#Beneath the Grass project

[marukfe]

Painting style experiment

Oc: Mataph (he/they)

#original character #oc #my oc art #Beneath the Grass project #marukfe oc art #marukfe art #moth oc #bug oc

[sailoryooons]

Red | KNJ | (m)

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader

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

☾ Word Count: 21,148

☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut

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

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

☾ Published: Sunday, January 21 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

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

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

“It’s a little funny.”

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

That makes him pause. “There was?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strange how?” 

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

“I don’t know. I was so young.”

“Hmm.” 

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you blurt.

“For what?”

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

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

“Was it that awful?” 

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

“Angry?”

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

You hum in agreement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what do we do?”

Silence. Then, “Send a message….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing comes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Kim!”

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

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

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

“But the wolves-”

“Do not mention the wolves, girl.”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Warriors?” he laughs. “Strange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi is a lunatic.”

“He’s the alpha.”

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

“The hunts will begin tomorrow.”

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

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

“Is revenge worth it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you?”

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

“I’m… you’re awfully close.”

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

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

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

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

“Family friends.” 

“What were you all talking about?”

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

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

“Because of the wolves?”

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

“You’re a stranger in my town.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps I have one of those faces?”

“No, I’d remember a face like yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t worried.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s very handsome.”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Red.”

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Both.”

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I run warm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of tea do you like?”

“Yarrow, if you have it.”

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

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

“Well, we are strangers, after all.”

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

“I suppose that’s true.”

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

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

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

“Why have you come to the village?” 

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

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

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

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

“It is… not always like that here.”

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

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

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

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

He smiles and shrugs. “I run warm.” 

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

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

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

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

“He was a hunter.”

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

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

Namjoon hums. “Smart man.”

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

“You must resent the woods.”

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

“Usually?”

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

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

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

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

“Like your family?”

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

“Really?”

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

“I always found that incredibly sad.”

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

How swiftly I know his voice, you think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who the hell are you?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you know who murdered Mr. Hatch?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Every day. It’s… sentimental to me.”

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

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

-

Little Lucy Larkin

In a little wood

Little Lucy Larkin

Up to no good

Little Lucy Larkin

In her little hood

Little Lucy Larkin

Ware of the woods!

Little Lucy Larkin

Stole a little bread

Little Lucy Larkin

In the woods of dread

Little Lucy Larkin

Is a little thief

Little Lucy Larkin

Die by wolf’s teeth

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t you be helping the constable?”

“I’m on the late-night shift.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something is going on.”

“Yes, your attitude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do not find him there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon. 

-

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

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

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

“Where am I?” 

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

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

“Seokjin - you - what is going on?” 

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

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

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

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

He nods slowly. “They are.” 

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

“Like what?”

“Like werewolves exist.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This village has a complicated history. 

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

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

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

“Who is Yoongi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Sleep, Red.”

-

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

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

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

“I have questions.”

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

“Did the werewolves kill my father?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His throat bobs. “You did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew I liked you.”

“You barely know me.”

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

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

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

“Which is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh. Well, that’s very rude.”

“He’s good at that.”

“You sound fond, still.”

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

“Well still. Thank you.” 

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

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

Your toes curl. “Like what?” 

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

“Maybe I do.”

“I know.” 

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

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

“Is this what you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses you. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to go back.”

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

“You want to help?”

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

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

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

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

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

[deadsetobsessions]

To the mf who had my house before me, if you see me on the street, turn around and run the other way. Because if I see you, know that it’s going to be on sight. Who even puts tile like that?? Anyways, I'm kind of sick, so that's why I've been kind of inactive.

But good news (ish) I got me a house! Yay! Let’s hope I can keep it. To celebrate, y’all can have this! And a few chapters! So technically this is a chapter update post?

——

Danny’s most favorite thing to do with Alfred Pennyworth is groundskeeping. While he might not be Sam, Danny could still appreciate the serenity and beauty of nature.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Master Danny, please refrain from using explicit language.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I got stabbed.”

“Oh dear. Will you be needing a bandage?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I think…” Danny hummed, peering closer at the reddish brown thorns sprouting from the ground. “That might be the rose bush?”

Alfred paused his snipping, turning around and coming closer to inspect the plant. “How peculiar. It seems to have grown a branch beneath the soil.”

In unison, Danny and Alfred lifted their heads to look at the rose bush, innocuously sitting three yards away.

“Huh. Weird.”

“Indeed.”

The door to one of Bruce Wayne’s many gardens, all opulently gothic to hide their vigilante disturbances, opened. The hinges swung without a single creak, as Alfred the butler always carried WD-40 on his person and a squeaky hinge in this mansion was an affront to his professionalism.

"Hey, guys! Whatcha doing?" Duke greeted, followed by Jason.

"Gardening! You wanna help?"

"Nah, I'm a Gothamite, not Poison Ivy, man. I don't do grass." Duke replied, plopping down on one of the lawn chairs with his drink. "But I can totally give you moral support... from over here."

Danny snorted. "What about you, Jason?"

Jason shrugged. "Sure, what are we doing?"

"There's a rose bush that grew all the way over here."

"Woah, crazy."

"Indeed, Master Jason. I shall go get the shovels."

"Okay, Alfie," Jason absently agreed, focused on finding where else the rose bush had grown to. "You wanna keep the bush, right?"

"That would be preferable."

"Duke, can't-" Jason paused, throwing a quick look at Danny before visibly changing tracks. "Can't you get us some drinks?"

"Kitchen's right over there, Jason." Duke pointedly leaned back and took a sip.

Danny piped up. "I'll get it! What did you want, Jason?"

----

Two hours later, covered in all manners of dirt and blades of grass, Jason and Danny sat back to survey the messed up garden.

"You sure we can't hire Ivy to move the plant somewhere?"

"She'd just make it worse," Jason grumbled.

"You guys can do it!" Duke cheered, scrolling through his phone and cherry picking the most hilarious pictures of Jason and Danny to send to the group chat. He chose the selfie, where he was grinning into the camera as Jason fell on his ass as Danny pulled up a long section of thorns.

Duke gets nailed in the face with two clumps of grass from his disgruntled brothers.

"I believe it is time for a shower." Alfred Pennyworth smiled, content. Days like these made him glad that his grandchildren found their way back.

#dcxdp #fic update #jason todd #batman #alfred pennyworth #duke thomas #the signal #red hood #danny phantom #the groupchat is just embarrassing pics and the fam roasting the shit out of eachother

[wedonthaveawhile]

When she says my name.

Garreth Weasley x F!MC (18+)

Garreth finds himself entangled with the heroine of Hogwarts. As their encounters become habit, they devolve into a game of power dynamics and possession.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possesive!Garreth, dominant!Garrreth, public sex, dirty talk, aged-up characters, unrequited love, pining.

AO3 // Word count: 3k

Garreth picked at the splintered wood on his broom from a recent tussle with a bludger, scanning the courtyard intermittently for any trace of his Quidditch team. Their head of house had recently delivered a stern criticism about their hero complex. Apparently, each member was too focused on personal glory, neglecting the importance of working as a cohesive team.

He eventually detected a figure on a broom, although quickly realised they displayed a level of nimble grace far beyond what he'd expect from one of his lumbering teammates. Hogwarts' resident hero was evidently making a return from one of her mysterious outings.

His eyes swept the courtyard again, a scattering of students strolled across the well-kempt grass, a handful basked in the sun near the fountain, but none he recognised. Thinking about it, Garreth wondered whether he should hang around for this team-building training. It was probably wise, considering he was not only the captain but also the one who had organised the whole thing. However, they were running late, and he had spotted far more appealing company.

Before he could put much more thought into it, he swung his leg over his broomstick and began to silently trail the unsuspecting witch.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when he started noticing her disappearances. He assumed he just hadn't been paying much attention to her whereabouts prior to her inquiry regarding his more 'unobtainable' potions. His tactics hadn't evolved significantly since fifth-year when he’d charmed the newcomer into pilfering Sharp's office for supplies, but he had become far more adept at sneaking around for rare ingredients.

He agreed to assist in whatever scheme she was cooking up, on the condition she helped him obtain the key component. Partly for the benefits of having someone on the lookout for wandering faculty, but mostly because the beloved heroine of Hogwarts could do no wrong. If their covert operation were to be exposed, her involvement would mean the detention time his aunt dished out would be significantly reduced.

They needed snakeweed, which he was fairly certain was cultivated and harvested in the greenhouse. However, Professor Garlick was extremely protective of her plants, requiring their thieving to be done after curfew.

Moonlight wiggled through the twisted tendrils of the countless plants scattered throughout the greenhouse as they dispelled their disillusionment charm and got to work.

"What do you reckon all of this is?" The witch gestured towards a dense blanket covering the harvesting bench, a few neatly folded sheets at one end made it appear like some kind of makeshift bed.

"Perhaps the rumours about Garlick and Kogawa are true. Maybe we've stumbled upon their secret little sex den.” Garreth turned around and playfully wiggled his eyebrows, narrowly avoiding stumbling into a venomous tentacula lurking in the shadows.

She pulled back the cover, unveiling a project in progress—mallowsweet leaves neatly laid out, drying between the two blankets.

"You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” she scoffed, laying the covering back over the golden foliage. “Or you need to get laid.”

"It was a logical assumption," he argued, crouching beneath a table, casting a dim lumos across a collection of small plant pots. "The height of these tables are just right for it."

"Should I ask how you know that?"

She lifted herself onto the table as if testing the height for herself. Garreth smirked as he shifted the pots around with flicks of his wand.

"I’m a warm-blooded male, I'd say I'm an expert in these things."

Spotting a small propagation of snakeweed, he cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure she was keeping a watchful eye on the door. She wasn't. She was perched primly on the edge of the table, legs pressed together from knees to toes.

His eyes roamed across her body, and he realised he had never really had the opportunity to thoroughly check her out. She was like forbidden fruit, always flanked by her two Slytherin gatekeepers. It's not that he hadn't noticed she was attractive, she certainly was. Her feminine figure hinted at subtle signs of muscle earned from days spent sprinting around the castle.

His lusty gaze travelled up to her face, only to discover she had been watching him the entire time. Suppressing the flicker of embarrassment, he instead leaned into his Gryffindor bravery. He grabbed the small pot and approached her, his hips meeting her knees with an intentional bump.

"As promised," he presented her with the delicate plant, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed it over.

"That was easy," she raised the pot to catch the moonlight. Her eyes shifted from the plant to him, and her pupils bloomed. "You've earned yourself a returning customer."

"Splendid," he grinned, wondering whether this meant more after-hour hangouts, a thought that kindled his overactive imagination. "The first one's on the house, the rest might come with a price tag."

“I suppose I’ll have to start saving then. What's your price?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make demands beyond your means,” he backtracked, worried she might think he was being serious. “Wouldn’t want to scare off my favourite customer.”

"Snagged the title of the favourite customer without parting with a single penny?” She chuckled lightly, scraping her teeth across her lower lip, “Business must be crawling."

"I prioritise quality over quantity," his eyebrow quirked as he studied her face, purposefully lingering a beat too long on her lips before flitting back to her eyes. "Now, what assets do you bring to the trading table?"

"Let me think," she reclined on her palms. "What do I bring to this specific table..." she emphasised each word with a tap of her nails against the wood, "that a warm-blooded male might find tempting?"

Heat surged through his body, and he began to regret pressing himself up against her legs, there was no way she couldn’t feel his enthusiasm swell against her knees.

“Did I mention it’s one for the price of two?”

She laughed, the sugar-sweet sound tickling his brain and the movement of her body causing her legs to part slightly.

“See, what did I tell you?" he pushed his palms against the table on either side of her thighs as he slotted himself between them. "Perfect height."

"I took your word for it. After all, you're the expert." She gave his tie a tug before running the fabric through her fingers. “Well, so you say...”

"Correct," he answered simply, because the only other words rattling around in his head was an offer to sit on his face, and he was trying really hard to play it cool.

She cocked her head to the side, “Are you going to verify that claim?”

You would have thought they were time-fated lovers, not classroom acquaintances. She had been right. He needed to get laid, and she needed some stress relief. It didn't take long before her skirt was hiked up around her waist and he was showcasing just how perfect the height of the table was. He assured her the greenhouse was soundproof due to the mandrakes, though he wasn't entirely sure if that was true. Frankly, he didn't care. Her unrestrained moaning, nails scraping across the wooden table, heels digging into his back to pull him in deeper—it made a lifetime of detention feel like a minor nuisance.

The saying goes, once is a mistake and twice is a habit, but Garreth wondered when it tipped into addiction. Whenever she was stressed—and fortunately for him, that was often—he found himself happily yanked by his tie into the nearest broom cupboard, beneath the Quidditch stands before one of his matches, by the edge of the lake under a disillusionment charm...

Maybe this time, on the balcony of the highest tower?

That's where she gracefully dismounted her broom. He followed suit, touching down behind her without a sound. Her jumper was splattered with mud down one arm, but for the most part, she was reasonably unscathed which was a rarity. She tugged it over her head to clean it with a quick charm, and he realised the stain bore a suspicious resemblance to a troll's handprint.

He knew she could handle herself, she’d been doing so for almost two years without his observations. Nevertheless, he realised he’d begun to worry about her when she was away.

He cleared his throat.

She whirled around with startled eyes and he muffled her gasp with a kiss. She squirmed for a few seconds, but her resistance crumbled as his thumbs glided up her neck, tracing delicate patterns under her ears.

He wasn't certain if she was doing the pulling or if he was doing the pushing, but somehow her back ended up crashing against the wall. Her fingers wove through his hair as his lips tore from hers and latched onto the sensitive skin of her throat.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she landed a weak thump on his bicep.

"You look like you lost a fight with a swamp," he mumbled against her skin, his hands wandering down to her hips.

"I'll have you know, I beat that swamp fair and square."

A ghost of a laugh dispersed across her neck, "I like the thought of watching you mud-wrestle. Let me come with you next time."

“Or you could come in me now?”

It was an obvious deflection tactic, but he gladly took the bait. His kisses grew forceful as he began to nip at her exposed skin.

“You better not be leaving marks, Weasley.”

He grumbled in protest against the light pink blotch he had begun to work into her throat. Something in the primal recesses of his mind itched to brand her. He wanted his lips stained on her skin, regardless of wherever or whoever she was with when she was gone.

"What if they're out of sight?" His fingers danced against her neck as he worked on undoing her tie, it fluttered to the ground before he finished asking for permission.

She withdrew her wand and uttered the incantation for a protective charm to shield their misdeeds from any potential spectators. He took that as consent, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her chest as he unbuttoned her shirt.

"Where have you been?" he probed before his teeth dug into the plump flesh above her breasts. It had been nearly nine days since their last encounter, easily their longest dry spell in the two months since their greenhouse tryst.

"None of your business," She hooked her fingers into his trousers to pull him closer, trying to find some friction.

"I want it to be.”

"Tough shit, Weasley,” her voice faltered as he hiked her skirt up around her waist.

“Garreth,” he reprimanded.

She only called him by his first name when they were fucking. He was certain she’d been deliberately conditioning him with it. If he teased her too vigorously in class all she had to do was say, "Shut it, Garreth," and he'd have to discreetly conceal his excitement for the next ten minutes. She made him dumb, plain and simple.

"You'll have to earn that," she purred, licking a trail along his neck that made his gut twist taut.

He scooped her up, spinning her around until she perched on the balcony's banister. A yelp escaped her as she teetered on the concrete edge, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“I want to feel this tomorrow,” she popped open his buttons to speed up the process, “Please?"

“I've got you," he assured, feeling her pulse thunder against his chest as he positioned himself between her thighs. One hand supported her back, while the other fumbled to unclasp his belt.

