disturb the animals.

"Maybe?" You carefully watched as a trio of ducklings played in the water. "I'm sure their worries are very different from ours, though."

"You might be right." Her voice came out a bit shaky and you turned around to look at her with concert, shying a bit when you found her intense gaze already on you.

"H-Han?"

"What are you lucky for?" Hanni suddenly asked you, barely blinking as she brought both of your hands to her lap.

"What?" You tilted your head to the side, trying to understand what the meaning for all of this was. "What are you on about? Why are we here anyways, Hanni?"

"Just answer it, come on!" She tugged your hands impatiently, still looking directly into your eyes with an intensity that was making your heartbeat quicken in pace each second.

"Hmm, I don't know. Not failing school?" You shrugged, caving in and looking down to your conjoined hands on her lap.

She laughed nervously, taking one of her hands away to grab something in her pocket before shoving it on your now free hand.

You opened your palm to see the four-leaf clover keychain she had bought hours ago was now there. You looked up to question her again, but she cut your words with an information that left you speechless.

"Well, I for one I am very lucky to be in love with my best friend."

You blinked dazedly at her, not knowing what to say or to do as your mind slowly processed the words that left her mouth and what they meant.

Hanni shyly turned her gaze away for the first time at your silence, but still kept one of her hands firmly on yours.

After long seconds you definitely had to apologize for later, you blurted the first words your brain could come up with to her.

"You're so cheesy, Han."

"Hey!" She whipped her head back to you, the both of you blushing as your gazes met.

"But I don't think I can say much different neither." You mumbled, chewing on the inside of your cheeks as you gathered courage to mutter your next words. "I think I'm lucky to be in love with my best friend too."

"Cool." She smiled with relief, leaning closer as a confident sparkle now adorned her eyes. "This means I can do this now." You closed your eyes in surprise and expectation once you realized what she was doing.

Her soft lips met yours in a sweet, gentle kiss. The both of you not being able to hide your smiles as she but a hand on your cheek, drawing you closer and prolonging the kiss.

Once air was necessary, you pulled away and simply stared at one another, smiling like fools in love as the gentle sounds of the lake water made the moment feel even more special.

But a crack noise disturbing the quietness made you both pull away further, looking around in confusion until your eyes landed into four familiar teasing smiles.

Your four friends stood a bit further away from the pier, both Danielle and Hyein carrying cameras on their hands while Minji faked disgust upon being noticed and Haerin's smile grew bigger at being acknowledged.

You gripped Hanni's hand tighter, ready to get up and bolt towards them before they could go running to Minji's family with embarrassing but definitely cute pictures of the two of you kissing.

"Look who's giggling now!" Haerin shouted before you and Hanni got up, turning to run immediately as you and your hopefully soon-to-be girlfriend shouted back at her.

"KANG HAERIN!"

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thank you for reading <3

[strawberrystepmom]

dante x f!reader. cw: alcohol mentioned, mild hurt/comfort, he refers to reader by the nickname sunshine. established relationship, making up after a fight. | wc 1.8k, reading time: ~7 minutes.

“What on earth is he caterwauling about?”

Lady barely makes the effort to look up and greet you from her perch at the dark marble countertop of the bar, choosing to simply raise a brow and snort fairly humorlessly. 

“I honestly assumed it was over you. Are you two not fighting?”

Your usual spot, situated almost exactly halfway between Devil May Cry and the archive where you spend your daytime hours, is filled with its usual smoky haze. Music from karaoke and the jukebox become one, creating a cacophony when they combine with the various conversations from the groups clustered around the crowded room. 

It’s a lot. It’s even worse when you don’t have Dante chattering in your ear the entire time to drown out the rest of the awful noise. 

Sliding down beside her, bar stool swinging slightly as you do, you lean in close to find some semblance of privacy. Not that anyone could hear you over your boyfriend’s version of some down tempo rock song that was popular when the two of you were younger. 

That’s where half of the racket is coming from. Boy is he making a show of it. 

