#how to play fantasy cricket

[11wickets-fantasygames]

Why You Must Select All-rounders in Your Fantasy Cricket Team

In fantasy cricket, the role of an all-rounder is unparalleled. If you are building a squad of 11 on your favorite 11 Wickets fantasy cricket app, you must consider adding at least one all-rounder to your composition.

All-rounders are those who can bat as well as bowl. They can perform both pretty well. You will see batting all-rounders and bowling all-rounders in the world of cricket. Batting all-rounders predominantly bat. They can try their hands at bowling if the captain entrusts the all-rounder with bowling spells.

Likewise, a team selects bowling all-rounders who can predominantly bowl. They become handy at batting also to garner quick runs or come as a pinch hitter. The game does not limit the all-rounders to one skill or department. They excel in every department.

You will also find fielding keeper all-rounders who can predominantly bat or bowl but are excellent at fielding. Then can save a lot of runs and boundaries and pick near-impossible catches.

Another all-rounder are wicketkeeper allrounders who can bat at the top order. Consider them when selecting the wicketkeeper of your team.

All-rounders are valuable assets in a team and can play a decisive role in winning matches. Selectors add the all-rounders in the shorter version of the game, like ODIs and T20s. In test cricket, if you have an all-rounder, then the person must be brilliant in a specific department.

The world has witnessed legendary all-rounders in the history of world cricket. The first name that comes to mind is Sir Garfield Sobers from West Indies. He was an integral part of the West Indies ODI World Cup winning teams and has won matches with his significant contributions. Because of him, the West Indies were formidable and unconquerable during his times.

Then we have the Steller trio of all-rounders: Ian Botham-Kapil Dev-Imran Khan. They have won crucial cricket matches and even World Cups for their teams. The teams tout them as the edge of the opponent team.

Then came the spin trio. The cricket fraternity considers primarily bowling all-rounders. They are Shane Warne-Anil Kumble-Muttiah Muralitharan.

We have many current-age all-rounders in the world of cricket who devastate the opponent with their bowling, batting, fielding, or all three. Let us name a few, but there are greats whose names we have not included in the list below.

Ben Stokes

Hardik Pandya

Shakib Al Hasan

Ravinder Jadeja

Andrew Flintoff

Andre Russel

Marcus Stoinis

Cameron Green

Glenn Maxwell

Reasons to include all-rounders in Fantasy Cricket Team

All-rounders can score fantasy points for you on all fronts, bowling, batting, and fielding. They can earn points by picking up catches or saving a few runs, boundaries, and run-outs because most all-rounders are great fielders. They can hit 6s and 4s and win matches, especially cricket matches going down to the wire. A recent example is Chennai’s win on the last ball. Ravinder Jadeja hit a six in the penultimate ball and a boundary in the ultimate ball in a nail-biting finish against Gujarat.

Including more than one all-rounder can make sense in T20 or ODIs because then you are beefing up both the batting and the bowling battery. The Indian team which won the first World Cup under Kapil Dev had 5-6 all-rounders who played decisive roles in the World Cup winning. One of the all-rounders, Mohinder Amarnath, was the Man of the Match.

All-rounders are always handy for maneuvering with your bowlers or batters. A captain gets options and flexibility to try other strategies like Plan A, Plan B, or Plan C if he has more all-rounders on the team. Never miss including at least one all-rounder in your fantasy team. All-rounders will provide balance and stability to your fantasy cricket team.

[koushikrockboy]

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[ispyspookymansion]

no option for i dont listen to white noise. you wouldnt get it.

[sailoryooons]

Red | KNJ | (m)

☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader

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

☾ Word Count: 21,148

☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut

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

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

☾ Published: Sunday, January 21 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

-

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

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

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

“It’s a little funny.”

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

That makes him pause. “There was?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strange how?” 

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

“I don’t know. I was so young.”

“Hmm.” 

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you blurt.

“For what?”

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

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

“Was it that awful?” 

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

“Angry?”

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

You hum in agreement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what do we do?”

Silence. Then, “Send a message….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing comes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dr. Kim!”

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

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

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

“But the wolves-”

“Do not mention the wolves, girl.”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Warriors?” he laughs. “Strange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi is a lunatic.”

“He’s the alpha.”

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

“The hunts will begin tomorrow.”

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

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

“Is revenge worth it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you?”

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

“I’m… you’re awfully close.”

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

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

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

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

“Family friends.” 

“What were you all talking about?”

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

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

“Because of the wolves?”

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

“You’re a stranger in my town.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps I have one of those faces?”

“No, I’d remember a face like yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t worried.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s very handsome.”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Red.”

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Both.”

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“I run warm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of tea do you like?”

“Yarrow, if you have it.”

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

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

“Well, we are strangers, after all.”

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

“I suppose that’s true.”

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

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

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

“Why have you come to the village?” 

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

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

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

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

“It is… not always like that here.”

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

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

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

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

He smiles and shrugs. “I run warm.” 

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

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

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

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

“He was a hunter.”

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

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

Namjoon hums. “Smart man.”

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

“You must resent the woods.”

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

“Usually?”

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

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

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

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

“Like your family?”

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

“Really?”

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

“I always found that incredibly sad.”

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

How swiftly I know his voice, you think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who the hell are you?”

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

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

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

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

“Do you know who murdered Mr. Hatch?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Every day. It’s… sentimental to me.”

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

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

-

Little Lucy Larkin

In a little wood

Little Lucy Larkin

Up to no good

Little Lucy Larkin

In her little hood

Little Lucy Larkin

Ware of the woods!

Little Lucy Larkin

Stole a little bread

Little Lucy Larkin

In the woods of dread

Little Lucy Larkin

Is a little thief

Little Lucy Larkin

Die by wolf’s teeth

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t you be helping the constable?”

“I’m on the late-night shift.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something is going on.”

“Yes, your attitude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do not find him there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon. 

-

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

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

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

“Where am I?” 

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

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

“Seokjin - you - what is going on?” 

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

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

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

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

He nods slowly. “They are.” 

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

“Like what?”

“Like werewolves exist.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This village has a complicated history. 

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

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

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

“Who is Yoongi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Sleep, Red.”

-

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

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

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

“I have questions.”

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

“Did the werewolves kill my father?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His throat bobs. “You did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew I liked you.”

“You barely know me.”

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

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

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

“Which is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh. Well, that’s very rude.”

“He’s good at that.”

“You sound fond, still.”

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

“Well still. Thank you.” 

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

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

Your toes curl. “Like what?” 

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

“Maybe I do.”

“I know.” 

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

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

“Is this what you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses you. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to go back.”

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

“You want to help?”

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

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

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

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

[starryeyedmunson]

sleepless nights - e.m.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you and eddie have always been close, and sleepovers were practically routine. on this particular night, you were having trouble going to bed due to some sexual frustation. luckily your best friend is there to help you fall asleep.

warnings: smut (minors get out), masturbation, fingering, piv sex, pet names: sweetheart, baby, princess; multiple orgasms, creampie (a little breeding), squirting, to clear up confusion the reader is 18!!

author’s note: i got this idea randomly and it’s 1 am. enjoy.

You and Eddie Munson were inseparable. The second you guys met your freshman year, you two instantly clicked. Sure, you guys had zero things in common; you were the top of your class and practically lived at the library. Meanwhile Eddie couldn’t even point out the library on a map of your school and was at the bottom of every single class, even the ones he repeated. It didn’t matter, though, because you two found each other to be a long-needed comfort in each others’ lives.

The sound of various crickets and birds outside filled the comfortable silence in Eddie’s room as you two got ready to go to sleep. It’s normal for you two to share the same bed given how close you two are, and tonight was no different. You slipped into an oversized t-shirt you found on Eddie’s floor, and Eddie’s back was turned to you to give you some privacy. You turned back around and made your way to his bed, crawling under the covers. He followed you and got into bed on the other side of you before turning the light on his nightstand off.

“Sleep tight, Y/N,” he said sleepily.

“Night, Eds,” you replied, turning your back to him.

You gave up on trying to go to bed after about 30 minutes. You had been tossing and turning to try and find a comfortable position, but the covers were just too hot for you to actually fall asleep. You finally laid on your back and stared at the dark ceiling, wondering how you were going to fix your insomnia. You wracked your brain for ideas on how to make yourself tired, and one finally came to mind.

Absolutely not.

Even though it worked like a charm, you were not about to masturbate next to your best friend.

Your incredibly attractive best friend.

You weren’t going to lie, you had given it some thought. The idea of hooking up with Eddie had played in your mind more often than you would’ve like to admit. You never vocalized your fantasies; it would cause too much awkward tension. But you couldn’t deny the fact that Eddie was objectively hot. Sometimes you would see girls come to his shows at The Hideout and watch them drool over the guitarist, but it was rare that Eddie would even pay attention to them. His eyes always found you, and it gave you a boost of confidence knowing that you meant more to him than some groupies. However, you found yourself longing for him to see you in a different light than just his best friend.

Thinking about him playing the guitar, his fingers moving fast up and down the neck of the instrument had your hand involuntarily moving down to your underwear. This is so wrong, you thought. But the more vivid the memories became, the less you could stop yourself. You slowly moved your panties to the side and let your fingers run through your folds. You stopped at your clit and began to rub slow circles around it. You closed your eyes as you let yourself be engulfed in the feeling, images of your best friend flashing in your mind. You thought about his curly hair and how good it would feel to pull on it while his head was in between your thighs. His stupid smirk that would appear on his face whenever he saw you in the school hallways. His little touches here and there.

You couldn’t even feel your squirming around, and you definitely didn’t feel the boy next to you slowly wake up. You were too lost in your own fantasy, eyes still closed and fingers still moving.

“Sweetheart,” you heard his voice and froze. You refused to move, even when he flipped his body to face yours. “Whatcha doin down there?”

“Just trying to get comfortable,” you squeaked, completely embarrassed but still hoping he was unaware of what you were doing.

“So you thought your hand down your pants was the best way to do that?” You mentally facepalmed.

“I thought you were asleep,” you said, still refusing to make eye contact. He laughed to himself and moved closer to you, causing you to tense up.

“Does that make it any better?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk on his face. You stayed silent, but he kept going. “Since you opened up the topic, care to tell me who you were thinking about?”

“No one,” you said quickly, but Eddie was buying nothing that you were trying so desperately to sell.

“I’ll ask again,” he said. “Who made you touch yourself only a foot away from me?”

“No one,” you repeated. He sighed before continuing.

“Really,” he dragged out. “Well whoever it was clearly wasn’t doing the job.” You finally turned your head to look at him in the dark.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“You were being so quiet. If it was actually working, you’d be a little louder. That or you’re not doing it right,” he said.

“I think I know how to masturbate, Munson,” you fought back. The embarrassment was starting to fade, but a touch of it was still there.

“I didn’t say you didn’t, all I’m saying is that you should probably have some help if you actually want to get anywhere,” he said. Your eyebrows raised as you finally understood what his end goal was.

“What, are you going to teach me?” you said, nervous about his response.

“If you’ll let me,” he said slowly. You felt his hand trace down your arm before it met with yours, which was still centered on your clit. Your breath hitched as he slowly began to move it away and replaced it with his own. “Tell me this is okay,” he breathed. You nodded your head, and his fingers slowly started to make the same motion yours were just minutes before. You let out a soft moan as he picked up speed, and you finally let yourself move. You twitched as he pressed into your clit, hitting the bundle of nerves perfectly with each circle.

