#I cannot believe I wrote this out but this has been the contents of my brain for the last week so

[nereidprinc3ss]

okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 

“Can we talk?” 

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 

He chuckles. 

“At an entirely different university.” 

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 

Spencer sighs. 

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

[thecouchsofa]

You might be thinking, Tee, in your 2023 AO3 wrap up post, you said you wrote a ridiculous amount of HP fic this year - but what about reading? Well, thanks for asking, imaginary audience – as a matter of fact, I did indeed read a lot of Drarry fics this year. A fucking horrendous number of Drarry fics, in fact.

Below the cut are some of my favourites that were published in 2023, arranged by word count.

But first, a note: there is truly an overwhelming amount of talent in this fandom and this list only scratches the surface. These fics all gave me something that I was looking for and were my favourites for a number of different reasons. I hope you can find something new to love here (or reconnect with an old favourite), and that you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

If there’s a fic from 2023 that isn’t here but you really enjoyed, chuck it in the replies section so we can all see it!

🌸 AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? – @rainstormradish (4k, M) 🌸

Alrakis I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA?

prongymcprongface i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA

In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

Read for: unique fic idea with a cool layout, humour, boys being idiots

🌻 Snug – @moonflower-rose (6k, E) 🌻

Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.

Read for: Draco being Obsessed with Harry(‘s cock), Humorous Writing Style

🪻 Birds Behaving Badly – @peachpety (10k, E) 🪻

For eight years, Draco has been content living a quiet life of anonymity in Brighton, dodging pesky seagulls and enjoying the ephemeral boys of summer. And if these summer blokes just happen to resemble Harry Potter, it’s a mere coincidence—despite what his friends say.

But when a repeat one-night stand challenges him to face his desires, Draco thinks he’s finally over his years-long crush.

A seagull named Kevin thinks otherwise.

For: Unleashed!Fest 2023

Read for: hidden/mistaken identity, summer vibes, Kevin the seagull

🌸 Under the Confetti Mist – @azalealarae (12k, E) 🌸

Harry and Draco stay up late working on a Potions assignment in the poorly ventilated eighth-year common room, unaware that disinhibition is a side effect of the elixir’s vapor.

Read for: Sex Pollen, Drarry as Potions partners

🌻 Hellos, goodbyes, a thousand midnights – newskyillusion (13k, M) 🌻

The world, as Harry knew it, has ended.

At least he has a garden.

OR

Harry and Draco live through the apocalypse

For: Drarry Let’s Play Fest 2023

Read for: body horror, cosy vibes (just trust me, lol), Harry gardening, Powerful Harry, Harry and Draco relying on each other.

🪻 Amorous As This Lovely Green – @annanother-thing (14k, E) 🪻

Harry hates being a celebrity. Draco cannot find a single model that fits his vision for his latest line. They both make the debatable choice of trusting one PA extraordinaire/best friend, Pansy Parkinson.

For: Harry/Draco Career Fair 2023

Read for: Harry modelling lingerie, Hot Harry

🌸 Help! I'm a Hopeless Romantic! – @peachydreamxx (14k, M) 🌸

Draco turns from the bar, eyes latching onto Harry. He surveys him, one brow lifting, and Harry, like a deer in headlights, throws his hand up with the world’s most awkward wave. Draco just weaves out of sight, and Harry’s face burns as Ron pats him on the shoulder, then steals a chip. “He gave you a look, didn’t he?”

~ how to get over your crush

~ places that sell cake after 11pm near me

~ how to tell if someone is playing hard to get

A year in the life of Harry's shared moments, and private thoughts

For: Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange Secret Santa 2023

Read for: Harry’s Google Searches, Humour

🌻 Cool About It – @oflights (M, 16k) 🌻

Harry is so excited for his first date with Draco. But what follows isn't so much a date as it is an all-night odyssey including a malevolent lift, a Gringotts heist, a Sleeping Curse, a trip to the kebab shop, a lack of dancing, a Muggle drug, a rooftop pool party, a black eye and, eventually, a sunrise over a Quidditch stadium.

Read for: Humour, idiots in love, first dates

🪻 The Eighth Sin – @thehoneybeet (16k, E) 🪻

When Draco is sentenced to five years of house arrest, without magic, alone, the only person to visit him is Potter. But Draco’s beginning to doubt whether Potter is really there at all.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: dreamy/sad vibes, caring Harry, a beautiful exploration of a relationship

🌸 What’s Mine is Yours – @fluxweeed (17k, E) 🌸

Harry loses something important. Malfoy helps him get it back.

Read for: smut so hot it’ll light you on fire

🌻 O Come, All Ye Faithful – toomuchplor (19k, E) 🌻

Aunt Petunia died, that was what began everything.

Or rather, Aunt Petunia was dying. In the act of dying.

In which Draco finds faith in the church, and Harry finds faith in Draco.

Read for: Vicar Draco, Harry’s Vicar Kink, Beautiful Writing, Draco’s Hard Sanctified Cock

🪻 The Boys of Summer – @saxamophone (19k, E) 🪻

It's summer, and they're spending it at a lake, far away from everything. There’s swimming and a floating dock, cracked and warm in the sun. Fizzy drinks and fireflies. Sticky strawberry ice lollies and beach towels tangled under them.

Harry’s golden skin and love for The Grateful Dead and Fleetwood Mac.

Draco Malfoy is doomed, but what else is new?

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: delicious pining, summer vibes, beautiful romance, nostalgic vibes

🌸 Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage – @goblinmatriarch (E, 21k) 🌸

Lord Draco Malfoy may be a young man spending time in Dumbledore’s summer court, but that does not mean he needs to succumb to its licentious frivolity. He carries the burden of his lineage, the shadow of rumours, and the dignity of his betrothal to a good match. He is certainly not fool enough to be distracted by the dark curls and ready grin of the court’s stableboy, who seems to have taken up with every courtier who looks his way.

For: HP Bodice Ripper Fest 2023

Read for: Historical AU done right, Draco in a codpiece, more riding euphemisms than you can count

🌻 True Love Gave To Me – @epitomereally (23k, E) 🌻

It’s the first of December, and all Draco wants to do is make Christmas lovely for Scorpius. But then Harry Potter shows up, asking him to save the world, and it turns out they’ve almost saved the world a couple of times before. One-hundred and forty-four times, to be exact.

Or: what happens after the time loop?

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: time loop shenanigans, cosy vibes, adorable Scorpius (and his geese)

🪻 Nothing But You On My Mind – @moonflower-rose (29k, M) 🪻

Potter has been in Australia on an internship for almost a year, and Draco cannot wait for him to get back home. They'll finally have a chance to talk about their feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Loads, as it turns out.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Angst, Draco/Ron/Hermione Friendship, idiots in love

🌸 who will receive you in love's offices – @jtimu (30k, E) 🌸

A year in the life of Draco Malfoy, increasingly derailed by Harry Potter.

In the aftermath of it all, Draco opened an antiques shop. Sort of. Mostly, though, what he did was repair work. People brought him their grandparents’ charmed silverware or a pocketwatch which was meant to show the stars at your birth but now only held the time, and he would fix them. It was quiet work, a little lonely, but for the repeated intrusions of one Harry J Potter.

Read for: brilliant deep dive into magical theory, smarty pants Draco, enemies to friends to lovers (emphasis on the middle step), poetry references by the bucketful, a version of Draco that lives rent free in my mind

🌻 Half Sick of Shadows – @starquestingfordrarry (39k, E) 🌻

Harry and Draco have been sleeping together for months, and it's fine. It's enough for Harry.

But when things finally start to feel like the more Harry's been hoping for, a strange tapestry project has him worrying he won't ever get the chance.

Or: the one with sheep, dragons, and a whole lot of weaving metaphors.

For: H/D Career Fair 2023

Read for: Alvin the ram, Harry carving wooden dildos, magical tapestries, atmospheric vibes, an artfully created world

🪻 Now I Know In Part – @dodgerkedavra (39k, E) 🪻

Harry Potter is the savior of the Wizarding World. Draco Malfoy is a reformed Death Eater turned Ministry Curse-Breaker. Five years after the War, they're brought together by another mysterious curse.

Only this time, Harry's the one who needs saving.

More specifically, he needs Draco.

They have one month to break the curse, and the clock is ticking.

Read for: Draco taking care of Harry, Cottagecore vibes, bucketfuls of sweetness, great smut

🌸 Nothing Gold Can Stay – @moonflower-rose (40k, E) 🌸

One summer evening, Harry Potter vanished in the middle of dinner with his friends. Four days later he came back. Sort of.

Draco Malfoy is on the case.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Alternate Universes, Married Draco/Harry, Non-Painful Angst

🌻Sharper than a Sea Serpent's Tooth – @goblinmatriarch (40k, T)

Draco expects his research trip to Crete to focus on the ecology of ward design, with perhaps some cheeky visits to the elusive sea serpents and the odd sleepy beach day. Instead, he encounters a Past he's spent over a decade trying to outrun, and a familiar scowl under glasses and a scar. Featuring just so much imagining being on a hot, sunny beach for your winter pleasure.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Magical Creatures, Greek Mythology, International Location (Crete), Atmospheric Writing

🪻 LA, Who Am I To Love You? – @epitomereally (42k, E) 🪻

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Werewolf Harry, Incubus Draco, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Interesting Location (LA)

🌸 A Pulled Down Shade – fast_brother (43k, M) 🌸

Harry does not like Draco Malfoy, not even one bit. Never did and never will. That is, until he finds himself married to him.

For: HP Soulmates Fest 2023

Read for: HUGE Grounds for Divorce vibes! Angst, Harry working through trauma, Harry fighting for Draco

🌻 The Waiting – @oknowkiss (43k, E) 🌻

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Curse Breaker Partners, Angst, Secret Relationship

🪻 The Unplottable Time Conundrum – @writcraft (45k, E) 🪻

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: House Magic, The Order of the Pheonix, Haunted House vibes, Drarry in their 30s

🌸 Our Objective Remains Unchanged – @citrusses (46k, E) 🌸

Harry Potter, returning member of the Oxford University Boat Club, has two goals for the spring of 2005: beat Cambridge, and beat Draco Malfoy. Perhaps not in that order.

Read for: Muggle AU, Sports AU, Competitiveness, Damn good writing

🌻 Everybody Hates a Tourist – @wolfpants (51k, E) 🌻

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school.

Meanwhile, Draco’s just trying to live his big and best queer life: working for the weekend, chasing hot men, getting lost in Brighton's nightlife, and making friends with the neighbourhood cats. Why does his former school rival and crush have to show up and spoil everything?

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: beautiful relationship building, Harry finding himself, Draco living his best life. I won’t lie, I’d read the back of a cereal box if wolfpants wrote it – do yourself a favour if you haven’t already

🪻 from love, obviously – bizarrestars (52k, M) 🪻

"I just mean, doing the right thing because it's right is better than doing it because…"

"What?" Draco challenges, amused. "Better to do it because it's right as opposed to doing it because it's not wrong? Please enlighten me on what the difference is."

"You're the difference," is Harry's answer.

(Or: Draco Malfoy comes up with a plan, drinks a lot of tea, and fails to fix a clock. Somewhere along the way, Harry Potter falls in love with him, which wasn't a part of the plan at all.)

Read for: Unhinged Draco, Harry being resigned to Draco’s antics, Weasley family feels, fast pacing

🌸 Terrible People – @getawayfox and @wolfpants (52k, E) 🌸

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

Featuring a holiday-long game of Truth or Dare, a very ill-judged FWB proposition, decades-long pining, lots of gin, and a small pair of green swimming trunks.

Read for: Gorgeous Art , RomCom vibes, Gay Cruise, Friends with Benefits to Lovers

🌻 Nights With You – @the-sinking-ship (58k, E) 🌻

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed. Never a man to squander an opportunity for revenge (and what would probably be a spectacular shag), Draco vows to make Potter his for the weekend.

Now all Draco has to do is convince him.

Read for: Fake dating, mild size kink, international location (Italy), mildly unhinged Draco, hot Harry

Note: This is the fic that made me set up a Doc for everything I’d read to make sure I wouldn’t lose it to the wide realm of the internet.

🪻 Rookie Moves – peu_a_peu (75k, E) 🪻

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Read for: Humour, Enemies to Coworkers to Lovers, Unhinged Draco

🌸 How To Train Your Malfoy – @fencer-x (93k E) 🌸

Good manners dictate that, when one’s best friend Apparates onto one’s doorstep holding the unconscious, haggard body of the schoolyard bully and begging for sanctuary, one ought to invite the two of them in for a cup of tea. Harry Potter sometimes wishes he weren’t so polite.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Dragon Animagus Draco, Harry taking care of Draco, brilliant writing, a funny as fuck premise – I wanted Draco to stay in his unhinged dragon form forever

🌻 Symptom of Your Touch – NoxNoir (115k, E) 🌻

St. Mungo's Healer Draco Malfoy is used to being pushed to his limits when providing aide to the ailing, but when an unexpected encounter with an out of character Harry Potter throws his life out of balance one night, he is forced to ask himself how far he's willing to push his own levels of discomfort to be of aid to a man in need of help that only he can provide.

Read for: Draco taking care of Harry, Pining, Unrequited love, buckets of sexual tension

🪻 Recursion – Tessa Crowley (132k, E) 🪻

A process is recursive when it defines or contains itself; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence, which determines the next number as the sum of the previous two.