It may be a ridiculous sight but it’s tugging at your heartstrings. You don’t want him to see you wearing the pinched eyebrow expression that always indicates you’re feeling pity. Dante doesn’t want to be pitied. Ever. Unfortunately at this very second it’s hard to do anything but. 

Wincing, you consider where to begin. “I mean, not really but…” is where you land but it comes to a quick stop as soon as your companion shakes her head in response. 

“Just say yes.” She sighs, now turning to look at you with a disappointed frown. “If you have to start with a caveat the answer is yes and fuck, stop hiding behind me if you aren’t going to do a decent job at it.”

You drop the pity expression and pick up a frustrated one instead, switching them out by dropping just one brow and keeping the other raised.  “I’m not hiding, I just don’t want him to see me yet.”

Lady shakes her head incredulously, reaching to the side to grab her drink again and finish the last of the amber liquid. She’s going to need a lot more than liquid courage to make it through the night if the drama gets any worse. 

“Okay. Well, apparently he doesn’t want anyone to see him because he doesn’t think that they’ll understand if this song choice is being used to send a message.”

Groaning, you use your heel to spin the stool around so that you’re fully facing Lady. 

“Fine. Alright, yes. We got into a little itty bitty tiny disagreement and I was coming by to check on him.”

She stares down at you flatly, picking up her drink and taking a sip while you look around the bar wondering when he will notice you arrived. There’s no way he hasn’t at the very least smelled you, astute as his nose is. The brunette laughs, unable to hold it back any longer. There are a lot of ways to avoid admitting when you were wrong and she thought she’d heard them all from Dante but it appears that you have a few to teach her. 

It’s even more oddly pathetic to watch you wait for him to notice that you’ve arrived. It seems you’re only bold when you aren’t put in time out. 

“Well, well, well look what the cat dragged in.”

Fortunately for you, he noticed. Both you and Lady turn toward him, his hands buried in his pockets while he approaches with a frown.

“Hi.” Your reply is soft; barely a sound at all. 

There’s a smile on your face but your eyes are intentionally sheepishly trained at the ground. If there were any doubt left in Lady’s mind that you were very much in the wrong, it disappears. The instant change in demeanor gives you away. 

It’s not her pleasure to leave or anything but she’s more than happy to walk away, sliding off of the stool and slipping between the two of you to escape just like she has a thousand times before. 

“Even if you are mad at her, that wasn’t very nice.” She whispers from the side of her mouth and elbows Dante in the ribs on her way by, headed to the other end of the bar to give the two of you some privacy and get a refill for herself and the man of the hour.

Now that her stool is vacant, Dante takes her place happily and leans forward so that he’s almost eye level with you.

“I’m not mad at you.”

It doesn’t matter if he actually is or not, you know what you have to do. 

Swallowing thickly, you keep your eyes parked toward your hands and only occasionally steal glances up through your lashes. You’re buying yourself amnesty, you hope, and his blue eyes don’t seem as hard as they were a few days ago when they finally meet yours.

“You were right. I don’t take my safety seriously enough.”

A smirk comes across his handsome face. If you were less remorseful right now, eaten up with guilt and concern that your pushing may have been too far this time, you’d reach up and pinch his cheek to dissuade him from being arrogant. 

Honestly, he sort of deserves to gloat right now. It isn’t common that he is the one getting the apology. 

You’re the perfect one, he’s the fuck up, it’s the way it has always been. Of course you’d hate it if you knew he felt that way so that sad little tidbit stays locked up and hidden inside him, a knife he turns inward every time the two of you are apart. This little tiff has been eating him up since three evenings ago. You commanded him to leave, tearfully mumbling that he’d made you feel like he doesn’t believe in you.

He has definitely been hurting. Aching, even. Tossing and turning and wondering when you’d realize that he believes in you more than anything and that’s why he is so preoccupied with your safety. There may come a time when he won’t be able to be the shield between you and anyone who would hurt you, a horrifying reality. 

So getting you to admit he was right? A victory has never tasted so sweet.

A satisfied sigh leaves him and he tilts his head to the side, pristine white strands of hair falling over his eyes. 