“Fuck, Eddie, just like that,” you said. He turned over some more so he could have more access to you, and his hand became relentless. He lost contact with your heat only for a moment before inserting one of his ringed fingers into your pussy, causing you to arch your back. He pumped in and out, faster with each one. He added a second, and his thumb found its way back to your sensitive bud.

He worked you with a single hand, and you were loving every second. Your back physically couldn’t arch any more, and you grinded your hips down to help his fingers reach even deeper. He was hitting your sweet spot, and you began seeing stars. You’d always imagined it would feel this good, but now that you were experiencing it in real time your expectations were exceeded.

“Feel good, baby?” he said, his voice low and in your ear. You could barely form the word ‘yes’ as wrangled moans came from your mouth. “Louder, princess, wanna hear you.” Your moans grew louder as you felt yourself nearing release.

“F-fuck, please, faster,” you got out, and Eddie complied. You were hurtling towards the edge, and you knew Eddie could tell.

“Wanna feel you cum all over my fingers,” he said in a low voice, and it sent you over a cliff. Your body spasmed as you yelled out his name, and he finger-fucked you through one of the most intense orgasms you ever had. Your chest heaved as you came down, and you felt him remove his fingers slowly from you. You looked over at him, and with your eyes having now adjusted to the darkness you saw that he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Feel better, doll?” he said with a sly tone. You did in fact feel better, but you craved that same high that he had given you.

“More,” you said. He raised his brows, then smiled when you kept speaking. “I want you to fuck me to sleep, Munson.”

“You’re asking for it,” he said, and he climbed on top of you. You hadn’t kissed at all, but it didn’t even matter as you felt his clothed bulge press into your pussy. You groaned at the friction, and Eddie laughed to himself. “So easy,” he said, but his cockiness turned to shit when he looked at you open your eyes to reveal your pupils taking them over completely. He got off of you only to rid himself of his underwear, and you laid back and watched him kick them off the bed. He recentered himself, moving your panties back to the side after giving his already-hard cock a couple long strokes. “So hard already, baby. Been thinking ‘bout this for a long time.”

He finally put his tip against your re-wet pussy, running it up and down and hitting your clit over and over. “Please, E-Eddie. Need you inside,” you said, and you were instantly satisfied. He pushed into you slowly, and your head fell back as he bottomed out. He set a slow pace at first, but as he sped up you lost all sense. Your legs wrapped around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer, and he took your hands to pin them above your head.

“Fuck, princess, so fuckin’ tight. Squeezing me so good,” he said, panting. You moaned so loudly the neighbors probably heard, but it felt so good that you couldn’t even think about that. He was absolutely railing you now, his hips snapping into yours. Your vision was about go black before he took one of your legs and put it on his shoulder. He was able to reach that perfect spot, his cock hitting just below your cervix with each thrust. “Tell me how good it feels, wanna hear you tell this whole trailer park who’s fucking you this good.”

“Sh-Shit, Eddie!” you screamed. “F-fuck me harder!” You didn’t even think it was possible, but he proved you wrong by pounding himself into you even deeper and faster than he was before. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes as your own rolled back into your head, but his focus was on his dick ramming in and out of your pussy. He squeezed his eyes shut at the feeling of you clenching around him, trying not to cum as your walls sucked him in. His hand let go of your wrists to move down to press on your stomach, and the feeling engulfed you both.

“Fuck, baby, you feel that?” he panted, and with each thrust he could feel himself. “So fucking deep inside of you I can feel it with my own hand.”

You were in euphoria, and you both could see the finish line coming closer and closer. “Gonna fill you up nice and good with my cum, you want that, hm?” he cooed, but all you could respond with was more screaming. “Tell me you want it, princess. Tell me you want me to cum in your tight little hole.”

“Y-yes, fuck!” you managed, and that was all you both needed. The tightness in your stomach finally snapped, and you were drowned in ecstasy, Your pussy clenched him tighter than it had ever before, and you felt yourself drench Eddie’s bare chest in your squirt. He too was pushed over his own edge, and you felt his cock twitch inside of you as it filled you up with his load.

You both were out of breath as he stayed inside you for a while, and he finally pulled out slowly. He rolled off of you to go get a towel, then came back to clean the cum that was dripping from your freshly-fucked hole. He wiped himself clean after then threw the towel on the floor, still standing up.

“Tired yet?” he said, and you choked out a laugh.

“Shut the hell up, Munson,” you said. He smiled down at you before reaching under your back and legs. He picked you up effortlessly, and your arms hung loosely around his neck.

“I would love to sleep in my bed tonight, but you made quite the mess, princess,” he said. Your face turned red as you buried it into his neck, but he just chuckled and carried you to the couch in his living room. He set you down gently, then got you a blanket and draped it over you.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he walked away.

“Just to the other couch, sweetheart,” he said.

“Wait-” you called after him, and he turned back around to you. “Is this going to be awkward in the morning?”

“Um,” he started, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, we can just act like it never happened if you’re uncomfortable or something.”

You tried getting up, but as soon as you stood your legs gave out and you almost fell to the floor before Eddie rushed over and grabbed you. “What if I want it to keep happening?” you asked, your voice hoarse from all of the yelling before.

“I’d like that,” he said smiling. He leaned down and kissed you gently, your lips fitting perfectly together. He pulled away before breathing out a small laugh. “I probably should have done that before all that other stuff.” You smiled back before pulling him in again, your lips connecting as perfectly as they did before. He pulled away again before saying,

“How about we make another mess on this couch?”

pt. 2 here!

[blueparadis]

꒰ IN MY HEAD ꒱ ⋮ KAVEH [ CONTENT & TAGS ] — » film au + non-human au, fluff, undertones of smut and fantasies, yandere themes, jealousy, hints of cannibalism ( sorry couldn't hold myself back. I had to. It's just one line. more like cannibalistic thoughts nothing explicit ); make-up artist!kaveh, actress!fem!reader, actor!al-haitham, undertones of smut // word count — 2k// blog navigation.// for angel's threeway collab by @angelltheninth //

“We’re ready, Al-haitham.” A staff member mentioned entering Al-haitham’s green room. With his eyes closed and Kaveh’s pristine hands doing their work he is growing more nervous by each passing moment. It is unusual because Kaveh has been with Al-haitham for years now yet has never seen Al-haitham so on edge in all these interviews, movie premieres, and shows. As Kaveh was busy doing his make-up throughout the session, Al-haitham could not stop jerking his leg. Kaveh had to either stop him by tapping on his knee or yell at him. “We’ll be too,” Kaveh responded with a neutral tone, keeping the Kohl pencil in his back pocket. “In a minute.” 

Kaveh does not understand his friend’s actions. Either he is too happy or too tense. There is no in-between. Al-haitham won't even talk about it. A minute later, when he leaves the room for his show Kaveh decides to stay behind. He does not need to be there. He can hear everything from here. Backstage has always been a fascinating place for him. A moment ago, the room was full of light and laughter but now it is full of silence. He likes this kind of silence. He grabs his coffee and walks out of the place for a smoke break. 

With his lit cigarette pressed in between his lips, and a warm coffee mug in hand he strolls along the artistically cemented route. He hums a tune to himself as he scans the place. The backyard of the backstage is really pretty. Probably it was used before but not now. Mosses and grasses are in abundance here. The crickets are singing, squirrels are too at par with them. 

There is a fountain at the center of this place but it is not running. The sky is still blushing, illuminating the air. He walks towards the fountain to sit by it but he stops mid-way. He sees a girl sitting by the fountain wearing a dress the same color as Al-haitham. With her head bowed down looking at her reflection of herself in the pond around the statue of the fountain she looked like a fairy from those fantasy books.

If he had seen you somewhere else, some other place where there were a lot of people and noise he would not have remembered you. But he recognizes you. You are the co-star of Al-haiham’s latest movie which is also your debut film. He must have seen you at other movie premieres but never got an opportunity to speak. They just were times he was timid or lazy or did not bother enough to talk. Of course, he has seen you in the movie but he was far more intrigued by how you would be when there are no spotlights, no cameras — just him watching you. He was solely curious. These curiosities deviated into something else; fantasies in a steady manner. The moment he saw you on that big screen he felt like your body aroma would be like a forbidden fruit if he were to describe it. Now, he can practically inhale it. He discarded the remnant cigarette that was masking your scent. He had imagined seeing you, talking to you off-screen and this is not how it plays out in his head. 

You outdid his imagination. He approached you slowly with silent footsteps so that he does not startle you. You seemed like you are in desperate need of this silence too. The one Kaveh is too comfortable in it. He can see your face through the reflection, barely but he can. He is so busy looking at the fall of your hair, your side face, the trail of moles from behind your ear onto your shoulder blades like a constellation that he totally forgets: that if he were to take another step, he would turn up in the reflection beside you.

He has thought of drawing moles in your intimate parts, counting your actual moles, kissing them, biting them, carving them out of your body, and eating them. The fewer the number of moles on your body, the higher the dopamine running in his veins since he hated the idea of any lover's mark on you when he saw you for the first time with Al-haitham. It is silly but he still feels edgy seeing a trail of moles along your shoulder. They say moles are the marks left by a kiss by your lover in past lives. It is silly to believe yet he does. It makes his stomach turn, the back of his throat churn, and tastes bitter when he swallows. He wants this feeling to go away. He wants to absorb you in himself so that he does not get devoured by your exquisite charms. The very existence of you is like a threat to his own.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I should be going,” A sudden gust of wind created ripples in your reflection. You stood up blurting out in haste seeing a man's reflection beside you. Taking long strides walking past the man. “Is Al-haitham ready?” You asked but silence prevailed enough to make you turn on your heel.

If you are here, then it must mean everyone is looking for you inside the compound. Moreover, why are you here? You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be with Al-haitham, sitting beside him for the show. 

“Huh?” Kaveh walks towards you exclaiming with his eyebrows congested, “No! No! stay.” He exhales nervously stunned by his own voice. “I mean he is ready but you can stay.” You cock your head in confusion smiling at his jumbled form.

“You’re Kaveh. is that right?”

“Yeah.” Kaveh tucks his palms inside his jeans. He sees you smile at him like you always smile at Al-haitham. Somehow, he is not nervous anymore. He flashes a grin. “So, you do know me.”

“What do you mean? Everyone knows you. And, I’ve seen you at every event since my movie came out.” You sat by the fountain on the cemented bench again and Kaveh’s carmine eyes followed you as if you were the sun and he was a sunflower. Well, technically he is, in a way. He is warm, cheerful and so full of beauty, just like a sunflower. You started to jerk your knee after checking the time. It has been almost thirty minutes since you have been here. The show is getting delayed.

Kaveh lets out a soft chuckle seeing you like that. He takes out the Kohl pencil from his back pocket and crouches in front of you. You are confused and nervous. So is he but he hides it better. He knows that but he does not need to know why. He just needs to calm you. He is suddenly overcome by this awful urge to soothe you. He looks at you before running the pencil on the supple skin of your thigh that was peeking through your distressed jeans. You laughed like a lyre as he was done. It was a smiley. Kaveh was looking at you, still seated in front of you at your feet. 