But not all recursive processes are mathematical. Recursion can happen in a temporal context when, for instance, the powerful magical force that is true love drags you back in time so it can create itself, endangering the fate of the Wizarding World—not to mention the very fabric of space and time—along the way.

Read for: Canon Retelling/Divergence, time travel, Slytherin Harry, a truly insane amount of physics/magical theory/intelligence. This fic was too smart for me in the best way. If you liked Chaos Theory read this – it’s even better!

🌸 Cut From the Sky – @mallstars (150k, E) 🌸

"I'm stuck in a time loop, reliving November 2nd. This is the 111th time I've lived through today."

Draco stilled. His moody eyes, the tension in his hands where he gripped onto his umbrella, the careful mask of blankness flickering over his face — everything about him was so difficult and so very dear to Harry.

"Ah," said Draco, "and?"

Note: no rec list for this year could be considered complete without including this one.

Read for: Harry at his most loveable, a relationship story told a hundred different ways, atmospheric worldbuilding, Trans representation.

🌻 In the Blood – BiscuitBrunch (225k, E) 🌻

Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy is a slimy git of a defense lawyer, who couldn't care less about doing the right thing.

Draco Malfoy thinks Harry Potter is a filthy pig of an Auror, who couldn't care less about doing the right thing.

They fight, fuck, fall in love, and fight some more.

When they're on the brink of getting their shit together and starting a family, a blood curse surfaces that threatens the lives of Draco and their unborn child.

Read for: badass lawyer Draco, deep exploration of a relationship, working through trauma, slice of life, mpreg

[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. 

[cabinseventheaterchick]

BLOG NEWS: Check back later!

I now run a Riordanverse roleplay Tumblr Community! Everyone is welcome!

Kat if she had a Wikipedia page (her lore summarized)

Portrait done by the incredibly talented @apollos-coolest-child

Oh, hi! Didn’t see you see there. I’m Kat Carter!

Okay, lemme think… I’m fifteen, daughter of Apollo currently at Camp Half-Blood with my homies <3

When I’m not at camp, NYC is my home base. You can probably find me in Apollo cabin: practicing monologues/songs, playing matchmaker (it’s not just for Aphrodite kids!), or staging a kitchen coup d’état so I can bake something delicious.

he gets his own category:

@ellis--wakefield — my boyfriend <333

he’s really cute and he’s great at capture the flag and he’s nice to the newbies and damn he’s just idk how to even describe him ‘cause words cannot

Former… um… let’s just say people I used to know:

@lukemessedup — Good boss, bad business

@lieutenant-of-kronos — I regret letting him convince me to join up but he’s a nice guy.

@alabaster-c-t — Yep. You read that right. Bro is apparently not dead, nor has ever been.

@the-song-of-the-moon — We’re starting an ex-Titan Army therapy group together :3

Uncle Kronos (links to the Wayback Machine of the first version) — Literally cannot believe I wrote this. Uncle Kronos was a good person. I think I’ll always miss him, but I’m glad he found peace. Here’s to you, Uncle K.

@existence-is-pain-ahhhhhhhh — need I say more? He’s awesome. Case closed.

@the-better-castellan — new addition to the List Of People Who Aren’t Dead After All! They’re cool trust me

@peyton-is-cool — I missed him loads. Thank the gods he’s safe—he’s been in Texas? I guess?

Totally irresponsible pseudo-father to half of CHB (he does actually care about campers but he’s got a reputation to uphold):

@dionysus-god-of-all-things-wine

My fellow campers, love y’all:

@thanatoss-favorite-demigod — best murder road trip buddy a gal could ask for

@thehadescabincounsler — I’ve adopted them into Apollo cabin. They’re now officially an honorary child of the Sun Dude.

@thatonebitheaterkid — my sibling. too many pets (affectionate)

@that-dam-daughter-of-poseidon — my absolute bestie <3

@poseidons-favourite-daughter — training together ⚔️! She’s so sweet and a year rounder so I won’t be alone come fall

@yes-im-a-daughter-of-hades — she just got back from Tartarus, so you know what that means!… binge watching everything pop culture. Phineas and Ferb say what?

@lady-ariadne-of-milan — my coolest big sister. Be nice, she’s been trapped as a flower since, like, the Renaissance.

@bill-son-of-boreas — Ayyy! My Norwegian bestie!

@internal-bloodshed — I’m like ninety percent sure he wants me dead. If I step a toe out of line and hurt Ellis, my body will apparently never be found.

@the-better-stoll-brother — If anyone messes with him one more time I’m throwing hands.

Shoot me an ask, camp can get kinda boring!

(Psst. My general tag is #kat carter on the case, and my lore tag is #from the archives of kat carter)

(Extra psst. Do you want more Kat Carter content without actually having to roleplay? Send me an ask by picking something from my tag #ask game!)

[gildedneon]

That Which I Cannot See

That Which I Cannot See - Part 1 - Pure Imagination

Respectfully, you may not use my work, but you are welcome to share it. My work is only intended for those 18 and older as it contains explicit adult themes.

Summary: Basically A Star is Born but make it Sleep Token. A video of you singing Take Me Back to Eden gets attention online and you're invited to sing backup vocals at their next concert. Only, you end up doing a lot more than just that. The first in what will be at least a 3 part series.

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader 

Tags: Hand stuff (for now), mask play, concealed identity play, obscured vision/partial blindfolding, is this a musical now?, shower play with the lights off, monster kink? if you squint?, spiritual cult leader Vessel, dirty talk.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I enjoy candlelit showers while blasting Sleep Token and inspiration struck one day while listening to Take Me Back to Eden. What if? So I wrote it. I have already planned out a part 2 & 3, so fear not, our journey has just begun.

Read on Ao3

-------------

So there I was, doom scrolling Instagram when *ping*

“Sleep_Token: We loved your video” My brows furrow. That can’t actually be their official account. Tapping the notification, I switch to my finsta, where I post anonymous videos of myself singing. I recently shared a clip of an acoustic cover of Take Me Back to Eden that got a decent amount of attention, but I didn’t think it got that much attention. The message thread opens just as another is coming in. 

“Sleep_Token: How would you feel about joining us sometime?” What the hell? 

I click their profile. Blue check mark. Holy shit. Shock has me so caught up I can’t even think of a clever response. Or any response for that matter.

What does ‘joining us' mean? Like for an orgy or going to a show? Because I’m down for both, but I only have tickets for one of those things. At least my brain is still cracking jokes. I stare at my phone and figure out something to say.

“Hi! Thanks! I actually will be at the show this Friday. I can’t wait :)” My heart does a little somersault as I hit send. 

“Sleep_Token: Perfect. Our manager will reach out for details. Bring something black to wear. We’ve got the rest covered!”

What the fuck does that mean? Reaching out for details for what? What is ‘the rest’ and how is it ‘covered’???

*ping*

The DM from the manager comes in. 

On auto-pilot, I go back and forth with the manager. Realization sets in… I’m going to be backstage at the Sleep Token show. I’m going to meet the Espera and sing with them. On stage. At the Sleep Token show. Friday. In less than a week. What the fuck.

Four days… I have four days to perfect my outfit. Immediately, I FaceTime my best friend. She answers on the second ring.

“Callie… you’re never gonna believe this.”

“Alright??… spill bitch”

-------------

My stride lengthens to keep up with the woman leading me through bright lit hallways. The week had flown by in a blur. Now it’s Friday and I’m being led backstage in sweats and a tank. I hadn’t fully wrapped my head around their invitation. But what I really hadn’t wrapped my head around was what had been developing since that night. Once I had gotten off the phone with Callie, I saw I had a DM request from a username I didn’t recognize.

“Hey it’s V” I think my brain had short circuited. It all felt like it came out of nowhere. I guess that’s the thing about change, it doesn’t happen until it just… does. We had started chatting  and it continued throughout the week, getting to know each other a bit, what we enjoy, what we don’t, our favorite colors, and even a bit of flirting. Another strange development in a situation that materialized all too quickly. But it was exciting. It has been a while since I’ve been truly excited about something or …someone. 

I think it helps that we don’t really know each other. Our identities are a secret. It’s sort of like getting to know the contents of a box without getting to know the box, if that makes sense. It’s hard to explain, but I like it. Being myself comes easier this way. There are less distractions.

My guide comes to a stop and knocks on a door. Anticipation grips me as it opens, a woman dressed in black greets us with a smile on her face. 

“Come on in! We’re excited to meet you.” The Espera, or the three female background vocalists, usher me into the dressing room and to a spot in front of the mirror. Their welcoming energy helps quell my buzzing thoughts. We fall into easy conversation as I work on my hair and makeup. The dress I chose is sexy but functional. Thin straps, square neckline dipping in a quick plunge, finished off with a thigh high slit. My hair tumbles around my shoulders and down my back in a lion’s mane of waves. My lips are painted the darkest shade of red, the only real part of my face that will be seen from behind the gold mask that lays on the counter before me.

The Espera give me a crash course in backup vocals. No pressure, just last minute winging it in front of 13,000 people. I still can’t wrap my head around this, even as they help fit the mask to my face. It looks just like theirs, intricate bronze scrollwork curling down my cheeks, leaving only my mouth and jaw exposed. The mesh panels over the eyes allow me to make out shapes and light. So I can see plenty, but it doesn’t feel that way. For me, I might as well be blind. It’s the feeling of being out of control, a vulnerability that leaves me a bit raw and on edge.

A knock raps at the door and my ears grasp at every little sound, attempting to make up for my lack of sight. The women gather as it clicks open. Their blurry forms disappear to the sounds of scuffling shoes. The door closes. My blurred vision watches as a dark figure slowly makes its way across the mirrored space. Fully blind I would know it was him. The magnetism of his presence is threatening to drag me in like the gravity of a blackhole. It’s supermassive…

I hold my breath as he surveys me. It would be a lie to say that I am not intimidated under his gaze. Despite the disguise, the feeling of vulnerability remains.

“This suits you. How does it feel?” He purrs his approval. The tension in my chest eases. 

“Thank you. How does what feel?”

“Your transformation.”

“Transformation? Into what?” My breath hitches, I can see his dark figure looming behind me.

“Your true self.”

“I’m not really sure what you mean by that. As excited as I am, I am also a little nervous.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“I’m not sure if it’s one specific thing. I just don’t know what to expect. I’ve never done this before. I know I’m wearing a mask but it still feels scary to have people actually watching me. This is worlds away from posting anonymous videos online.”

“I can understand. For us, the disguises are about showing the parts of ourselves that do not feel comfortable in our daily lives. Whether that is because we feel they should be hidden or we lack a suitable outlet. So it’s really not a disguise at all, but a revelation. By wearing this mask, I take off the invisible one I wear everyday. I embody the aspects of myself that I wouldn’t otherwise. So ask yourself… What would that feel like for you? Who would you allow yourself to be if you knew you were free from judgement?”

“I think it would feel freeing. But how am I supposed to figure that out tonight?”

“A lot can happen in just one night.”

Unsure of what to say, I sigh and tilt my head. A gentle tap on the side of my mask is his response. I stare straight ahead, looking upon our blurry reflections in the mirror.

“Envision yourself right now. A different version of you, a fantasy. Who could you be? How would you carry yourself? What presence do you bring? Take a minute. Close your eyes if you need. Think of the answer and then feel it. Become it. This is the transformation. It is first in your mind and then, in your being.”

I take a breath, close my eyes, and do as he says. I see the masked version of me, painted with black, a version of me that no one knows. Not even myself. She can be anything. I can be anything. This essence blossoms in my bones, radiating until it anchors itself into my being. Excitement ripples under my skin. I open my eyes.

“How does it feel?”

“It feels… different. I see myself but also… more.”

Vessel tilts his head.

“I saw paint. On my neck and it ran down.” Skimming my hands over my arms to illustrate my point.

“Stand.” I pray my knees don’t give out as I follow his command.. His proximity sends little electric waves skating along my skin.

“You know it’s true what they say. Depriving one sense, heightens the others. Close your eyes.”

I do as he says. Anticipation coursing through me.

“Touch, for example.” 

His hands skate up my arms, over my bare shoulders to my neck. His fingers stroke along my skin, pressing into the muscles and working at the tension. Other parts of me start to crave the same and the weight of arousal settles between my thighs. I exhale a sigh. His fingertips play along my skin, alighting little sparks. Just as I’m being lulled into a daze, he stops. Moving away from me, he leans against the counter, silently staring. The vulnerability isn’t as uncomfortable now. Security has replaced whatever fear I felt before. He reaches for something on the counter.

“May I? I have an idea for you with this paint.” 

“You may.” I tease lightly and I hear the sound of spinning plastic. 

The light of the room is dimmed as he steps closer. Both hands come around my neck and fear takes root in an instant. What am I doing? I’m alone with a man who is dressed like a demon god, his hands are wrapped around my throat, and we are in a room where no one can hear me scream…probably. Oh no…. Should I be worried about how that turned me on?

Instead of squeezing the air from my lungs, he works the paint onto my skin. His fingers splay as he drags his hands down both sides of my neck. His fingernails scrape over my collarbones, stopping just before the neckline of my dress. My eyes fall closed and I can’t help the sigh that escapes or the shudder that runs through my body. Nor can I help imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on my thighs. Leaving a sinful trail of evidence, as he explored more sensual areas of my body. Circling behind me, his hands clasp my arms, leaving one last mark.