It was difficult to recall how he'd ever got aroused before she came along. The way she demanded and begged all at once sent his brain spinning. "Say please again," he whispered, nipping her lower lip as he moved her soaked underwear to the side and positioned himself at her entrance. "I like it when you ask nicely."

"Pretty please?" she simpered before kissing him, her tongue eagerly seeking his.

He swallowed her moan as he pushed himself into her, she felt better than he remembered. Tight, hot, and quivering as he gave her everything he had. He loosely wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she whined against his mouth, her head tilting back as her eyes fluttered shut. He tightened his grip, her own hands scrambling at his waist to encourage him deeper.

He pulled her close by the small of her back with one arm, maintaining his grip on her neck with the other, aligning her to accommodate all of him. With each thrust, she bit down on the flesh of his shoulder as he bottomed out.

So, it was fine when she left a mark. He'd certainly remember that.

“You feel so fucking good, Garreth-”

A fractured cry fell from her lips as he pounded into her because his name had floated off her tongue like a prayer, causing something inside him to shatter, like it always did. Defining the constantly shifting dynamic between them was impossible, but it was addicting - He always found himself craving a little more than what he was getting.

“Who do you belong to?”

Garreth threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging her head up to look him in the eyes. She regarded him with a dizzy stare but remained silent. He began to slow down, and she instinctively bucked her hips to maintain some friction as her building orgasm began to ebb away.

“I said, who do you belong to?”

She wasn't his, they were both aware of that. This was never more than a matter of convenient timing and a means of stress relief. Nonetheless, he took pleasure in the hold he had over the most formidable witch of their generation. The witch with unwavering principles and determination. The witch who never faltered in her beliefs. The witch who was currently lying through her teeth for the pleasure of coming undone on his cock.

“You,” she whimpered, “Please, Garreth. Don’t stop, please.”

He didn't know if it was the way she was begging or the frantic desperation of her hips grinding against his, but he was teetering on the edge of his breaking point. He bit down hard on his lip, struggling to hold himself together long enough for her to reach the finish line.

"Chin up," he demanded, his breath coming in ragged pants as he reached one hand between them, rubbing a lopsided circle around her clit. “You look at me when you come."

He groaned through clenched teeth as his words caused her to instantly tighten around him, and that beautiful, hazy look fell over her face. She pulled him in by his collar, kissing him so hard it carved itself onto his brain and he released nine days of pent-up desire. He rolled his hips against hers as they both rode it out, briefly forgetting he should be gentle considering she was perched on the edge of a several hundred-foot drop.

He had believed there was nothing better than watching her unravel in his arms before seeking his own release, but he was wrong. Feeling her orgasm spasming over his shaft as he filled her up damn near killed him.

He fastened his trousers and helped her down from the stone balustrade. She smoothed down her skirt, trying to hide the fact that she was wobbling. He hoped his performance had met her expectations and he’d still be making her legs tremble tomorrow.

He peppered kisses across the blemishes he'd left on her breasts as he fastened the buttons of her shirt, trailing up to nip at the delicate spot on her neck just beneath her ear, the spot only he knew about, the spot that made her head tilt back and her vision fill with stars. He whispered an "Accio" against her skin, summoning a tie from the ground. He secured it around her throat with a playful tug before pulling her jumper over her head.

“You have to go?” he murmured between kisses, finding it bothered him less when he asked rather than when she told him.

Her chest heaved as she sighed, planting a lingering kiss on his lips before bending down to gather her things. “I have a study group. You’re welcome to join?”

He gave her a foggy smile and shook his head lightly. “I have some Quidditch thing I’m late for.”

“Alright, well…” She cast a fleeting glance at her abandoned broom on the floor. They hadn’t quite mastered the art of goodbyes yet. “Later, Weasley.”

“See you later,” he offered her a half-hearted wave, hoping she wouldn't make him wait another nine days before flying into his line of sight again.

As he watched her leave, he found himself wondering what impulse had led him to fasten his Gryffindor tie around her neck. There was the undeniable hope her irritation at his bold act would result in some passionate hate sex, but it ran deeper than that. It felt territorial. He’d been growing increasingly irritated with Sallow's lecherous stare and Gaunt's persistent attempts to cater to her every whim. They seemed to believe they held a Slytherin monopoly on her affections, all due to some unspoken event that happened over two years ago. Garreth understood her on a deeper level. She wanted someone who wouldn't procrastinate for two years, someone capable of making her scream on a greenhouse bench at two in the morning. He had a claim too, a far more substantial one.

#garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy garreth #garreth x reader #garreth x mc #garreth x you #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x you #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts oc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #ominis gaunt #hogwarts houses #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley headcannon #garreth weasley oneshot #quidditch captain garreth #quidditch

[ohnonononononono567]

Carry me - Simon "Ghost" Riley x m!reader (angst)

Games

Bit by Bit

(This was made after 1am and I projected my OCD onto a fictional character so that's on me guys, my bad. Any bad writing can be blamed on the fact I was watching chernobyl with my cat and eating the saltiest fried chicken sandwich known as i wrote this)

"Simon-"

"Don't." He grunted, leaving his position in your bed. Never his. 

The day he admits it's his bed as well, is the day he has the ability to sleep peacefully. And God knows when he'll be granted that right. 

He awoke to the sound of screams, his ears ringing. The feeling of water and blood rapidly running under his skin, as if his flesh begged to be free. 

You had rolled over to hold his midriff, and Lord help him with how much he's grown attached to you, with how much he wanted to pin you down as if you were nothing more than another enemy in his eyes.

He shot up, just to feel the familiar sting of a hook in his rib as he had sat on the bed.

Stepping out onto the patio with a grunt, a tank top and some joggers on with slippers. The apartment's patio serving as the perfect place to have a smoke, the dog yawning to join. Big fella, she was, nudging snout onto Simons leg.

Sitting down, he grabs a light, lighting the cigarette he had hiding cheekily in his pocket, when he had swore up and down he wasn't smoking anymore less than 8 hours ago.

Burn your wrist.

Shut up Riley, you know better than to act on that.

Do it now.

No.

He leaned back, allowing the nicotine to enter his system, and the tobacco to leave a lasting smell on the rough pads of his fingers. He watched you from the corner of your eye. Silent panic. Wanting to help him. But you can't. All he can do is lie to a therapist and come home to you.

He made this worse. Leave him. You're nothing, but he's worse. 

Stop.

He saw you at your worst. Why stay? 

Because he saw me at my worst. And he stayed.

He shouldn't have.

Stop.

He knows nothing about you and he goes to sleep saying bull crap about loving you.

"STOP!"

He yells, grabbing his hair in two fists on the side of his head, the cigarette between his fingers, lingering in the night air as the sound of the city stand beneath him.

He looks at you, and you seem to just be staring. Frozen. 

It spitballs, as he meets your gaze;

"Stop fucking staring at me like that yeah? You can't fucking help me! You deal with me, or you kick me out. Should've done that by now if you've ever known what's good for you!" He says, throwing his hands up in the air out of exasperation, the dog yelping a bit as she backs away. He heads back inside, putting out the cigarette, and snatching his blanket, heading towards the couch.

You gave him a look as he left. He knew that look. You've set boundaries, he was trying to be healthy for you. Honest. You wouldn't stand for verbal abuse, nor disrespect. But he was weak. Useless in the presence of a man like you.

He knew better than to immediately go to you. He left earlier for the gym that morning, called off work, went to one of those shitty manmade parks with more dog piss than a fire hydrant, and sat himself down. Right in the grass, watching a single dandelion. It was weak. But it still stood in the grass. It moved with the wind, even when it lost it's soft white petals. 

And when it was stripped naked, bare, with nothing left to offer, there was another dandelion there. Planted from the wind carrying it. Ready to repeat the cycle. 

Why is he doing this? He'll repeat what his father did. He was the end of it. No relatives to fall back on. God knows how much he's begged to bring his brother, Tommy back. 

But that's just it. He's the end of the cycle.

Get up. Nobody is coming to save you.

He stands before you now, with nothing to offer, but the willingness to move with you if you'd allow him. If you'd allow a weak man like him to remain with you. He'll continue to lose his petals, but you'll help him plant new flowers. To utter the words, 

"I can never truly tell you how sorry I am, love. You are the man I want. You are everything. And it's not enough. But I am trying."

Looking up at you, his bones brittle, his eyes heavy.

He wants to sleep. To feel his flesh settle, his mind quiet.

And as you embrace him, he can feel every molecule in his skin burning. 

And if you ever let reality hit that you deserve someone who could think like a bloody normal human for once, would he continue to survive for as long as he could without you to carry him. Until he allowed the world to end what it started. 

You are everything.

Laying in bed, your hands hesitantly rubbing his back in soft circular motions as he keeps his head in your tummy, soft breathing as the dog nuzzled into the crook between you two, soft kisses lingering on his tongue, it leaves him before he can chase after it;

"...Would you ever marry me?"

@tabloid-junki3 i dont think i cooked but i did heat it up in the microwave so

#cod fanfic #cod fluff #fluff #simon riley imagine #trans friendly #simon riley x you #lieutenant ghost #simon x reader #y/n #call of duty x y/n #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x male reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2

[horrorhot-line]

drapetomani

(n). an overwhelming desire to run away

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo/female! reader

➵ word count: 3.9k

➵ genre: smut, just smut (slight angst?)

➵ warnings: public sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, risky situations

➵ summary: for the first time in all his teenage years, saiki gets morning wood. to his disdain, he realises every time he’s near you, you make it even worse. Or, saiki’s acting weird and you try to get to the bottom of it- things don’t go as planned. you take each other’s virginity.

➵ masterlist  (requests are open)

➵previous part - fika

I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING POSTED BY ANYONE ELSE ON ANY PLATFORM

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

notes: originally this was supposed to be a oneshot, but i thought it’d tie well into my series so here we are, this lovely idea came from a request from dear anon, found here, grab a glass of water, dive in and don’t forget to touch grass afterwards. enjoy!!! 

also: note this is after saiki’s birthday in august, in his third year at highschool (making him 18).

SAIKI IS 18-19 IN THIS SMUT, WATCH SEASON 2 EP 13, I REPEAT SAIKI IS 18-19 IN THIS SMUT.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Saiki had no idea how he had found himself in this position, you underneath him, tears pricking your eyes, pleading him to do something. Anything.

The cold surface of the desk beneath his palm was a stark contrast to your warmth. With one hand on your hip, his voice came out strained.

"It's all your fault." He stated. But that couldn't have possibly been him talking, could it? "If you had just left it alone..." Saiki couldn't for the life of him understand what he was feeling. There was a hot pit inside his stomach, and his nerve endings felt like they were on fire.

He felt himself furrow his eyebrows, and clench his jaw, but at the same time, it didn't feel like he was doing those things. It felt like he was astral projecting, but he wasn't. Where the hell was he, and how had he ended up here- with you under him?

The sound of your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Please," You begged, and Saiki couldn't wrap his head around what on god's green earth was going on. It was only then when his eyes looked down between the two of you, that he realised the gravity of the situation. Was that...? No, no way.

Saiki would never admit it, but the soft sound that left you before you clasped your hand on your mouth to muffle the noise did things to him. Fuck...

Saiki shot his head back, his grip on the edge of the desk tightening as he moved forward to feel your body against his.

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Saiki had a disastrous life- that much was a fact. Another day meant another nuisance, regardless of whether it was his classmates trying to steal his precious time, an end-of-the-world disaster or someone trying to catch his attention. There always had to be something. The last thing he expected was the issue this time to be his own body refusing to listen to him.

When he abruptly woke up, drenched in sweat, his heart beating out of his chest, his mind went at a million miles per hour. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the sound of your voice fresh in his mind proved only one thing. He had a wet dream. About you, of all people.

Him? Saiki? The man who had prided himself on being in control at all times? It couldn't have been him. Had it been a premonition? Impossible. He would never let something like that happen in a million years.

He had no intention of making any moves on you. Yet. He knew of your feelings for him, and he chose to take his time. So of course, he wouldn't skip multiple chapters and fuck you. No way in hell. He refused to stoop to the likes of Toritsuka. Saiki was no pervert.

He acted as if he hadn't dreamt of you in his arms, or having sex with you, pretending like it hadn't affected him. Even though he couldn't shake the thought of you in a vulnerable position under him.

Saiki sighed, if he didn't get up soon he would end up being late for school. He moved to take the covers off him only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was in between his legs. A boner. He silently gazed at it, horrified.

Saiki felt like he had been swallowed up by some black hole, his brain short-circuited. No no no no no. This could not be happening. Not to him. He had never had a boner in his life! In all his teenage years, he prided himself on not letting something as preposterous as hormones get to him. The boy had never lusted over anyone in his entire life except maybe you, so why now?

'Why does god hate me?' He thought to himself.

Saiki wanted to disappear, teleport to the nearest abandoned galaxy and waste away. Saner heads prevailed, though. He would go to the bathroom and have a cold shower to get rid of this abomination.

After a long session of drenching himself in freezing water, cursing himself out for the whole situation and questioning his reality, Saiki used his powers to dry himself off before putting his uniform on. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't seen you coming until he heard the doorbell ring.

His expression darkened, and he teleported downstairs to where Mrs Saiki was, still preparing breakfast. "Tell her I'm already at school." Not wanting to stay around for extensive questioning from his mother, knowing her well enough to predict she'd grill him and then force him to walk to school with you. 

He was gone in a flash, leaving Mrs Saiki dumbfounded. Her, “Ku!” Had fallen on deaf ears.

His boner was back.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Saiki had been avoiding you all day, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, it hurt you. The fucking bastard dodged you at every turn. Is this how Yumehara felt that first week you joined PK academy when she tried getting his attention?

Probably not, since you were sure she thought the universe was keeping them apart. You on the other hand knew he was using telepathy to keep his distance from you, and you couldn't understand why. Had you done something?

The last time you saw Saiki was the day before and everything was fine. He didn't act any different and yet today he steering clear of you, even going out of his way to use his powers, risking getting caught just to avoid you.

You scowled, thinking back to the previous events that took place. You had shown up at his house only for Mrs Saiki to tell you he had already left for school. As if the two of you didn't walk to school every day together- which you did, with no exceptions.

At that point in time, you had thought it was weird. It wasn't like Saiki to forget. You reasoned that maybe he was going to stop a disaster, or something had come up, telling yourself you'd ask him when you saw him at school.

When you tried to say good morning to him in class, he got out of his seat and walked out of the classroom, Nendou following in tow to ask him if he wanted to get ramen after school. You stood frozen in place, wondering what you had done.

Was it something you had said? Thought? Had you made him uncomfortable somehow? You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, why did it hurt so much? Maybe he was keeping his distance because of Teruhashi? That had to be it.

'Kusuo?' You'd ask him just to make sure. When no reply came back, the sinking feeling in your gut worsened. The rest of the day went by with Saiki rushing off every time you tried to talk to him. In between classes, he'd disappear just so he could avoid you. During classes, he didn't look your way or talk to you once.

You were sure then that it was something you had done. The man you were in love with was ignoring you and stung. Your mind was a mess and you tried to run through every time you had interacted with him before today to pinpoint where you had made a mistake.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Truth be told, Saiki felt bad. No, he felt worse than that. In trying to avoid you, he had created a misunderstanding, inadvertently hurting you. He sat through classes hearing your thoughts, fully aware that you were blaming yourself when it wasn't your fault, to begin with.

How was he supposed to tell you he woke up this morning with a boner because of you and now his penis seemingly had a mind of its own? He'd rather die than do that, he would never be able to live with the humiliation. Saiki shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to act suspicious as he once again used his psychokinesis to move his pants so his boner wouldn't be visible.