“Ma’am it’s time.” Your secretary’s voice turned up from a distance from the dark. By the time your secretary was here, Kaveh was gone but the smiley he drew remained as you walked back to the building with your secretary. It was impressive how swiftly conscious Kaveh was of so many things— your reputation, his reputation, and the thread that binds both of you: al-haitham. 

The moment you walk along with Al-haitham into the show arena Tighnari gives a smile. You all sit after you greet one another. There were many rounds of questions but you enjoyed rapid-fire the most. The movie was so far a huge success and with Al-haitham by your side it was getting easier. The last round had a set of frequently asked questions in Google search.

Tighnari pauses before the next question. He looks at you and then at Al-haitham. He smirks before shooting the next question. “Are al-haitham and y/n dating?” The room was full of silence again. Your eyes occasionally scanned the room in search of Kaveh but he was nowhere to be seen till now. Al-haitham's lips stretch from ear to ear as he rests his hands on yours.  

“Yeah. we’re.” Al-haitham paused to look at you. “We’re dating.” For a brief moment, you thought you saw Kaveh at one door of this place. The curtains waved as a declaration of his departure. You realized that you spaced out for too long feeling the boring stares. 

“Yeah. we’re,” you confirmed with a beam even though you were as surprised as any other person in this room. But you played along. You had to; you trust al-haitham. He has been good and kind to you so far, so he must have a reason for this. He must.

“Congratulations,” Tighnari exclaimed, the interviewer, with his ever-lasting warming broad smile that he has been flashing every now and then throughout the interview. The cameramen and the whole crew gave both of you a knowing smile. The only person who was not smiling was Kaveh. He is happy, he really is but he does not understand why it had to be you. It is not like Al-haitham ran out of options. He has plenty. He could have chosen someone who would open better prospects for him, anyone but not you. Why did he have to choose you?

Kaveh keeps his half-empty coffee mug on the coaster. He just came from the interview arena in the green room, in your green room. Maybe this is why Al-haitham was nervous all the time. But he could have told Kaveh or at least hinted to him about this matter in a way so that he would steer clear of both of your paths. Kaveh is not just his make-up artist. He is much more than that. Al-haitham knows that. Kaveh knows that he knows that. Nevertheless, he feels betrayed. 

Kaveh takes the Kohl pencil from the back pocket of his jeans and grabs the handkerchief that you left at the desk. He scribbles on a piece of paper and tucks it carefully in between the folds of that handkerchief. He has been chasing so many butterflies all these times while his sun was waiting for him, so lonely and so bright. It would have been better if you were just another butterfly. But you invaded his head. There is no going back now. There is no use in fighting it back. Moreover, he likes the thrill of it. If he did, he might get uprooted, and turn into someone who he is not, a bare tree. Therefore, he must follow. He smiled to himself before exiting the room.

The piece of paper had a number and a note. It read: ‘I can wait. I'm a patient hunter, my little sunshine.’ When you flipped the paper, it had another message, a smiley with his signature. But this time you did not smile.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hi Fen!!! Popping in to ask what you think the moon boys’ hobbies would be (if they weren’t so busy moon knighting). (For Steven, I feel like studying ancient Egypt is more like a passion, so like what else do you think he’d be into?)

K. Love you! Byeeeee.

IDJIDHVDHFH Oh my gosh, I love this ask so much! Thank you so, so, SO much for sending it! ❤️(ILY!) Did I think about this at work for a good 1 and 30 mins instead of working on a spreadsheet? No, of course not, I would never do that… 👀

I have narrowed it down to one each to save everyone from seeing my absolute madness.

Moon Knight Boys Headcanons & Hobbies

Rating: PG  Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: Swearing

Steven: Cooking

Okay, here me out. So, I’ve seen opposite ends of opinion on this one (both are valid) but I’m going with Steven is a very good cook, and he likes cooking. 

He’s been vegan for a while and it’s only in the last couple of years that food places have really been trying with vegan and vegetarian options that aren’t salad… bread… (chips if you’re lucky) So, I think he enjoys making lots of different recipes. 

It started out with him just making vegan ones and then, over time, became him changing other recipes to make them vegan and coming up with his own. 

Absolute master at vegan cakes, no one can ever tell the difference, and, in fact, a lot of people compliment him on ‘the best cake they’ve ever had’, ‘so light and fluffy? How do you do it?’ “Well, that’s the secret, innit?” (whisk the aquafaba like your life depends on it and sweet potato) 

Steven is absolutely horrified by the food Marc makes himself. (Plain chicken, rice, spinach) 

“Where are the flavours Marc? At least some herbs? Spices for fuck’s sake? I can’t believe you’re eating plain steamed chicken?” (He doesn’t even care that it’s meat, it's just the lack of flavour.)

“It’s boiled chicken actually.”

Steven loses his goddamn mind. 

“I don’t care what bloody macronutrient you are monitoring, you are not eating that.”

It’s not that Marc can’t cook, he just doesn’t see the reason to put the effort in when it’s just for himself (doesn’t feel like he deserves it.)

Steven grumbles to himself and refuses to let Marc cook his own dinner if he can help it. “If you’re going to eat meat, at least treat it with respect, yeah? Bring out the flavour?” He usually preps something for Marc, so he can cook it quickly when he’s hungry. 

Makes so many cakes and pastries for Jake. Leaves them in boxes with ‘Jake :)’ written on a post stick note on the top. Jake is always so touched and surprised when he does. They have taken to playing a little game where sometimes the food is vegan and sometimes it’s not and Jake has to guess. He’s more accurate than most people, but it still only averages around 70% right. (69% if we’re being exact, and Marc is sure Jake’s messing with the correct statistics on purpose.)

Marc: Fantasy Baseball and Fantasy Football

Literally takes it so seriously. Has spreadsheets filled with information and pours over every single statistic like it holds the answers to the universe. It only got more intense when he found a forum for people with the same interest and he literally will spend hours talking online about it.

“It’s not about getting the best players, it’s about making the best team.”

Jake has joked that he puts Steven and his love for history to shame and if those spreadsheets weren’t saved on the computer Marc would have boxes and boxes and folders upon folders of printed out info and then there would be zero space in the flat. 

When Marc annoys Steven, Steven tells him to “go play with your pretend american cricket and american rugby” to piss him off. 

(Marc retaliates by incorrectly pronouncing UK places. 

“Steven, maybe we should take a trip to Ed-in-b-row” 

“It’s Ed-in-bruh.” 

“How about Sus-SEX or Es-SEX?” 

“It’s Sus-SIX and Es-SIX.” 

“I do love Green-WITCH at this time of year.” 

“IT’S GREN-ITCH! Jake, you're from New York, how is Greenwich pronounced?” 

“I’m not getting involved.” 

“Ha! That’s because he agrees with me!”

When things get really heated, Marc threatens to make a cup of tea in the microwave. Steven says he doesn’t care because he makes coffee in the microwave all the time and it’s fine. Jake puts an end to it by saying hot chocolate tastes best with water and then laughing when both Marc and Steven gang up on him. 

“I cannot believe you think that mate.”

“You know how many different types of milk there are?”

“Absolutely disgusting.”

“Cow, goat, soya, almond, coconut, literally any of them instead.”)

Jake: Knitting

Wanted something to keep his hands busy, that he could pick up and put down, and that he could take in his cab when he was stationary and waiting for fares. 

Took to it a lot quicker than he thought it would, and can just zone out and knit. It helps keep him grounded. 

He feels like he has spent a lot of his time destroying and there is something so satisfying about being able to create. 

Once he mastered the stitch he quickly moved onto making clothes. Before Marc and Steven knew about him he used to knit jumpers for Steven and hide them in the wardrobe. 

Jake makes Marc a cartoony style baseball jumper that he also loves, and a thick cardigan for Steven that is covered in hieroglyphics (he spends months researching the language to get it to make some sense, and works in a dig at Khonshu in there and has Steven crying with laughter.) 

When they know about him Steven excitedly requests the “most garish and over the top Hanukkah jumper anyone has ever seen!” Jake does his best, presenting it to Steven (and trying to hide how nervous he feels) Steven loves it and refuses to take it off all winter. 

Most people think Jake has a stern glare when he wants, but you can never be sure if he’s planning your destruction or trying to work out how many balls of wool it would take to make someone your size a jumper.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @welcometostayingawake @mbakubabe @solobagginses @melodygatesauthor @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[sacred-algae]

Falling Away With You by Muse has always been a very Geraskier song to me. And the new demo version just strengthens that association.

It screams Jaskier pining for Geralt. I like to imagine that in the world of The Witcher, he wrote it. It’s full of so much pain, fully encapsulating a love that is so strong it’s killing you and yet you can’t stop for the life of you.

But the new demo is perfect. It’s acoustic, and there are no lyrics besides humming and “ooh”ing here and there. It’s in progress. Listening to it feels like you’re walking in on a private moment you shouldn’t be listening to. It changes and shifts as Matt is recording. As a songwriter, I can practically hear him thinking “Well what about this? No, that’s not right. How about this? Oh, yes, I like this.”

So picture this with me:

Imagine Geralt and Jaskier sitting at their camp. It’s their first day back together after one of their little few month breaks. Imagine Geralt sitting on a rock, cleaning his sword from a day’s work. Imagine the campfire crackling, the crickets chirping. Imagine a 28-year-old Jaskier has his notebook and lute out. Geralt likes to hear him play as they wind down for the night, and Jaskier… well Jaskier has been hyperfixating on a song he’s been working on while he and Geralt were apart. He has the lyrics done, but the tune isn’t quite there yet.

The songwriter’s hands itch to play this new one that’s still in progress. It’s like resisting a pull, but this one isn’t one he wants to write in front of Geralt. No, he can’t. But the hyperfixation is too strong, and he moves to pluck the riff as he tries to play other things. Things he knows Geralt likes—

“Play the new one.”

Well fuck.

“It’s uh… a work in progress.”

“I like it. Keep going.”

He can’t say no to Geralt.

“There aren’t any lyrics yet,” he lies.

“That’s fine.”

So he plays the new one. And it sounds something like this: (lyrics for the og are under the cut)

I can't remember when it was good

Moments of happiness elude

Maybe I just misunderstood

All of the love we left behind

Watching our flash backs intertwine

Memories I will never find

So I’ll love whatever you become

Forget the reckless things we’ve done

I think our lives have just begun

I think our lives have just begun

And I'll feel my world crumbling down

Feel my life crumbling now

Feel my soul crumbling away

Falling away

Falling away with you

Staying awake to chase a dream

Tasting the air you're breathing in

I hope I won't forgot a thing

Promise to hold you close and pray

Watching our fantasies decay

Nothing will ever stay the same

And all of the love we threw away

And all of the hopes we've cherished fade

Making the same mistakes again

Making the same mistakes again

And I'll feel my world crumbling down

Feel my life crumbling now

Feel my soul crumbling away

And falling away

Falling away with you

All of the love we left behind

Watching our flash backs intertwine

Memories I will never find

Memories I will never find

[hercolorchaos]

https://www.tumblr.com/hercolorchaos/747391797103411200/shit-gets-said-by-both-jkkrs-and-tkkrs-about-all-3?source=share

And just like that @cocamalfeta blocked me when i asked them to list me some of jimin's "questionable actions" that deserve "Critisism" aka hate from tkkrs @cocamalfeta failed to list even one and blocked me just like i mentioned in yesterday's post that taekookers and all jm antis accuse him of nastiest things but when you ask HOW, WHY you either hear crickets or you get blocked LOL. They very well know they can't even say a single thing against him without outing themselve as jm anti who "Appreciate" him (according to them they appreciate jm 😀) as long as he's away from jk. As long as he's not coming in btw tk as long as he's staying away from jk i know that for a fact. I can recognise a jm anti when i see one i don't even need a expose thread for that cause few scroll to an acct and i can tell who thinks what about him, learned from experience. it's very typical of taekookers, they accuse him of something nasty cause it's not because he did questionable things but it's purely based on their thinking of which action of jm has caused their fantasy to shattered down.