“Look at yourself.” His deep voice jarring me from my haze. Even with my obscured vision, I can clearly see the twin trails of black that drag down my neck, stopping just before my breasts and the stark handprints on my upper arms.

“It looks like I’ve been marked by a monster.” I say, amusement clear in my tone. 

Silence. A brief moment of tension, then his hand wraps around my throat. He leans closer to me.

“Are you calling me a monster?” His teasing is mixed with tones of darkness. I shudder at the thrill. 

“No. Monsters are scary and I’m not scared of you” …Yet 

“Do you want to be scared of me?” His voice is low in my ear.

“Maybe a little” Maybe more than a little.

I see his head tilt in the mirror. I can’t see his eyes but I feel them flaying me alive, gleaning every dark desire snaking through my body. He releases me, putting a bit more distance between us. 

“As much as I would love to explore that, it’s about time we get ready to go on. You’ll be brilliant. If you get nervous just remember my touch and how it’s plain for everyone to see.” I could feel him wink at me as he said that. It wasn’t the worst suggestion. That would certainly distract my thoughts from wandering into anxiety, but it would distract me in other ways. Blushing, I step through the door he holds for me, and follow him down the hall.

-------------

Like a cutscene in a movie, suddenly I’m on stage and the show is taking off. The lights and sounds are overwhelming. I allow myself a few minutes to adjust. Slowly, I begin to pick up the swaying movements from the Espera. Taking cues from their hazy shapes. Then, I allow my voice to softly join theirs. The flashing mass of screaming fans mere feet away is difficult to tune out, but I let them blur into shapes through my mask and my voice rises to the music. With each song they play, my confidence grows, and I feel that vision of myself, from the dressing room, coming to life.

Well, I know what you want from me

You want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception

Setting you free, so you take what you want and leave

Excitement strikes like lightning. Of course I knew this song was coming, but being a part of it? Dancing while every instrument reverberates through my body?  

Won’t you come and dance in the dark with me?

Tapping into that sensual side of me, I allow it to take form, my hips swaying to the rhythm. I trail my fingertips over my body, and pleasure ripples behind my touch. Hearing whispers of my voice wafting through the background is unreal.

Lipstick, chemtrails, red flags, pink nails

I once made a comment to Callie about how I fantasize about being in an orgy while this song plays because it never fails to turn me on. The way the beat builds and morphs, the lyrics on top of that, it feels like seduction. My voice vibrates through my being, sparking a dark desire that flares with the melody. My eyes fall shut as I remember our time together in the dressing room. I feel his phantom touch along my skin and surrender myself to the sensations.

You make me wish I could disappear

The music dies down, somber notes begin to rise. Recognition flutters in my heart. This is the song that first drew my attention to him… and his attention to me. My eyes snap open on instinct, despite my obstructed view, I see a dark figure approach me, blocking out the crowd. My heart begins to race. I tilt my masked face up at his towering form. He grabs my hand and leads me from behind my place in the background. There we are, front and center. I have no idea what he is doing or what he expects of me. My blood roars through my ears, beating against the tense curiosity of the all too quiet crowd. Curious cheers ring out, but my focus is drawn to him.

I dream in phosphorescence 

Bleed through spaces

My nails scrape restlessly against the fabric of my dress. I have no idea what he wants from me. We never talked about this. Am I just supposed to stand here? Am I supposed to sing a specific part or harmony? My thoughts race as panic begins to sink its claws into me. 

His finger curls under my chin. The gentle weight of him pulls me from the quicksand of my mind. 

I’m transfixed as he sings to me.

My, my those eyes like fire I’m a winged insect you’re a funeral pyre. 

A calm intensity settles in as I focus on the figure before me. Like a siren song his entire being draws me in until there is no one else. No crowd. Not even the band. Just him and me.

The music begins to build. I feel it in my chest. His hand lightly strokes my chin in invitation. The energy builds in my stomach and moves up my throat. God, it feels like it’s going to burst out of me. So I close my eyes and let it.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason. Take me back to Eden. Take me back to Eden

Our melody turns into harmonious wails. 

Take me back to Edeeeennn

My eyes open to a flash of white teeth as he grins down at me, the music continuing its heavy intensity. That grin against his mask and paint, looks every bit like the monster I mentioned. The music drops into a quiet tempo and he steps closer, leaning in as his hood brushes my cheek. 

“Stay.” He commands, before sauntering off, just as three chords are played. 

Well yeah I spit blood when I wake up

He crouches towards the swarming crowd as he recites the lines. Waving hands and screaming smiles line the front of the crowd. As I watch him move across the stage, I remember his painted marks on my skin. My cheeks burn as he approaches me again.

I need you to see me for what I have become

Long fingers wrap around mine, bringing my hand to grasp the microphone, joining him for the chorus. 

My, my those eyes like fire 

My voice is a sweet backdrop contrasting his, as we sing together until the beat drops off. The hand folded atop mine loosens, his arm falling slack and I let go of the mic. His free hand sneaks through my hair, cradling my head in his hand. The sounds of birds chirping flit around the notes of the piano. This intimate moment sets me ablaze as I remember there are thousands of people watching. Jealousy licks at my sides from the scrutiny of their gaze. I pay them no mind. 

His hands fall from my hair, as he lifts the mic, but sings to me.

I guess it goes to show does it not 

That we’ve no idea what we’ve got until we lose it

His words resonate through my chest. Understanding the opportunity tonight presents, I want to make the most of this night, of this connection, and just enjoy whatever is to come.

No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence

Sound pours from me as I join him singing once again. The music sweeps me along and I ascend with it.

We were tangled up like branches in a flood

What happens next takes me by surprise. Vessel loops an arm around my waist, drawing me in until my dress brushes against his belt. He screams the ending lines with such intensity I feel as if I’m being hit by a hurricane. I can barely make out what he’s saying. My heart seizes with another little thrill of fear. All I see is the fierce glint of teeth through the contortions of his mouth as the music fades out. 

Piano keys begin to play, as he leads me back to my place among the Espera. This is the last song of the show, Euclid. What a beautiful note to end on. I channel all the joy in my little heart into singing this final song. I know maybe the lyrics aren’t the happiest but I can’t help but feel light while singing it. Our voices fade out, as he brings things to a close.

The whites of your eyes, turn black in the lowlight

So give me the night, the night, the night…

-------------

We stopped by the dressing room long enough for me to grab my belongings and then he was leading me through more hallways. He holds a door open for me and I step into a gaudy locker room. Leading the way, I follow him through the space and into a long room. The harsh fluorescence glares off of the white tile lining the walls. On the left, is a mirrored wall of sinks and who knows what else. On the right, benches border each door frame, opening into showers. 

We walk a few stalls down, I hang my tote and arrange my clothes on the bench as he wanders away. Pulling out a hair tie, I twist my hair up into a messy bun. Butterflies twist through my belly as he returns to my side, hanging a towel on my hook. We’ve shared this entire night, this entire week, without seeing each other’s face, perhaps we’ve seen a deeper truth. Either way, I’m not ready for it to end.

Inspiration strikes and I stride back to the main door and begin to flick the lights off one by one until all that is left is the glow of the adjoining locker room. His masked face tilts as his attention focuses on me. Grabbing the door handle, I pull it closed behind me until only a necessary sliver of light shines through. Giving my eyes a second to adjust, I carefully make my way back to my bench. I feel another thrill of excitement at the atmosphere. The near pitch black, the silence all around us, almost like something you’d see in a scary movie. I hear clothes rustling from the bench he is at. I’m still working on undoing the straps of my heels when I hear the harsh splash of water against tile. Once all of my outfit has made it into my tote, I take cautious steps into the awaiting shower.

“I wanted to keep the mystery going but maybe it’s a bit too dark.” So dark, that I can barely make out the other person in my proximity. My hands feel along the cool tiles for support.

“Give it a minute. Your eyes will adjust.” He’s calm. Still. Giving me space to acclimate. No longer clutching at the wall, I can make out the shape of him easier. Barely, I see the steam from the water and pumps of soap attached to the wall.

“Will they adjust enough to be able to tell the difference between which is the soap and which is the conditioner?” I tease.

“Hmm might have to go with good ole trial and error on that” Our laughter echoes against the walls. 

Stepping closer, I let my gaze wander. The lines of his muscles catch what little light there is. My breath hitches, the difference in our height is exaggerated now that I am barefoot. The way he looms over me keeps his face masked in shadow. Again, the thrill of being alone with this strange, dark god shivers through me, bringing my awareness back to the arousal that has been burning all night.

“Well I will gladly volunteer as the test subject.” 

“And I will gladly accept. I didn’t want to assume…”

“I would actually prefer if you do assume.” I step closer to him. Even in the pitch black I can see his head tilt down at me.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“I did.  I’ve never experienced anything like it.” I say almost reverently.

“Shall we keep the experience going then?” A shiver runs through my body

“Yes.” I breathe..

“Sing for me?” My brows jump up. Posting videos of me singing alone in my house and singing background vocals could not prepare me for this.

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything” My mind goes blank all for one song. I take a deep breath to still my nerves. 

Come with me, and you’ll be, in a world of pure imagination

Tentatively, I recite the words.

Take a look and you’ll see

Into your imagination

There is no life I know

To compare with pure imagination

His voice joins mine. 

Living there, you’ll be free

I stop, allowing him to finish the verse

If you truly wish to be

Courage is easier found in the dark I realize, when my hands begin to trail along his chest and I continue singing.

If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it

Anything you want to, do it

My long nails gently scrape across his abs as his fingers trace the black paint along my chest.

“What a mess I’ve made.” The timbre of his voice sends desire rushing through me. Reaching back, he grabs something from one of the dispensers and lathers his hands. The creamy substance spreads down my shoulders as he begins to work out the tension in my muscles. His hands began to slip down to above my breasts. Working in slow circles. The combination of excitement and desire keeps my mind sharp despite the haze of lust. His thumbs swipe across my skin with a delicious pressure. Grasping the tops of my arms, he leans towards me and my lips hum in anticipation. His mouth grazes past my cheek. 

“I think… this is conditioner” He murmurs in my ear. I can’t help the surprised giggle that escapes me. I can feel his amusement even as he turns from me. The muted clicks of the dispenser can be heard over the shower stream. When he faces me again, the energy shifts. A thrill runs through me as he grabs the back of my neck with one hand.

“May I?” He echoes the familiar words he spoke earlier in the night.

“You may.” I breathe and his lathered hand begins running down my neck, as his other creeps up into my hair. My head tilts back. The glow from the distant light flashes off his sharp grin. His hand moves lower down my chest, as he works at the paint there. I’m not sure which is more arousing. Him painting me or washing it off. My nipples harden and a dull throb settles between my thighs just as his large hand sweeps over my breast. His fingers capture my nipple, flexing and rolling against my soft skin. I exhale shakily as he moves on to the other, giving it the same treatment. Grabbing my hips, he pulls me into the water, washing away his claim, his touch laying stake to a new one. Then he flips me around, I catch myself on the cool tile wall. As he steps closer, I can feel him pressed against me. 

“I very much enjoyed having my mark on you, clear for everyone to see.” His voice is low against my ear, as his lips drag over my neck, gently nipping at my skin. The hand on my right hip slides down my thigh. My legs tense in anticipation. His fingers begin swiping in teasing strokes, closer and closer to where I burn for his touch. 

“Tell me, what has you so wet for me?” I let out a whimper as his fingertips slide through the evidence of his claim. 

“Was it on stage? When I whispered in your ear?” Stay. I shook my head. That definitely turned me on but it wasn’t where it started. The memory of us in the dressing room, with his hands around my neck flickers through my mind. Just that quick thought stokes the already well fanned flames of arousal.

“Before the show in the dressing room” I say and receive a hum of approval. I’m rewarded as his finger dips inside me ever so slightly. His strokes are shallow, only increasing my need for him.

“What about it?” His fingers slow, urging me to respond. It’s hard to think through the fog of my desire.

“When you painted my neck.” Relief washes over me as he picks up his still too slow pace. His left hand moves from my hip, trailing over my fluttering stomach, paying brief attention to my breast, before sliding around my throat. My thighs clench around his hand before I can help myself, my body vibrating with anticipation.

“Ah so this is what you like?” His grip tightens as he speaks and my hips rock back desperate for more than this teasing. All I accomplish is grinding my ass against his cock. He inhales sharply but presses himself fully against me. 

“So eager.” He laughs. “Is this what you’ve wanted?” His fingers still move at a languid pace, but curl deeper inside me.

“Yes” I nod enthusiastically.

“But it’s not enough is it?” I shake my head. Because despite the pleasure I felt, the need was greater. The need to feel more of him, to have more of him. He obliges, sliding in a second finger. I cry out, my cheeks heat from embarrassment at the echo. I press my lips together, stifling my moans. His fingers still. He leans forward, his chest against my back, pressing me into the wall.

“Don’t stop singing for me now” He purrs and the rumble in his chest vibrates through my own.

“It’s just you and me. There’s no one else.”

I exhale heavily as my mouth parts. Right away, he rewards me with deliberate strokes of his fingers. The hand around my neck lazily works at the muscles there and waves of ecstasy shoot through me. My nails catch on the grout between the tiles as pleasure begins to coil tight in my muscles. I’m lost in the way my moans reverberate around us as his thumb carefully starts working my clit. It’s consuming. The stretch of his fingers, dragging over every sensitive spot inside me, playing my body like an instrument. His hips roll against my backside, grinding against me. I can feel the hard length of him, thick and hot against me. I begin to crave more and the thought alone of feeling all of him inside me brings me towards the peak. 