He sighed inwardly, 'Good grief', he thought to himself. 

Saiki had realised that his situation would get worse any time he was around you. Every time you were in his vicinity, blood would rush to his dick and the boner he tried so hard to get to rid of would pop back up.

Saiki agonised over wanting to tell you that you hadn't done anything wrong and stopping his dream from becoming reality. Big mistake. A huge one, because the warm pit in his stomach managed to spread at the memory of this morning.

Saiki clenched his jaw for what felt like the hundredth time that day and raised his hand at the teacher, trying to keep his voice steady as he excused himself to go to the bathroom yet again.

The psychic knew what masturbation was but had never tried it himself in his life. There was no need to, until today. No harm in trying. He sighed, hoping no one would walk in as he undid his belt and sat down on the toilet seat. Wrapping his hand around his dick, he tugged at it experimentally, hissing when he felt how sensitive he was.

After a few minutes, his condition not getting any better, he decided this was all so stupid. Absurd. Ridiculous.

Even masturbation wasn't helping and to make matters worse, he couldn't help but think about you. He felt dirty. Saiki wordlessly pulled his pants back up, grinding his teeth at all the confusing emotions he felt. The most powerful being in the universe, bested by human anatomy? The situation was almost laughable.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

By the end of the day, you had one goal in mind. You were going to get Saiki to fess up. The bastard was supposed to be your boyfriend? best friend, and yet he made every effort to dodge you like you were some venereal disease. You huffed in annoyance, clicking your pen impatiently, as you watched the hand of the clock slowly move. It was torture.

When the alarm sounded at the end of the school day and chimed throughout the building, you didn't even bother packing up your stuff. You walked to Saiki's desk and stood in front of it. You knew he wouldn't teleport with half the class still around. If he did try, your hand on his arm would make sure you'd get teleported with him.

After the class had cleared out, you cleared your throat. "Kusuo." No reply. Saiki had made it his life's mission not to make eye contact with you and it only infuriated you further. The least he could do was look at you after treating you like a ghost all day. You wouldn't let him escape this time.

"Kusuo, we need to talk." You stated, watching him closely. What the fuck was his issue today? He wouldn't talk or look at you. You furrowed your eyebrows, exasperated at the whole situation. A moment of silence washed over the two of you and you observed as Saiki shifted, trying to step away from you.

Your grip only tightened, not willing to let him slip through your fingers again. "Let go." Was the only thing he said and you felt like you had been slapped in the face. You were beyond furious now, how could he act like this when a few weeks ago he said he'd think about the two of you? You gave him time so why was he being like this?

"No. Tell me why you've been ignoring me first." You said sternly, not budging. You were hurt, and it turned to anger mixed with frustration. Why was he being so difficult? Did he change his mind and decide he didn't want anything to do with you? He should have at least had the balls to say it to your face.

Saiki, still not looking at you, turned his head to stare off into the distance, "Let go. Please." His voice was hoarse, and you hated the butterflies that went crazy inside your stomach because now was not the time! He sounded hot. Curse your inability to control your hormones. You didn't move, too shocked that the prideful man in front of you had just begged you, and he sounded so fucking good while doing it.

Out of nowhere, you felt the ground shift below your feet. Your vision blurred, everything moved so fast and when you could finally see clearly, you realised you were pinned on the row of desks neatly placed next to each other at the back of the class next to the windows, with Saiki towering over you.

His hand was placed next to the side of your head, the other holding your wrist. He was between your legs, finally looking at you now. That's when you saw it, the fact that Saiki was flushed. You had never seen the man blush like this before, not to mention his breathing sounded heavy. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes were hazy.

You were gobsmacked not understanding what the hell was happening. Why were you pinned, first of all? And why did Saiki look like he was struggling? Worry crept on you until he shifted against you- that's when you felt it. It was like you had been doused with water, frozen in shock.

There was no way, no fucking way. Because unless you knew better you could swear you felt something hard pressed against you. Saiki groaned above you when you tried to move, his grip on your wrist tightening as he screwed his eyes shut.

"Stop moving, you're making it worse." You looked up at him, confused as hell because the guy in front of you was miles from the Saiki you were used to. 

The guy had the expressive capabilities of a rock and yet here he was acting like he had been switched out with an alien. You didn't even to question the problems he had in his pants. It was your turn to flush red, and you were sure the colour covered you head to toe.

Your head was spinning, trying to connect dots and grasp at straws only to come up empty-handed. You waited, wondering if you should even voice your questions. "...Kusuo, why is your dick hard?" That seemed to make it worse because he only clenched his jaw as hard as he could.

You shifted again experimentally because how could anyone expect you not to when the man who owned your heart was doing exactly what you had dreamt of for months? You'd be lying if you said you weren't turned on. You were acquainted with the feeling of drenched underwear.

You didn't realise when your mind wandered to all the scenarios you had thought of before today, snapping out of it when you realised it was affecting Saiki. He groaned again- you swore you felt him twitch against you and fuck did it do things to you. You rolled your hips against his, not being able to hold yourself back and when he moaned, the warm feeling between your legs increased.

You couldn't help but peer between the two of you, your skirt hiked up slightly. You tried to relax, bringing your free hand to touch his chest and it didn't make it any better for the psychic. His breath shook as if he was trying with every fibre of his being to control himself. You watched as his temple and sharp jawline shifted, no doubt because he was clenching it again.

Your lips parted and you lowered your hand down his chest, enjoying watching the effect it had on him. He shivered under your touch. What a confidence boost it was to watch the guy who refused to show his emotions to anyone, become putty in your hands. Take that, Teruhashi!

"Do you want this?" You jolted when he spoke up, causing him to hiss. His hand shot to your hip, gripping it tightly. It took a moment to register what he had said. "Wha- where is this coming from?" His face scrunched at your answer, exhaling through his nose. "Fuck, before I lose all reason- Do you want this or not. Hurry." 

Saiki’s only solution to this whole thing was to get his release, here and now- he knew his issue wouldn’t go away until he did something. It was a rational decision.

When you met his gaze, hooded and hazy, all reason went out the window. Of course you did, was that even a question? You had wanted him from the moment you started falling for him, you wanted him to make you, his. Mark you up until everyone knew you belonged to him. It didn't matter if it was in a classroom or on your bedroom floor, anywhere was fine as long as it was Saiki.

His breathing turned heavier and you realised he could hear your thoughts. "We-well, yeah. I do-" Saiki didn't waste a second, moving back to unbuckle his pants. You watched him, and when he was done, he caught you off guard. He leaned forward to kiss you, and you let out a squeak in surprise.

Your hands unconsciously found purchase around his neck as you closed your eyes, practically melting into him. When his tongue pushed against your lips you parted them. He moved your skirt up and you lifted yourself slightly off the desk to make it easier for him.

When he broke the kiss to stare down at you, you were panting. Fuck, you could never get enough of this man. He owned your heart and now he was going to own your body. He kissed you again and when you felt his dick line up with you and he thrusted into you, all you could do was moan into his mouth and tug at his pink locks- careful as to not knock out his control devices.

Tears pricked your vision, it didn't hurt as much as you had thought it would. Your heart swelled knowing your first time had been with Saiki, even though you hadn't seen it coming. He broke away from you to look between the two of you and you did the same. "It's all your fault." He stated, his pink brows still furrowed.

Words could not describe how fucking hot he looked. Sweat beading down his ivory skin, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed and hooded eyes clouded with arousal. All you could do was stay silent, not fully registering the fact that Saiki was now all yours. You wanted to etch yourself onto his skin so no one would ever dare look at him again. "Please," You begged him to move and he groaned yet again.

"If you had just left it alone." He continued, before jerking his hips forward until he was buried inside of you. You moaned, slapping your hand on your mouth as you screwed your eyes shut at the feeling. God forbid anyone lurking around the school heard the two of you.

When you opened them, you watched Saiki throw his head back in pleasure. He swore when he felt you tighten around him before he leaned down so he was against you. There was a pause and you knew it was him waiting for you to get used to his size.

You were sure you stopped breathing, he wasn't extremely big but fuck did he hit all the right spots. You wanted to cry- bawl your eyes out because you loved this man with all your heart and you just didn't know how to show it. With how deep your feelings were, would you ever be able to? You wanted him to move and make a mess of you. Make you his over and over again.

He did just that, he held nothing back as he relentlessly pushed in and out of you. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair yet again, pulling at them. You welcomed his kiss, his tongue brushing against yours as he fucked into you.

He held your hips down as he tried to get as deep inside of you as he could, not taking any breaks. When he slowed down you whined, only for him to roll his hips against yours to see how you'd react. When you got louder, Saiki knew he was doing something right, and continued until he saw your eyes roll back.

When he went back to relentlessly thrusting into you and you gazed at him through hooded lashes, you jolted at the feeling of his thumb brushing against your clit. You cried out, so incredibly sensitive and turned on. You tightened around him yet again and he groaned at the feeling, all while rubbing slow circles into you. You wrapped your legs tightly around the small of his waist.

Tears fell from your eyes, overstimulated and touch-starved to the point where you'd felt you'd cum if he continued. You tried to tell him to stop but he shut you up with another kiss, his hand grabbing the one you reached out to stop him with, pinning it down above your head. "Cum for me, Y/n. I want you to cum." You begged helplessly, for what you had no idea.

Your eyes shot open when you felt the familiar feeling of your release coming. You met Saiki's concentrated gaze, his other hand squeezing your wrist. You cried out his name over and over again as you came around him, wailing at the feeling of being so full.

He panted, following you as he fucked his release into you, pumping you full of his cum and not stopping until he was sure there was nothing left. Sweat covered your back and you tried to control your breathing. Saiki leaned forward, placing his hand on either side of your head on the desk. You opened your mouth to tell him that the two of you should clean up, but he spoke before you could.

"Again."

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

bonus:

After Saiki had fucked you until he was satisfied 6 times in total, he vanished from your sight. You covered your lower half, making sure his cum didn't leak out and drip onto the classroom floor. He reappeared as quickly as he left with a towel, a water bottle and a pill sachet which you found out was plan b.

You had to give it to him, he was thoughtful. After he had cleaned you first, and then himself, he didn't waste a second. He grabbed you before you could say anything, picking you up bridal style before he teleported you both to his room. You were spent, completely drained.

He gave you that look he always did when he was feeling guilty and you reassured him that you were fine. "I enjoyed it, so stop feeling bad, idiot." You stated as you rested on his bed, too tired to move.

That's when you remembered why you had stopped him, to begin with. You stared at him as he placed himself on his chair next to his desk. "Why were you ignoring me?" You asked softly, having had all the annoyance fucked out of you earlier.

You tried to control your shock when Saiki told you why. "I had a premonition we'd end up having sexual intercourse and every time you came near me, my penis would get hard." Typical Saiki, blunt as always. You decided against teasing him over the fact that his ears were red or the fact that he wouldn’t look at you. Who knew he was shy?

“I am not.”

Before you could quiz him more, Mrs Saiki walked into the room. When her eyes landed on you and she scanned your body, she gave you a knowing smile. "You can stay the night, Y/n." You were so confused but decided not to question it. Saiki's expression darkened when Mrs Saiki spoke before she closed the door.

"Stay safe, you two." Your mind went blank because you knew what her words meant. How the hell did she find out?!

"What a bother. You have hickeys all over you Y/n... and so do I."

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵       ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

next part - lethargy

general taglist: @biscuit-buddy @gvthic-gvrl @dunnieko @milkierei @kyrasworld @baby-unidorn @moonflowerpetals @the-mellokid @bangtxnbby @alexiswheeze @tanzaniiite @mo0o0milk @omilkandhoneyteao @turntechsquishy @gukkarchive @peachesuck @hartbeat-art @franko-pop @ima-attention-whore @ola-is-dead @daisysinadarkmedow @froppysgirl @xjaelee @beanst0ck @llamaavocado @tanakassimp @kooksmono @loving-is-the-antidote @toebios @tvwhoresblog @delta-698 @victory-is-here @chuchaycha @saeranoppa @erinbing @draco-kasai @nocturnalcreature998 @just-snog-already @sunnsettee @saikikslut @juju-la-tortue @plutoneu @womanizerbucky @bakugohoex @thatasiandumbass @krazyotakunerd @totallyinlovewithsaiki @kenmascockwarmer @squishiyy @choridion @memorableminds @kyrah-williams @animeboysimppp @soft-levi-girl-blog @aunty-grandma @mindofess @beccawinter @valeriasannchez @unlimitedsimping @bigdumbobsessedbi @tanzaniiite @introvertatitsfinest @windex-princess-ami @knighted-princess @vernon-dursley @emeraldbluexxxx @iwachanslove @skelingtonfreak @dora-the-grownup @peachymichu @amaranth-fuchsia @strawberryjam8 @notaroyal @chaeyal @kuntent-t @heyitsmelilly @mango-bear @sugaamykookies @mrs-todo-roki @joyidonuts @hxney-lemcn @prlan @quiescentelle @alexloveskili @subtropicace @hoshi4k @echothepuff @kindalollipop @ameliabs-world @babyshoyo @animedweeb333 @celamoon @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @froggi666 @loser-keiji @lucilleifer @lunachelly @kaylenn @queenof-saigon @dudufodd @multifandomcat @fresa-luna @kohi-zeri  @anyaswrld @saltandapepper @scar8o @where-i-do-things @potatochic2003 @fishfetus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @acidicloveee @noodlenerd101 @aurorakingsley @crystalgman25 @healpeony @chims-kookies @track5enthusiast @mommymi1kers @aboveasphodel @strawberriesareprettycool @princeizuku @mythical-mushrooms13 @stellalorelei @cole-silas @queenof-saigon @thecupcakezombie @dudufodd @multifandomcat @multifandoms99 @skylarmoon119 @hyejoolips @soggyxfroggy @imkumichan @honeyyslvt @theawkwardspork @gabile18​

if you want to be tagged, let me know!

#saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki kusuo #Nendou Riki #saiki kurumi #saiki k #saiki #Saiki Kusuo no PSI Nan #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #saiki smut #smut

[todayontumblr]

Wednesday, June 28.

Trees!

Let's face it, we simply do not deserve trees. We have everything to thank them for, quite literally. After all, they reduce the 'greenhouse effect' by removing harmful carbon dioxide from the air and releasing oxygen. Each and every year, a single mature tree will produce adequate oxygen for ten entire people. They are also an effective sound barrier, capable of limiting noise pollution, and recent research has revealed that they can also help reduce the stress of modern life. Well, we are happy to offer some more evidence from a primary research source, from us to you. There is simply nothing we like better than to nestle beneath a tree on a bright, colorful day, relax into the trunk, and relax, fingers between blades of grass.

Alone? It's great. With people? Also excellent. With a book? Exquisite. With music? What could be better. With none of the above, just the endless pleasures of looking and listening? Yes please. There are few pleasures as simple, yet profound, as watching the interplay of light and shadow beneath the leaves of trees. It's a little like watching the flow of a green river. We could go on, but time spent waxing lyrical is time you should be sitting beneath a big green bad boi.

Here's crunch time: people, being the sh*theads we are, clear millions of forested acres every year. Often for short-term rewards, like silly money, despite the long-term risks like desertification, wildlife declines, and climate change. Earth now has 46% fewer trees than 12,000 years ago, when agriculture was in its infancy. All is not lost, however. Here's a handful of links to tree conservation charities, and if you like what you see, here is a more comprehensive list.