You joined in 2023, started because of jikook, you believed there's something in them then you saw taekookers and their theories you started following them and the more you started believing their theories the more your hatred for jm started growing. Talks about jikookers hating on tae but they go around beliveing Taekooker who make theories of how jk did something with jm to get back at tae cause tae made him jealous lol. Belives jm does fanservice with jk and vise versa because the company wants it. @cocalmalfeta was leaving the fandom but then they again came back because they saw theories of some other taekookers....i mean damnn y'all need a third party to convince you about your ship being real?? So if tmrw someone plays some other theories you gonna change your beliefs again? These are the people who gonna judge jm and call his actions questionable and deserving of hate? The ones who never breath out of shipping bubble who don't care about the art or anything but just shipping are the ones whose going to judge his actions? Brave of you to think you're worthy of that.

Yesterday i asked you to list some jm's actions or accept you're coward then you blocked me which proves you're just a coward who's one in a group of thousands of sheeps who don't think for themselves and that you got nothing to back up your accusations. Stay in your bubble and try making theories about any ship you want without involving jm.

[yandere-toons]

I saw one of the anon ask if your write for underverse.

Do you think you could gives a scenario with yandere nightmar sans? Anything really. Just a small drabble is all I ask:)

WARNING: implied depression, blood, fantasy violence, grief.

WORD COUNT: 3.125

The cloud cover had swallowed the sky in a veil of fog and torrential darkness, but on nights when the crickets sang no more and the frogs kept to the water, it parted under the patchwork of stars waiting to twinkle at the unconscious countryside.

The moon's eye skirted the ribbons of a tattered curtain and fluttered across the wooden frame set atop a bedside table, which bore the crumpled photograph of a family. Those rising curves of joy on their lips, the same assault of happiness his brother oozed like the sun bled heat, drew a low hiss from deep within Nightmare.

The thrashes of a tentacle or two whipping the air overhead punctuated the rumbling crackle rolling between his gritted teeth. Every second he brooded, the shadows of lamps, bedposts, and a chest of drawers thickened and stretched farther. The room grew dank and instinct with pressure until breathing was akin to having a pair of hands wrap around your neck and squeeze.

That facial atrocity had a name; smiles, he recalled, but even the word repulsed him like the acrid stink of vomit. It conjured up visions of two siblings reclining under the shade of a tree swaying with bountiful leaves, of promises made and then broken, of a schism between brother and brother, light and dark.

You played among the joyful souls in the photograph and shared in their touches and sandwiches, looking a far different person than the heap of sweat and nerves turning over in your bed. Nightmare allowed his gaze to linger for a bemused instant before the pull of that bitter edge lurking in his every thought called him back to the happy little fools and their sepia stares.

The willingness with which they shoved at him a sick buoyancy defied his power and mocked his work. The urge to tear that lightsomeness away from them and plunge them into misery began to burn within him, spurring his tentacles to writhe until one whacked the picture frame off the table.

It flew into a spinning collision course with the wall and caromed off it to crack the peace of a fitful sleep. The battered frame thudded against the hardwood floor, lying face down in a pool of glass shards.

You jumped into a scrambled consciousness at the clamour like a cannonade, and your eyes, encrusted with an awkward mix of bleary and vigilant, swept the room in anticipation of some calamity. Motionless and impregnable darkness, perfect camouflage for any terrors, met your search rather than the feared intruder charging through the door or the tremors of an earthquake.

Howling winds raged past your walls and produced a sustained groan approaching something human, a cruel and grotesque imitation of a lost soul calling out. Each gust tapped the windows like the fingers of someone asking to be invited in from the cold.

This shallow comfort allowed you a moment to peel back the sheets, wherein you noticed and floundered with how tangled about you they had become. With a streak of adrenaline pounding as drums in your head, you fumbled out of bed and made a beeline for the light switch protruding from the adjacent wall.

As your next step pressed down upon a sleek and scattered surface, a crunch popped the silence as a needle would a balloon. Sharp pain sliced the sole of your foot, and in the excruciating jolt up your leg, the skin seemed to catch fire.

You clamped your teeth on your lower lip and sucked in a puff of air, withholding the yelp that had leapt to the roof of your mouth. Opening your eyes from a tight squint, you peered down into the shadows and reached out to something by your foot.

The rigid ends and cool, smooth sides of a wooden rectangle slid against your fingertips. The silvery gleaming of crimson droplets on the clear sheen of fragmented glass was reflected in the coarse surface of a wrinkled photograph, its image spotty and worn away around the edges.

Those who helped form some of your happiest memories looked back at you, and this reminder took the pang from your foot and redirected it to an ache in your heart. A wave of dizzying exhaustion and the urge to slump into bed again washed over you, no matter how much you had slept the previous days away.

Time had faded many of their features into obscurity, but the twist of that old contentment they left with you was a wound forever open. You rubbed your thumb across the bumpy, sandpapery face of someone no longer around, and just for a moment, the distant peal of their laughter echoed from a room you had not touched in months.

How sweet to drink from the bottle of grief until you found it had no bottom. The tower of dirty dishes by the kitchen sink rose higher, and each time you chose a third nap over chores, Nightmare got stronger. He fed on your lethargy and silent aches like a flea on a dog's back, every bite taking a little more out of you.

Sleep, once a beloved respite from the agony of an empty house, now plagued you with hair-raising visions of inhuman faces hovering outside your windows, looking in while you had no voice to deter the eyes moving over your body. As you fought against your sheets as if they were a beast at your throat, something insidious whispered for you to fall into that comfortable trap and let the idea of escaping it, the burden of hope, slip away.

In the centre of the bedroom, a sphere of brilliant starlight glimmered in the image of the heavens. Its rays upon you were like the sun on your skin after a bleak and drizzly winter. This beacon promised a better future as it dimmed into the shape of a golden-eyed face, which chased away the darkling tendrils coiling around your bed.

The nips of biting air, once thick enough to drown in, lifted, and you grew weightless, seeming to float between silk sheets instead of your mangy bundle of loose threads, a mattress of clouds rather than your glorified boulder, and a velvet pillow instead of your flat-as-a-board, handmade one.

Dream walked among the dark and the cold and filled it with your fondest smell from childhood. He had no flesh or muscle, a being of pure bone cloaked in the greens of seafoam, the pinks of twilight, and the yellows of gold.

An eternal warmth flowed from him, calming the shakiest voice and stilling the throbs of your pulse to a steady and relaxed rhythm. He glided to your bedside in golden boots and cast one sympathetic look at the draggled sheets before pulling them back to their rightful place, careful not to disturb you as he did so.

Dream hummed a soft melody with the earnest compassion of a parent soothing their child. It was quiet to keep you asleep but distinct enough to spread the snug blanket of security over your thoughts.

The taut lines of veins bulging along your neck and forehead, the ball of pain swelling in your jaw, and the shaky curls of your fingers bunching handfuls of the sheets all started to wane. When you were sinking into your first minute of genuine rest in ages, the mood in the room dove faster than a flightless bird over the side of a cliff.

It was a plunge so steep and abyssal that you cried out at some ghastly vision while Dream staggered as if one wrong footfall away from falling. He recovered in a moment of resigned understanding of what lay behind him, but many more seconds passed before he found the strength to turn and confront the corrupted shell of his brother.

Dream saw the thrill of malice rush onto Nightmare's face as your sounds of distress rang and tilted his head down, hardening his frown. In the privacy of the gloom, Nightmare glowered at Dream with an eye that blazed against the black sludge streaming o'er him.

“Well, always here to spoil my fun, aren't you, brother?” Temptation and menace intertwined in his voice, honeyed and gravelly at once. It snaked through the crisp air and commanded awe with the booming richness of a king, and it burrowed into the back of the mind as whispers beguiling lost souls into letting loose all vices.

The visceral rage with which he spat the word “brother” so contorted his face that all sleeping mortals who looked upon it would have awoken screaming. Around his pupil expanded a vast sea of black, aglow with a fervour that dulled when Dream marched to the end of the bed and stood between him and you.

Nightmare collapsed his exaggerated snarl into a more subdued look of amusement, as though the idea that Dream could block his path was the peak of wishful thinking.

Dream, his eyes never wavering lest a moment's hesitation allowed Nightmare to slink near, swung his hand to the side and swished his lustrous cape. The threat of a golden bow sparked in his open palm, a sight that twisted the corners of Nightmare's mouth like a gulp of sour milk.

“You poisoned their grief, Nightmare. They need to heal.” Dream uttered this sentiment with unflinching certainty and gave to it a sublime voice meant to lighten the spirit of all who heard it; however, to the blackened soul residing in Nightmare, it only starved him.

He fixed a spiteful grin on Dream and widened his eye until it resembled a pit. “They don't want to heal. They're tired.” The venomous spiel rolled from him as it would a demonic salesman, and had you been awake to listen, you would have believed him. “They want to be told it's okay to give up.”

Dream glanced over his shoulder at your tussle with imaginary tormentors, his narrowed eyes pierced with a gleam of pity. He could have implored his brother to make an exception, but asking Nightmare to leave a cry for help untroubled was like the gazelle begging the lion for mercy.

Instead, he was readying another point of argument when an instinctive sweep of his arm deflected the sharp tip of a slender tentacle hurtling towards his skull.

Nightmare retracted the tentacle through a strip of moonlight, allowing it to glisten and weave before disappearing. The faraway ticktock of a clock stressed the passing of each second, baiting an attack from either brother and counting down to the moment when noise so bloodcurdling would rip the air asunder and forever banish peace from the area.

All at once, you sprung to an upright position and wailed as if you might never have the chance again. Your eyes, open wide but seeing nothing, held a glassiness that contrasted with your mindless thrashing at a hidden assailant. You began to hyperventilate between shouts for someone to get out of your house, and the guardian in Dream took hold as he hurried over to stop you from tumbling out of bed.

Before he could land one final step to reach you, a tentacle swooped down and knocked him into the chest of drawers across the room. It clattered and overturned a lamp atop it, which smacked the wood and threatened to roll off the edge. Dream cracked open one eye before the other and unhooked himself from the metallic handles.

Under the wan cover of night, Nightmare appeared to slide over the floorboards like some amorphous blob of black and blue. He eclipsed the moon on your weeping face, his tentacles bobbing on invisible waters and casting writhing shadows upon the wall behind you.

His head snapped towards Dream's weakened but defiant stance, and as flecks of silver silhouetted much of his body, his teeth were distorted into fangs that shone through the ooze cascading down him. A twinge of fear skittered the length of Dream's spine; the creature before him was his brother in name only, having become drunk on your anguish and consumed by a sort of eldritch savagery.