“Someday I will have all of you and you will have all of me. Until then I will have the memory of how wet and tight you are around my fingers. Wishing you were wrapped around my cock instead.” My hips rocked, practically riding his hand as the pleasure ramping up inside me spun so tight I felt it would snap at any moment. “Every time I look at my hand I want to remember how it felt to have you come on my fingers.” A ragged cry left my throat as his words pushed me over the edge. The tension inside me broke. Shattered shards of pleasure sliced through me as my body shook. His hand slipped out of me and I felt him work himself against my ass. Tremors skittered through me as I began to come down from my high. The cooling fire in my core alighting anew at the knowledge that he would soon follow. The hand around my neck had slid to brace himself against the wall.

“I want to feel you claim me again.” Shortly after those words left my mouth, I heard him groan. He shuddered against me as I felt hot spurts of him against my hip and back. His cheek came to rest against the top of my head. We stayed pressed against the wall as our breathing and heart rates slowed.

“Well I’m afraid I’ve made a bigger mess than when we started.” My body vibrates against his as I laugh. He pulls me back to the water and gets to work cleaning me off.

“Ves. Thank you, for tonight.” The nickname felt a bit strange on my tongue but appropriate given the standing of our relationship now.

“The pleasure was mine. Thank you for joining us and thank you for indulging me.” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“I’m flattered… We will see each other again, you know.” Now it’s my turn to tilt my head at his words.

“Will we?” The possibility hadn’t even crossed my mind. Everything happened so fast.

“If you would like… There is still so much left to explore.” Even in my sated state, the purr of his words spark arousal. 

“Oh I think I would like that very much.” Tension crackles between us. God if I don’t get out of here I’m going to be in over my head. Exhaustion was starting to creep into my bones. 

“I think it’s past my bedtime.” I say with a yawn. That gets a little laugh out of him.

“Well you run along home before I’m inclined to drag you back into this cave and never let you go.” Again, he’s teasing, but the edge in his voice promises something darker. “Or someone comes looking for us and turns all those awful lights on.” His hands grip my shoulders as he leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery.”

“We sure wouldn’t” Reluctantly, I walk away. I dry off the lingering evidence of what just occurred between us, slip into my clothes, and return to the harsh light of reality.

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

I am so fucking angry about Dream stans (mostly on Twitter, though they are here) being like “can you BELIEVE people are upset that a minor 😱😱😱 was messaging with an ADULT!! LMAOO wait until they get into the real world and find out that 17 year olds can be friends with 25 year olds. Next they’re gonna call Tommy messaging Schlatt dangerous!!”

It was not that she was 17 and Dream was 20. The age gap was not the issue.

It was that Dream had a position of power over her and abused it. 

He knew he had this position from the very start, as she was a fan of his and their first messages with each other was her telling him how much his content had helped her through depression.

[Image ID: a screenshot of an Instagram direct message to Dream that reads “Hi, the chances of you seeing this are very slim, but I wanted to let you know that your content makes me sooo happy. Ive been really depressed lately, all thats going on in the world and in my life and your videos give me one more reason to stay. You know how people type “LMAO” and dont actually laugh? I actually sit in bed laughing when im watching you. That means a lot [Unclear emoji]. Love you Dream!❤️ -Amanda”. Dream replied and wrote “aw thank you for the kind words :)”. End ID]

This means that he knew full well that her wellbeing was somewhat dependant on his content. She says that his videos gave her one more reason to stay alive.

He confirmed that the Instagram messages are real. 

[Image ID: a screenshot of Dream’s twitlonger regarding the allegations that reads “The second thread had instagram dms from me, again, having friendly normal conversation and nothing inappropriate. I believe these message are real as well. Once”. End ID]

Thusly, the Snapchat messages that haven’t been deleted are, without a doubt, real, because he tells her the name of his private Snapchat in the Instagram messages. They cannot be ignored.

It is incredibly inappropriate for Dream to message her on Snapchat knowing that she was 17 and a fan at the time and that messages can easily be erased. That on its own would be uncomfortable, but he was talking to her in a flirtatious manner.

[Image ID: a screenshot of a Snapchat message by Dream/Clay that is a reply to a video sent by Amanda that reads “ur gorgeous as fuck”. End ID]

This is not normal, friendly behavior. Especially with a fan who is underage and has said that she is emotionally invested in his content.

This is predatory. Several girls have come forward. This proves that Dream not only has more than once, but likely will again, use his platform and power to engage in sexual relationships with underage girls.

He cannot have a platform anymore.

Please, read this post about the Snapchat messages, this post about why Tommy messaging Schlatt and other CCs was completely different, and these two threads about his response to the situation (thread one) (thread two) and how it was manipulative and more focused on his audience rather than adressing the allegations. 

This thread includes most of the information regarding the situation.

[moni-logues]

BDE

Pairing: Chan x gn.reader

Genre: pwp/smut but it's a little fluffy, established relationship

Summary: Chan tries to insist he has BDE when all he really has is a BD.

Word count: 2.1k

Content: Chan has a Big Dick, oral sex (m. receiving inc deep throat and choking), sexual activity in public toilets (but no one is around)

A/N: this started with, who else?, @minttangerines. I honestly don't even remember how the conversation started but then we were talking about a fic about Chan's Big Dick struggles lmao and this idea was born. That was weeks ago now and she finally wrote it. Thank you to Lia @quarter-life-crisis2 for reading this so late at night to reassure me it didn't suck balls.

*

“I don’t know about these, y’know...” 

“Well, I told you, didn’t I? You should have sized up!” 

“But I always get this size!” 

“And they’ve changed their sizing! I told you! And you didn’t listen so now you have to suffer.” 

You turned away from Chan and back to the mirror while he fussed, trying to adjust himself comfortably in his new boxer briefs that were, quite clearly, a little snug.  

“I don’t know if I can wear these,” Chan groaned, sitting heavily on the bed with his trousers unzipped.  

“You don’t own that suit; you cannot go commando. And I’m not letting you wear any of mine.” 

Chan groaned again, loudly aggrieved, and lay back on the bed.  

“Can’t believe I’m being hoisted by my own petard! Too much big dick energy!” he cried and you turned to deliver a withering look. 

“My darling, I am not sure you know what any of those words mean. You do not have BDE.” 

He was back upright in a flash. 

“What?! How can you say that?! We are literally having a conversation about how I don’t fit in my fucking pants right now.” 

“Having a big dick is not the same as having big dick energy?” You did not, before this moment, realise that your boyfriend was quite this stupid. It gave you second thoughts about the entire relationship.  

“It’s in the name? BIG DICK energy.” 

You gestured wildly, looking around the room as if there were anyone else there who could back you up. 

“Big Dick Energy. You might have a big dick-” 

“-I do, thank you ver-” 

“YES, fine! You do have a big dick, but that is not all that’s required. And I will neither accept nor tolerate your saying that it is.” 

“Putting me down in my time of strife. What a loveless relationship we have.” 

You give him an exaggerated wink and turned back to the mirror once more to apply your lipstick. 

* 

With no solution to his problem, Chan had no choice but to zip himself up, make himself presentable, and pray to the gods that the circulation to his dick wouldn’t get cut off. There are some losses no mere mortal could survive. 

“Stop fidgeting!” you hissed to him as he squirmed on the red carpet next to you.  

It was bright and overwhelming and you were reminded why you so infrequently accompanied him to these events. This time, though, he had been nominated for an award so you wouldn’t have dreamt of missing it. The camera flashes made your eyes hurt and the cacophony of paparazzi calls blurred into a singular, uninterpretable noise; it was like entering a completely inhuman world, where you were devoid of your usual senses, disoriented, out of place, and, were it not for Chan, completely untethered.  

This time, you were also distracted by his wriggling. 

“I can’t help it!” he hissed back. “I’m losing circulation down there, I swear!” 

“You’ll lose more than that if you keep touching your fucking dick on a red carpet!” 

He huffed but duly held still for the rest of the photos, shooting off into the toilets as soon as you got into the building.  

* 

He was uncomfortable. He could barely keep his hands away from his crotch. You noticed. You were sure other people also noticed. You were not sure that this was in any way good. You slipped one hand into his and pulled it into your lap. That didn’t stop him. The night was going to be long – already had been long and had so far left to go. You felt as though you were going to have to take things into your own hands. 

Not literally. 

Maybe literally. 

You leant over, your mouth close to his ear. 

“If you can leave yourself alone until the ceremony is over, I’ll make it worth your while,” you whispered, letting your lips just barely touch the hinge of his jaw before sitting back in your seat.  

He didn’t turn to look at you but you saw his Adam’s apple bob and he squeezed your hand tight. His free hand moved to the arm of the seat and stayed there.  

* 

“This counts, right?” he was asking before you were even out of the door. “It’s over?”  

He was pushing you gently, steering you into the nearest dark corner, and then pressing against you, his hands at your waist, his nose in your hair.  

“Have your boxers cut off the circulation to your brain, Chan?” You pushed him, a little less gently, backwards. “We are still in public! You really want me to suck you off right here?” You were whispering, eyes flicking beyond Chan’s head as more and more people filed out of the auditorium on their way to bars, after parties, bathrooms. 

“Honestly?” he asked, eyebrows raised, saying ‘yes’ without actually saying it.  

“I am not breaking public indecency laws for you.” 

“I’d do it for you!” 

“Oh, you’d go down on me here, would you?” 

He was genuinely lowering to his knees before you had finished the sentence and you scrambled to haul him to his feet, your face burning hot with embarrassment. 

“You’re incorrigible!”  

“No, baby, I am fucking desperate. Desperate to get these piece of shit boxers off me and your mouth on me.” 

You had promised him. So you wandered, as inconspicuously as possible, around to the other side of the building, to find some toilets that weren’t so busy. Rather, you were hoping for some that were empty.  

And you were in luck.  

“Shit, it’s my lucky night!” Chan whispered as you pushed open the last stall door, confirming that they were all empty.  

“Honey, you didn’t win the award and your underwear is slowly strangling your dick. What about that is lucky?” 

“First of all, rude. Second of all, in about one minute, I won’t even be able to remember my own name, let alone all that other stuff. Stop using your mouth to be smart and let me choke you.” 

You rolled your eyes and sank to your knees as he eliminated the space between you. He hesitated as he unzipped, then rolled his own eyes, stooping to kick off his shoes, take off his trousers and stretch, roll, and pull the offending underwear off, muttering all the while about how stupid they were and how much he hated them and the strongly worded email he’d be writing. Then he stood, naked from the waist down.  

“Oh yeah, you’re all BDE now. Y’know, Winnie the Pooh, he really fucks.”  

When Chan looked at you, you expected him to laugh or smirk or hell, roll his eyes back at you, but he didn’t. He just looked down with that dark intensity in his face, the one that said he wasn’t going to take it easy on you. He gestured with two fingers for you to come closer and you shuffled awkwardly on your knees. Then he traced your face with a featherlight touch. You reached your own hand up and used the same lightness as you ran your finger down his length.  

As his fingertips reached your jaw, he held you, his fingers starting to press, harder and harder as you opened your mouth wider. He ran a thumb over your bottom lip as he sank his teeth into his own. You stuck your tongue out to lick at his thumb as it passed and he nodded at you.  

He held you like that, mouth open, tongue out, looking up at him, as he took himself in his free hand, stiffening quickly, pumping slowly. He made you wait until the pre-cum was dripping from his head, until he was quietly huffing little satisfied groans, until you were shifting uncomfortably on your knees, your legs going numb, your stomach tightening with anticipation, your mouth watering—saliva flooding, making a mess of your clothes when you hadn’t even had a taste of him yet. You knew better than to ask, better than to protest. He’d only make you wait longer. Even though it was him who wanted this, who was ‘desperate’ for it, you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to make this a punishment for you.  

When you thought you would fall over, pass out, fling your hands into the air and grab hold of him, he nudged his hips forward, only the very tip of his dick touching your tongue. You lunged forward, wrapping your lips around him, expecting him to move backwards, to tease some more, to make you show him how patient you could be. 

He didn’t. He really was desperate. He let you take him to the hilt, eyes springing with tears when he hit your throat, those tears making tracks down your cheeks as you swallowed him, as you pushed until your nose hit his skin. 

“That’s right,” he sighed, his head tipping back, his fingers winding in your hair. “You fucking know- shit, you know how to do that right.”  

You did. When you first got together, he had very shyly confessed to you that he’d never come from a blowjob before, because people were intimidated by his size, because he was self-conscious of it, all too aware that it was too much for most. He never felt like he could ask for what he wanted, how he liked it, didn’t want to demand or pressure or make his partners feel uncomfortable. So he’d just  sucked it up and, eventually, gone without. It was ok, he had said with a light shrug; he didn’t really mind; he knew it was a lot. He had said many things that he had convinced himself were true. That he didn’t matter. Not really. That his partners shouldn’t try to make him feel good, that they shouldn’t work together to make all parts of sex a mutually enjoyable experience.  