“Say that again?”

Biting your lower lip, you attempt to hide the smile that is blooming before his very eyes.

“Which part?”

He smiles back at you, leaning in closer and pressing the tip of his nose against yours.

“You know which part.”

Inhaling deeply, you keep your eyes trained on his and reach for both of his hands. 

You don’t lock your fingers together as you usually do, choosing instead to hold just his fingertips between your own. It gives him a way to get out of it if he doesn’t want you touching him although you have a feeling he isn’t even close to as mad as he’s pretending to be. There’s something far more simplistic to this touch than many others you’ve shared - almost chaste, this is your confessional. 

“You were right, Dante.” 

He folds your hands up in his and messily weaves your fingers together. You smile, wrinkling your nose just the way he likes.

“I was upset and you know I’m headstrong and opinionated and...” you trail off and shake your head. “Sorry. I’m really sorry for getting so angry at you for only trying to care about me.”

“Listen to me. It’s not that I don’t believe in you it’s that your magic is —”

Smiling sadly, you butt in. “Questionable, just like the rest of me. I know.”

“No. No.” He cups your face between big palms, thumbs smoothing over the apples of your cheeks. “It’s a work in progress. You have me, you have all those books, you will figure it all out. Until then, pay better attention. I’m tired of seeing you getting followed home.”

The fight happened because one, Dante was following you - something you’ve asked him several times not to do. It’s not that you don’t want him around but you’d rather walk by his side, hand in hand and swinging your hands between you. And two, you were indeed followed home and had no idea anyone was behind you.

The downside of working in the dark arts is that you can sometimes attract some shady attention. Dante knows this, Lady and Trish know this, everyone seems to have figured out and accepted it besides you - the bookworm who is always in her own little world. He confronted you, you reacted poorly and took it as an insult, and the rest is several lonely evenings worth of history.

Someday you’ll be able to defend yourself. You'll know the spells you need to know and the natural instincts will make your fingertips twitch and sparkle with magic on demand instead of at unpredictable intervals. Until that day comes, you just have to be aware. 

You’re working on it, you swear.

Daring to let your smile grow a little bigger, you soften your gaze up through your lashes.

“So you aren’t mad?”

You know you’re off the hook when he softens completely, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. 

“A little temperamental for a couple days but no, not mad.”

His warm breath fans over your face, a feeling you missed more than you are ready to admit aloud. You giggle, scooting to the edge of your seat, sticking your legs between his and resting your feet against the base of his stool. Big hands naturally find your waist, sliding down to settle on your hips.

Satisfied with how close the two of you now are, you settle and shoot him with that pinched brow look of pity. “Then what was the deal with that song?”

Dante scoffs, squeezing your hips.

“You know me - I’m a romantic, sunshine. Felt a little lost without my girl and wanted to get it off my chest.”

Snorting, you finally reach up and pinch his cheek between your index finger and thumb.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Raising a brow in response, he presses his forehead to yours and smirks.

“Yet you keep coming back.”

“Oh my god, will you two get on with this already?” Lady spits, glaring at you two out of the corner of her eye upon her return to the bar, drinks in hand. “It’s making me sick to watch.”

If your friend was attempting to hide her exaggeration, she’s doing a poor job. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, arms folded over her chest. Stealing the briefest glance in her direction, you smile back before leaning toward Dante and accepting his forgiveness in the form of a whiskey flavored tongue and the only lips you wanna hang upon ever again.

[sentientcave]

Masquerade

You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.

Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.

See end for Notes

~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI

“My, don’t you look exquisite,” a voice purrs in your ear.

You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.

His heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Don’t muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, you’re simply predictable. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldn’t have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolf’s jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, because it’s worth a try at least, but he’s laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from it’s depths, watching you.

“Oh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.”

“Your invitation?”

“Yes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.”

“To kill you,” you remind him hoarsely.

He chuckles and takes your hand. “Perhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You haven’t danced all night.”

You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I don’t dance,” you tell him sharply. “Let go of me.”