The National Forest Foundation (NFF)

One Tree Planted

Trees for the Future (TREES)

Plant With Purpose 

Eden Reforestation Projects (Eden)

#today on tumblr #trees #trees and forests #treescape #pine trees #nature #green #conservation #ecology #environment #environmetalists #planting #enviromental

[aerynwrites]

Peaceful Moments

Halsin x gn!Reader

A/N: based on a request sent in by the lovely @chaoticlicense thank you for this request friend! I had such a blast writing it!

Word Count: 921

Warnings: none

The small glade near the river is peaceful today. Not that it’s ever not peaceful, but today feels more…Serene than usual. 

You and Halsin had managed to get away from the sanctuary unnoticed in order to take the short walk to the river to bathe and just take a moment for yourselves. 

Despite the solution of the brain and the absolute and you and Halsin creating a sanctuary for those in need, it seems rare you actually get time alone with your partner. So, you plan to cherish this time, even if it’s nothing over the top or exciting.

You relish in it. 

Both of you had gotten clean in the river, toweling off and redressing before choosing a sunny spot against a felled tree to rest against. The light is dappled as it shines through the forest canopy, and the warmth that kisses your skin makes you feel satiated, like a cat basking in the sun. 

Your back rests against the trunk of the fallen tree, a thin coating of moss protecting you from the rough bark. Halsin sits between your legs, upper half bare as he lets the sun dry the last of the water from his tanned skin. 

Your fingers work slowly at the strands of his damp honey colored hair, detangling before moving to twist them into small braids. The only sound that permeates the still air is that of the gurgling river, your soft humming, and the gentle scraping of a blade on wood. 

You watch as muscles ripple beneath the skin of Halsin’s back as he works on a whittling project, only stopping every now and again to toss shavings off to the side. 

The quiet is only broken when Halsin decides to speak up, but still not stopping his task. 

“What tune do you sing, my heart?” He asks. “I do not believe I’ve heard it before.”

You pause your humming, brought from your rivière as your fingers stall in the midst of another braid. You’d never really thought about the song you were humming, the tune just coming naturally to you. Your fingers continue their work as you reply. 

“It was a song my mother used to hum when she…Well, when she did my hair,” you reveal, fond memories surfacing in your mind. 

“She loved to sing. Although I never quite picked up her talent in that regard I…I suppose it’s a way for me to keep her with me.”

Halsin lets out a soft hum of his own, pausing his whittling just as you finish up your current braid, tying the end off before adding a small golden cuff at the end. You move to grab another section of hair, but Halsin is turning to face you before you can.

“Hey! I wasn’t done-“ 

Your words are cut off as Halsin picks you up effortlessly in order to place you in his lap, your legs straddling his hips as his eyes meet your own. 

“You sing beautifully,” Halsin says softly, his whittling set aside in favor of taking your face in his hands. “More beautifully than even the loudest song birds.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, cheeks warm as your avoid his gaze. “Halsin…” you say quietly.

But the druid doesn’t relent, instead he turns your face towards his once more, his lips a hair's breadth from your own. 

“I speak the truth,” he says firmly. “I love you, all of you and the gifts nature bestowed upon you.”

For a moment, you’re lost for words - something that happens more often than not with Halsin’s pretty poetic way with words. Thankfully, his lips meet yours before you have to speak, and you hope he can sense your love for him.

His lips are soft, gentle as they move against you, and you relish in the proximity of your two bodies. His chest is warm and solid beneath your palms as your hands slide up the vast expanse of him, the hair there scratching delightfully against your fingertips. 

Before you realize it, Halsin has moved you both, your back against the soft grass as he hovers over you, his lips never leaving yours. Only when his hair falls over his shoulders does he pull away, the gentle tinkling of the metal hair adornments drawing his attention. 

He pauses for a moment, bringing one hand up to pull a braid into his line of sight, brows furrowing as he takes in the delicate golden cuff around the end of this particular braid. 

His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip shyly. 

“I…I saw them when we were back in the city. I thought they were pretty and then thought about you wearing them and well…” you trail off for a moment. “Do you not like them?”

For a moment, you fear a small rebuke. Halsin barely likes clothing, would he really appreciate such trivial baubles?

But any and all worries fall away as Halsin smiles down at you, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Anything that pleases you is a pleasure to me, my heart,” he laughs. “Perhaps now I won’t sneak up on you so often.”

A giggle of your own slips past your lips at his words. 

“Oh no, you’ve figured out my whole plan!” You tease.

Haslin only smiles before descending on you once more with a kiss. 

You may not get many moments like these, but you will always cherish the ones you do.

#halsin x reader #bg3 x reader #halsin x tav #bg3 #halsin #bg3 halsin

[headspace-hotel]

so, in regards to your recent posts on kane-tucky and usa food industry, do you / how do you keep active hope and not slip in into apathy and "looking out for my own" get out of dodge mentality? im having a hard time articulating this, but what makes you not curl up into a shaking mess in anger resentment and a deep desire for change that likely, if ever, wont happen in our lifetime.... any advice is appreciated

The short answer is "getting out and doing stuff in the real world, educating, volunteering, whatever is within your ability"

I will add that "looking out for your own" is not...bad. Like I don't know precisely what you mean by this phrase, but it's actually very important to come to terms with the fact that your impact is strongest where your feet touch the ground, and you have a responsibility and relationship to the people immediately around you, the place immediately around you.

This has not been a popular opinion of mine in the past, but...you can't and shouldn't care about literally everything on the planet. There is of course huge global disparity with access to resources and aid networks, and the largest communities we belong to are: all of Earth and the whole human species.

However: your level of agency is so low with issues that are happening on the other side of the world from you, compared with issues that are happening in your home town. And we're seeing people just get completely burned out from compassion fatigue without ever doing shit because the global responsibility is pushed on us and the local responsibility is not.

I hated my hometown for a decade. In high school I wanted so badly to leave. It's one of those desolate-feeling towns that's developed enough for a shopping center and big chain retailers but not enough to have a sense of community or a single bookstore. I've never been able to place myself precisely along the urban-rural spectrum because I feel isolated from even isolation: there's nowhere to go that doesn't feel razed by human development, where you can't hear the noise of traffic on roads, but it's all cattle pastures, sprawling storage facilities, auto parts stores, big, empty churches. One wrong turn will put you in a dark valley where there are rotting, derelict trailers on cinder blocks hidden back in the woods, and this place has that same feeling of "nowhere to go."

And I felt paralyzed by everything bad happening around the world and the fact that I was just one person, and I had gotten the horrible impression that the only thing I could do about anything was vote and donate money to links I saw online. The worst lie the internet taught me was that in saving the world, nothing matters except Power, Money, and an unclear third category that involves throwing bricks at cops.

But I touched grass. And the weeds taught me something. Do you see the parking lots, the harsh pavement and gravel and brick? I saw. I was surrounded by this landscape of brutal, totalitarian surfaces, impermeable concrete locking the soil away. But in the cracks in the surfaces, dandelions, purslane, and spurge were thriving.

I observed that the spurge stretched out like a shaggy rug and padded the concrete surfaces. The old leaves of the dandelions, as they withered, caught bits of dirt as it flowed into drainage ditches after rains. Soil was forming, and the sprawling structure of the early weeds seemed specially adapted for the task. In older cracks, more plants moved in; I found a wild ruellia blooming in a paved road, an evening primrose. And in some places, seedling trees.

Have you seen what happens when a sidewalk is left unmaintained for years? It disappears. The roots slowly buckle and break it into pieces, and it vanishes beneath lush leaves and moss. A tree growing in a crack in concrete will slowly pry the slab apart.

This is how my IRL rewilding project got started—just pulling plants from the pavement cracks, raising them in pots. I was surprised and awed at the resilience of the plants. I found little trees in concrete with at least two years' growth on them, that had survived being mowed down multiple times.

The weeds changed my viewpoint on the world forever. Up until that point, certain facts about power and politics and money had seemed like law, but I'd suddenly seen that there was a deeper magic.

The dandelions' survival made it possible for others to survive, which in turn made even more life flourish. They could not demolish and remove the concrete and pavement, but they could overcome it by refusing to be destroyed, because the power to take care of each other is in their nature.

People have made fun of me for telling others to go plant a tree. I think culturally we have this ingrained dismissal of things like that due to the twee, cutesy associations of "tree hugging" environmentalists, except in this instance it's because planting a tree is pointless in light of something something systemic issues, not because climate change isn't real, or...whatever reason people have for finding environmentalists cringe. (That is kinda sus now that I think about it.)

And I'm not saying planting a tree will fix climate change. I'm saying that something in my brain had broken and planting a tree unbroke it.

Go outside. Touch grass. Do the work in the immediate community you belong to, in the place you are in, where you have the best and most impact. We have the power to take care of each other, and that power grows stronger the more we are cared for.

The internet is a good place to share information, but that's fucking it. The real stuff, the stuff you can touch with your hands, the stuff that will heal despair, is out there in the real, touchable world. You need to see and feel what you are doing. Don't just give help—accept it. The power to take care of each other is in our nature, and by nature we can give more when we thrive as a result of others' care.

I hope this helps.

#plants #gardening #dandelions #rewilding #plantarchy

[lady-rose-moon]

HIIIII! Omg I got so excited when I saw that you're gonna be writing again. I read your fics before I figured out how to interact with authors without feeling embarrassed so this might be the first you're seeing of me, but I am a huge fan! I was hoping to request for a Loki fic? With these prompts:

"you're safe, you're safe" "what if I'm not?" "you're safe."

"who did this to you?"

"what are you doing out here, late at night?"

"I'm sorry" "don't you dare apologise for this"

Thank you so much!

You're so safe || Loki x Vanir!Reader || hurt/comfort

A/N: hello, my love, it is so nice to finally meet you! I do apologise for this being SO late but I have only just received the inspiration I needed for this project and I hope you like it! Please do interact with me more, I don't bite <3

↣ MASTERLIST

“I don’t care what you think!” you yelled, standing in the golden throne room of Asgard, sneering up at Odin on his throne, his whole demeanour menacing and unapproachable, yet you didn’t care, “I will find him, he is not dead!”

Odin merely gazed down at you, his expression unreadable as you stood beneath him. The older God had called you in today after receiving word that you were going to leave Asgard in an attempt to bring back Loki Odinson. He was your betrothed so why shouldn’t you fight to get him back?

“I am not asking for your permission, Odin,” you sneered, disregarding his title, bringing him down a few pegs so he is not as different as he wants to be, “he is your son but he is my betrothed and you shall not hold me back from him!”

That was when the Allfather spoke for the first time since you marched into the room with guards holding your arms. He studied you, noting how you were no longer the demure, frightened child he had selected for Loki. You had been corrupted by the Jötun and he had to remedy that. “You are still young, Lady Y/L/N,” the Allfather spoke, his voice as cold as his expression was, “I shall begin the search for a more… appropriate match.”

You reeled back, appalled at the King’s words before you broke into hysterical laughter, shaking your head. “You do that, Odin, and break the treaty with my family, I challenge you to,” you sneered before turning on your heel and departing from the throne room.

Before you could be grabbed by the guards, you broke into a run, smirking at the shocked exclaims of the guards behind you as you took of running down the hallways, expertly avoiding every attempt to be grabbed by various guards. With a grin, you slipped into Loki’s old chambers, not glancing at anything that could risk you to break into sobs and instead venturing to his wardrobe, pulling out one of his tunics and pants, hurriedly changing before running out onto the balcony and calling your magic to you to lift you down from it into the Queen’s gardens.

Once your feet pressed against the soft grass of the land below, you took off into a sprint, heading to the edge of the garden, searching for the gate covered in ivy. Before you could find it, however, you froze as a soft ‘Lady Y/N’ drifted across the garden. You turned and saw Queen Frigga frozen in the doorway to her garden.

“Your majesty!” you gasped, dropping into a curtsy even if it was quite difficult with your inappropriate clothing. Standing tall, you eyed Frigga nervously and spoke softly, “I’m not going to sit here and wait for a confirmation that he’s dead. I feel that he’s alive. Let me go.”

Frigga didn’t say anything, merely rushed over to you and pulled you into her arms. The Queen of Asgard’s hugs had always been a comfort and this time, it comforted your worried heart and the kiss she pressed to your brow was reassuring. “I never saw you,” Frigga whispered as a promise before turning away.

Smiling, you continued your search for the gate before exclaiming in victory when you found it, unlatching the lock and pushing the gate open and rushing through, pulling it shut and using seiðr to lock it behind you. With great knowledge of the layout of Asgard, you had no issue taking the long route around Asgard even as the warning bells raged from the palace and more guards were stationed near the broken Bifrost.

As you were hiding behind a barrel, waiting for a few guards to pass, you felt a tug on your leg which caught your attention. It was a small girl, dressed in her golden nightgown holding a rabbit teddy, her blue eyes staring up at you innocently. “Where are you going, Lady Y/N? They’re looking for you,” the girl whispered, seeming to understand the need to be quiet.

“The King has kept me in a tower, punishing me for my prince’s choices, I am on a brave mission to save him,” you explained, playing on the girl’s imagination, “so you must be quiet and never mention that you saw me. It’s all a game. I have to be ignored and not seen; do you understand? You must be quiet.”

“I promise,” the girl whispered before running off down the alley.

You nodded before taking off in a run, your feet now firmly planted on the glass of the Bifrost. As you approached the broken end of the Bifrost, you froze as you saw Thor standing there with Heimdall. Cursing beneath your breath, you approached them and stood beside Thor.

“You won’t stop me,” you whispered viciously, “I’ll jump if I must.”

“No need,” Thor answered with a grimace, gripping Mjolnir so tight that his knuckles had turned white, “he’s on Midgard.”

“Midgard?” you repeated with surprise before nodding and turning to Thor, “so we’re going.”

“I’m going, Lady Y/N, I must arrest him, he is not the man you knew,” Thor answered, turning to Heimdall and nodding, “do it.”

With a scoff, you watched as Heimdall lifted his sword and murmured the prayer to open the Bifrost without the observatory and when it opened and Thor was sucked into it, you jumped in too, ignoring the call from Heimdall.

The travel to Midgard wasn’t that long but when you arrived, it was dark. You’d appeared within a corn field, the soft rustling of the leaves comforting your anxiety before you closed your eyes and focused on the connection between yourself and Loki. That’s when you felt his seiðr for the first time in a year but it felt… wrong. Corrupted. That gave you more of a reason to find him, you needed to make sure that he was alright.

So, you latched onto his magic and disappeared with a soft glow before reappearing outside a glass cage. Disoriented, you grabbed a bar quickly to stabilise yourself before realising what was happening. You turned your head and there was Loki, his hair longer and greasy, his eyes a striking blue when they had once been green and his armour slightly askew.

“Loki?” you whispered weakly, staring in surprise before running across the bridge to the glass, pressing your hands against it, watching as Loki studied you carefully, “I thought… Oh, Loki.”

The God of Mischief tilted his head before striding over to where you were stood and sneering at you, “now you show up? After Thor?”

You stammered, thrown off by his violence toward you and tears rose to your eyes. “Loki… I tried to find you, I swear it! When you fell, I wished to jump after you but Thor wouldn’t let me.”

Loki chuckled darkly before stepping away from you and staring at you as if you were scum to him. “It took you a year to find me, how pathetic,” he spat, making you flinch, “what a pathetic fiancée.”

In that moment, you realised it wasn’t just his magic that was corrupted. It was him. He wanted your tears. He wouldn’t get them. You lifted your head with a soft smile, dipping into a curtsy before walking away.

Somehow, you’d been roped into assisting the band of Midgardians (and Thor) defeat Loki. You would follow Iron Man into his tower to confront Loki but that hadn’t ended well and you’d been knocked out by Stark’s flying Iron Man device as it raced after Stark when Loki threw him out of the window.