But you weren’t easily intimidated. You were quickly and easily infatuated and then in love with a man so sweet, he spiked your blood sugar; a man so smart, he raised your IQ; a man so hot, he was targeted by climate change activists. And you were determined to show him what he had been missing. Determined to show him what he was worth. Determined to show him that no big dick was going to get in the way of you getting him all the way off, using just your mouth.  

He whimpered, the pitch of his voice tremulously high now, his dick leaping in your mouth so you gagged, choked a little, made him really feel the tight squeeze of your throat. He was whispering under his breath, swearing quickly, calling to god (as if he could help, as if he could do anything you couldn’t), breathing your name in a way that made you physically ache for him to fill you.  

You had this down to an art. You knew his every twitch and every hitch in his breath, could time, down to the second, when he was about to finish. Still bobbing up and down, drooling along his rigid length, you took his balls in one hand and squeezed, slowly and evenly, pressing and rubbing on his taint with the other. You felt the full-body shudder go through him and the gasp which always accompanied his release. You took it all, every drop, every time. 

Chan stood, his hands fallen from your hair, limp at his sides, his eyes closed, mouth open, breathing gradually evening out. You sat back and watched him. 

“I can’t believe I have to put those fucking boxers back on,” he said when his feet touched back down to earth.  

You laughed.  

“Don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ again.” 

You stumbled as you rose to your feet, your legs fizzing back to life and making you unsteady. Chan held you securely. 

“You know I like you a lot more with my dick in your mouth?” 

But he was smiling, dreamy-eyed, putting his warm, solid hands on your waist and pulling you in for a kiss. It was more than you had expected: not a peck, his lips firm against yours, opening slightly, the pressure as he sucked at your bottom lip making your knees go weak again. You smiled at him when he pulled back, dazed, a haze of love and lust swirling around you. 

You hummed lightly. 

“Well, if you’re a really good boy for the rest of the night, I’ll put it back there when we get home.” 

He grinned, smirked actually, and gave you another quick kiss. 

“Can’t resist my big dick energy, right?” 

Your face fell as his lifted into a shit-eating grin. You walked away, out of the toilets, leaving him scrambling to re-dress himself and come after you.  

[lixiesfreckless]

The Way You Shatter | h. js.

➸ synopsis: you should love him. you do love him. but not like this.

➸ starring: han jisung x female reader(ft. a mention of another skz member)

➸ word count: 1.6k

➸ general content: probably the angstiest thing I have ever written. unrequited love, established relationship, mentions of metaphorical blood

➸ warnings: alcohol consumption, no real happy ending

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: a fic I wrote after I broke up with my boyfriend a few years back. I always see people talking about how hard it is to have your heart broken, but no one ever mentions the pain of knowing you have to break someone's heart, to do the right thing. so I wrote this to cope and process my feelings, in the hope that maybe this would help someone going through a similar situation. you are so not alone.

♫ recharge- yasumu

“I don’t wanna break up with you.”

Somehow, these are the scariest words that have ever been uttered to you.

For the first time, someone has given you their heart; something so precious and invaluable, fragile and vulnerable, and you don’t know what to do with it. You don’t have a clue.

He’s looking at you with watery eyes, the same eyes you once saw long nights and baby names inside of. A future. Something to build forever upon. 

Now all you see is dark umber rimmed with red.

You’re supposed to say something back, you realize. People don’t give others their heart so they can zone out and stare at the wall, leaving the blood to seep out between their fingers.

You know exactly what you’re supposed to say to make the tears stop. You want to rub the space between his eyebrows until the wrinkles that lie there smooth out, until the corners of his mouth lift in relief. You want to run so far away from him; erase any chance of you hurting him again. Invent time travel and stop yourself from saying yes too quickly.

“I don’t wanna break up with you either.”

The words taste so vile in your mouth. You hate yourself for every syllable you speak. Liar, you hear yourself say in the back of your mind. 

You almost don’t recognize your own voice; thick with tears and stress and yet so devoid of emotion. There are robots with more character. Again but with more feeling, the director in your head screams at you.

But Jisung doesn’t seem to think any of that, no— he lets out a broken sigh, squeezing your hand in his, and it feels as if you’re being suffocated. As if the thumb caressing your knuckle is slanting against your windpipe, stopping you from saying the words you desperately need to tell him.

You feel yourself continue talking. Reassuring him that you’ll get through this, that you can work through this together. That you’re just going through a dry spell. You can’t tell who you’re trying to convince anymore.

Please stop talking. Please, you’re only making it worse.

Even the people pleaser inside of you is wincing, knowing that this cannot last for long. That you cannot pretend for another second. That your words are more hollow than sparrow bones.

Please don’t believe me. Please figure it out so I don’t have to splinter your heart by hand.

Your eyes meet with his and you finally notice it. How his eyes don’t penetrate past your physical appearance anymore. How the idea of love isn’t immortalized in his irises. 

It finally clicks once you stop talking, but not in the satisfying way legos do. It manifests in your stomach dropping, the thought that no, this cannot be remedied, you have crossed the point of no return but will not be paying the price.

You have effectively shoved shards of glass into the heart in your hand. With every sentence you spoke, you mindlessly wove together a world where you could continue, with him. With his chestnut hair and round cheeks, his sweet songs and guitar melodies, his full laugh, his doc martens.

You should love him. You do love him.

But not like this.

And so the world you wove together takes its strings and wraps them around your neck, all of the promises working together against you, and you curse your tongue for being so quick to please, his eyes for begging you to make the pain go away.

“I love you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he looks up at you, eyes expectant.

You must say it back. After everything you’ve said, you have to right? Maybe the feeling will come back, if it was ever there. Maybe you won’t compromise yourself to ensure a smile again. Maybe you’ll repeat the words back and it won’t feel like you’re removing a shard from his heart, and shoving it right into your own.

But it’s in saying the words that you realize what a mistake you’ve made. You wonder if Jisung could finally tell you about the thing each of his songs talk about. Looking into your eyes, he is bound to figure out what love is.

After all, you’re much more likely to notice something when it’s not there.

“I love you too.”

In its absence.

…

“As long as you love him, I think you guys will be okay.” He raises his bottle to his lips, half expecting you to nod your head, say something, have some sort of reaction.

But you sit across from him, lifeless, and instead of waiting for the cold soju to hit the back of his throat, he tips his head forward, setting the bottle down beside him.

“Y/n,” he says with a hint of concern, “you do love him, right?”

Your eyes dart to his, big and brown, half expecting there to be worry, fear, anything to be swimming in those coffee-colored irises.

Instead you find Hyunjin looking at you with a blank expression, tracing the rim of the bottle opening with his index finger. He’s so carefully neutral about the way he looks right now, which only tells you one thing.

He already knows how you feel.

About Jisung.

You hesitated for a second too long and now you are glass, so perfectly see-through for Hyunjin to dissect and psychoanalyze. 

It only takes those two seconds of silence, your hesitation, for Hyunjin to see, to know what has been plaguing your thoughts.

“Yes.” You gulp hard. “Yes, I do love him.” Does love sound like a forced phrase?

Hyunjin is one of those friends that likes to surprise you. With his talent, his paintings, his dances, his outbursts of laughter. He is a constant in your life and yet, you never know what to expect from him.

“But you are not in love with him.”

You did not expect Hwang Hyunjin to read you so easily on the floor of his living room, to explain your situation in the simplest most detailed way possible.

Your mouth opens to fight his suggestion, because in your head, he is wrong. In your head, it is crazy that he would assume such a thing. You kiss Jisung hello and goodbye, you already have his birthday gift, you love his dog, his family, his smile, his laugh. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t it enough?

Your heart knows it isn’t. Your mouth closes again.

Hyunjin knows what to expect from you, which is why even though he just made a statement, he left it open ended. Open for you to admit that it went wrong, somewhere. There’s no judgement in his eyes; part of you wonders if he’s been here before. Teetering on the line between obligation and feeling. You hope he’s never been here.

But you’ve been here, you feel like you’ve lived a million lifetimes here, and now it feels like the tear rolling down your cheek is the first step down off the tightrope you’ve called home.

You don’t want to admit it. But what’s the use in hiding it— if Hyunjin could see it, who’s to say no one else has? You don’t want to indirectly break Jisung’s heart like that.

Eight words is all it takes for him to break the glass that is you. And you shatter all over his floor.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you sniffle. He picks up his bottle and walks over to you, bunny-shaped slippers stepping on the scattered splinters of you on the floor. He crouches next to you, hooking the cuff of his hoodie around his thumb so he can swipe away the wetness on your cheek.

“Y/n. He will be okay.”

It’s no use, the dam breaks, and Hyunjin catches you as you start sobbing, releasing all of the pent up stress and worry you’ve been holding for weeks. You try to speak but it’s barely understandable, but it’s met with soft hushes, whispers of it’s going to be alright, you didn’t mean to hurt him, you tried, you tried, you tried.

Hyunjin doesn’t say a word when you take his bottle of soju, and down the rest of it in one go. He doesn’t speak when you start stringing your tears into sentences. You let him into the darkest corner of your mind and he doesn’t snoop, he just sits and waits for you to show him around.

And you show him everything. How you never got butterflies when you kissed. How you haven’t felt your heartbeat in months. How you think Bbama understands you better than he does. How he’s never done anything wrong, but the more you try to love him the more you start to resent him. And how the thought of resenting Jisung makes you want to throw up.

You remember the exact moment you realized you weren’t in love with him, how you looked into his eyes and asked yourself, how did it get to this point?

“I don’t want to break up with him,” you whisper out shakily, and Hyunjin nods back at you, still drying your tears with his sleeve. “I know how it would break him. I can’t do that to him.” Not after you reassured him. Not after you splintered his heart and stabbed your own.

Hyunjin has a couple things he could say back to you. He could tell you that it’s no good leading Jisung on from here. That lying to yourself will make you bleed from the inside out. That he doesn’t want to see his two closest friends in tears either. 

But the sorrowful look in his eyes tells you all of that already.

“I know,” he sighs, eyes just the tiniest bit more glassy.

What more can be said, really?

[buthowboutno]

ONE YEAR OF "AND THEY WERE LAB PARTNERS" ✨✨✨

Thank you to everyone who participated in the one year anniversary poll!! I still maintain that it would be funny as /fuck/ to just delete “And They Were Lab Partners” in a memento mori fashion, but alas; Only one person voted for it.

Cowards /j

In any case, the majority voted for the behind the scenes stuff, so here we are! The tidbits of how ATWLP turned into the fucking beast it is.

I would like to personally blame @morning-sun-brah , @hitechlatte, and @ordin-arily for being such big inspirations in this corner of the fandom. You guys are amazing and I probably wouldn't be where I am today without your works.

Shout out to all my losers in the backrooms for keeping me going and being such terrible influences. You are all responsible for the horrors that have been unleashed. A solid third of my content exists because of your sins /aff. 

@beckerboopin is the best beta anyone could ask for and has only brought this story up to the next level. I would die for you becks <3

Also @betyoudidntcthatcoming-blog is the love of my life that I only met ‘cause of this fic or whatever. They’re pretty neat. I guess. :p

ANYWAYS, /CONTENT/

(Major Spoilers Ahead Pre-Chapter 23)

—

I would like to remind everyone that ATWLP was only supposed to be 50k words. You can still witness my naivety in the notes of “Pudge ‘Preciation.” 

How… simple those times were. 

How I so firmly believed the idiots would be kissing by chapter 16. How a projected word count of 150k words seemed unfathomable for a single work, much less a work with multiple published and planned companion pieces.

Crazy. (I was crazy once.)

There was a lot of ATWLP that ended up getting scrapped as I got further into the story. The idiots had a lot of opinions and tugged at me a few different ways as I got to know them better. (aka they wouldn’t listen to me when I told them to fucking kiss already.)

Anyways, some of the few major structural changes:

Casey was originally supposed to reveal that he knew Sweet’s in the bad timeline during the “Intro to Sparring” chapter. That chapter was also originally slotted to happen /before/ the kidnapping debacle, but it just so happened to fit in better later

The stage kiss from “Hit the Club” was going to be in the Nerd Prom chapter. It felt too corny at the time (and lowkey still feels corny) so I put that in my pocket for later. For as much as y’all yelled at me for it, it barely made the final cut lmao.

The way the idiots are going to confess to each other is a COMPLETE 180 from how I planned the story from the beginning, which was already entirely different from the first idea for this fic. I wrote a whole ass chapter about an accidental kiss being the tipping point of them positively macking on each other, which I did end up cutting into convenient pieces for other stuff. (I PUT A PART OF IT DOWN BELOW)

Sweets was going to be kidnapped twice and the whole Purple Dragons debacle was going to be drawn out more. There was a lot more action planned than slice of life content at ATWLP’s conception. For better or for worse, this is where the story led us.

Donnie’s mating season wasn’t going to be as involved in the story, if in it at all. I grew to be hornier and less ashamed. You’re welcome.

The first title for this fic was “Lab Rat: a Story of Nerds Falling in Love.” For the life of me I cannot remember what compelled me to change it, but holy shit am I glad I did.

I was going to use (y/n) in this fic. No hate to those who do, but stylistically I’m pretty happy with not doing that.

And because I have no control over the idiots, quick rundown of the chapters that weren’t supposed to happen.