“You’re a liar,” he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you don’t have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. “You forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your father’s halls? I have seen you dance.”

It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. “You failed to make an impression,” you tell him sharply, although it’s not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.

Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadn’t so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-place’s iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.

“I knew you were mine from the first,” he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. “My lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.” He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m certain you remember that, at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The only unfortunate part,” he says patiently. “Is that I did not take you as my mate that night.”

His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything he’s done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.

The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolf’s eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, you’d probably break your leg, and then you’d be helpless.

“What do you think of our home?” he asks. “Have you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure you’d have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found them already.”

“I have been busy with other preparations,” he says mildly. “But I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.”

You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. “Preparations for what?”

“Your homecoming. The king has made it clear that it’s time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.” He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. “I’ve been too lenient with you.”

“Lenient?” you ask, incredulous. “I’ve been trying to kill you.”

“Those who attempt such things do not usually live long,” he reminds you. “I don’t often show mercy. I’ve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.”

You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you can’t see.

He’s always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with it’s heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.

Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.

You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks. “Stubborn creature.”

He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.

“What are you doing?” you ask numbly.

He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. “Just returning your pin,” he says, smirking. “Why do you seem so flustered, darling?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know he’s capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. You’ve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if you’d been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You don’t know how to stop anymore, you don’t know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. “I’ll never stop.”

There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. “I never could,” he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. “I begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.”

“I’m not innocent anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’ve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.

“You have it regardless,” he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. “And someday I will earn yours.”

“Never,” you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you.”

He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. “If you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?”

“I’m afraid of you,” you snap.

He laughs harshly. “No you’re not. You’ve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.” He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.

But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolf’s jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that he’d shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.

His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like you’re a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. “You have become worthy of me,” he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. “I would have kept you like a bird in a cage if I’d taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the king’s sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”

“I used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.”

“You killed my father,” you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.

“He was a traitor. I had orders.”

“And what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?” you ask, sneering up at him. “What will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?”

“I’ll never see you again.”

You aren’t sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

“What do you think it means?” He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. “It means I would pluck my own eyes out before I’d kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down I’d stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neck—” He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. “Loyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, he’ll ask another.” He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. “I hope it does not come to even that.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!” he snarls. “You had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what it’s like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.”

“But you let me go,” you say numbly. “You said—”

“Let you go?” He laughs, striding back towards you. “Oh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldn’t kill you does not mean I didn’t try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain I’ve placed upon you. I’ve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.”

“You called it a game—”

He inclines his head towards you. “I did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. It’s good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.” He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. “Besides. We’ve both made our marks upon the other.”

“I’ve gotten you more times than you have me,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously. “Two or three times I really thought I’d finished you off.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

You think about it. “Yes.”

“Care to make a wager, dearest? If you’ve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.”

You draw in a steady breath. “And if I lose?”

He grins. “Not so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you needn’t worry. You can name your own penalty.”

“How magnanimous.”

“I can be,” he says. “Now, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but it’s not revulsion that you feel, it’s something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all it’s legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but it’s only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but it’s winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. “Ah, yes,” you say nervously. “Perhaps somewhere more private.”

“And warmer,” he adds. “As stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.”

As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, you’re struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldn’t be ten years your senior. You suspect it’s much less than that.

It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, stepping in close again. Although you’ve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, he’s full of restless energy, moving away and back again like he’s tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.

You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. “I was just thinking. You look so…” You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.

“Handsome?” he suggested. “Strong? Irresistible?” He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.

“I was going to say young, actually,” you say. “I was wondering what sort of boy you were.”

He holds a hand out to you. “I’m sure there’s a portrait somewhere, if you’re curious. Now come along, pet, I don’t want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.”

You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. It’s been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someone’s hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolf’s. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.

Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, it’s become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.

His fingers close around yours, and you realize that you’ve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and he’s smiling in a way you haven’t seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.

He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.

Despite that small reassurance, you’re grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps it’s that you aren’t on constant guard for the wolf. He’s already here, holding your hand, pretending that he’s not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.