With each shriek rocketing out of you, Nightmare dispersed further into the darkness and outpoured his evil into every crevice. He propelled himself onto a tentacled throne and towered above Dream, who sensed the cold and aching drain of his presence in all directions and scoured for even a fleeting whiff of positive emotion.

The air stood still when Dream glimpsed the needle-like tentacles poised around him in the dark. They awaited a silent order to volley forward and gore him, an order made imminent by the resonant chime of the clock striking a new hour. Against his collarbone sat the round clasp of his cape, which he clutched with one hand overlaying the other.

Dream shut his eyes, tucked his chin into the back of his hand, and visualised a portal to the nearest spark of happiness. A blinding surge of starlight enveloped him, then vanished moments before a tentacle speared the chest of drawers in a shot that would have run through his rib cage.

Nightmare deflated a bit, disappointment gnawing at him that he did not get to see his brother's golden blood splatter the hardwood floor. He yanked his tentacle free of the unlucky drawer, paying no mind to the sizeable hole it had created, and resumed basking in your sorrow like a lizard in the sun.

* * *

A hulking weight sat on your chest, and with every swell of breath you forced down, it sucked half of it back out of your lungs. You might as well have been a pair of eyes without a body, with the absolute numbness coursing through your limbs begging the question of whether they were still attached.

The darkness crept a little closer, bottomless and braver with each sweep of your eye. Waves of black and splotches of silver melded into a gaunt face dripping wet. Malevolence seeped from the monstrous entity pouring out of the unknown depths of that corner, the kind that threw babies into crying fits and ripped frantic barks from every dog in a neighbourhood.

The snowy radiance of a moon free to dominate the sky glinted across teeth whiter than any dentist could hope. They filled out a lipless mouth as the entity, a living nightmare, engulfed the floor and ceiling in an ever-growing current of blackness. His jaw unhinged far beyond the limits of nature to yield a gaping hole lined with vertical strips of muck, each as dark and slippery as a jagged rock hanging in a damp cavern.

A dozen tentacles snaked out his back and pulsated outward, their slender lengths draped in inky slime. He loomed over your paralyzed state and dredged up all memories of fear and pain until your heart thundered with the desire to burst out of you. The sheets tucked in tighter to the point of constriction, and tears brimmed for the silent scream wrenching around your mind.

The place where his right eye should have been was overflowing with tar, and his left eye glowed like the beam of a lighthouse. Turquoise with a tinge of midnight blue watched your struggle and revelled in it with the passion of a vindictive god.

To peer into his eye was to lose yourself down a tunnel that winded through every facet of despair, hatred and horror, to behold a creature who embodied it all and realise you could do nothing but wait. Such a gaze crushed you, and it never even had to touch you.

Periodic buzzes, beginning as a foghorn but then rising to a metallic trill, came and went every few seconds. They invaded the room with an unquenchable urgency that your brain raced to identify, shrilling louder and louder until your body jolted forward in an abrupt return of control.

You inhaled as if having swum from the deep of a lake, but instead of bouncing your forehead off the warped skull, you passed through nothing but clear space. The instant before your eyes began darting, the flicker of a figure dissolved into a patch of darkness in your peripheral vision.

The first rays of dawn shimmered across the hardwood floor and dappled the shadows with all the colours of fire. A clash of pinkish and gilt swirls subsumed much of the dark, delivering you from the trenches of a receding night to the peach-tinted embrace of a day starting anew.

The jarring call of a telephone poked your ears and vibrated on a round table in the corridor.

Following you to the bedroom doorway was the impulse to ignore that plea for your attention and continue languishing beneath the same old sheets. The ease with which you could lay back down and slip away from everything tapped you on the shoulder and beckoned you to sleep.

Dust bunnies wafted after your feet, which you heaved and then slammed down again a mite closer to the ringing as if wading through the reeds of a billabong. A slew of thoughts on the taxing demands of holding a conversation, on the dreadful risk of exposing how badly you were drowning, tugged at you like an impatient child.

When you picked up the cooling metal of that telephone, the voice of a dear friend hit you as a refreshing breeze on a hot day. They talked to you and listened even if you let out a sombre remark or stumbled over familiar words, a nearly forgotten sound, like a song unheard for years. Eventually, they said, “How about lunch at your favourite place today? My treat.”

You hugged the cord with each finger of one hand, and with the other hand, you pressed the cradle to your abdomen. A dab of moisture started to blur your vision, enabling you to take a breath without the air of heartsickness that had milled around the home for so long.

Watching you lean into the handset, into that faint voice daring to help, and allow yourself the ghost of a smile was like acid on Nightmare's eye. The frenzy of hunger stabbed him as the intoxicating taste of misery, a minute ago so bountiful, was evaporating.

What rapture it would be, twining one of his tentacles around that interloper's neck and squeezing until they never spoke another word. The vision of their bulgy eyes reddening as they clawed at the tentacle in vain, forced to look him squarely in the face and give every detail of their agony, to entreat his mercy only to be denied, flashed to him.

It kept him in the shadows and replayed before his mind's eye, each time seeming nearer to reality, to soothe the roaring emptiness in his stomach.

[steddiebang]

change your mind

Author: @helix_stomper l Artist: @horsegirleddiemunson Posting on Monday, October 16

After his breakup with Nancy, Steve Harrington keeps it a secret that he hasn’t made an effort to meet his soulmate. When he accidentally wakes up next to them a few days after his 18th birthday, he’s surprised to find that it’s not only another guy, but somebody else in Hawkins. Between losing all his old friends, learning how not to be an asshole, and balancing his newfound sexuality in a closed-minded town, Steve has his work cut out for him. Eddie Munson doesn’t believe in soulmates, but that doesn’t stop him from waiting in the dreamscape every night for his. Balancing life as an openly queer, drug-dealing super senior in Hawkins, Indiana is no cakewalk, especially with Billy Hargrove on his ass. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something to that whole soulmate thing after all. Hawkins is rough, but it's home. Warnings for homophobic language, slight violence, and Billy Hargrove. Modern AU with no Upside Down, obvious canon divergence, and a funky twist on soulmates.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Like all high-schoolers (even as a super senior), Eddie went to bed far too late. It was quarter till three when he climbed into bed, freshly showered and easily attuned to the concertos of crickets outside his open window that replaced the heavy music he’d blasted all evening. Despite what legalities would claim otherwise, Eddie was very much Wayne’s son in all the ways that mattered. Meaning, of course, that as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

And then he woke up.

Doctors said it was bad to enter the dreamscape every night. Said it took too much mental energy to keep up, kept you away from hitting that sweet old REM, that your body and mind wouldn’t be as well rested as it could be. Eddie generally ignored the advice. He might let himself fall asleep normally every now and then, but most nights? 

It wasn’t that he was eager to meet his soulmate. Quite the contrary, really. Eddie mourned the day that his soulmate arrived, and he lost his sanctuary in the dark. He treated the dreamscape like his own personal respite. A place that was all his own, where no one else could go. Of course, there was someone else who could come here, but he chose to ignore that tidbit most days. After all, it’d been his space for a whole year now. Nearly two, once December hit. 

He woke up as he always did. To an unending, unyielding darkness. He stretched his arm out in front of him, above and reaching for the ceiling. He felt it go out, knew that if he pulled it back and touched his face it’d be real. But he didn’t see it. He knew his eyes were open. He blinked them a few times, but to no avail. 

Eddie used the dreamscape for a multitude of purposes. Most of all, he used it to think. DnD, his dealings, sometimes he’d practice finger placements for whatever song he was learning on the guitar, and other times he’d just think about life. About Hawkins, about leaving it, about whether he’d ever look back. 

People treated their soulmates like they were their own personal Build-A-Bears. It was fantasy; a cruel joke played on them all by the universe. Eddie couldn’t even talk to people normally in real life. How the hell was he supposed to talk to and fall in love with a total stranger? One he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and could barely touch? 

Love wasn’t easy. Couldn’t be. Love was work. He saw it every day, in the way Wayne always made sure there was something for Eddie to eat before he went to work. He read it in his novels, in daring heroes going through physical and mental torture to keep their loved ones safe. Time traveling thousands of years in the past, all to make your way back to them. 

There had to be more to it all than meeting in the dark. It couldn’t be that easy. 

He was content to believe it. Ready for another long night alone in the darkness. Just the way he liked it. 

Until, of course, he rolled over onto his side, stretching his arms out in front of him, and felt something that was far too warm and far too solid to be a pillow.

Oh, god fucking dammit.

Steve fell asleep on the floor of the pool house in a stupor.

Then he woke up.

He was a little sluggish with it, at first. He didn’t realize what was going on. He blinked his eyes open, one at a time, and waited for his eyes to adjust into the darkness of the room. Didn’t remember making it to his bed. But he felt the soft cotton sheets beneath him.

Steve closed his eyes again, sighing into his pillow as he adjusted himself, turning to lay down on his stomach. Who knew? Maybe he’d smother himself in his sleep, and he wouldn’t have to worry about Nancy, or school, or his Dad, or anything at all.

He had just about fallen asleep again when he felt something prod at his side. 

Steve’s eyes blinked open, almost delirious with it. Had he imagined it? He must have. God, that had to be a new low. He was so goddamn lonely, he was imagining someone in bed next to him. Fucking fantastic. 

With a groan, he smashed his face into his pillow, arms coming up to wrap around it as he closed his eyes again. God knew what time it was. He needed to get some sleep, so his headache in the morning didn’t absolutely split his head open—

Steve’s eyes shot wide open when there was a second touch. This time, undeniably, a hand placed firmly on his shoulder. What the—?

He froze, partially from fear, partially because, well, he was still very drunk and he had no idea what the fuck to do about someone being in his bed when he didn’t even know how the hell he got there himself. Had he gone out? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t conjure anything in his mind but the tiles of the pool house, cool beneath his legs, and a bottle of expensive whiskey between his thighs.

There was a brief moment where all Steve did was breathe. Then, the hand on his shoulder started moving.

More specifically, it started tapping. 

Steve was never very good with learning other languages. dreamscape code, while technically not another language, was not implicit from that. Steve struggled with it all through elementary school, never scoring higher than a B on tests and quizzes.

But he and Nancy had been practicing, secret messages between them on each other’s legs during dinner, and Steve had probably gotten more practice in the last few months than he had in years prior. There was no way he wasn’t still drunk, not with how long it took his brain to catch up, to make sense of the taps and translate them into words. 

‘It’s about time. You kept me waiting long enough.’ 

Read more on October 16!

[dreamingofep]

Strangers in the Crowd pt. 11

(Elvis/Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No, just another one of my delusional fantasies.

Prompt: You and your best friend are on your annual girls trip and go to see Elvis at the International.

Little did you know this would be a show you'll never forget. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, teasing/ tension, SMUTTT, oral sex,outside sex, daddy kink, spanking, the usual really dirty stuff.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)

Word Count: 4.1K

A/N: Hello everyone! Its summer in Graceland and it hot 😏 if you know what I mean😉 Like I said previously, this fic is coming to its end very soon but I have other stories coming soon to that I’m VERY excited about and cannot wait to tell you more.

I'm so glad you've been liking this story so much! I also mentioned earlier that I’m also posting my fics on Ao3 so you can read my stuff there too if you want!☺️

This has been so much fun to write and hear your reactions! Enjoy! Sorry for any spelling mistakes or overall goofs.