Kart Conflict

The Christmas Issue

The Recovery: Day Two 

Valentine’s Day Episode

Hit the Club

Aquarium? Hardly Know ‘Em

****Pool Excursion

****Beach Episodes

****honestly just like the entire endgame of this fic

All the ficlets/ alternate POV’s

All the smut! I still have it written down in my original notes that ATWLP was gonna be completely PG lmao. Once again y’all have @morning-sun-brah and her fucking fabulous fics to blame for that

The Valentines’ and aquarium chapters are COMPLETELY different than how I had originally planned, even with being forced to include them in my chart. The Valentine’s day plans that the brothers had “ditched” with Sweets was the og plot for the chapter. The aquarium chapter was supposed to be a rooftop picnic with feels~~, no aquarium even fucking mentioned in my outline.

I don’t have much control over what happens tbh. I am praying that the 37 planned chapters will be the final chapters. 

We’ll…. we’ll just have to see how that turns out.

The scrapped plots as a little treat for y’all <3 ~~~

Cut Stage Kiss (after the lift in Nerd Prom)

You leaned closer to Donnie’s face, intent on screeching in his ear for pulling that stunt.

“Kiss them already!” May yelled from the inner edge of the crowd. You turned bright red, blinking at her. You shook your head at her, but the crowd started to catch onto the idea. 

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Donnie laughed, a little incredulous. He leaned in close to your ear, whispering, “Theatre kid protocol?”

You nodded in agreement, allowing him to put a hand to your face. He leans into your mouth, making the crowd go wild. You giggle against the thumb separating your lips, smiling against it. Donnie pulled away from you with a dramatic ‘mwah’. You threw your head back, fully laughing as Donnie lifted you up from the dip. 

First Valentine’s Day Outline

The final four move to the living room

Sweets: “We’re making friendship bracelets while we watch the most romantic movie of all time.”

Raph: “Shrek 2!”

Donnie: “This is ridiculous”

Sweets: “This holiday is ridiculous, now pick out your five favourite colors of embroidery floss”

Donnie: “....Fine."

Donnie is actually terrible at making bracelets lmao while mikey has wristfuls of them

Donnie: “I don’t understand! I’m following the blueprints exactly!”

Mikey: “The... instructions?”

Donnie: “Whatever! How are you making those so fast? You don’t even have that many friends!”

Mikey: “Physical therapy is a hell of a time, my brother.”

Sweets: “Is Donnie being ableist again?”

Mikey: “I do believe he is.”

Donnie: “I am autistic!”

Sweets: “Bless you.”

ORIGINAL CONFESSION

And it all starts like most things in your life do: a silly mistake.

“Donnie,” you whined. You were working on your physics homework at his desk while he was soldering a new motherboard for the Turtle Tank’s controls.

“Little pest,” he mimicked your tone without looking up. He kept on soldering as you stared at him, not a care in the world. 

“Would you be so kind as to look over my work for this problem? I’m following the steps but I’m not getting the right answer.”

“Mmm,” Donnie said. At that moment, a spark flew from his project and caught his exposed cheek. He flinched back, dropping his wire and soldering rod on the table and rubbing his face. You batted your eyes at him while he scowled. 

“I don’t know how, but I blame you for that.”

“I would *never*,” you teased. You pushed your chair to the side a bit so Donnie could stand next to you. 

He moved his goggles to his head and put his left arm over the back of your chair, leaning over you. He parsed through your work for a minute and tilted his head down to tell you what you needed to fix.

It just so happened that you tilted your head up to ask him a question at the same time, the two of you meeting in the middle with a kiss. 

Well, it wasn’t so much of a kiss as it was the two of you accidentally brushing your lips together for a moment. Seconds, almost nothing at all. 

But the way that Donnie looked at you when the two of you jumped apart…

That…that wasn’t nothing. 

You could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation. You could’ve cracked a joke, played up your ridiculous game of pet names and intellectual bravado. 

(To be honest, you almost did.)

But then you thought about the way Donnie’s lips felt against yours. You thought about the way you’d dream of that moment and then proceed to do everything in your power to banish those thoughts away. Your mouth hung open slightly as you looked up at him, trying to will yourself to do anything, anything at all.

Donnie ended up making that decision for you. That oh, so familiar churring started emanating from his chest. He took your face in his hands, looking into your eyes for just a hint of confirmation before leaning in for a real kiss.

Oh.

*Oh*.

(Yeah, you could get used to this.)

There was nothing more you could do than press yourself against him, against his touch. You felt him smiling into the kiss, pressing you down into the chair. 

Donnie was *everywhere*, like he was trying to encompass you. His hand moved to your hair, the other to your hip. You smiled when you remembered his adoration for your love-handles all that time ago. You traced along his plastron, making nonsense shapes and mapping out every scar.

He was so responsive. The chirring increased tenfold for every touch to his chest, every soft bite you gave his lips. You recalled all the times he would make noises from you touching along his shell. You pressed your hands fully against him, doing your best to draw out more and more of those sounds.

What Donnie lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. He followed your lead, matching your pace every step of the way. You licked along the seam of his lips, gasping as his mouth opened for you. Donnie’s tongue against yours was tentative, shy even. You did everything in your power to ease Donnie into deepening the kiss. 

When he moved from your lips and started kissing down your throat, your soul could have left your body right there. He was so…*gentle*. 

Donnie always has been. From when he was slinging his arms around you to kicking your ass in sparring, Donnie has never failed to treat you with care and reverence. 

You feel it now, with every soft bite he gives you, every gentle peck behind your ear.

Donnie pulled away from you after what felt like decades. (Never enough, it would never be enough.) You leaned forward after him, trying to close the space he was creating. He looked bashful.

“This might be the proper time to tell you that I have a massive crush on you,” Donnie said. His face was fraught with nervous determination. 

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” you said. You stood up from the chair and used your body to push Donnie against the desk. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to your height.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for forever, can we get on with it?” you said, looking into his eyes. Donnie turned bright red.

“But– you? Do you?” Donnie stammered a bit.

“Donnie,” you deadpanned, crowding into his space, “I’ve had a crush on you for a year, thanks for noticing. Will you *please* lean your face down a bit so I can reach it?” 

Donnie looked at you a bit incredulously, like you were a problem he didn’t know how to solve yet. He made quite a picture, all red faced and calculating with a dumb half-smile while he looked at you. But, giving in, he put his arms around you and leaned in to kiss you again.

“Aye, aye, captain.”

You smiled into the kiss, humming with contentment.

He likes you.

He likes you.

—

Aaaaand some random headcanons because I love you guys and I am truly so thankful to this kickass community <3 I truly do not know where I would be without the support y’all have given me.

Donnie has a hella oral fixation

NOT IN A KINKY WAY (most of the time) But as an autist, Donnie do be biting

One of his biggest shows of trust if he bites you while just chilling

Like if donnie is big spoon, he just nom on a shoulder and stay there chillin

Or if reader is body pillow, he’ll lean around and bite their bicep

Good sensations

Donnie draws on eyebrows every day, he for sure would be very good at doing intricate makeup on reader

Gently holds their chin up, concentrated as hell while reader blushes like mad

Donnie keeps getting banned off of roblox

Didn’t matter tbh, he knew how to hack into it to get his account reinstated

Also makes money off of roblox??

never explains to Sweets, very suspicious

Sweets likes to kiss along donnie’s neck/where his battle shell usually sits

The word here is reverence

Donnie is egotistical, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have insecurities about being a mutant turtle and you being a human

Lots of tracing along his arms, his face, his shell

Donnie likes his coffee to be half coffee, half milk to cut down on bitterness. Sweets is a tea drinker normally, but opts for coffee when they can’t focus (which ends up being most of the semester).

Sweets drinks black coffee when they’re on the struggle bus

To quote them, “Black coffee can’t hurt me more than Calc II already has”

But they prefer two creamers and two sugars when they have it in their dorm.

That’s all, congrats on making it to the bottom of this long ass post lmao <3

[todreamadream]

Gwynriel Headcanon: Idk what to title it, just read it and label it however you’d like

Disclaimer: This is my first Gwynriel piece (despite the fact I’ve been reading Gwynriel fanfics since ACOSF came out). This is also the second thing I have ever written and posted publicly. I am aware that this is not the best content. I just really wanted to read some new Gwynriel and there wasn’t anything that I did not already consume so I wrote something myself. Despite that, I hope you all enjoy!

‘So then you loop it around, like this’ Gwyn twists her fingers, and the bracelet she’s weaving has a new knotted row. ‘See, simple’. His shadows swirled around her fingers as if agreeing with her. 

It was not simple. No wonder she’s been able to master the maneuvers in training, those were nothing compared to the complexity of making friendship bracelets. ‘Berdara I appreciate your help but this is futile, my mess of strings looks nothing like the bracelet you have. If I gave this to Cassian he would think it’s a sign of retaliation.’ 

Cassian and he got into a small little fight a few days ago. Ironically enough it was about Gwyn. Cassian thinks that Az should ask her out, on a date. First off, he has no romantic feelings towards Gwyn at all. Sure, she’s beautiful. And lovely. And deadly. And smart. Gods, she was so cauldron damned smart. And witty. And pretty. Okay, fine. Maybe he is falling slightly in love with the Priestess. But she’s smart. Smart enough to know that going out with him would be a terrible idea.

‘Shadowsinger, are you even paying attention?’ One of his shadows swished in front of him to get him to focus.

‘Berdara, it doesn’t matter how much attention I pay. My hands are simply not as adept as yours. How about you make a bracelet for me and I just give that one to Cassian?”

Gwyn fake gasps, ‘Wow, Azriel. I cannot believe you. Actually, I can believe it. Of course you’re trying to cheat your way out of this. Just like you do with everything.’

Fuck, the sound of his name under her tongue? Heavenly. Thank the Mother he’s wearing his leathers to hide the goosebumps erupting all over his skin. If only she could say it again without accusing him of being a cheat. 

‘Berdara, for the last time, I did not cheat. It was a race, and my legs are longer than yours. Accept the defeat.’ He totally cheated. 

‘I will not. I’m faster and more agile than you. I’m lighter on my feet too! You shoved Nesta right in front of me when you thought I was going to win.’ her eyes lit up with fire, the teal burning with the intensity of it. 

‘It’s not my fault you can’t dodge an obstacle in your path.’ He rose an eyebrow challengingly. 

‘I can dodge obstacles just fine, I completed your stupid obstacle course didn’t I? What you did was a cheap shot! I call a rematch’ she practically snarled the last words and it made the blood in his veins burn hotter in excitement. 

‘Name the day and the place. I’ll be there.’ He was baiting her, a rematch meant more time to spend together. Time to see more of her freckles. More of her sneaky moves. More of her irreverence.

‘Deal. House of Wind rooftop after training. We’ll choose one of the priestesses to be an impartial judge.’ 

His shadows whizzed around the room in excitement. This will be fun. He could work with this. Maybe he could date Gwyn without her realizing it. Spend so much time with her that when he finally asks her out officially she’ll say yes because she’ll be so comfortable with him that it makes perfect sense to spend more time with him. 

‘Let’s make this more interesting. Loser does the winner’s activity of choice and eats their choice for lunch.’ his heart beats faster in anticipation. Gwyn and he never ate lunch together. They only ever trained together during those restless nights. The impromptu bracelet-making today is an anomaly that came from the kindness of Gwyn’s heart when he told her last night (or early this morning) about the little spat between him and Cassian. 

This was a stupid idea, he never should have suggested - ‘You’re on. Get ready to eat dust Shadowsinger.’ Thank the Mother. His head is pounding and dizzy with the possibility of eating her eating with her soon. This may be the best/worst idea he’s had in his 500 measly years of existence.

[afreakingdork]

By making your tcest fic a part of your 'Villain's Mask' series after the fact that you built up your fanbase is such a slap in the face to them. You could easily explore your trauma under anon, a feature AO3 has, but you instead alienated your fanbase for... what exactly? I'm all for artists expressing themselves, but those 2000+ kudos on Weak Spot can never be taken back. They can't just 'block and move on' when their names are permanently on your work. Did you think about that? In a world where people harass others for simply accidentally following a tcester? Whether people like it or not, they're now associated with someone who wrote tcest with little to no warning. This is incredibly irresponsible of you, and I hope you realize that. AO3 isn't tumblr, it's a no man's land, people know that, and so, so many people hold their kudos back until a fic is finished just in case an author pulls a fast one on them. You bait and switched your audience, plain and simple. You claim it can be skipped, yet it's part of the series you're still actively writing. I'm not here to shame you for your deciding to switch things up or whatever, that's your right, but rather to inform you of the consequences of your actions. I hope those who inevitably get harassed for having their name on your fic is worth it.

First off, thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts.

I hear you.

I will admit that I didn't know that was how kudos worked. I understand why you're upset and I want to address your concerns. When I decided to explore On the Spot, it was not a decision I took lightly. My choices and how they effect others is something I have always been acutely aware of. I considered as many ramifications as I could. I debated posting it anonymously, but I ultimately chose not to for a few reasons.

For one, I believe in being transparent about my work. I have never presented myself as anyone other than me. As such, it was evident that my writing style could not be masked. For another, the work is intrinsically tied to Weak Spot. This is not a story that exists on its own. I have no proclivity for tcest. I have never once before wanted to create tcest content and I have never wanted to since. This story was born from the universe that I created and I only saw this as an avenue related to the versions of the characters that I had crafted within the world of Weak Spot.