You were only awoken by the Hulk’s roar and Loki’s response. Groggily, you woke up and saw Loki shouting at Hulk, “you are, all of you, beneath me! I am a God you foul creature and I will not be bullied by- Ah!”

You watched as Hulk grabbed Loki’s ankle and began to bash him around like a ragdoll. You flinched as you watched Loki’s pained face after Hulk left and instantly raced over to him, pulling his head into your lap.

“Loki?” you whispered, your fingers delicately tracing Loki’s face, “Loki… are you okay?”

Loki didn’t answer for a while before he gazed up at you and his eyes lit up with recognition unlike how they’d been days ago. He knew you. Elation lit up your chest and you grinned down at him.

“Hello, love,” Loki whispered softly, his hands gently tracing up your arms before pulling you into a tight embrace, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head and brushed some hair away from his face, smiling down at him tenderly before whispering, “no, don’t you dare apologise for this. You weren’t you. NEVER apologise for this.”

Loki hesitated before laughing softly at you and shaking his head, resting his forehead against your chest and sighing with relief. “We have to leave, you’ll be considered a criminal to them now,” Loki whispered, his eyes shining with worry.

You laughed softly and nodded before helping him sit up and looking out at the sky as Chitauri continued to fly out of the portal. Then, you looked back at him and softly whispered, “how do we stop this?”

“Let them stop it,” Loki whispered, groaning in pain before his hands gleamed with green magic and you stepped closer to him, feeding your magic into his spell and you both disappeared from the tower, appearing two realms away on your home planet of Vanaheim.

The quiet of the brook and the crickets in the grass instantly calmed you and a smile lit up your face before you helped Loki to his feet and whispered, “come on, I know a place.”

For an hour, the two of you walked, Loki progressively becoming able to walk on his own until you reached a raging waterfall. Your hand gleamed gold and the water split, revealing a door concealed in the rock. Turning it, you brought Loki inside and closed the door, candles and lamps lighting as soon as the door closed.

“Welcome home,” you whispered with a soft grin, guiding Loki over to a sofa and helping him sit down, “this place is hidden from Odin and Heimdall, father created it for me centuries ago.”

Loki observed the place with a soft smile, there were simple decorations, but it was a blank canvas for the both of you. “It’s perfect,” Loki whispered softly before doubling over and groaning, clutching his head.

Instantly, you rushed over to him and removed the majority of his armour until he was left in his tunic and pants. There, you hesitated but when Loki nodded to you, you lifted the tunic and gasped at the sight of grotesque slashes across his back and arms. “Loki… what… who did this to you” you seethed, lightly tracing the slashes, observing the poorly healed cuts and infections.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Loki whispered brokenly, avoiding your gaze and trying to hide how much pain he was in. The God of Mischief grimaced in pain as you pressed your finger against a cut and watched infected pus pool out of it.

“Try me,” you whispered to him, standing from the sofa and walking into the kitchen before returning with a healing kit, sitting beside Loki again and beginning to cover his back with healing salve.

Loki hesitated but when he saw that you were serious, he began to tell you everything. About his fall, about Thanos, about the Infinity Stone controlling him and the torture he was put under for the majority of the year that he’d been missing. All the way through his explanation, you let him speak and pressed loving kisses to his forehead when you could. When he was done, you pulled him close to you and allowed him to cry.

“Shh,” you whispered to him, lovingly tracing your fingers through his hair, “you’re safe, Loki, you’re safe.”

Loki leaned into your comfort, his body trembling from the pain of the salve healing his back, seeking more of your comfort. Still, the trauma of what he went through haunted his mind. “But… what if… what if I’m not?” Loki whispered weakly, “Thanos, he… he’s horrible! Terrifying! Worse than anybody we’ve thought of before as being wicked!”

“You’re safe,” you answered, pressing a kiss to Loki’s brow, holding him close to you, allowing him to curl further into your chest, “as long as we are together then we will protect each other. Do not fret, you are so safe.”

Shortly after that, Loki had fallen asleep and you’d needed to magically carry him to the bedroom and cover him. Now, however, you awoke and Loki was nowhere to be found. Startled, you rose out of bed and searched everywhere before finding that the door leading out to the top of the waterfall was open.

Outside, you found Loki sat in the water, staring up at Vanaheim’s constellations, his eyes vacant and sad. As you approached, he flinched and a dagger formed in his hand but when he realised that it was you, he relaxed and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s natural, with your amount of trauma, Loki,” you whispered, sitting on the bank close to him, following his gaze up to the constellations, “what are you doing out here, late at night?”

The God gazed over at you with a lost expression on his face before he whispered, “couldn’t really sleep. Nightmares.”

You nodded and with a slow movement, you were sitting beside him in the cold water of the river, listening to the rush of the water going over the edge and landing below. You rested your head on his shoulder and held his hand tight in your own with a soft smile as you whispered, “you’re so safe, Loki, we have each other, you’re so, so safe.”

You heard Loki release a broken sob but said nothing, knowing that while he had your support, he also needed to fix his mental state on his own too. The God of Mischief was broken but you knew with time, he would find a new type of normal.

“I half expect the Bifrost to open and Thor to take me by my neck to Asgard, to my death,” Loki admitted quietly after several minutes in silence, “I miss my brother, Y/N, the brother he was when we were little. Not the brute he became.”

You nodded and gently brushed your thumb over his hand, just listening to his admissions. Loki appreciated your silence, your understanding that he just needed to talk, he just needed to feel like he was safe.

“I’ll never see him again, nor will I see mother,” he continued, tears in his eyes as he stared up at the star that he knew was the realm of Asgard, his home and the place that rejected him, “I wish I could say I was sorry to her, my sweet mother. She never did anything wrong.”

That’s when Loki embraced you, pulling you into his lap and pressing a kiss to your forehead before pointing up to Asgard’s star. “Perhaps, upon the day of Odin’s death, I shall return to my brother and my mother,” he whispered, his eyes full of hope for that future.

“Perhaps,” you responded with a soft smile, cuddling into his warmth before you began to shiver. “But for now,” you grinned, “back to bed, it’s cold.”

Loki chuckled and stood from the water, gathering you bridal style in his arms before walking down back into the house.