The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder if he feels like he’s won already, but there’s none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that you’ve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.

“Do you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?” he asks.

You laugh. “I was just thinking about it. Why?”

He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. “Do you think you’ll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?”

“That depends on whether or not you tie me up again,” you quip back.

“Don’t say such things,” he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You’ve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didn’t already have ideas,” you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like you’re old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. “I live in hope.”

The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isn’t as stark as you’d always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isn’t something that has ever come up before.

The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat you’ve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.

“You have a cat?” you ask, because it seems unlike the picture you’ve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.

“I don’t have a cat,” he corrects you loftily. “Smudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.” He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. “She isn’t usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.”

“I’m not much of an assassin, I’m afraid she’d be terribly disappointed in me. I’ve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.” You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure her record is much more impressive.”

He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. “Have you never taken a life?”

“I’ve tried very hard to avoid it. You’re the only person I ever wanted dead, and I— I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense of…” You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. “Oh I don’t know. Righteousness, I suppose.”

“So sweet that you wanted me to be your first,” he teases.

You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. “Perhaps I still do,” you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. “My first kill— Not— Ugh.” He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Stop laughing!” Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolf’s ears don’t hear you perfectly. “That’s not what I meant!”

He snorts. “I know, pet. It’s a bit late for that, I should think.”

You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Darling.” He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never taken a lover.”

“There was never a good time,” you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when you’d been sorely tempted to share someone’s bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses you’d shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.

He sits back with a groan. “You’re always throwing wrenches into my plans.”

“How on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?” you ask hotly.

“Darling, don’t be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.”

“Too easy!”

“I would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.” He smiles ruefully. “But seduction isn’t fair if you’re a virgin. I’ll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” You stare at him, incredulous. “What, you’re going to court me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. “It’s the long road, but you’ll find I’m usually more than willing to take the scenic route.”

“You’re insane,” you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. “You must be.”

“Must I be? Like you said, I’ve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.” He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. “Do you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? You’ve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, children— Do you want none of those things?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.” He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. “Ugh, I hate wine.”

“I know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass you’ve been waving around.”

“I just wanted to indicate that it wasn’t poisoned.” He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. “Just in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.”

You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps she’s simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.

You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechless— getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like you’ve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.

You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you haven’t eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, you’ve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.

“You’re staring,” he says without cracking an eye.

“How would you know? You haven’t opened your eyes in ages.”

“And how would you know that, if you haven’t been staring?”

He has you there. “Alright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about… about before.”

He opens his eyes. “How long? We do have a rather storied history, don’t we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.”

You smirk. “I bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.”

“I was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didn’t have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t even let me feed myself,” you lament, though you can’t help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. “It was terribly humiliating.”

“Revisionist drivel!” he snarls playfully. “I did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.”

You blink. “I suppose I did.”

He leans closer. “I suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.” He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. “That’s one, by the way.”

“I only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,” you reminded him.

“Ah, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? There was just this moment when I touched your lip…” He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadn’t. “Are you still too proud, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. “Will you let me kiss you?” He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes.”

At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. “Not so fast, my darling. You’ll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.” He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. “Two and three, respectively,” he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. “You’re a better swordsman than I,” he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. “I might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didn’t you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or I’d have lost far too many good men to your blade.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Is it working?” He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. “This one is my favourite,” he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. “The first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldn’t have made it to a proper healer in time. It’s partially why there’s such a scar. He’s always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jon’s your man.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.”

“It is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,” you say mildly.

“Oh yes, I imagine it is.”

“So is it really just the five scars?” you ask. “That’s all?” Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.

“There’s one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably don’t want me to take my pants off.”

You do want him to take his pants off. “Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you say instead. “I suppose you’ve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.” You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. You’re covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like you’ve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.

The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

“You’re just trying to get me out of my dress,” you say hotly.

“Obviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ll be a bit disappointed.”

“Never. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didn’t erode my affections, what could?”