This is why, regardless of my knowledge on how the kudos system works, I would have posted On the Spot in the same manner. It was in the examination of possible fall out and consequences that I realized one thing: I cannot control the actions of others. I am widely on the record for loving that about art. You can pour as much intention as you want into something, but you will never be able to control how any one person receives it. No matter how responsible or considerate I was, someone was bound to be effected. I could provide clear warnings and tag appropriately, but at the end of the day, the only way I could have avoided response, negative or otherwise, was by not posting at all.

To what end?

To satisfy some sect that will think the worst of me regardless of how much attention I put into posting something with harmful contents?

You inadvertently prove my decision to share the work under these circumstances. I put as much care possible into posting and yet here you are, claiming you're not here to shame me, yet you imply I'm responsible for any harassment that thousands of others may possibly face. The responsibility for harassment lies with those who choose to engage in that behavior.

Why should those who have read Weak Spot, a work that is devoid of tcest content, be damned simply because the creator and not them chose to delve into painful means in a completely separate story?

Why don't we better use your time to examine the outright lunacy that exists in this fandom because why is it possible that someone would obsessively comb through 2000+ kudos in an attempt to supposedly out users that they think are aiding and abating someone who they have convinced themselves are a tcester?

That is nothing short of unhealthy obsession on one hand or virtue signalling on the other.

Guilt by association is an unfair fallacy.

You can be upset with me for what I have created. I will take the criticism wholeheartedly. I know what I have done. There was no bait and switch. I have never billed myself as one particular type of artist. We have a common enemy you and me. Don't you dare think you can hold me accountable for other individual's actions when it is a fact that I have no control over them. Instead of unfairly attributing guilt, maybe focus your energy into holding those who actually responsible accountable.

[serzhantkris]

Something Worth Fighting For-17

Summary: You’ve just begun to settle into life as an Avenger when a mission gone awry divides the team in half, and a familiar face shows up just in time to make you second guess your every choice. Third installment of the Worth Fighting For Series.

Words: 1292

Author’s Note: Hello. Hi. Yes, it’s me. It has been…. 3 years. Three. Years. Since I wrote this story. Yes, I know. You might be thinking, “Kris! We thought this story was over. We thought you had abandoned us!” The truth is, life got in the way. Covid happened. A new job. Another new job. Moving. You know, life. But I never ever forgot about this story or about you guys. This is my gift to all of you, for my 5k and some odd followers. For those of you who were here when this story began, for those of you discovering it for the first time.

And, yes. Because I know someone will surely ask, the answer is yes. There will be another installment in this series.

Now, without further ado. The final part of “Something Worth Fighting For.”

“Are you ready?”

The steady thrum of the monitors filled the open, empty space of the laboratory. Shuri dragged her hand across the front of the holographic projections, her focus sharp as she took in the details of each graph as it appeared before her. She was double, triple, quadruple checking every heartbeat, every brainwave, checking his blood pressure, glucose levels, pH balance— every minutiae of what made a person a person, Shuri’s eyes darted over each bit of data with precise detail, looking for any imperfections that would halt the process about to unfold it the laboratory.

T’challa rested his hand on your upper back, leaning close when you did not respond to his inquiry. Your focus was entirely on the cryogenic chamber in front of you. You reached out, your hand trembling as your fingertips touched the thick, frozen glass. “Can he hear us yet?”

“Not yet,” Shuri said, swiping the holographic screen away. She turned towards you and T’challa, plucking her tablet off the table next to the chamber. “Vitals are good. Everything’s reading normal.”

You drop your hand from the glass, looking at the tablet in her hands. “And you’re sure it worked?”

Shuri’s eyes flicker between you and T’challa. “It was difficult,” she said. “It isn’t as simple as hitting a delete button. I had to run an algorithm to flush the influence of the trigger words while retaining the core context and content of the original memories, and keeping the things that make him… him.”

“But did it work?”

Shuri scoffed, as though offended you felt the need to ask. Months of your life was spent in this very lab, the only thing separating you and her being the chamber that housed Bucky. You knew her well, and trusted that if she said he was ready, she meant it.

That didn’t stop the anxiety that had made itself a home in your gut for the past six months.

“Believe me,” she said, tapping at her table. “No one will be more disappointed than I if it doesn’t work.”

You flash her a half-hearted smile. “Somehow I sincerely doubt that,” you said. She smiled back at you, moving towards the consol that would slowly- as not to send his body into shock- wake Bucky from his six month slumber. “Do you think- Should we have woken him up sooner? When we found out-“

“You did what you thought was right,” T’challa said, nodding at Shuri. She pressed buttons on the consol, and the chamber began emitting a low hum. “What’s done is done. You cannot change it now.”

You nod, stepping away from the chamber. The ice under the glass was clearing away, the blurry image of Bucky beneath it slowly coming into focus. Your stomach churned as the anxiety started to crawl higher in your body, worming its way up your chest and creeping into your throat. Nausea rolled over you in waves, and without a moment to spare, you darted through the door into the laboratory bathroom. The door slid closed behind you automatically as you gripped the edges of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. The anxiety did not go with it, instead clinging to you with newborn ferocity.

Even once the vomiting had passed, you remained in the toilet, eyes pinched shut, trying to get a grip on yourself before you exited.

You heard movement beyond the closed door, then speaking. Bucky’s voice was low and course from disuse, but distinct. Hearing him speak, you became ill again, and then everything was quiet and still.

You wiped off your mouth, rinsing it with water from the sink. You flushed the toilet, and paused for just a moment as your wedding ring glinted in the fluorescent light.

We can still have a life when I wake up.

You steel yourself, and pass through the door.

He can’t remember if he dreamed or not. He doesn’t think so- he never dreamed before, when it was Hydra on the other side of the glass. At least, if he did, he never remembered. When his eyes flutter open, awake for the first time in- however long it’s been- he almost panics, the memory of waking up a clean slate in a dirty room clear in his mind. But this room is white and open and smells like chemical cleaner, nothing like the places he used to wake up. The fear subsides, quickly, and he’s still just Bucky. For now.

It’s disorienting, waking up and trying to remember where you are, how you got there, who you are. But it comes back slowly, like trudging out of deep water. His body comes back like his memory, the feeling slowly creeping through his fingers and hands, his feet, legs, and finally, he raises his hands and grips the edge of the chamber to pull himself out.

Shuri is right next to him, looking between him and her tablet. T’challa is on the other side, offering him a hand. He takes it, his feet still unsure. “Hey there, doc.”

Shuri offers him a smile. “Welcome back, Barnes. Try not to move too quickly just yet.”

Bucky nods, still holding onto T’challa’s hand and the edge of the chamber. The world seems to tilt and slide, and his eyes squeeze closed to ward the dizziness away. He lets go of T’challa’s hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A violent, muffled retching sound echoes from another room. Bucky furrowed his brows, trying to pinpoint the sound, but everything was still fuzzy. Something heavy is hanging around his throat, and he grabs at it, squinting against the too-bright light of the laboratory to get a better look.

A pair of dog tags hang on a long chain, jingling against a heavy ring of metal.

His wedding ring.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, voice cracking from disuse. “Where’s Y/N?”

Shuri and T’challa exchanged glances, their lips pressed into fine lines. A mechanical whir sounded through the open air as the bathroom door slid open.

And there you were. Standing in the doorway, only steps away, a halo of fluorescent light behind you. The haze of waking and heaviness in his body seemed all the lighter for seeing you. You were as beautiful as the day he went under, as though not a moment had gone by. He could almost believe that he’d laid down and barely closed his eyes at all before waking again.

And yet, all the same, he became instantly aware that time had passed; more than weeks, less than a year. He knew this because of the swell in your stomach, your hand resting gently over your belly button.

The space between you was a long pause. Bucky’s lips parted, struck with dumbfoundedness, an utterly perplexed expression on his face. You stood, silently, heart hammering against your rib cage as you waited for him to say something, anything at all.

“You’re pregnant?”

You nod, holding your breath.

His first few steps are slow and heavy. Like a newborn foal, his legs shake under him, and then his strides are long and quick and with purpose, and when he throws his arm around you and buries his nose in the crook of your neck, you breathe again. His whole body shakes and he squeezes you tightly, his embrace swallowing you.

He’s crying when you put your hands on the sides of his face, prying him away just enough to find his lips with yours. His mouth is dry and his beard ragged, but he tastes sweet and warm and his kiss takes the breath from your lungs. You had been waiting for this moment for six months.

And now that you finally had him, you were never letting go.

[tanoraqui]

(AO3)

There are no books banned from the Great Library of Tirion. There are, however, books which are generally agreed to be dangerous to read. There is a section for them, officially called “Unadvised” and informally called “Cursed Knowledge”, “Shelves of Spiders”, and “the Things The Valar Don’t Want You To Know section.”

There are no spiders in it, Dark or natural; the library staff are careful of that. There are many tomes, scrolls, and other writings which are literally cursed.

There is a slim, perfectly natural volume bound in pale grey leather like any other publication from the Metaphysical Studies department of Tirion University. It is notable only in its contents, described by its title:

The Craft of Necromancy

A study of the manipulation of fëa in life, death, the terrible neither and the tormenting both.

A note from the single author on the fourth page, after the title page and publication information, reads,

On sources and citations in this volume:

This is, I must confess, an unusual study. For one thing, while I wrote it for classic philosophical principle, that knowledge closely held ought be shared instead, I also wrote it for the relief of that sharing, as advised by acquaintances wise and well-versed in healing. To my loving advisors: I was perfectly fine before, but I do feel even better now. I’m glad you’re satisfied.

I do not believe this affects the rigor of the discussion herein. I only share it because context is always part of knowledge that ought be shared, to maximize understanding.

More relevant to the question of academic rigor is: where possible, I have included standard citations of other works on the topic, academic, biographical, and other. However, most of my knowledge on this topic was gained firsthand, either through personal experience, tutelage, or both (demonstrations upon my person, patiently explained before, during and after), and I can provide no verification save my own memory and the reputation of my primary tutor.

My memory has been confirmed to be clear by nurses of the Gardens of Lórien. My tutor has been known by many names, among them, Gorthaur, Lieutenant of Angband and Lord (and creator) of Werewolves; the Necromancer of Dol Guldur; the Lidless Eye; and Sauron the Deceiver.

Despite the last, I have perfect confidence that he was not lying to me anymore by the end. He enjoyed showing off too much for that.

With that in mind, I hope you will forgive my academic negligence in referring to him henceforth only as “a source.” It is a matter of not humoring his ego, even after his dissolution.

All that said, I have endeavored throughout this study to clearly distinguish not only between fact and theory, but between facts which I can verify through personal experience (eg, the trapping of a fëa within its hröa past the reasonable point of death), facts which were expounded upon to me at length but which I cannot confirm beyond my certainty of the source’s genuinity in his intentions to taunt and/or tempt me (eg, the warping of a fëa to suit a hroä other than that its natural own), and facts which were told to me, or to others of my association, in contexts of deception but which were later re-examined for truth (eg, on the binding of one fëa [or ëala] to another). As with any work, readers are encouraged to take the knowledge enclosed herein and make their own interpretations—though I do NOT advise practical experimentation with these matters.

This study should be taken as my final word on the matters therein. While I usually applaud curiosity and thoroughness in investigation, do not seek me out with questions.

Additionally: in light of the sober and sometimes disturbing contents of this study, I have been advised by my editor to reassure the reader (somewhat redundantly, I would argue) that I did, in fact, escape the captivity of my primary source, and I am thoroughly and happily recovered from the various torments, betrayals, etc. inflicted upon my person. My source (and tutor, creative collaborator, friend…) is confirmed to be, at the time of this publication, reduced to a scrap of a shadow soon to fade utterly from the world that is, thanks in large parts to the efforts of others. For accounts of those heroes, I recommend “The War of the Ring: A Hobbit’s Very Extended Journey There and Back Again”, B. Baggins, F. Baggins; “Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom”, trans. B. Baggins; and “Garden Plants of the Western Shire”, S. Gamgee.

I recommend the last particular for aspiring gardeners. My floral and herbal window-boxes are all flourishing with the advice of Mr. Gamgee.

Yours in scholarship,

Celebrimbor Curufinwë

The volume is about 100 pages, mostly text with a handful of illustrative drawings scattered among the chapters. In the space in the back pages reserved for commentary from early readers, there is only one comment:

Concerningly accurate throughout.

– Aulë

[lucky-clover-gazette]

captive prince book 1 highlights & annotations

chapter 6

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

‘In case he found me pleasing, I was being trained for the Prince.’ ‘Were you?’ said Damen, with some interest. ‘Because of my colouring. You can’t see it in this light, but in daylight, my hair is almost blond.’ ‘I can see it in this light,’ said Damen. He could hear the approval saturating his own voice. He felt it shift the dynamic between them. He might as well have said, Good boy.

damen likes blondes moment #5, ft. damen’s vague slavery apologism. booooooooo

He should be in Akielos, where his training would be fêted and prized.

damen that’s fucked up. i know you don’t know that, but it is and you’ll figure it out

‘You were made for better masters than these. You deserve someone who appreciates your worth.’

context: slavery, in all forms, is wrong. the narrative knows this. damen does not.