Glancing out at the sky over Loki’s shoulder, you glared at the blackness of the sky, swearing revenge on Thanos for what he did to your beloved. Little did you know, he was glaring right back at you.

~~~~

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @silverfire475 @chantsdemarins @iamsherlocked1479 @kittiowolf210 @just-someone11 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loki-laufeyson-1054 @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @anukulee @eleniblue

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #mcu loki #jotun loki x reader #reblog please #tom hiddleston character x reader #requests open #loki hurt/comfort #loki x you #sad loki

[linkcities]

in a year or two (i'll take care of you) | gojo satoru/reader

“Do you have a favorite flower?”

You ask him this moments before the two of you begin your journey home, dragging along your worn out suitcases and the individual white plastic bags filled with dirty laundry. You ask him this and you’d come to realize later on in your life that it’s a question he found himself thinking of whenever he hears your name.

He places his head against yours gently. “I do.” He whispers, “sweet peas, if you know them.”

You hum. “What do they mean?”

Geto Suguru and his jet black irises gleam under the light of the vernal sun, his hair dancing along to the music of the leaves from before. Through the corner of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of the way he smiled at you so softly that day—it’s one you’ll grow to never forget, regardless of how many years pass you by.

“I’m a bit unsure, but,” he tells you, his index finger tapping the tip of your nose. “It’s ‘thank you for the time we spent.’”

or,

Snippets of your grief after Geto Suguru's betrayal, spread throughout the course of thirteen years; alongside the only person who could understand even just a crumb of your pain.

—

pairing | gojo satoru/reader

note | this is a preview of the current 'fic i'm working on. not sure when i'll be posting it, but the projected word count for this piece is around 17,000 words, subject to change. enjoy! :]

—

The day after that, Shoko went on to pretend as if nothing happened. She continued her routine. Medical check-ins, training, mission updates. The day after that, from Satoru, you heard that she blew through an entire pack of cigarettes in under six hours. You think this must be her way of repenting. Irrational penance for something she knew she wasn’t accountable for.

In the present, Satoru hops up to sit on the metal bar posing as the only hurdle between you and the running stream. His hands are in his pockets now, your bag discarded safely next to the railing. Carefully, just as he averts his stare elsewhere in the distance, he brings out an old and tapered pack of cigarettes.

You watch him intently.

“Stop staring at my hands.” He grumbles underneath his breath, loud enough for you to get rightfully annoyed by. “I don’t want to hear whatever you have to say.”

Your heart drops to your stomach after that. You say nothing in response.

Satoru tugs out his lighter from his other pocket cautiously, as though he was testing out your reaction first, and when he realizes that no protest would be sprinting towards his direction, he takes a stick from the box and he brings it close to his lips. You watch everything through the corner of your eyes.

The lighter clicks, and then you wince. Smoke flows out through his mouth in seconds, three coughs following suit. He tests it out repeatedly, a few more times, more and more times; waits for his body to get used to the smoke.

Halfway through his first stick, he coughs violently after a long puff. You wince again. “I’ll leave if you don’t put that out.” You mutter, displeased, waving away the cloud of gray enveloping your surrounding area. He doesn’t budge.

Deep breath. You know better than to try and tell him what to do. I know better than this. There was no rational conversation to be had when it came to Satoru. They were only ever frustrating and indignant and brutal and upsetting. “It’s bad enough that Shoko’s smoking more and more each day.” You try to bite your tongue, but the metallic taste of your own blood only makes you want to keep speaking, “why are you doing this to yourself, now, too?”

Ash falls from the burning end of the cigarette. He hangs the stick loosely between his index and middle finger, turning around to rest his elbows against the silver railing. Satoru does not offer you anything but an unconcerned shrug.

More and more ash falls atop the grass beneath your soles. When he coughs for the last time, you push yourself off the barricade and turn to the direction of the subway station.

“This isn’t mine.”

You pause. Satoru exhales deeply behind you.

“Shoko and I cleaned out Suguru’s old room three days ago,” he tells you, quietly, overdosing on the wave of uncomfortable air. “We were supposed to clean it with you, but your mission was extended and Yaga said we can’t keep putting it off.”

At this, you clench your fists. You take it upon yourself to look back at Satoru, who was now standing straight—overlooking the flowing river, watching the currents pass by and turn orange. You dissolve into a puddle of many, many regrets. You circle in on the lingering emptiness that has been tormenting you for weeks, and the conclusion strikes you like lightning again, almost as though you were realizing it for the first time: We had all lost something so terribly important when Suguru left. It all happened so quickly, you think to yourself. Suguru left quickly, too. Just three weeks ago. The wound was recent and fresh and the higher-ups didn’t even give you enough time to let it scab first before ordering you to search through Suguru’s things. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

This isn’t mine.

That’s what Satoru said. So it must be Suguru’s. It couldn’t be Shoko’s; she never liked to share. You and Satoru never smoked as often as they did. No, incorrect, the two of you never smoked at all. You walk closer back to the railing, laying your left hand on top of the bar.

“Did you find anything?” You ask him. “Anything worth keeping?”

You see him struggle with looking for an answer for your question. Satoru was never subtle with what he was feeling. “I took some of his clothes,” he starts, “I kept a bunch of his shoes, too. We’re the same size. Shoko took his lighters and books.”

There’s a lump in your throat filled with words you know you’re not allowed to speak into existence. You want to tell him, though. Put it back in his room. I can’t handle seeing someone other than Suguru wear his clothes. You argue with yourself, inwardly. You asked him the question, yes, but truthfully you were hoping he’d answer no. No, I didn’t find anything. It’s equally as devastating, but at least that way you’d carry no reminder of his leaving.

(But is that what you really want? To forget? To erase all traces of Geto Suguru from your brain?)

It’s a horrible thought to have. It’s a horrible thought to have. Satoru and Shoko were more than welcome to grieve the way they wanted to grieve, and the lord knows you weren’t significant enough to the universe to ever be given the right to police them.

A single cough. He disrupts your thoughts, loudly stomping over them, almost as if he knew what was running through your head. You know he does. “I don’t know why I decided to keep them.” Satoru directs his stare down to the ground, his hair nestled in front of his eyebrows. “They’re in boxes on top of my closet. If you want some of them, just let me know.”

Your mind goes numb. You don’t know how to respond to that. Satoru’s saying all the right things right now and you’re unsure of how to handle his being rational—it’s not like he hasn’t been this way in the past, it’s just that usually Suguru was the one who was often rational enough for the both of them. Your mind goes numb. You hear nothing but an incessant ringing. Ultimately, you understand what Suguru’s abandonment entails; you know that his leaving necessitates numerous adjustments and relearning of previous lifestyles. If Yaga were here, he’d say something along the lines of Good. If it took him leaving to get Gojo to straighten up, then good. You could honestly hear his voice saying that. But you know he never would. He’s high strung, but he’s not heartless. You’re projecting something.

You’re projecting something because everything feels either wrong or excessive. Satoru is being rational and quiet and Shoko is avoidant and even more jaded than before. You don’t know what you’re supposed to be; and yet Satoru stares at you, finally, for the first time in a while, with wide blue eyes and chapped and parted lips, staring so expectantly almost as though he’s tethered to your reactions. The sheer weight of his eyes alone is too heavy for you to carry.

“I don’t.” You say, finally. After several agonizing minutes of only trickling silence. “Keep them, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have a place for them in my room, anyway.”

In the blink of an eye, the weight dissipates when his pupils slant themselves back towards the gushing river. The tension is thick, and so is his nearly tangible disappointment, but you convince yourself it’s out of your control. Gojo Satoru is a god among mortals and if his sorrow cleaves the world in half, the burden of stitching it all back together shouldn’t fall on one as miniscule as you.

“Alright.”

He throws the worn out pack of cigarettes to the steep downhill curb near the river, and then he turns around to walk to the direction of the subway station. His footsteps echo loudly in your head. It disrupts the incessant ringing from before.

An exhale escapes your throat. None of the air you’re trying to keep inside is staying inside. You lean against the barricade. We had all lost something so terribly important when Suguru left.

When the silhouette of the young god’s retreating form no longer appears in your peripheral vision, you descend down to the river and you pick up the pack of cigarettes before the wind blows it towards the water. The sun sets in the horizon, and you feel an ache inside your chest, a thrumming in your head; the ghost of a migraine looms over you, and yet you think it couldn’t possibly feel any worse than this.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk one-shot #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #one-shot preview #✧ | juno writes! #pls count on this fic to slay as hard as wormwood because it WILL #im not finished with it yet but best believe i Will be powering through soon enough

[deirdreskye]

Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive:

We are treated to a succession of interviews with several different billionaires concerning their plans for the future.

"Humanity's destiny is in the stars," says the cool, young social media entrepreneur. "My new company will build a Mars colony in the next twenty years, and from there? The galaxy. The universe!"

"My next project is to render the human body obsolete," says the rideshare app CEO. "The mind-machine interface is no longer science fiction, it's reality. Soon, we will upload our minds to the cloud and live in virtual reality. Or as I call it, paradise!"

"We have forgotten God, and the traditional family values He has set out for us," says the aging, old-money oil man. "But my political contributions and policy think tanks will bring about an end to this age of sin and decadence!"

"Climate change is far from inevitable," says the real-estate mogul. "With my investments in green energy, we are only a technological breakthrough or two away from ending and reversing global climate change. As far as I'm concerned, the world has already been saved!"

Now we get to see how their plans turn out. A space ship drifts through oblivion and inside, all the lights are off. The social media entrepreneur is in his space suit, his lifeless eyes staring out into the void. It turns out his rocket ship was about as reliable as his electric cars.

Then we see the rideshare CEO. Or rather, his virtual avatar. He sits in the lotus position, meditating before a peaceful, pixelated field of grass. His eyes snap open. And then, he shrieks in agony. Back in the real world, his brain is in a jar, crisscrossed with wires and electrodes, suspended in fluid that is beginning to boil. The lab is on fire. Let's hope they fix this little glitch in the next patch.

The old-money oil man is long dead, of course, but his great-great-grandson lives on. We see him in the crumbling ruins of the Vatican, ritualistically sacrificing a lamb on a great pyre before the shit-smeared remains of the Pope's golden throne to the cheers of his tribe. An orgy breaks out to celebrate the occasion and we see the oil billionaire's progeny swallow a mouthful of the moon priestess' urine. "Thank you, daddy," he says, wiping his mouth. Now that's what I call "family values".

Finally, we see a field of shattered solar panels beneath a red sun, like so many broken windows in the sand in every direction as far as the eye can see. This place is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here. What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us.

Sometimes, things just don't go the way you planned. When that happens, State Farm Insurance has you covered.

[lovelybarnes]

Sadistic- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader, other characters make an appearance but it’s mainly natasha romanoff Warnings: mean bucky kind of, mutual pining, teasing, reader being flustered, super projection of my obsession with peanuts right now About: request! Bucky and reader didn’t get along and then bucky discovers she has a sensitive neck and basically uses it against her.

​​Bucky notices you before he sees you.

You’re hidden behind the kitchen island with your legs crossed beneath you and your fingertips grazing the tiles, the few stray strands of hair peeking past the granite of the counter giving you away.

He contemplates turning back nearly immediately, your presence pushing him out of a room as much as it is pulling him in, but it’s sheer greed that makes him lean on his feet, standing at a subtle angle to get even a brief look at you.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused when he meets them, puckering aimlessly with the arrival of a crease between your brows. He shifts awkwardly in the entrance of the common room, watching you cautiously.

You don’t seem to notice his attention at all, eerily still and uncharacteristically distracted. Bucky should clear his throat, ask if you’re okay, but he hasn’t said something so kind to you in a while, and he’s unwilling to do so now.

What he should do, grounded in stupid values and teenage pride, is set his shoulders, stop squinting to see the outline of your lashes, and push past you to get to the fridge. You’re the one on the ground. He’s an innocent, thirsty bystander who has been looking forward to the cucumber water in the fridge all day.

He pauses, moves his limbs a little to see if you notice. If you do, maybe you’ll push yourself away from smack-dab middle, or maybe your eyes will widen in that sweet, apologetic way they do, where your lashes pinch at the corners in guilt, voice starting in an excuse he’ll scowl at, forcing yours to twist down wrongly at his reaction.

He can admit he’s selfish when you don’t waver and he stays put. Crassly, he leans against the wall and lets his pupils drag down your profile. He flushes immediately with heat and wishes you would rise to your feet and scold him for staring. He isn’t sure what sick part of him would like that most.

But you stay like that for a while, and when you do notice him, it’s an entirely underwhelming consequence. Your shoulders jump only barely and you offer him a vacant blink.

“Hey, Bucky.”

Your voice is quieter than usual but just as sordidly kind.

He grunts in response, setting his attention away from you and pretending like it was never there to start. You shift away when he steps in front of you, narrowly missing your nail. You frown down at your hands, glancing up at Bucky’s back.

He hears you stand, the soft sound your fingers make against the cupboard and the inhale you take. You twist your mouth and squeeze your fingers, eyes on him from your distance. He doesn’t turn to you.

“What’re you looking for?” you ask after a few seconds.

“Water.”

“Water,” you repeat. “The cucumber one? I’m so sorry, I just grabbed the last bit.”

He makes a low noise, shutting the refrigerator. “It’s fine.”

“No, no,” you argue, turning around to pull a mug from behind the fruit bowl. It’s chipped at the rim, with a pale yellow handle and thin vertical indents around its body. A bumpy orange mushroom is embossed over green blades of grass. You hook your middle and index fingers through the handle and hold it out to him expectantly. “You can have it.”

Bucky shifts on his feet, hands down at his sides. He wants to start kindly. “No.”

You blink at him. “Are… are you sure? I don’t think you’ve had very much. I haven’t drank from it at all, I promise. I just poured it before I…”

Bucky thinks he should ask. “‘M sure.”

You nod slowly, setting the mug down. There’s something hesitant and wanting over your features, a small crease back between your brows. “Okay then.” You offer him a smile, a little awkward but nonetheless pretty. He needs to go. “I can bring you some more? I usually buy it from this little vendor on Saturday, but I can make an early stop.”

“That’s okay.”

You chew on your cheek. “Maybe you want to go with me?”

He freezes. “What?”

You take in a big gulp of air, shoulders pushed back gently. “I feel like…” You chew your lip, mulling. Your eyes twinkle sadly. “We don’t really spend too much time together. And I’d like to.”

Bucky can feel heat creep awfully up his neck, a stabbing warmth in his chest. He needs to reject you right now.

You seem to read his mind, stepping backward and bumping into the counter. “You don’t have to—” You stumble over your feet in your efforts to give him space.

His hands shoot out to wrap around your forearms, pulling you upright. Your eyes are rounded, mouth still caught in an assurance, warm fingers twisted below his wrists to hook loosely on the hill of his pisiform.

He swallows, stepping back like your touch burned him. “No thanks.”

You frown, not wanting to push but feeling like you need to. You swallow the step he’d put between you. “Please? I promise I’ll make it fun. There are a lot of things there, maybe you could find Steve’s birthday gift.”

Bucky inhales shortly. “I got it already.”

He begins to sidestep you, a scorching buzzing he never realized was prickling beneath his skin finally beginning to ease. You grasp his arm and it peaks so high, he stops breathing for a second. The twinkle has come back, more melancholy than he remembered. Your lips pucker, eyebrows edging down. “Do you not like me?”

Bucky pauses, overwhelmed by the heat of your fingers. “What?”

Your teeth dig into your lip, thumb beginning to rap against the flat edge of his palm. He blinks. “You don’t seem to like me very much. Which is fine—I just… did I do something wrong?” Your voice closes on a mournful crest, features already sorry as your fingers continue their frantic dance on his skin. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No. Why would you think that?”

You frown. “You never talk to me unless you have to, you leave the room the moment I come in.”

“That’s not true.”

You cock your head at him, a little exasperated. “Bucky.”

“Fine.” He sighs, meeting eyes with your concern again. A beat passes. “Let’s go,” he says.

Your face lights up, although hesitant. “Really? Honest, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Really. Maybe I’ll get something else for Steve.”

You bounce gently on the balls of your feet, fingers looping tightly around his wrist. “Thank you. We’ll have fun, I promise.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing the slope of his nose when you finally step back with a pretty smile. His wrist burns delightfully; he has to hold himself back from prodding at it with his fingers.

You stare at him for another second, eyes crinkling at their edges. “I’ll be right back. We’ll leave in ten minutes, is that okay?”

“Sure,” he repeats, watching you bound toward the elevator. Your lips are pinched tightly when you turn around, the bubbled highs of your cheeks betraying what you try to smother. 

When the elevator doors shut, he lets his eyes fall closed, dropping his head onto one hand. His pointer finger brushes against the skin you’d held, eliciting a lovely glittering where you’d rubbed the pads of your fingers.

His elbow bumps into something cold and fragile, which he looks down to see is your mug, quietly inched closer to him. Hesitantly, he loops a finger around the handle, lifting the smooth edge up to his mouth. You were right, the water is fresh and sweet.

He falls into the couch disappointedly to wait for you, letting his head tilt back and attention rest on the ceiling. His index strokes the handle with wobbly, hesitant lines, running over the movements of your own fingers in the bumps and ridges of the mug. Your ownership is painfully present, predictably foreign on Bucky’s tongue, yet not at all wrong where he has felt it most.

It’s not what Bucky expected.

He puts it down on the table, hoping the delicate circular teetering grounds him. It doesn’t.

-

You’re frantic when you push the door to your room open, entirely crammed with worries.

Your hair has refused to cooperate all morning, the shirt you’d pulled on has a tiny hole you hope Bucky didn’t notice, and your pants are a size too big, the stretchy bottom part of the left leg pulled up to the thick of your calf.

You try to remember whether or not you washed your nice jeans the day before, fingers deftly pushing away hangers and leaving only an ugly screeching sound that you can’t bother to notice. 

You don’t think Bucky likes you. In the decent amount of time you’d known him—a fraction of it with a word count—you had, at the very least, been reassured that he didn’t hate you. Bucky doesn’t seem to spend too much time hating in the icky, false sense of the word, not when he has so many possible receptors with real and raw reasoning.

You hold a shirt up to the light like it’ll help determine Bucky’s thoughts about it. Would he have any?

You shove the shirt back inside your closet and pull another off the hanger, stretching out the collar irresponsibly. Bucky seems to wear a lot of red. Is it because he likes it or has someone commented on how much it brings out his eyes?

You don’t think Bucky likes you. You’re determined to get him to.

He was wearing something red today. You pull on a pretty vermillion blouse with wide sleeves and a high neckline and try not to feel silly. Your foot taps nervously against the floor as you try to decide on earrings, taking a glance along the rows you have before you crouch down to pull on your shoes, browsing the image you’d caught in your mind. 