Feel free to message me or comment what you think! 🖤

The Memphis sun baked into your skin today and radiated its warmth through your body. You were soon discovering how hot Memphis can get in the summers and you were not prepared for that by any means. The one nice thing about it was how your skin had a nice glowing tan now, one that matched Elvis’.

The first few weeks living at Graceland was something out of a dream. It felt wonderful to be with Elvis every day and get to know each other on a deeper level. He was so catering and his southern hospitality really shined through to make sure you felt like you were right at home. Anything you wanted, he would get you to make you the happiest while you were staying here. You didn’t have time to pack before you and Elvis got on his plane to go straight to Memphis. To be completely honest, you didn’t want to see anyone try and convince you to stay, and after the events that happened with your parents, you definitely didn’t want to hear it.

Elvis bought you an entire new wardrobe that was completely unnecessary, but was so generous of him to do that for you. You could tell a lot of the outfits were hand-picked by him based on how revealing some of them were.

It was an adjustment living with so many people all the time. The house was constantly buzzing until the later parts of the night, where you can hear the crickets sing and the house finally came to a still.

Night falls, and you decide to go for a swim. Elvis isn’t anywhere to be found so you’ll just go in by yourself. He has been a bit high-strung since he is opening in Vegas once again in a few days. He had been rehearsing in Los Angeles the last few weeks, going back and forth from there, and back to Memphis every few days to try to get the show perfect. This was going to be his third time playing in Vegas and wanted to make sure the show was fresh and exciting still. You assured him that it was going to be great, but he’s too much of a perfectionist to relax until it’s actually done. The added pressure of having it professionally filmed also weighed on him. MGM was filming six shows for this new movie so that meant Elvis has to find new songs for such. You wanted him to relax when he was home but he couldn’t fully enjoy the quiet. He was always picking up a guitar and playing or going to the piano.

This meant he was less attentive to you and your needs. Not that you were being selfish, it was just how it was. You respected that he was so dedicated of an artist that his craft was the most important thing to him. You knew this next show was going to be even better than what you experienced, and that’s saying a lot.

He’d show affection always, but the more close, intimate moments were brief, if at all present.

You didn’t take it personally, you understood, but you wanted him desperately. You wanted to find the right time to get him alone, and have him take you right there, no questions asked.

After rummaging through your drawer to find the right swimsuit, you decide to go with the high-waisted two-piece one with the cherry pattern on it. You grab a towel from the bathroom and go back downstairs to the pool.

You place your towel on one of the reclining sun chairs and dip your toes into the dark aqua pool. It was cool and brought a slight shiver to you, but with the blazing sun beating down on it all day made it feel like the perfect temperature to cool off at night. You quickly jump in and get the instant satisfaction of being able to feel so much more comfortable.

The pool isn’t large by any means, but big enough to do laps and get a nice workout in.

As you do your laps, your mind continues to wander to needing Elvis. You knew he wanted you too by just the look in his eye, but his mind was somewhere else and probably didn’t find it right to give you half of his attention when it came to that sort of stuff.

You take a break from swimming and float on your back, getting to stare at the shining stars twinkling in the sky.

“Well what do we have here,” Elvis teases.

You pop your head up to the sound of his voice and see him standing on the other side of the pool, wearing a pink short sleeve button up with black pants. His eyes have this wild child like glint of mischief when he looks at you.

“Nothing that would interest you,” you tease back. He chuckles softly and walks to the side of the pool you’re on.

“It looks like something I’d like,” he says, crouching down to see you closer. You swim closer to him, hanging onto the ledge of the pool by your fingertips, looking up at him between his legs.

“Why don’t you come in here and find out if it’s something you like,” you jest.

A devious smirk arises from him, “I see just fine right here baby.”

You reach out and pull at his shirt, popping off the first button. He looks down at the pearl pink button fall onto the concrete.

You stare pleadingly at him, the light beaming behind him from the back door fixture, cascading a shadow over him making him look like an angel. His golden tan skin gleaming and his black hair dancing in the breeze. Your hand continues to work his shirt buttons, trying to feel his skin touching yours.

“Come in baby, get those pants off,” you coo.

He lets out a exasperated laugh, “woman you know what I’m wearing under here,” he says smugly.

Yep you do… nothing.

“Are you being shy E? You don’t want to let little Elvis free for a swim?” You say cunningly.

His face flushed and he shakes his head at you in disbelief.

“I swear to God woman…” he trails off.

A devious little idea pops in your head and want to tease him further, make him have to get in here and pay attention to you. Your hands reach around to your back and untie the straps around your rib cage. Once they are free, you lift the top off your neck and throw it at his feet, making a splashing noise when it hits the ground.

“What do you think you’re doing?,” his voice full of concern and slight agitation.

“Nothing, I don’t know what you mean,” You say innocently. You bring you hands out to your side, kicking off the wall of the pool and away from him. Your chest elevates as you swim away and your nipples rise above the water, hardened by the cool water. His eyes grow in shock, checking over his shoulder to the back sliding door and the kitchen windows that no one was looking at the scene you were making.

“Y/n you better put this back on right now. I don’t want anyone seeing you like this,” he says firmly, his voice controlled and unplayful.

You shake your head no at him, swimming further away from him, drawing him to follow you to the other side of the pool. Your hands go back under water and pull your bottoms down, bringing them to the surface and ringing them out before throwing them in Elvis’ direction. His jaw drops and his eyes darken.

“Honey, I’m not playing with you, you better put these back on right now,” he growls. You know you should be carful, you’ve seen how his temper can flare when you don’t listen. But you didn’t care. You wanted his attention and this is how you were going to get it.

“Nope. Not until you get in here with me,” you sayin a snarky tone.

Elvis frustratedly throws your swim suit down on the ground and jumps in the pool after you. You quickly swim to the other side as you see him come up for air, wiping his hair out of his face, searching for you with wild eyes.

“Y/n, come here,” He barks. “You want someone to see you like this?!”

You can’t help but giggle at the rise you’re getting out of him.

“You’re going to have to come get me before I put any clothes back on,” you tease.

Staying in the deep end of the pool, you try to dodge him and swim away from him. Both of you are getting out of breath and your legs are getting tired. You can’t help but laugh at how serious he’s being right now. It’s a rare occasion when Elvis is dead serious and not cracking a joke. But the thought of one of the guys seeing you naked makes his blood boil and his temper flare off.

He catches up with you and pins you to the side of the pool wall, fire blazing wildly in his eyes as he grabs your arms stilling you. You’re in the middle of the pool and your feet don’t touch the ground anymore. He still stands up fine and gives him more leverage to pin you here and control your movements.

“I thought you knew how to listen to me after all this time, but instead you’ve just become more of an insolent little brat hmm?”

You push your hips into him and let out a soft sigh out, liking the much needed attention of his body on yours.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say innocently.

“Oh, don’t you do that with me. I’m not gonna have that. You want someone to see you naked?” He fumes.

You take a second to look at his face, seeing the clear frustration but nonetheless beautiful and very distracting.

“If I were to say yes… is daddy going to punish me?” You say in a hushed whisper, your hand wandering down underwater to his bulge, squeezing it in your hand and watching him jump.

He looks at you in shock, waiting for you to say anything else.

“Yes, I’ll have to show you who you belong to,” he growls. “No other man gets to see you naked but me,” possessiveness dripping off his tongue. He lets go of you and gets out of the pool.

He stands in front of you, his clothes dripping wet and clung to his body, showcasing his best assets right in front of you. He looks so inviting, so handsome, you want to get on your knees for him right now.

“Get out of the pool,” he commands.

“You want to at least grab my towel,” you say snappy.

He makes a snide chuckle, “Since you don’t care if anyone will see you, thought you wouldn’t need one.” He barks.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smirking, knowing your little game is working.

“No you’re right baby. That was a silly thing to ask for,” you say challengingly.

You wade over to the steps to get out of the pool and step out, brushing back your wet hair out of your face and letting it fall on your back.

The look on his face on priceless, the disbelief that you would actually walk around naked out of the pool so confidently shocks him to the core.

You walk by him, flicking your wet hair in his direction and walking to the lounging chairs where you had left your pool towel. His eyes burn holes into your backside watching you walk away. You nonchalantly pat your body dry, ringing your hair out, and taking a seat on the chair. You stretch your arms out above you and let them dangle off the chair. You hear his footsteps coming toward you and he stops right in front of you.

“You think this is a game?” He questions harshly. “I’m not going to ask again,” he cautioned.

You shake your head no at him, reaching to touch his cock again, feeling him tense up.

“Daddy’s going to have to teach you a lesson,” he growls, grabbing your wrist tightly, pulling your hand away from him.

Your core throbs at his words, needing his undivided attention more than anything.

“I’m going to need a long, in-depth lesson before I fully understand, daddy, and then I’ll listen” your words with an icy edge.

You reach for the towel behind your head and stand up, wrapping it around yourself and tucking in the corner at your breast.

Reaching down for his top button of his pants, you push the button through and slide down his zipper. You reach your hand into his pants and wrap your hand around his shaft, moving it up and down slowly.

“Daddy, please forgive me. I promise I’ll listen,” you coo.

You feel him get hard in your hand and watch as he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, fighting the urge to succumb to you. The heat radiating off of him felt suffocating and made you want to crumble at his feet even easier than you could imagine.

He spins your body around, making it so his back is facing the back door and windows.

“Get on your knees and show me how sorry you are,” he commands, his fingers tracing the hem of the towel resting on your breasts. He pulls it down off of you, leaving you standing naked in front of you. The darkness of the night didn’t stop his eyes from glimmering with that mischievous glint.

“Mhmm, yes daddy,” you say softly, sinking to your knees at his feet.

He pulls his cock and balls out of his pants and glides his hand over his shaft, stroking it sprightly.

“Open that mouth for me baby,” he quips.

You obey and open your mouth, waiting for his tip to touch your tongue.

He pushes his hips forward, plunging his cock to the back of your throat. You instantly gag, not ready for his long length to be inside you like this. You squeeze onto the back of his thigh with your hands, needing to take some of his length out of you.

His hands reach into your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him.

“You’re gonna take this cock like a good girl. Take your punishment for not listening to me,” he growls. You whimper at his instructions, opening your mouth once again for him.

He lets out a pleased groan and puts his cock back inside your mouth, keeping the firm grip he has in your hair.

He fucks your mouth vigorously, making the most vile sounds come out of you and drool spilling from the slides of your mouth.

He changes pace and starts to push your head forward, taking in more of his cock while he keeps his hips still. You flatten your tongue out on the bottom of his shaft and watch as he lets out a breathy moan. You can’t help but smile that you can make such noises come out of him.

You try to suck as much as he would let you, letting out moans as he pulled out of you to let you breathe. Your hand slowly inches for his balls, cupping them softly and massaging them lightly in your hand. He pushes his hips forward as he feels you doing this, having you take his entire length in your mouth. You lick at the base of his cock, hearing his deep groans that fill the otherwise still night. Putting more pressure on his balls, you feel him tense in your mouth.

He groans and moves his hips slower while he’s inside you. You’re almost sure he’s going to cum like this, but he pulls his length out of your mouth and has you just focusing on his head and massaging his balls in your hand.

“Oh fuck mama, yes,” he gasps pulling himself out of you, “use your mouth on my balls now,” he directs as you gasp for air.