It wasn’t possible that something like this was going to happen—that this court was so depraved that a mercenary could rape a royal slave a scant distance from the gathered court.

some really interesting questions about consent here. can sex under slavery be consensual? i say no. if a person does not have free will, they cannot freely give consent. 

but there is the sex scene between laurent and damen in book 2. that’s on damen’s last night of technically belonging to laurent—however, they both acknowledge that he really was never a slave, by training or behavior, and damen was given many opportunities to leave prior. so to me, it is very much consensual.

anyway, when damen suggests that the sex akielions have with palace slaves is consensual, it’s like… eh, no, i don’t think so. it’s still noncon, just with extra hidden steps and attempted justifications, as opposed to the blunt and unapologetic debauchery of vere (although i will note that in vere, the pets are not slaves, which damen seems to often ignore/forget). the slaves have been essentially trained their whole lives to always consent. that within itself is a violation of their human rights, and means that their verbal consent doesn’t even matter. basically: damen’s moral outrage here is justified, but it also exposes a massive blind spot in his perspective.

Without access to income from his various estates, Laurent’s retinue was substantially diminished and his spending curtailed.

this is so funny to me. laurent has to cancel several streaming service subscriptions because he’s losing income. no more hulu for you, broke boy

There had to be something he could do. There was nothing he could do.

lemony snicket-ass line

Very deliberately, he knelt, and bowed his head, and lowered his eyes to the floor. For a moment, it was so quiet that he could hear the flames from the torches fluttering in the air. ‘This is new,’ said Laurent.

‘Let me guess. You want me to take off your chains. Or reduce your guard. Or put you in a room where the doors and windows are unbarred. Don’t waste your breath.’

context: laurent still cannot conceive of damen being a noble or selfless person

‘Am I supposed to believe you care about their welfare? How exactly would they be treated better in Akielos? It is your barbaric society that forced them into slavery, not mine. I would not have thought it possible to train the will out of a man, but you have managed it. Congratulations. Your show of compassion rings false.’

he’s right! and it’s definitely notable that this comes from laurent, whose strong will is one of his defining characteristics. he feels more disdain for the complete depersonalization of akielion slaves, than for the contractual torment of pets in vere.

laurent and submission do not mix well, ideologically or in practice. when he chooses to be submissive, it’s in order to feel more in control. it’s like what amma says in sharp objects by gillian flynn: “sometimes if you let people do things to you, you’re really doing it to them.” akielion slaves have been conditioned not to question what they’re told to do, and that to laurent is probably more evil than forcing someone who knows that they don’t want something to do it anyway.

‘I don’t know if that is usual practice in this place, but good men don’t torture slaves in Akielos. Slaves are trained to obey in all things, but their submission is a pact: they give up free will in exchange for perfect treatment.’

i know his heart is in the right place, but maybe a pact involving a total loss of free will is just… not good under any conditions?

‘To abuse someone who cannot resist—isn’t that monstrous?’

oof. laurent trauma dramatic irony moment

Finally, Laurent said, ‘You overestimate my influence over my uncle.’ Damen began to speak, but Laurent cut him off. ‘No. I—’ Laurent’s golden brows had drawn slightly together, as though he had encountered something that did not make sense. ‘You would really sacrifice your pride over the fate of a handful of slaves?’ He had worn the same look on his face at the ring; he was gazing at Damen as though he was searching for an answer to an unexpected problem. ‘Why?’

context: this reminds me of the way that laurent offered to help nicaise and then realized he couldn’t, because his uncle has too much power over them both. he’s going through the same logical process here re: fulfilling damen’s request. he’s also confused as to why damen has made the request at all at all, because he still sees damen as selfish and immoral, while his request is undeniably selfless and moral. just like earlier, laurent pragmatically asks—“why?”

‘Because I am stuck here in this cage and I have no other way to help them.’

this is how laurent feels about nicaise. fuuuuuck

‘You think this is a trick,’ said Damen. He could see from the assessing look on Laurent’s face that he was right.

context: damen doesn’t realize it, but the fact that laurent is even looking into this is a total win. he is, in a very slight and cautious way, giving damen’s perspective serious consideration.

‘Something amuses you?’ Laurent. ‘What would I have to gain from—’ Damen broke off. ‘I don’t know how to convince you. You don’t do anything without a dozen motives. You lie even to your own uncle. This is country of deviousness and deception.’ ‘Whereas pure Akielos is free of treachery? The heir dies on the same night as the King and it is merely coincidence that smiles on Kastor?’

THIS CONVERSATION IS SO GOOD. both of their kingdoms suck. they’re both helpless and suffering as princes, and they could both make things better as kings. especially if they worked together! this has been here from the very start, it’s SO fucking good. the slow burn isn’t just romantic and sexual, it’s, like, intellectual. ideological. philosophical. amazing.

‘After you left,’ the guard said, ‘he got a visit from Govart.’ Laurent turned back to Damen, blue eyes like ice. ‘No,’ said Damen, knowing Laurent believed this now to be some scheme of his uncle’s. ‘It’s not what you think.’

context: they’re both acting reasonably here based on the information they’ve been given. the coincidence just sucks. damn uncle

[victimeyez]

Happy Birthday 🎂🥳🎁 (I also have a September birthday so I think that’s neat)

I think overall, the thing about p/v that keeps me hooked is the intensity of the whump. I’ve read other whump stories before and while what the characters go through in them is horrible, I’ve yet to find another character that goes through the kind of stuff Tommy does. The man’s life is just brutal, and as a avid horror fan I find that deeply compelling. I want him to one day get his final girl moment, even though I read early on that it’s probably not gonna happen.

I think the two whump moments that stand out the most for me so far are the meat hooks and the use of Agent Orange. The meat hooks scene was such a intense body horror moment it almost made me think about quitting, but I also couldn’t get it out of my head. I had to know what was gonna happen next to this poor dude. By contrast, the Agent Orange bit had me thinking to myself, “whelp Tommy and Caius better pray that stuff wasn’t real, otherwise their both dying of cancer lol”

Anyways I’ve rambled on enough. I hope you enjoy your birthday and that you get to do something fun with the people you love. (Tommy sure won’t lol)

Thank you, and happy birthday to you too!!!

Ooh, where to start. A few years ago, I discovered a writer online that wrote the most brutal content I had ever read. To this day, she makes my writing here look quite tame. We bonded over a mutual fandom that was difficult to find content for. One thing led to another, and I ended up helping write and edit her first original book.

I’’d never had someone before that I could talk to about enjoying really twisted stories. I was always admonished for a blossoming interest in horror by my mom, who believes horror is the work of the devil. It is still hard for me to share darker ideas. I get nervous about being judged for going too far, being too much of a freak. 

A big part of what made me decide to write Pro Vic with the design it has is that I wanted to be able to explore lots of different whump scenarios, without things getting too stale of the same things over and over. I have fun with Caius, but I can also explore whatever other forms I want to with clients in my own version of a monster-of-the-week formatting lol. Plus I can throw in extra time with Sam, or Rory, or Michelle, orrrrr whatever! As for the meat hooks and agent orange - Once again, I am sorry, and you are welcome lol. Can I blame Dead by Daylight and weirdly specific Vietnam War nightmares?

I love me a final girl! I actually have a shirt that says FINAL BOY in bloody letters lol. 

I have a long game in mind. Tommy is going through it – that’s not going to stop any time soon. But without wanting to say too much - Tommy has a future ahead of him where he plays a very different role...👀

I cannot tell you how much it blows my mind that people are actually reading this. I’m grateful for the readership, the notes, the tags, everything, I read them all a thousand times and lay on my bed kicking my feet while I write about it in my diary. Okay maybe not literally that, but mentally that is where I am. Getting to be the random person that wrote something you find compelling is the greatest badge of honor in my life. That’s not a joke. Sharing my creative passions has been the one thing I have known I wanted since I was three years old. When I was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, banging pots and pans together for drums and screaming my best “opera”.

[multifandoms27-blog]

Hello there!

I just stumbled across your blog and I love your posts! And when I saw that you also write for Creepypasta, I just had to send in a request, especially considering that there's barely anything there!

So may I ask for some general and romantic headcanons for Toby? I really love this guy!

I hope you have a wonderful day and remember to stay hydrated!

(Also, apologies if there are any mistakes, English isn't my native language ^^)

See ya! :D

Hi! Thank you, Vero, you stay hydrated and have a wonderful day as well! I'm so glad you love my stuff <3 I was just thinking about doing something for Toby, so you're in luck hehe

(Also, your English is amazing my friend. No worries <3)

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Content: Toby general and romantic headcanons with gender neutral reader

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, implied murder, implied violent bipolar episodes, obsessive behavior, toxic jealousy, toxic relationship, and implied familial trauma.

Notes: I come from the era of creepypasta where everybody believed Toby was very obsessed with waffles, and was horribly misinterpreted in fanfiction. That was about eight years ago now though, and from what I've seen the fandom has been getting better with representation of Toby.

I've put a lot of thought into this. Might use this as inspo to revamp my Jeff headcanon list.

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(art by Lynnarty on Deviantart)

❥General

I want to start by saying: I know almost nothing about Tourette's syndrome and don't know anybody who has it. If I get anything wrong, please please please correct me. I wanna get this right for you lovelies. Thank you <3

Now, what I do know about Tourette's, is that there are two types of tics: motor and phonic. I believe Toby has more motor tics than phonic. I know he's portrayed as stuttering and twitching/moving rapidly at the same time, but I don't think he has as many phonic tics as we think

I do however, think he has a natural stutter. He was bullied in grade school, and as a fellow bullied child, I can confidently say that he developed the stutter then. I will die on this hill.

His personality is also not at all that of a child, who spends all his time screaming and laughing just for the hell of it. He's unhinged, yeah, but not in the oblivious child way. More of the sadistic way for very obvious reasons.

He's more so reserved, just kinda comes and goes. There will be points in time where he decides to be super obnoxious and fuck with other pastas in the mansion, but that's moreso purposely picking fights and intentionally being annoying than whatever the hell fanfic writers wrote in the early 2010's.

He does have bipolar disorder, so he'll lose his shit when he decides to fuck with people and they fuck with him back. It turns ugly really fast.

With his CIPA (Cognitive Insensitivity to Pain), obviously he cannot feel when he gets injured on missions, or if his motor tics cause him any pain. He won't really give a shit if he finds an injury, and won't really take any steps to go to Eyeless Jack either to get patched up. Either someone else will have to bring him, or Jack will have to hunt him down himself.

Speaking of Jack, he was able to fix up the left side of Toby's mouth when he came to the mansion. Fixing Toby's injury and Jeff's face were the first two things he did.

Toby still chews on his hands and the insides of his mouth, just out of habit or if he's stressed/upset about something.

He doesn't have a reaction to fire, really. He doesn't like dwelling on the past + he's ready to just keel over and die at any moment, so it doesn't really matter to him.

Being called "Ticci Toby" angers him to no end. You will die if you call him that, no exceptions.

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❥Romantic

Toby didn't really look for love after joining the mansion

Like I mentioned above, he's ready to die at any point, so he finds it kinda pointless to get a partner if he's just gonna die soon

He noticed when you joined the mansion, but he didn't actually say anything to you until you'd been there for some months. He doesn't particularly associate himself with people in the first place, let alone people he newly "meets."

He's not very friendly at first, but being nice to him even through his obnoxious moments and horrendous mood swings and even going so far as to try to help him (he won't let you in the moment but he'll reflect on it later), it'll get you in his good graces

Being blindingly nice won't just get you in romantic territory. If he sees you being an actual person around others while just being super nice with him, it's going to make him think you're not genuine.

Just be yourself around him. When he sees you treat him the same as the others (with genuine kindness and respect) and not like he's some freak, it'll get you brownie points.

Toby doesn't realize he's insecure and thinks it's normal to get super jealous super easily. His parents didn't have the best relationship and most internet media of relationships is toxic in itself, so you'll have to be the one to sit down with him and lay out your boundaries. Even then, he'll frequently cross them.

It's not because he doesn't respect you or love you. He does. Just sometimes he wants to move the relationship a little faster, or he's impatient and wants kisses when you're with the others, or he's just plain forgetful.

Again on the jealous point though, he's going to get very upset if you don't notice he's jealous. In his mind, it's very obvious. Eventually he'll get so upset that he yanks you away from the people, cusses them out, then storms off with you and slams every door he goes through for extra measure. He's then going to cry as he holds you, apologizing and saying he didn't mean it and he was just scared you were going to leave him.

He doesn't let you be with your other pasta friends without lurking in the background, watching yours and their every move. He loves you and just wants to make sure you're okay. Happily accepts you back into his arms when you're done.

The only time you'll be able to hang out with friends outside the mansion (without him watching you) is when Toby is away on missions. If you befriend the right pastas, they'll cover for you. If he's not away though, he's very likely going to be stalking you and your friends in the background.

Toby doesn't care if you give him PDA or not, he just wants to be near you and do what he wants in the moment. Once he realizes he has feelings for you, he's going to be clinging to your side.

Loves when you show him physical affection and attention without him asking.

He also loves when you involve him in things you like. He might not participate in it, but the fact that you thought of him makes him happy. His favorite thing is eating some snacks while cuddling on his bed and watching some show you love.

Toby by himself just kinda exists. Toby in a relationship with you just kinda exists, but he wants people to know that you only exist with him.

For obvious reasons, Toby is a fucked up individual, and a relationship with him will always be toxic in some aspect. Everyone in the pasta mansion is fucked up, and very few will have healthy relationships. Yes, we love the pastas anyway, but we cannot fix them, so just keep that in mind lovelies <3

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Here is my Masterlist in case you want to request, or look for more of your favorite character!