When you straighten, it feels as if entirely too much time has passed by, your head leady, vision thinned briefly. You decide on the Snoopy earrings you’d bought last week. Tiny, crescent-eyed Woodstock goes on your left ear and tiny, lovesick Snoopy goes on your right. He must know them, right?

You don’t look in the mirror before you leave, too confident that your reflection would send you tumbling back into your closet, slipping your choice off your earlobes. Your forefinger hooks on the bottom of your shirt, tugging down as you watch yourself in the closed doors of the elevator.

Slowly, you inhale. Exhale. Realize you’d closed your eyes and the doors are now open.

The pads of your fingers meet Snoopy’s small clay-lump-legs and you remember that you’re being ridiculous.

Calmer now, you prance over to Bucky, blinking at his shut eyes, body leant against the couch.

“Bucky?” you call. You bend at the waist, searching for a sign of life until your nose is very, very close to his. “Are you okay?” you whisper, unsure why.

Bucky startles anyway, meeting your fresher face. He has thoughts on the shirt.

He clears his throat. “Fine.”

You pull back, crossing your arms. “Did I make you wait long?” you stress, watching him get to his feet.

“No.”

You want to make a joke. You know what Sam would do—poke at his age, ask if the century was finally catching up. You contemplate it too long.

Bucky eyes the bag hanging from the crook of your elbow. You tilt it inconspicuously, flashing stupid buttons and silly pins. Bucky clears his throat. “Should we go?”

“Yes,” you say hurriedly, following after him as he heads to the elevator. It’s silent inside and all the way to the car, where you exchange a stilted smile for a glance when you plug in your phone with the address.

Your thigh shakes the entire ride, slowing momentarily for awkward, brief conversations when the silence gets too unbearable. You think about comfortable silence and how this is not it, icky regret crawling up your throat. You feel sticky and stupid.

“I like your earrings,” Bucky says unprompted. You’re too surprised to do much else than stare, thanking him after too long.

“You like Snoopy?”

He nods. You contemplate more questions, but he seems satisfied with his contribution.

You stare down at your bag the rest of the time, a finger tracing a big, glittery button from a goose race you never went to.

Bucky’s presence is too professional at the stands. He handles himself overly bodyguard-like around you, watching you pick things up with care and interact with vendors from just next to the tents. Rarely does he touch something himself.

You fiddle with a small notebook, catching his eye. You smile when he reads your mind, stepping over to your side to see over your shoulder. Half of his body is close enough to pull sparks from your opposite side. You try your best to concentrate.

“Steve,” you explain, twisting the little sketchbook around. He hums, the noise accompanied by a warm puff of air against the thin skin of your neck. You still completely, goosebumps rising immediately. You pray he doesn’t notice.

Of course Bucky does. He watches your chest still and can’t help the rise of the left edge of his lip. Experimentally, he blows a soft line along your neck.

You flinch, fingers going slack. Bucky reaches for the book before it can thump on the table, his eyes crinkled. You’re too distracted to notice the amusement on his face.

He hums. “That’s a good choice for Stevie.”

“Y-yeah.” You clear your throat, taking a step back but bumping into him. Your skin is delightfully warm even through his jacket, sharp tingles only tendered by your sweet chagrin.

Graciously, he steps aside, meeting your eyes and raising the book between his index and middle fingers. The buttons of the bag hanging off his wrist sparkle in the sunlight. He smiles, suddenly a lot less hesitant than this morning. “Found my present.”

You nod, leaving him to pay as you raise your hand to your collarbone, the pads of your fingers brushing over the goosebumps above the collar of your shirt.

You shiver again and wonder.

-

You’re anxious for more.

Bucky’s interactions with you are usually dismally brief. He says hi when you prompt him, returns tight smiles, and indulges your questions using as few words as possible. Last time, it was ten. The time before, five. Your peak is sixteen.

On the next movie night, you come downstairs half an hour before and claim a doughy two-person couch, sprawling a silky blanket over one side. You pop two bags of popcorn and stress that you made them too early, overcompensating with a variety of candy. It’s spread out with great care, the cushions adjusted, the furniture itself repositioned.

You sit on your side and pretend you’ve only just come when Sam heads into the living room, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What’s all this?” he asks, stealing a handful of popcorn. 

“Nothing,” you say, shifting as he pokes around your stash. Footsteps. “Go over there,”

“What?”

“Bucky won’t come over here if you’re standing there.”

Sam cocks his head. “Ohh, Bucky huh?”

“Go!” you urge, heat up to your ears when he satiates you, hands up in surrender as he walks away.

More Avengers filter in, at the very end Bucky. Your friends have decided to appease you today, occupying every space except the one by your side. Your leg bounces with anticipation.

Bucky looks at you, noticing everything you’ve done, and blinks away when you smile at him. Your shoulders sag, lips pursed achingly.

“You can sit here. If you want,” you say. “I got you some candy. I’ve seen you eating it before, and I thought you… you might like it.”

It’s a slim moment—but a moment nonetheless—before he answers. “Okay. Thank you. I’m gonna get a drink before the movie.”

“I’ll go with you,” you pipe up, a few of the others joining you to pour sodas and chips into bowls.

You’re reaching for a glass when you feel him behind you, stretching for another.

You shiver when you feel air against the nape of your neck, knee knocking loudly into the counter.

He’s away from you before you can process it was him, innocuously pulling open a drawer.

Everyone meets your eye questioningly. “You okay?” Natasha asks.

You nod, pupils flickering to Bucky, who would seem entirely innocent if his irises weren’t so glittered with mirth.

You frown at him, confused when he’s completely unchanged, simply walking beside you back to his seat.

You split your attention between the movie and Bucky’s face for the first hour, realizing you should never have let it stray when he reaches for his glass of water and brushes a very warm finger right below your jaw.

You stare at him perplexedly, his features outlined by the flickering light of the television.

“Butter,” he lies, shrugging. Then, he turns back to the movie and ignores you for the rest of the night. You can’t remember the name of the movie by the next day.

-

The round tip of your little finger aches with a small papercut.

The paperwork piled up at the edge of your desk mocks your wound, edged paper corners peeking out as if a warning.

You watch wine bubble, a fat drop beginning to edge closer to the crevice between nail and skin. Holding back an urge to shove your finger into your mouth, you clasp a tissue with your other hand, wrapping it tightly around your wounded finger.

You blow a gentle raspberry and lean back in your seat; a silent resignation: the paperwork wins.

Natasha meets your eye from the couch across the hall, appearing to read your mind in the sharp way she can do. She frowns, an exaggerated pull to her lips, falsely thinned eyes glaring. She crosses her arms and puffs her chest out, shaking her head in a distinct disappointment.

You stifle a laugh and present your injury to her.

Her lips part in overt understanding, nodding slowly. Poor baby, she mouths.

Poor baby, you agree, cradling your hand.

She laughs, standing up to walk toward you. When she gets to you, she picks up a pen off your desk, squinting at the words peeking out beneath the covers.

“This is from two months ago,” she says unhelpfully, tapping it with your pen.

“That’s not even the oldest one there,” you deplore, letting your head drop on your desk with a mournful sigh.

“Why do you insist on falling behind?” she tuts.

“I’m hurt!” you insist, pushing your finger toward her. She cocks her head at you but cradles your hand. “Every time I try, it’s like it fights back!”

“If you need help…” Natasha mutters something in Russian and brushes her lips against your pinky, making you smile.

You simper. “Did you just heal me?”

“No. I cursed you for being lazy.”

You frown, taking back your hand to hold it against your chest. “I’m good,” you say, responding to her earlier offer. You heave a big sigh. “Thank you, though. Evil woman.”

She smiles at you, shaking her head when she sees your opposite fingers wrapping around your injured one. “You like to suffer.”

“How dare you,” you mumble, urging another bloody bead to form.

“Deviant,” she claims, walking away.

You don’t look up to blow a raspberry at her, dragging your nail up your skin until a thicker drop forms.

It’s a fairly challenging game you have going on, making your bead grow while trying to keep it plump and steady on the tip of your little finger.

If you breathe a little too hard, it wobbles, and you clamp your lips closed, holding your breath and freezing entirely for a few seconds until it’s still again.

It’s a concentration game. And Bucky takes advantage of it.

You press the indent between your bones gently, immersed enough to only recognize his presence when he begins to speak.

“Don’t do that,” he condemns, suddenly right behind you. He must be bent over, lips a millimeter away from the curve of your neck for you to feel every intricate vibration of each word he says. You flinch immediately, an already hot cheekbone bumping against his chin.

When you catch sight of him, he’s already straightened, perfectly calm.

“What?” you croak, warm fingers against the warmer skin below your earlobe.

“You cut yourself,” he says.

“Uh huh.”

“Why are you making it worse?”

“I… I’m not.”

His face stains only lightly in dissent, dissolving like a single droplet of color in an ocean of clear.

He doesn’t respond audibly, only shrugging and walking away. You only realize he’d pressed a clean, colorful band-aid on your desk after he’s out of the office.

There’s a streak of cherry red along your finger when you finally look down, only observing its head create a fat scarlet stain on your sleeve. You curse Bucky and the goosebumps still high on your skin.

-

You suspect Bucky to be somewhat of a sadist.

He doesn’t seem to mind the effect he’s carved into you, nearly reveling in it as if your embarrassment were some sort of thrill. You find yourself shivering prematurely the moment he steps foot in a room, the sight of him accompanied by the imminent line of ice along sensitive skin.

He’ll embarrass you wherever. Make you choke on your tea right before a meeting, burn yourself on a fresh tray of cookies, trip over shoes, and crash into walls. And he’ll watch you, lousily stifling a smile before tending to whatever he’d caused as if he wasn’t at fault for it.

Guiltily, you yearn for the roles to reverse. Or for yours to lessen. 

Slumped on the couch in the living room with a bowl of oily popcorn, you contemplate your situation with Snoopy.

All you had wanted was a sign further than acknowledgement. Something realer than his bitter, thin smile, maybe one of the laughs you’d been so eager to hear in real life. At the most, a purposeful touch; still kind, still real, probably brief. But what you’ve gotten surpasses what you’d initially desired in delightfully awful ways.

When you think about it, your situation doesn’t seem too fat with issue. You can’t recall a substantial conversation with Bucky, but you can remember with perfect clarity how warm his lips are from a millimeter away. It brings up the contemplation on whether or not it’s an actual issue to begin with.

You’re tempted to ignore it. You’re very, very tempted to let him continue his cruel attentions and let yourself become further putty in his presence.

What would you even do? You can’t see yourself pulling him forward by the collar—to make a point, of course, not to brush your fingers against his own neck to see him shudder—to look him in the eyes while telling him that you know what he’s doing. Especially when you don’t. Primarily when you aren’t sure what the point of the conversation would be—to tell him to stop? You aren’t sure you want him to.

It’s easier to push it aside and let him torture you. Maybe you’ll become impervious to Bucky Barnes’ bullying.

You push yourself straighter and let your head fall back, listening to Charlie Brown’s mournful voiceover.

“What if everyone was like you? What if we all ran away from our problems? Huh? What then? What if everyone in the whole world suddenly decided to run away from his problems?”

Your eyes pop open with a startled frown, watching his cartoon throw his little arms up and sigh.

Linus appears, but you don’t listen to his words, letting the fleshy part of your palm support your chin. The pads of your fingers float up to the space behind your ears, and you feel yourself flush immediately with recognition. Bucky is a sadist, sure. But you’re a masochist. 

With a dejected huff, you let your hands drop to the popcorn. 

It’s not even a full episode past when something shifts. You frown, covertly examining your surroundings with edged brows.

Two hands form deep clefts in cushions on either side of you, body heat sticky against the skin it can touch.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks quietly, lips so close to your ear you can feel the echo of their movements. His breath prickles your neck.

“Um…” You struggle to respond, your tongue suddenly too dry. In the background, Lucy shouts something. It sends the dumbest feeling into your chest. Charlie Brown is right.

You gather up all the courage inside of you, rolling it up into the tightest and biggest little ball you can, and snap your neck to the side, catching his gaze before he can move in surprise.

You’re closer than you thought you’d be. You can see all the pretty little details of his face, the way his pupils eat the lovely blue of his irises and how high his Adam's apple bobs.

“What’s wrong?” you echo gently, sweetly mocking.

He stammers, charcoal lashes fluttering.

You hum, examining his face one last time before hopping off the couch to go to the kitchen, leaving him slumped over the couch, dazed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction fluff #bucky barnes fanfic fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic fluffy #bucky barnes fic fluff #bucky barnes request #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes idiots in love #bucky barnes mutual pining #bucky barnes imagine angst #bucky barnes imagine fluff #bucky barnes teasing

[xjustakay]

(8/25) prompt: gold — 1150 words (firefighter james episode 2: being a menace - pt.1, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5) @jegulus-microfic

Regulus loves photography, he does. It’s been a great hobby to pass the time and an excellent excuse for his mildly pretentious takes when it comes to ‘aesthetic.’

The thing is, he really should have thought this particular project through a bit more.

A day off from the coffee shop to work on a shoot, sure, great. In theory. In context? In the context of taking photos of oiled up firefighters in various states of partial undress for a charity calendar? Mistakes may have been made. He’s too gay for this —a realization made too far into the commitment to back out.

Really, it hit him like a fist to the face the moment James’ turn came up.

Stupid. Idiot. Absolute fucking fool.

As if Regulus didn’t know that the man he’s been steadily seeing and getting to know recently —the man who suggested he help with this project in the first place— wouldn’t volunteer to be part of the group for the photoshoot. Of fucking course James would; “it’s for charity,” he’d said.

Regulus is going to throttle him later.

Or mount him.

Could go either direction at this point.

They’re around the back of the station building, just the two of them. It was specifically stated that the individuals who were volunteering to take part in the calendar would have to utilize one of their rare days off to shoot their photos so the fire station wasn’t under-covered on staff. Regulus and James could be doing anything else in the world with this day, but no. No, they’re here, with James rubbing baby oil over his naked torso while Regulus tries to keep from literally fucking salivating.

He’s known James was fit from the moment he walked into the coffee shop and made a place for himself in Regulus’ life. Fully clothed, the man is unbearably gorgeous. Underneath his clothes? God, it’s worse. It’s painful.

All defined lines of muscle and warm tan skin. James works out on a regular basis, has to stay in shape for his job, but it’s more than that. Regulus has learned that James has always been athletically inclined. James prides himself on his body, and he’s not shy about it. 

Which is obvious in the way that he looks up from his own bare chest and catches Regulus staring, a knowing smirk instantly twitching at his lips.

“Care to help slick me up?”

“I should kill you.” It slips past Regulus’ lips without thought to pause, but all James does is laugh loudly, head tipped back with the lovely sound. Regulus huffs, shifting on his feet. “Are you almost done? I have other things I want to be doing.”

“Care to share?” James tosses the bottle of oil onto the grass, wiping off the remainder on his hands down the ridges of his stomach. “Don’t spare any of the dirty details now, love.”

Regulus manages to glare at him, but it’s weak considering the blush that colors his cheeks. “You’re a menace to society.”

“Public hero, menace to society.” James lifts his hands, leaning one direction then the next, like weighing an invisible scale.

“Fix your fucking suspenders.”

“Fix them for me.” Both dark brows lift over the gold frames of James’ glasses, a dangerous grin stretching across his face.

Letting his camera hang from the neck strap, Regulus lets out a dramatic sigh but crosses the small distance toward him. James positively lights up as he approaches, standing miraculously still to let Regulus do what he needs.

James is wearing the yellow turnout pants typical of his uniform, obviously sans a shirt. The pants hang suspiciously lower on James’ hips today, the defined line that narrows beneath his waistband on display. Attached to that band, though, are the usual thick red suspenders, hanging on either side of James’ legs presently. Regulus tugs one up fully over James’ left shoulder, actively working to keep his eyes from venturing to anything more distracting.

“Keep this arm bent against the wall.” Regulus handles him a little roughly on purpose, yanking his arm up as needed to pose him beside the brick wall.

“And this one?” James asks, sliding his opposite hand down Regulus’ side, squeezing at his hip when he gets there.

Regulus takes a slow deep breath through his nose before glancing up at James’ face finally. He swats at the hand on his hip blindly. “Keep it to yourself.”

A charged pause, Regulus’ head cocking to the side before:

“For now.”

James huffs a laugh, but the smug satisfaction on his face shines brighter than his amusement. Regulus loops the other suspender over James’ right forearm, hooking it in the crook of his elbow when he guides James to bend the arm. He presses James’ right hand against the top edge of his turnout pants, meeting his eyes evenly.

“Tuck your thumb into them a little,” He instructs.

James immediately follows direction and it sends a static through Regulus that makes him wish they weren’t quite literally outside James’ place of work currently. James tugs at the waistband slightly more than entirely necessary, exposing more of the sharp line that Regulus is definitely not thinking about tracing with his tongue. He’s being professional, damn it.

“Like that?” James checks, voice low.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” Regulus’ words come out breathier than before, and he catches himself staring downward with a jolt and a fluttered blink. He clears his throat and takes a much needed step back. “Now stare off to the right, look moody if you have to.”

“Thought that was your job.”

“Do less comedy.”

James snorts but stays in the posed position, turning his head as requested. Regulus takes another few steps back for the full shot and lifts the camera from his chest. As if knowing he’s already having a hell of a time doing this job, it’s like the universe itself is against Regulus the way that the sun shines perfectly, haloing James beautifully where he stands —a god damn wet dream being immortalized.

Maybe Regulus takes a couple extra shots. For… purely artistic purposes. Obviously.

Once again, before he gives himself the thought to stop from speaking his thoughts aloud, Regulus asks, “Can you wear this at home?”

He looks up from the tiny square screen on the camera toward James. It’s obvious that James is trying to refrain from laughing, having not been dismissed from his current pose, but he does turn his head to look at Regulus delightedly.

“Oh, so that’s what you’d rather be doing, huh? Wouldn’t have guessed.” James taunts, his playful arrogance never-ending. “Need to work out a bit of a fantasy for yourself, is that it?”

Regulus blushes again, but he meets the teasing evenly this time. “Why do you think I started dating you?”

This time James does laugh, unhelpable. Regulus sneaks a picture of that, too, just for himself.

#jegulus #firefighter james agenda persists #and regulus and i are dying about it #also this got away from me very fast lmao #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing #fic: you got the antidote #<- the origins

[triplesilverstar]

A so called God on a mountain top? Well, better then freezing to death

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI 

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: P in V Sex, drugged, tied up, human sacrifice, vaginal fingering, feather play, cream pie, multiple cream pies, orgasm, multiple orgasms, Fantasy AU  

Word count: Roughly 3K

A/N: You had gone to the area to learn about the local wildlife and the fauna. Sure the villagers were wary of outsiders, but you honestly hadn't expected to be drugged and tied to a slab on the mountaintop in nothing but a flimsy robe. So when a handsome blond stranger shows up claiming to be a God who are you to argue? 

Alright time to try and kick back and not write or engage in too much social media! I’ll be back but I hope you enjoy this little one shot inspired by a dream I had.

A soft exhale as his hand rises higher along your skin, the digits dragging against the curve of your belly under the robe you’re wearing. His bulk is pressed against you warming the muscles of your back while his mouth is pressed against your ear, the barest gust created as he lets out his own exhale a few hairs on your head fluttering in the draft. A soft mewl escapes past your lips as his other hand slips beneath the folds of your robe to toy with your dripping sex. 