“Oh I don’t know,” you say thoughtfully. “I could have scales, or a tail—”

“I have a tail,” he reminds you. “And I’m quite positive that you’re human, so I’m not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.��

You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. “It would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,” you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. “There are so many of them.”

He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. “I’ll have it fixed,” he says hastily. “And I’ll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.”

You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. “I— I don’t want— I won’t stay.”

He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.

“I won’t,” you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They don’t.

“I already told you, darling, I won’t make you stay. It’s up to you.”

He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. You’re riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.

“I wondered if I’d bitten you that night.” He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. “You never turned, so I wasn’t sure.”

“It doesn’t always take,” you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. “I think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. “I can’t say I’ve thought about why some bites take and some don’t. I’m not as observant as you, my love.”

Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. It’s not his observations that are the problem, it’s the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. He’s faced so few consequences in his life that it doesn’t come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake you’ve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if you’d done it all just a little differently.

You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. “This one’s only indirectly your fault,” you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. “When I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.”

He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. It’s just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.

There’s no halting the soft “Oh” that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. There’s no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. “You shouldn’t show me any more,” he tells you. “I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you won’t stop me if I try.”

You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. “Would that be so bad?”

He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. “I am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.”

You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.

You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.

“Come here, you little minx,” he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when you’ve made so many overtures in such a short time.

You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and there’s no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.

“I rescind my earlier statement,” he says.

“Which one?”

“You don’t have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that you’re too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isn’t fast enough to stop.”

You huff. “Is this your way of asking for another?”

“It’s my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,” he says. “There is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.”

He’s a ridiculous kind of man. You’d always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though you’re the sunrise and set, like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky.

You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. There’s nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.

You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.

The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?

He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.

You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” you admit. You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I don’t see what difference it makes, really.”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve taken enough from you, I don’t want you to regret it.” He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.

Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."

"Darling…"

"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."

"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.

“I know.”

He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but you’re still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.

“Don’t,” he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. “Don’t apologize. You won’t hurt me.”

His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. There’s a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.

He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. “You are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.” He stands in a smooth movement, and you’re untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.

You shed the garment as soon as you’re able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.

He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what you’d find, you’ve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, it’s hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.

“We don’t have to do this, love,” he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. “If you’re nervous—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I want to. I’m just— I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that darling. It’s your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you don’t.” He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. “And if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.”

It sounds so simple, put like that.

“Besides,” he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. “You’ve always been a quick study.”

Well, he’s right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.

He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Can I taste your pretty cunt, darling?”

The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.

A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. He’s doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.

To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what he’s directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.

The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways you’d never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. It’s too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. It’s too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.

If he minds your writhing, he doesn’t show it. You can’t help the sounds he pulls from you, but he’s louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.

His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that you’re surprised you don’t break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm that’s been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You can’t see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.

He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.

You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. “How was that?” he asked.

There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but they’re beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.

“Only nice, hm? I suppose I’ll have to work harder.”

“Better than nice,” you assure him. “I— I liked it a lot.” It’s still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

He does, after a long moment. “Are you ready for more?”

“There’s more?” you ask. “Or— for you? Do you want me to—”

“No, there’s no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.

You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. There’s no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.

The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. “Hello, pretty thing,” he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well you’re taking him, how good you feel around his cock.

Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.

He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until you’re shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that you’re certain you’ll leave permanent marks.

He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesn’t pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.

His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Sex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once you’re both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.

You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like he’s had his fill of you. There’s a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and now…

He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. “You’re too far away,” he tells you, voice a warm purr. “And you’re thinking too much.”

It’s still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.

“What happens now?” you ask at last. “Do we go our separate ways?”

Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. “Is that what you want?”

There’s raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldn’t work so hard to hide his feelings if he didn’t care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.

The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him won’t bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldn’t admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.

It’s so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, you’re not sure you mind.

“I’d like to stay,” you say at last.

He’s on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. It’s hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.

In the end, with all the history between the two of you, what’s one more mess?