You eagerly take his shaft in your hand and start jerking it, placing your mouth near his sac. You give one long lick causing him to gasp. You use your fingertips to push his sac to your mouth, wanting to suck on one of his balls and shower him with attention.

You suck on one and his cock twitches in your hand. You test how much pressure you can put to make him groan the most. You lick and suck on his balls while still slowly jerking him off in your hand. You love the sounds he’s making, sounding like sweet music to your ears.

You had never done this before so it did make you a little nervous, but you would experiment with what he liked. Like the rest of him, his balls were large and heavy making your mouth water for him. He lets out a loud gasp as your tongue swirls around his teste, bringing a new pleasure to him when you have it inside your mouth.

He pulls you away from him, leaving a sucking pop sound with you release his ball from your mouth.

“Fuck mama, you’re killing me,” he says breathlessly. You can’t help but giggle slightly at his reaction to all of it. You could keep going if he would let you but he lets out a frustrated grumble as you look up at him with his cock still in your hand.

He doesn’t like the reaction from you, he doesn’t want to hear you enjoying your punishment for acting out so childishly. “Your punishment isn’t over yet baby. Get up.”

Elvis tucks himself back into his wet slacks and reaches for the towel that’s fallen on the floor to cover you, wrapping his arms around your torso and picking you up. He makes long, quick strides into the cool, air conditioned house, sneaking you down to the basement and into the jungle room.

He placed your body face down over the arm of the couch sitting in the middle of the room, your hands stretched out in front of you holding yourself up.

“You’re such a bad girl, always liking your punishments too much.” He grabs your hair again, pulling your head back and places a hard spank on your ass. The pain of it spreads through you like wildfire making you cry out.

“Elvis!” You say loudly, squirming out of his touch. He stills you putting a firmer grip on your hair and your hip. His hand comes down again and the sound of the spank is the only sound that fills the room. You let out another cry, hearing Elvis make a guttural noise.

“Elvis, Please!” You beg.

His hand comes down again and your eyes fill with water, pleasure seeping through when he gives another spank.

“Ah fuck,” you whimper.

His hands caress the swell of your ass, getting dangerously close to your folds. You feel your wetness pool more, making you want him badly. His fingertips brush your folds and the wetness spilling out of them. You push your hips back into his fingers more, wanting him to plunge them knuckle deep inside you. You hear him start to peel his wet clothes off of himself behind you and throw them to the side.

“Daddy, please,” you cry.

“You just love when daddy gives you attention Hmm?” He asks.

“Mhmmm, yes daddy I’ve missed you,” you groan.

“I know baby, being such a good little slut for me.”

His tip rubs against your folds as he continues to praise you. With a grunt, he plunges his cock inside you, stuffing you to the hilt. Both of you loudly groan and cry for more. You drive your hips back with him, wanting him to take you rough.

“Fuck me daddy,” you gasp, pushing your hips back with his.

Elvis cusses and lets out a pent up groan, making your pussy throb. He keeps one hand on your hip, using it as leverage when he snaps his hips into you, the other slithered down from your hair and wrapped around the front of your neck, keeping a light pressure on it, giving you a delicious tingling sensation.

His thrusts are hitting all the right places and with how sexually needy you’ve been, it’s not going to take very much to make you finish. He knows it too. The sounds you’re making for him tells him how good he’s making you feel and that you can’t take very much.

Suddenly he pulls out of you, leaving you breathless and begging for more.

“Baby, please. Don’t stop,” you pant, looking over your shoulder.

“Have you learned your lesson? Are you going to pull a little stunt like that again?” He questions.

“No daddy, I won’t I promise.” You plead.

He pulls your upper body up and goes to sit on the couch, his long legs spread out and his cock getting lazily tugged on in his hand.

“Then come and ride daddy. I want you to finish like this,” he beckons.

You stare at the man before you and get a chill just looking at him. You nod your head at him in compliance and straddle his frame. You hover over his cock, he lines you up and pushes your hips down onto him, sinking your wet heat all the way down his shaft. He cusses with how tight you feel and you feel the throbbing begin to feel unconsolable.

You glide yourself up again and watch his face this time as you sink back down on him hard. His face forms into pleasure, his eyes looking into yours, then down along your breasts as they begin to bounce as you ride him faster. He groans loudly, sending an electric shock to your core by just the sounds he makes when he’s getting fucked.

Your hands grip tightly in his wet hair as you ride him, not being able to get enough of him.

He leans his head back onto the couch, letting you take most of the control. He still has his hands on your hips, squeezing them tightly.

The coil and heat in your belly feels like it’s going to unravel any second now and he knows it. Your whimpers and moans increase as you swivel your hips back and forth, rubbing your clit on him in the process.

He stills you suddenly, making a shrill cry come out of you. He bores those serious blue eyes into you and bites his lip.

“Do you deserve to cum baby?” He asks.

You gasp and try to move your hips down but he won’t let you until you answer him.

“Yes, daddy, make me cum please. I’ve been a good girl,” you gasp.

He sinks you back down on him and helps you move up and down in his length. His fingers find your bud and rubs it like only he can.

Before you know it, your vision is filled with stars and you scream his name. He groans loudly when he watches you cum all over him, squeezing his cock and gasping for breath.

He finishes deep inside you, his member pulsating quick, thick spurts of his seed. You keep riding him even though your body is becoming exhausted. You don’t really know when the next time you’ll get him like this so you want to selfishly stay on him as long as you can.

Elvis grunts when you continue to grind on him and he sees your pleasure filled face riding him into oblivion.

“Mama, you’re gonna have to slow down you’re killin’ me,” he says gently through gasps.

You try and catch your breath, grabbing into his shoulders and calming yourself down.

“Sorry baby I got excited,” you tease.

“I’m not going anywhere baby. You can get more later if you want it. You don’t have to act out like a little devil to get my attention.” He assures.

You pauses looking away, “I know but you’ve been so busy. I didn’t want to bother you…” you trail off.

The look of realization washes over his face and his eyes grow sorrowful.

“Oh god baby, is that what this was all about? I haven’t been very attentive have I? Oh honey I’m so sorry,” he says pulling you in to embrace.

“It’s okay honey I know you’re under a lot of pressure. I didn’t want to distract.”

He looks at you smugly, “you are my favorite distraction though. Please tell me if you need something you know I’ll do it for you,” he says sweetly.

You nod your head and smile, “okay honey. I will I promise.”

“Good girl. Let’s get you upstairs so I can ruin you some more,” he says devilishly.

“Elvis! You need your rest before opening night. I can’t be the one held responsible for keeping you up all night. I’ll be fine,” you say exasperated.

“We’ll how about this, the show opens in three days, and I promise to get rest and be in top shape for the shows. But,” he pauses and pulls your chest to his, “I’m not going to let you sleep the first night we’re there. I want to ruin that perfect pussy of yours,” he says in a low sensual whisper.

Your heart skips when you hear him talk to you like this, “okay daddy.”

•

•

•

Tagging🩵: @powerofelvis @plasticfantasticlOver @burninlovebutler @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @elvispresleyxoxo

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @rosepresley @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog @myradiaz @lookingforrainbows @elvispresleygf @tacozebra051 @thatbanditqueen

@18Ikpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873 @austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis @everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy @elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony @generoustreemystic @kendralavon7

[shuyui-nether]

My Blue Sky

Prologue: AO3

Summary: Her hair was shiny like sun in the blue sky. I want her to be my blue sky.

The air in the forest was dark and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of crickets and the howling of wolves. While the moonlight was shining its light on the ground through the clouds, the forest was filled with the sound of four children running and panting.

Four children were running in the forest and running away from an unknown danger. Their bodies were completely wounded and their clothes were muddy and dirty, and the holes in the forest made them fall down many times and get up again.

"Hurry up... keep going... we mustn't give up now....."

The boy who was running ahead of all of them with dark black hair motivated them to continue their journey faster.

*TIMESKIP*

Four children had escaped from the orphanage and are now lost in the forest. After running a very long distance, they are now trying to rest a bit. While their body is wounded and sweating and still panting, the older boy tries to cover the wound on his elbow to stop the bleeding.

The little boys were each sitting in a corner of the forest and trying to regain their energy so that they could continue moving and find a safe place.

"Ruki..... how much..... more... do we.... have to run?"

Azusa, the youngest boy, while his face was full of wounds and all his clothes were torn, looked at the older boy with tired eyes and asked him. It seemed that the hard and long journey had tired them all.

"Don't worry guys. We succeeded. We escaped from that hell. You don't have to worry anymore."

Ruki tried to calm his friends by saying sweet words. He looked at each of his friends and realized how disappointed they were. To wander without any home in the cruel world of humans made them despair. But Ruki did not want to give in to these simple things.

"Kou, Yuma, Azusa... don't be afraid anymore. We escaped from the real hell and now we are free. We continue on our way to find a safe place. And there we build a house for ourselves. We don't need anyone because we have each other and that's enough. From now on, the four of us are brothers and we always take care of each other."

Ruki's look was full of motivation. He now introduced his friends in the place of his brothers and swore to take care of them forever.

"You are right, Ruki. Guys, we will be together forever and we will take care of each other. Kou and Azusa, I swear I will take care of you and Ruki with all my heart."

Yuma smiled sweetly and walked over to his new brothers and held out his hand for them to take his hand and officially become brothers. Tired and injured children held each other's hands and promised to stay together forever and take care of everyone. They ended this vow with a warm and lasting hug.

*TIMESKIP*

The children in the forest were fast asleep except for one. While trying to soothe his pain by caressing his wounds, Kou was staring at the sky and looking at the stars.

Her golden hair covered her turquoise crystal eyes and her earthy face looked at the sky with great love. It seems that he has received a valuable gift and wants to stare at it for hours.

"The sky is beautiful. I like to see the blue sky when the sun shines."

The child mumbled and reached up to the sky to touch it. As much as he can play with the stars with his hands. He was so engrossed in watching the sky that he didn't even notice how fast time was passing.

"You are not from here."

Kou, who was engrossed in watching the sky, a voice caught his attention. At first, he thought it was a fantasy, but when he looked closely, he noticed that a little girl was watching him from among the bushes.

The girl seemed to be much younger than him. She was short and thin with pale skin and beautiful fluffy hair that was the color of the sun. At first, he thought that the girl was a ghost, but when he looked at her a little more, he realized how beautiful she was. She looked like angels.

"Who are you?"

Kou, who was startled by the presence of the girl in the forest in the middle of the night, tried to ask the girl her name. But the girl did not answer him.

"Can you come forward? I want to see you better."

Kou asked the girl to come out of the bushes and go under the moonlight so that Kou could see her better. The girl who tried to hold Kou's hand for a moment stopped her voice. It was the sound of Kou's stomach that made Kou blush in embarrassment.

"You are hungry."

The little girl whispered in an innocent voice. Her voice was so cute and calm that it was lost in the sound of the forest wind and the sound of crickets.

"Come with me."

The girl, who realized that he was hungry, asked him to go with her. Still confused, Kou followed the girl without saying a word. After a few minutes, they left the forest and reached a church.

"I didn't even know there was a church nearby. Maybe there is someone there who can help me and my brothers."

After a few minutes, Yui came back from inside the church and brought a basket full of red and fresh apples for Kou. The apples were very beautiful, they shone like precious gems and made Kou hungry.