You had expected to die on top of this mountain, left as a sacrifice for the so-called god of the locals. To find yourself attacked by wild animals and ripped to pieces. Drugged by the villagers and stripped, informed by the head chief you’d make a fitting sacrifice for their god with your outsider looks and form as you passed out. So much for your research project.

When you had woken up, bound to a slab you were certain you weren’t going to last the night as your tree chattered in your skull and the nip of the frigid air started to seep past your robe. Only for the air to gently warm as if spring was coming to the mountain top. 

You can barely see, twisting and turning as you hear the sound of steady footsteps approaching and a dim light growing along with it. A soft laugh rings around the area that has you relaxing as a sense of ease settles into your bones, the most handsome face you’ve ever seen looking down at you. With gentle downturned teal eyes a set of lips that look as soft as freshly fallen snow and a sharp nose, his hair seems black or perhaps it’s the way the lantern in his hand is held, illuminating only part of his face as golden blond strands fall around his face. 

“For some reason, I don’t think you came here willingly.” The clang of the metal rings out as he places the lantern on the ground before his fingers work to undo the binds keeping you in place. Those warm digits soothing around the welts from the ropes that are forming around your wrists and ankles, and you find yourself enraptured by the sound of his voice. 

“No.” Your voice sounds thick to your ears like your senses are running in slow motion as the beautiful stranger helps you to sit up, shivering as the feathers of his robe brush across your skin. 

“You’re not from around here are you?” His voice is gentle and the smell of fresh grass and rich freshly turned soil reaches your nose. It’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant but something inside of you stirs at the scent. 

“No. I came to learn about the life here on the mountain.” Taking your hands in his he guides you to your feet, yet as you take your first step you almost crash to the ground. How long had you been tied to the slab? The stranger wrapping a strong arm around you and the remaining chill in the air seems to fade away in an instant. 

“I see. This mountain is a hard place to survive, the people often need help so leave little offerings asking for help when times are tough.” You let out a soft laugh almost like a bell chiming in the wind as you lean more into the warmth radiating from his skin. 

“Well, when you leave someone tied to a slab in a robe to freeze to death I can honestly say I see how it’s hard to survive.” That has him laughing and the sound makes you think of a babbling brook as it starts to move after a winter of being frozen in sleep. 

“Perhaps.” One of his hands is lifting your chin to look into his eyes and you see a shine to them that makes your heart stutter in your chest. “Would you allow me to accompany you down the mountain?” The softness of his offer makes you smile something about this handsome man just sets you at ease, but you find yourself hesitating. 

“Who are you?” As you ask the image of rolling fields filled with flowers fills your mind as that same laughter pours from him. 

“Vash” His name strikes a cord and your belly clenches as he keeps speaking. “The lord of this mountain and to the village down below the god of spring. Of new beginnings.” You have to laugh yourself but his voice carries a ring of truth to it. 

“I’m supposed to believe you’re the god of these people, who said they were sacrificing me to you?” It’s almost unbelievable but as you look around your surroundings you can see the hint of frost at the edge of the circle of light cast from his lantern and the sway of the frozen stalks of foliage in a breeze. Yet all you feel is warmth wrapped in his embrace and no hint of wind at all. 

“You don’t need to believe anything, except I mean what I said when I offered to accompany you down the mountain.” That smile never leaves his face and his finger slides across your chin with his teal eyes twinkling in the night as if painted by stars. “Though with the way you’re clinging to my body, one would think you might interested in a more carnal offer.” 

“Carnal offer?” You question, unaware of your hands tracing soft circles into his chest as you keep staring into his face.

“How you would have been a sacrifice as you said, and a sacrifice to me is usually in the form of two bodies being joined.” His voice has grown lower and you have to admit it does something to your core, feeling yourself grow warm. 

“So you’re asking if I want to fuck?” The idea is tempting, he is rather damn good looking and you haven’t had anything except your fingers inside of you for almost a year while traveling the world. 

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way, more making love.” Hearing you speak so vulgar seems to have off put him a little but his hands have kept you close and you can feel a heat rising from his skin. “But yes, that is what I am asking.”

It sounds almost too good to be true but your body is outeighing your mind as it grows warm and you feel a wetness growing in your core. “Yes, let's do it.” 

Another laugh from him before his mouth is on yours, gentle and the smell of citrus invades your senses as his lips caress yours. Moaning at the sensual nature of his movements and you feel as you grow wetter under the robe.    

As his mouth moves more against yours you find your hands rising to tangle in his hair, rolling your hips and gasping at the firmness you feel between his legs. A low growl seems to fill the air and you realize it’s coming from him pulling away from you and twirling you in his arms so your back is to his chest. “I want to feel your skin.” His voice reverberates through your skull as his hands wander, exploring your body beneath the robe. 

As those long digits find your sex you can’t hold back the noises you’re making for him, mewling into the night as he grips your breast and slips one of those long fingers inside your pussy. “So wet lovely thing, your insides feel so nice warm, and dripping. I wonder if I’ll fit?” With the pressure against your backside, you aren’t sure he will with what you feel between your cheeks.

A slide of something along your face has you distracted from those thoughts and him adding a second finger to your core, pumping them while kneading your breast and sucking on your neck. The fluttering of your robe has you looking downwards at the white tendril that seems to give you a little wave as you spot it, before it goes back to lifting your robe and revealing more of your skin. Seeing another your mind blanks as it slips under the folds of fabric and presses against your clit, with your legs turning to jelly as your hit with your first orgasm. 

Vash behind you smiles as he kisses the side of your face as best as he can, adjusting your boneless body better in his hold and letting his feather shift to lift you into the air. Keeping his arms around your middle as the white tendrils covered in soft down wrap around your thighs to spread you so he’ll be able to spear you on his throbbing cock. Cooing against your neck as you come down from your high. “You’ve done so well, getting that first one out of the way. Now I think you’re ready for something a bit larger to warm up those pretty insides of yours.” 

A soft hum in acknowledgment of his words and his hands feel silky smooth against your thighs. Wait. Both of his hands are now grasping your breasts, how is he holding your legs in his hands? Blinking your eyes open you look down to see bands of white around your legs, realizing your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you as seeing his bare arms you swallow. Yelping as another moves to cup your cheek. “Do not mind my feathers, they’ll only do as I tell them such as holding you aloft so we can continue. If that is what you want?” 

As weirded out by the feathers as you are your libidio is winning by a mile. “Yes, I wanna come on that dick I’ve been feeling against my butt.” If he could make you come that hard from just two fingers you can’t wait to feel yourself stretched on what you’re certain is a massive cock. 

“Very well.” The sensation of another feather lining his length up with your opening and you gasp as he bucks his hips and tears sting your eyes from the stretch. He is girthy as he splits you open and his body seems to be warming you up even more from the inside as he sets a sharp pace, thrusting in and out of you. Slamming a hand over your mouth as you pant and whine for the self-proclaimed god behind you and using your body as he pleases. 

A feathered tendril wraps around your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth as he pants against your neck. “Sing for me, let the village hear your praises as I bring up both to euphoria.” The snap of his hips as he takes you has you doing just that, no longer trying to hold back your noises as he slams his cock deep inside of your body. 

His tongue is lapping at the side of your neck as the sweat runs down and his own erratic breathing is washing against the skin cooling the wet strokes he’s left behind. Seeming to growl against the tender area before panting. “Do you want my seed inside of you?” 

The way he says you can tell he doesn’t want to pull out but will respect your wishes, choking out a sob as one of those fluffy tendrils goes back to circling your clit. He clearly wants you to come when he does, inside of your walls or not. “Yes. Pump me full.” Letting out a desperate whimper as you try to turn your head to find his mouth wanting a kiss when you finish this time, but there’s no way you can reach those pale lips of his. 

A grunt before he’s jackhammering his hips, pulling all the way out until just his tip remains before slamming back inside your clenching pussy. The pressure from the feather against your clit increases until you scream his name, rending the night air as your voice grows hoarse while you spasm around his cock. A searing heat forms in your belly as he suddenly stops letting your walls drain him of his seed, his mouth peppering your neck in kisses as he regains his breathing while you shiver from the pleasure coursing through your body.

A softer grunt as your legs are lowered to the ground but he doesn’t release you and you can still feel his hard cock deep inside of your body. Brushing your fingers over the skin under your belly button and feeling his shiver behind you. His touch is tender and you feel one of his feathers reach up to wipe the wetness from your lashes, a kiss placed against your shoulder where the robe had slipped to allow him access to more of your flesh. “Can I have you again? On the table?” 

“Can you go again?” You’re not trying to tease but it might sound that way since he lets out a chuckle more like pebbles falling off a hillside. 

“I don’t need much recovery time, so yes, I can go again.” His hands are back to playing with your breasts as his feathers shift and dance across your skin. His length was still buried in your core giving a throb as if to say it wanted to plow you open once more.

“Yea. I want to go again too.” It’s a little awkward as lifts you once more, not truly wanting to leave the warmth of your body. A noise of dissatisfaction from him when he does remove his cock from your body and you shiver, feeling his release sliding out of your core down your legs. Once you’re back on the cool slab, however, he hums fingers scooping his spilled come and pushing it back into your pussy. 

This far from his body you shiver as the cold from the stone starts to seep into your back pulling him from his fingers and playing with your folds. “It seems the table is colder than I thought, I can’t have you getting a chill.” You awe as the rest of his robe peels from his skin, massive wings of feathers unfolding before curving to lift you from the table and to serve as a barrier for your body. The action pulls him closer and you see the litany of scars crossing his body reaching up to touch them as if touching a piece of art. 

His mouth opens but he stops as you mutter out a soft “You’re even more beautiful than I thought.” Flushing as you realize what you said to the man leaning over you with his cock resting against your belly. 

“You are quite lovely yourself.” Bending his head and pressing his lips to the space between your breasts before catching your eyes in his teal gaze once more. “Now, shall we continue?”   

Nodding before you whisper a gentle “Yes.” The sound caught in the wall of feathers surrounding both of you, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist as he sinks into your slit once more and this time you can see the micro expression of his face as he’s engulfed in your warmth. The new position allows him to reach the deepest part of you, letting out a soft whine as the head of his member touches your cervix. 

“I’ll be gentle with you.” Kissing your chin as he presses more of his weight onto you and leaning on his forearms while holding the back of your head, some of the feathers shifting to give him a firmer platform. True to his word he is far gentler as he pumps into you, taking his time as he sensually rolls his hips while your fingers find their way to his back, gripping into the meat of his upper back. There’s something about this position that feels more intimate than a random hook-up with a stranger, surrounded by his feathers with some of the tendrils sliding over your skin and his chest just above yours. Every shift of his hips as he enters you has you seeing stars, the veins lining his length rubbing against your inside delectably and you’re starting to whine under him. Small puffs of hair hit his chest making him smile, the edges of his pupils jagged and you can see the sweat trailing down his face and neck as he holds himself back from plowing into you with the same ferocity as before. 

When his cock does hit your cervix he keeps it there for a moment with a soft swirl of his hips as if kissing the deepest part of you before pulling out once more. The fire inside of you burns hotter the longer he works, a slow build-up that has him intimately intertwined with your body as he takes you. “Will you let me fill you again?” His lips are against your temple as he asks and you can hear the strain in his voice, shivering as the feathers seem to squeeze both of your bodies together more.

“Only if you kiss me.” A small demand that seems to make his eyes shine, letting more of his weight settle on your body as he does just that. Meeting him for a kiss that has his tongue sliding inside your mouth at the same speed as his hips as your parted lips touch. Your nails digging into his back hard enough to leave small crescents as he gives a few more thrusts and hits your clit when he’s as deep inside you as he can go. Sucking on his tongue as you come for a third time and sighing as that same burning feeling explodes in your core, you know it’s a larger load than his first as his body tightens while pumping you full. So full you can feel some of his seed slipping past your pussy lips and around his dick to trail down your ass. 

Eventually, your body settles and you find his weight pressing down on you soothing, your hand sweeping along his back and feeling where it connects to the mass of feathers growing from him. “Stay with me until dawn, then I shall bring you down the mountain.” 

If his request has taken you by surprise you don’t show it, turning to kiss his cheek and watching a wide grin overtake his face. “I will.”

As dawn comes, and several more rounds of him deep in your core, he guides you back down the mountain once more wrapped in his feathers with an arm around your body to keep you steady. Stopping just in view of the village in the slowly brightening shadow of the mountain, reaching up to one of the trees and plucking a single leaf before twisting it in his fingers under a band seems to form. 

Snapping up one of your hands with a hum he eyes your fingers carefully while still working the leaf band in the other before slipping it onto your ring finger. “There.” Bowing at the waist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Now the villagers won’t bother you in your research.” Standing back up to his full height he tilts his head before setting those teal eyes on you once more. “All I ask is you leave the mountain better than you found it.” 

“I will Vash. I promise.” It feels a little strange to say goodbye to him like this, on the hillside just outside of town. “Will I see you again?” 

That bubbling laugh of his ringing out before giving you a far larger smile than all the others before. “I’ll see you every day you’re on my mountain, but if you’ll see me? Well, time will tell.” It’s rather cryptic but you start walking towards the village, turning a few feet away to ask him what he means to find him gone. 

A spring breeze whips your hair into a frenzy and seems to seep in along the folds of your robe as if teasing your skin. As if planting your skin in kisses. “I guess he was a god. That’s different.” You mutter to yourself heading back to the village, surprised by the warmer welcome once they see your finger. Maybe in the weeks to come it will make more sense to you. Maybe.

Well all see you with new posts after my little break!

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[kdogreads]

Imagine Chibs coming home to you and the boys

Set in the same world as this imagine 🥰💕

You’re sitting on your covered front porch, legs comfortably folded beneath you on a cushioned metal chair. A sweating glass of lemonade sits beside you alongside a bowl of freshly cut watermelon you’d just brought out.

Thomas and Abel are running around in the grass. Abel is usually the ringmaster and designates who is the cop and who is the robber, or who is Spider-Man and who is the Green Goblin. Thomas follows his brother’s lead loyally and happily goes along in whatever game Abel’s made up this time.

You were pretty sure you’d just heard Abel tell Thomas it was his turn to be the dog when you called for them.

“Boys! I brought the watermelon out!” You projected across the lawn that was spotted with indigenous plants and your abundant love of flowers.

Both their heads zipped in your direction before bike handles and action figures were being tossed to the ground. They basically ran each other over trying to get the first piece of the sticky sweet fruit.

You let out a laugh as they clamored up the walkway to get to their snack. You placed the bowl down on the side table and they dug in, red juice dripping down their hands and onto their arms.

You slid your phone out to snap a picture of the cute, sticky mess in front of you. Big cheeses from the boys, both holding a slice bigger than their faces graced your sight. You sighed and leaned in to kiss Thomas’s head.

The sweet picture quickly pops up on Chibs’ phone. A wide smile spreads across his face as he buckles his helmet and his bike roars to life. He was so excited to get home.

You always heard him before you saw him. The boys had resumed chasing each other in the grass when the faint rumbling started.

They looked at each other and then to you, silently asking if they were hearing what they thought they were. You nodded enthusiastically and the boys erupted in giggles. Their little bodies could hardly hold their excitement in.

Abel and Thomas stayed in the grass like you’d taught them and leaned on each other trying to get a better view down the road.

Finally, Chibs came into view, turning the corner onto your street. Excited squeals almost covered the loud rumbling until he quickly cut the engine and all you could hear was a jumbled mess of, “Uncle Chibby!” “Dada!” “You’re home!”

His helmet and glasses practically flew off his face as he rushed over to the plush grass, bending down do greet both of his boys at their level.

“Hi my boys! Were ya good lads for yer Ma today?” Chibs beamed as he spoke to his sons.

Each of them set off into a detailed description of their whole day from when he left until now. You picked up mentions of popsicles, petting Uncle Happy’s dog, and helping Uncle Tiggy change a tire, but everything else was a fast-paced jumble.

Filip looked up at you amidst the adorable chaos and, ever the flirt, sent you a knowing wink. He was silently saying “just wait until it’s your turn.”

A wide smile spread across your cheeks as you adoringly watched Filip interact with your boys. He nodded and encouraged them with a “s’that so?” or “really?” every now and then.

It had been several minutes when he just couldn’t wait any longer to get his hands on you.

“Whaddaya say you lads see who can run around the house the fastest, huh?” He suggested, both boys jumping up to get in starting positions, “Ready, on yer marks, go!”

The boys shot off as fast as their short legs could carry them and Filip stepped his way up to you. You stood up and let his strong arms wrap you up in a warm, tight embrace. You melted into his chest, soaking up his musk of something crossed between sandalwood and motor oil.

“How are ye, my love?” Filip cooed info your hair.

“Better now,” You stretched your neck up to give him a sweet peck on the lips, “We had a good day, but we miss Daddy.”

“Oh, lass, dinna worry, Daddy will see to ya later tonight,” He punctuated his thought with a sharp smack to your ass.

“Filip!” You squealed and jumped a little, still wrapped up in his thick arms, “You are a pig!”

“Aye, but I’m your pig, my love.”

He tipped his head back and huffed out a laugh just as both boys rounded the corner info the front yard. You twisted your head over to see them running their hardest next to each other.

“Eww!” Abel cried out, “Are you gonna kiss?”

Filip lifted a hand to wave them off, “Yous better take another lap if you don’t wanna find out!”

Both boys took off squealing as he leaned in to kiss you sweetly, one hand still waving the boys on to keep going.

You both let out a laugh as Filip turned to settle into the oversized porch chair and pulled you down with him.

There you sat, perched on the broad thighs of the love of your life, on the front porch of the home you’d transformed into your oasis, his strong arms pulling you close as the sounds of giggles and squeals of joy began moving closer again. It seemed so simple and, yet, it seemed like everything.

“How did I get so lucky?” The words fell from your lips before you even realized.

“Nay, lass,” Filip’s calloused hands held your face gently, tilting your body until your gaze met his, “I am the lucky one.”

He kissed you again, his lips convincing you that every word he spoke was the truth.

Giggles and screeches turned into you groans and gagging noises.

“I told ya not t’look, lads! Am I no’ allowed to kiss yer Ma?”

More giggles filled the air, including yours and Filip’s, as you settled into him, happy to watch the boys run around for a few more minutes before heading inside to settle in for the evening.

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