It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)

C. T. Cutter

(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)

Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pictures and things

[sudokuplayer]

i'm so angry and heartbroken and i think this is all i will ever be

[ningningkittie]

🦨💭

[lesbiansanemi]

We’ve officially hit the point where I can’t fucking sleep because of this shit and on top of everything the AC went out I literally want to cry I’m so stressed I physically feel like shit like I need to throw up I’m so tired but between my stomach hurting, the stress, and the heat I can’t

[databent]

siiiiighs. curse of everything costs money all the time

[lexicals]

Swear to god I don't know why I ever try to bring anything up with that woman it's never a good idea but every time I'm like "what if this time I'm not immediately told I'm wrong". Call me either an optimist or a fool

[cupcakesmoothie]

Something about me and mean lesbians with their cute sweet girlfriends that they're absolutely whipped for

Lesbians

[classicintp]

Goddammit I miss that cat.

[six-improbable-things]

Me and the DM of Rook's campaign were talking about what I'm going to do character-wise when Rook gets kidnapped by Cpt. Wolf, and I came up with the idea of playing the captain whose ship they hire to chase Wolf down, and I'm more than a little in love with them now.

Meet Captain Kyron Valris!!

They're a tiefling hexblade warlock, and they're the only captain in Bon Largo (and maybe the world) brave/stupid/crazy/take-your-pick-of-adjective enough to accept a job to chase down the most feared pirate captain in the world. And not just chase her down but attempt to steal from her.

I love them dearly, and it's gonna be a lot of fun to play an eccentric little weirdo. Also to play a good character for once... Chaotic good, of course, but still, good.

Funnily enough, they're my second nonbinary purple tiefling warlock character... [*insert Dr. Doofenschmirtz two nickles meme*]

[pcktknife]

read the full post please and thanks!

Hi! Please don't vote without sharing‼️

This is Ahmed (@zinaanqar), who I've been talking with for a little while now. Who's been incredibly dedicated in reaching out to you all for help to save his family and promote their campaign. Ahmed is 34 years old and lives in Gaza with his wife Dina, who is 36, and their children: Zeina (8 years old), Eileen (7 years old), Yamen (5 years old), and baby Ronza (only 4 months old). Imagine if it were your own family member, friend, or child who should be enjoying school or playing with friends, but instead spend they're time hiding from bombs and relying on the kindness of strangers to survive. This family has been suffering for more than a year due to the relentless siege and devastation and we are their only chance to find safety and hope for a better future. Please help by sharing their campaign and spreading the word. Right now (10/22/24) their campaign is at €66,413 of their €75,000 goal leaving them with €8,587 left to raise!

vetted by:

@/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi on their vetted Gaza fundraiser list (#264)

@/butterflyeffect.project (instagram) on their spreadsheet (#741)

@/gazavetters on their spreadsheet (#213)

Never forget that Palestinians are not numbers on a list of deaths. Please think of each of them, think of their names and faces and know that you can help them. I think of them everyday. I think of the hopes and dreams they should be able to achieve. I think of their education, their future, and the love they show when they work hard everyday to get help. You may feel powerless to stop this genocide, but you do have the power to save Ahmed and his family. Even the smallest donations go a long way and it's important to remember that.

tags for reach

@90-ghost @heritageposts @neechees @khanger @beserkerjewel @appsa @nerdyqueerr @strangeauthor @neptunerings @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @feluka @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @anneemay @tamamita @tamarrud @punkitt-is-here @turtletoria @sara-roz @ot3 @valtsv @t-800 @officialspec

[sameteeth]

reading no longer human was definitely very enlightening wrt dazai bsd's character... i feel like he's definitely more like yozo than not ie the clowning and silliness. even the weird womanizing angle that they do sometimes with dazai. bc like. he's sort of this terrible person, and he's so disparate from everyone, even at the detective agency. i think we see him working WITH the agency, like literally talking to them/conversing/helping a handful of times.. most of the time dazai acts as a singular agent. and a lot of that is definitely the way he plans it, but it still makes him an outsider, even among people who genuinely care about him, because dazai still sees himself as being disqualified from being a human.. even when he has chosen the "good" side.