"Come... take this basket and take it with you. You are hungry. I'm sure your brothers are hungry too. Take this and share with them."

Kou was staring at the innocent and beautiful eyes of the girl who offered him a basket full of apples and had a sweet smile on his face. Kou had not given her anything, but this girl was so kind that she gave him such a great favor.

Kou slowly took the basket of apples from the girl's delicate hands. He was so happy that tears flowed from his eyes.

"Thank you... you are very kind.... Now tell me what should I do to compensate you?"

According to his childish habit, Kou expected the girl to ask for something in return for the basket of apples. He had grown up in a place where no one did anything for free and he doubted that this girl would not be like them.

The little girl who was surprised by Kou's words smiled sweetly and took out a small handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned the dirt on Kou's face and showed him a bright smile that made Kou blush.

"Kindness is always free... I don't ask for anything from you..."

The two children were staring into each other's eyes. He was immersed in a beautiful paradise. It was like a dream and he didn't want to wake up. He wished to remain in this dream forever and ever.

In response, Kou smiled at the girl and took her hand. At this moment, the sun rose and a beautiful blue sky appeared. Kou looked at the sky. To the sky he always wished to watch. He looked at a girl holding his hand and noticed that her face was shining in the beautiful light of the sunrise. She really looked like a goddess. As if Kou had found a more beautiful sky in the little girl's heart.

"Kou... where are you..."

Kou, who was immersed in that sweet moment, realized that his brothers were calling him.

"Your brothers are waiting for you."

The girl who gave him a sweet smile whispered softly and let go of his hand and went towards the church. She turned back to say goodbye to Kou for the last time.

"Maybe one day we will meet again."

The childish and delicate voice of the girl caused a sweet smile to appear on Kou's face. Kou waved to the girl and went to the forest to join his brothers. He suddenly realized that he still did not know the girl's name.

"Hey... you haven't told me your name yet..."

Kou, who had quickly returned to ask the girl's name, realized that the girl had disappeared. She's back inside the church and Kou misses his last chance to find out her name.

Kou, who was disappointed by the girl's disappearance, looked at the basket full of apples in his hands. The apples arrived very fresh and juicy and he couldn't wait to share them with his brothers.

He was about to turn back when something shiny on the ground caught his attention. Kou walked closer and bent down to look at it more closely. It was a head flower decorated with three different colors. This was the head flower that the beautiful girl tied in her hair and it showed that none of this was a dream and all of this was real.

Kou reached out to the head flower and picked it up. It was really beautiful and looks even more beautiful in the girl's golden hair. Kou caressed the head flower gently and put it in his pocket.

"One day... I will find you again. I will give you this then."

Glancing at the church one last time, Kou smiled and took the basket back in his hand and turned back towards the forest. Where his brothers were waiting for him. With the hope that one day he will see that girl again and admire that beautiful sky in her heart again.

When Kou returned to his brothers, he noticed the presence of a strange man next to them, who was smiling at him and holding their hands.

The strange man who noticed Kou's presence smiled at him and walked towards him with slow steps. He knelt down to his height and gently stroked his head.

"I will fulfill your wish. And I will give you eternal life. Tell me what do you want?"

The strange man with long white hair and wearing a black cloak smiled at Kou and extended his hand towards him. Kou was staring at him in shock and knew that this opportunity would only be given to him once. He hesitantly extended his hand to the stranger and his delicate fingers took his hand and accepted his offer.

"I want to see that blue sky again. Only that sky and she will be mine."

[welcome-to-ratterrock]

I'm curious, if the cast have any hobbies they do in their free time or to relax?

(The world is too chaotic, hope they all have a peaceful day😔)

Thank you so much for sending this, the crew definitely needs those moments of relaxation and fun…

Locke loves playing his viola, playing music is very therapeutic for him, releasing the tension and giving voice to the emotions it is so very hard for him to speak about. Like the violin it’s an instrument that elicits haunting sounds and sadness, but it’s darker and richer in tone. He gets so ticked off when people mistake it for a violin. 

He likes reading nonfiction books, with the exception of a few novels, and also enjoys attending concerts where he can close his eyes and sink into the music like water…but because his work is so important to him, he doesn’t really make time for himself to do such things. 

Once upon a time, he loved playing chess with Regal. 

Regal plays the piano, a versatile instrument adept at both classic and contemporary music. Playing is very therapeutic for him, releasing tension and turmoil and allowing him a way to “speak” to the emotions so many would be horrified by. 

He loves to read a variety of different things, nonfiction and novels and plays and poetry and essays, and enjoys attending the theater as well. However, due to his work, he’s very busy and hasn’t had much time to himself. 

Once upon a time, he loved playing chess with Locke. 

Sorcha adores reading, and her absolute favorite book is “The Phantom of the Opera” - she’s very proud to have a first edition in her personal library! She is very much a patron of the arts in general, always looking for new art galleries and museums to explore, theaters and shows to attend. She also loves being wealthy enough to be able to shop at high fashion stores for all sorts of treasures to adorn herself with, and all the owners are thrilled that a beauty like her wears their wares…

Lorcan’s biggest passion is boxing, he’s an absolute legend in the ring and loves to lose himself in a good match, facing off with a worthy opponent. He also loves swimming as well but doesn’t get to do it too much, which is a shame as it really helps with his aches and pains. For quieter moments he likes to whittle and play cards. 

Rilla’s biggest passion is dancing, a love that her mother passed onto her, it is her joy and her escape from whatever weighs her down. She also LOVES designing and sketching dresses and clothing, and would love to bring her creations to life but she’s never been able to find someone to teach her how to sew. She also is known in her social circle to be a dab hand at crafting some stunning flower crowns. 

Lu loves to write, especially stories about magic and fantasy and girls finding themselves through challenges. She visits the library and bookshops whenever she can. She also enjoys watercolors, especially landscapes and flowers. 

Brig was taught to box by her father and she’s been a devoted boxer ever since, and is an absolute beast in the ring. She finds working out to be very relaxing as well, a good way to center herself and enjoy the burn of her body. 

Bogdan loves composing music, he’s very talented and likes to take his inspiration from the natural world. He’s also avid about charting the stars, and spends much of his time studying the skies.

Casimir will actually be gaining a hobby in the comic! But as for right now, he loves playing cards and gambling, especially when the stakes are high…

Clifford likes good old fashioned English hunting, shooting after crickets and beetles and birds (they aren’t sentient in this world). 

Thank you again for sending this! As we introduce more characters I’m gonna come back to this post and reblog it with their favorite hobbies, this was a wonderful character exploration exercise. And it doesn’t even touch on what the couples like to do together…

[blakbonnet]

15 QUESTIONS FOR 15 FRIENDS

Thanks @rosettyller @spirker @kiwistede @gentlebeardsbarngrill @edsbacktattoo @lisahafey @eye-scream-girls @gntlbrd and @michaelsheens for the tag❤️

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? my parents named me after a manuscript because they were giant history nerds, part one of the manuscript became a nickname and the other part became my legal name (neither of which I no longer use except for official purposes since I'm too lazy to go through bureaucracy and get it changed)

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? when wilf came back to doctor who and I literally sat there rocking back and forth unable to contain the joy and tears

DO YOU HAVE KIDS? nope and I don't plan to, don't want them

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED? I've played most sports when I was a kid including cricket, football, hockey, and local sports, but only swimming has stuck in my adult years

DO YOU USE SARCASM? Don't know who she is 💅🏽

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? definitely hands and eyes

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR? Brown 👁️ 👁️

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I'm chicken and can't sit through horror movies at all, even basic horror stuff gives me nightmares 😭 so happy endings it is

ANY TALENTS? i can pick up most skills pretty quickly and get decent at them within a week if given the time, it's how i got my job lmao

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? India

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES? writing, reading fantasy, drawing, mainly finding new things to get obsessed over

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? yes 🥹 his name is bilbo and he's a very good boy

HOW TALL ARE YOU? 165 cm 😞

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? English, art, most of the languages

DREAM JOB? exactly what I'm doing right now (any company any industry that pays well for me do a bunch of stuff I like and be a generalist and not put too much deadline pressure on me and lets me work from home)

I'm gonna tag @jaskierx @xoxoemynn @bizarrelittlemew @soupbtch @cahootings and anyone else who wants to do this, no pressure

[kiwiana-writes]

9 books

Thanks @cricketnationrise and @clottedcreamfudge for the incredibly rude, actually, tags, because I have never chosen a favourite anything in my life. (Also, CCF literally tagged me WHILE I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF DOING THIS after cricket's tag from like two days ago, so I'm digging the wavelength synchronicity.)

Because I'm incapable of favourites, what you're getting is 9 more obscure books, not in a 'I'm cooler than you' way but in a 'please y'all go love these books as much as I do and give me more people to flail with about them' way.

Sevenwaters Saga by Juliet Marillier -- yes I'm listing a whole series as one book, fucking fight me. *Stefon voice* This series has everything! Historical high fantasy! Intergenerational stories! Romance romance romance! A canon side queer couple in fucking fifth century-ish Ireland! Slide into my DMs if you want trigger/content warnings or a more detailed synopsis, I am incapable of being normal about this series. Also if you read my swans fic you'll find parts of the first book in the series very familiar. (Also also, I once did a podfic for this series which has the dubious honour of being the only thing I’ve ever put on AO3 with zero comments, there's your random fact for the day!)

Rōmeo rāua ko Hurieta translated by Te Haumihiata Mason -- yes, this one's niche as it's in te reo Māori, but I'd be deeply remiss if I didn't have Shakespeare somewhere on this list despite me claiming I was going obscure. It translates the essence of the story rather than word for word and has a side-by-side with te reo Pākehā (English) which results in some absolutely delightful idiom usage.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach -- always a good reread if I want to feel like I'm a part of a wider universe. Also the reason for my seagull tattoo!

How to Loiter in a Turf War by Coco Solid -- I don't even know how to describe this one other than a must-read, which seems trite as fuck but here we are.

Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree by Santa Montefiore -- I first found this in my high school library which is fucking wild considering the plot. Another one to slide into my DMs for trigger/content warnings if needed but an incredibly well-written story with some of the most fleshed-out side characters I've read in this genre.

Mouthful of Forevers by Clementine von Radics -- absolutely incredible poetry, like, every damn one.

Nights in the Gardens of Spain by Witi Ihimaera -- another one I found way too early in the school library and the earliest overtly queer book I remember reading!

The C.H.E.R.U.B. series by Robert Muchamore -- idk how popular this one was actually? So this might be one everyone knows, but if not and you wanna read some wild YA about child spies, this will keep you fed.

I Am Not Esther by Fleur Beale and its sequels -- definitely not obscure to my fellow Kiwi but I'm not sure how much play it got outside of Aotearoa. Please read these books. Based on a very real religious cult (the author also wrote a nonfiction book about Gloriavale and how it got started) the shifts in perspectives between the different books in the series really do paint a vivid picture of the realities and nuances of it.

A lot of the usual suspects have already been tagged but I'm a nosy motherfucker so tagging @myheartalivewrites @maxbegone @ships-to-sail @celeritas2997 @rmd-writes @lilythesilly @nontoxic-writes @sherryvalli @orchidscript @inexplicablymine @stereopticons @cha-melodius @daisymae-12 @jettestar @swearphil @laurie-on-a-lark @suseagull04 and literally anyone who wants to share some of their faves with me!