#he would totally mix those styles

[nothingbizzare]

Teru is like at this point one of my fav character ever but figuring out this boy's fashion style it's SOOO HARD !! HE doesn't have a specific fashion aestetic. Normally I can pin in one character like max 5 aesthetics and styles they would like but HIM !!!! HIM !!?!! My pinterest folder for teru fashion at this point has everything from pastel, ballerina, skater aesthetics to like punk , 70',60', 90' , w2k , scene , modern fashion and street fashion and high fashion !!

He so silly !

[starry-bi-sky]

Danyal Al Ghul: Incorrect Quotes and Miscellaneous Thoughts

Incorrect quotes-style snippets specifically for my danyal al ghul au here (which i really need to come up with a unique au name for atp). Because I thought it'd be funny. And also some miscellaneous headcanons thrown into the mix. Some context for the au: - Danyal is 5 years older than Damian (so 10 and 15) - Danny faked his death when he was 10. Talia knows and helped him with it. - Jazz, Sam, and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin.

-------- Snippet 1

Danny, dryly tapping his temple: I have, as the Americans say, irreparable psychological damage, right here.

Jazz, an older sibling first and foremost: well, it's good that you're self-aware.

-------- Snippet 2

Danny, aged 10, in the American foster planning to just age out of the system: *emanating Bad Vibes. Pure, Little Orphan Tom Riddle Energy*

Jazz, aged 12, coming in to adopt a new sibling with her parents: Him. This is my brother now :)

Danny: ...what

--------

Lilo and Stitch is Danny's favorite Disney movie. He watched it when he was 11 with Jazz when she was attempting to connect with him, and by this point Danny was becoming receptive to her efforts. They had a movie marathon in the living room one night.

Safe to say? It resonated with his little 11 year old heart strongly, and he related very strongly with both Nani and Stitch. He got unexpectedly emotional and hid in his room for the rest of the night. Jazz felt really bad, but it had the intended (but kinda unexpected) effect of him trying to be nicer to her afterwards.

-------- Snippet 3

Dash, aged 12, causing trouble again and getting intercepted by Danny: *scaling up a desk* AHHHHH! GET YOUR LITTLE FREAK, FOLEY!

Tucker: Hey! Danny is not a freak!

Dash: GET HIM TO BACK OFF

Tucker, was the kid Dash was messing with: ....whats in it for me

-------- Snippet 4

Danny, saying some questionably immoral shit: What. Why are you looking at me like that.

Tucker: Bro. I mean this as kindly as possible; what the fuck?

Sam: yeah, I'm with Tuck on this one.

-------- Snippet 5

Danny, ranting about Vlad: if it weren't for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered him

Sam, painting his nails black: I'm pretty sure you'd slaughter him regardless of the laws of the land -- and quit moving, you're gonna mess me up.

Tucker: we've literally seen you debate yourself about this, Dan

Danny: ...you are correct, but it is the principle of things.

-------- Snippet 6

Vlad: I have experience my child, and the money and power attained through using those powers for personal gain, you say. I could train you, teach you everything I know! And all you have to do is renounce that idiot adoptive father of yours.

Danny, was already contemplating committing a Violence: ....

Danny, internally: I'm going to stab him *turns into Phantom*

--------

Funny contrast I realized between Danyal and Vlad that iirc I haven't pointed out yet is that imo, Danyal doesn't rely on his powers nearly half as much as canon Danny does. He falls back instinctually on his League training, and thus sometimes forgets to use his powers in battle. This was prevalent especially early on when he was still getting used to the whole 'halfa' thing.

He incorporates them more often after a year, but still for the most part relies on his own physical hand-to-hand combat. He trusts those skills much more than he does his powers. I'm not sure where he is on a technical level compared to canon, but just to stay safe I'll say he's similar in power skill as canon Danny. Perhaps a little more finessed than him because his League training would probably have him trying to figure out his powers as soon as possible.

But in summary? Danny is strong in hand-to-hand combat, weak in powerset.

Meanwhile Vlad is the opposite. I can't recall if he even knows hand-to-hand in canon, but it makes total sense to me that Vlad Masters wouldn't because he's so confident in his monetary influence and ghost abilities that he sees no need for it.

And he's kinda got some merit behind it. He's very powerful and has 20 years of experience to experiment and fine tune his powers. He's got bite to follow up his bark. He's perfected long-range combat and his ability to phase through walls makes it impossible to corner him, but if you can manage it, then one good hit could probably knock him on his ass.

So in summary, Vlad is strong in powerset, weak in hand-to-hand combat.

And it casts a good contrast between the two of them in that regard. Danny, as a fellow halfa, can follow Vlad when he phases through walls and is fast enough to land a hit on him. His league training as an assassin, albeit rusty, is still deep ingrained enough in him that he can hold up as a rather veritable threat against Vlad without needing his powers.

But Vlad can force Danny to use his powers more often through use of his own. The duplication is the first thing to come to mind: Danny's fast enough to dispel them on his own without powers, and smart enough that he could figure out who the real one is if given a few minute. But that's not always efficient enough.

Good foils for each other that way. Also Vlad's Plasmius design mimics Ra's juuust enough that he looks like Ra's knockoff loser second cousin no one talks about, which only fuels Danny's hatred.

-------- Snippet 7

Danny, ranting about Vlad for the first time: --and it's only made worse by the fact that the little ingrate resembles a cheap knock-off of my grandfather!--

Sam, choking on her water: he what--

Tucker, doing a spittake: HE DOES?

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Serenade of the Damned (M)

★ PAIRING: Pied Piper! Haechan x Little Red! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): Dark fantasy AU, Dark Fairy Tale AU. Magic. Smut, enemies to ??

☆ SUMMARY: The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: mature themes. Minor character death, knifes, blood, violence, alcohol, unprotected sex, gangs, threats, killing, 18+, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Hallo! This is something that is totally different from my usual writing style, so im a little nervous to debut this, but im so excited because this concept was so freaking cool. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I thought it would be best to post in oct to fit the Halloween spirit. See the request that inspired it here.

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited. 

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed. 

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before. 

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in.  “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice. 

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin. 

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.” 

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body. 

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards. 

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument. 

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey. 

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back. 

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet. 

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands. 

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape. 

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes. 

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend. 

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort. 

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon. 

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine. 

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under. 

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you. 

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed  from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?” 

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt. 

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat. 

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.” 

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter. 

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck. 

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this. 

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.” 

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.” 

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you. 

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break. 

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation. 

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and  he helps you right yourself.  He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat. 

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing.  Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you.  It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love. 

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the  waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both.  Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. 

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. 

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic. 

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically. 

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence. 

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp. 

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable. 

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. 

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further  into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike. 

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control. 

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move. 

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication. 

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹɟ ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest. 

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud. 

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

Note: I might expand this world more for other members in the future so if you guys have any cool ideas that would work in this setting, lmk and i may incorporate them into a work in the future (far future cause i need to finish my other wips lol)

[targwife]

CRUSH - MALACHY GRANGER

summary: getting trapped by a storm over at the boathut leads to a night-in with an older guy working at the jetty. cw: pure filth, age gap, pinv, porn with barely any plot, english isn't my first language! not proof read. wordcount: 4,293

The cold prickled at your skin as you finished tying up the boats to the jetty pegs, saying your goodbyes to the last customers; tourists who were willing to pay a pretty penny to rent a wooden craft and pretend to live the fishing town-local experience. as annoying as they were, they allowed you to get this summer job at the dock while waiting for your last year of school. as you pulled out your blackberry to check the time, 10 pm, rain began to drip down softly, but summer storms never remained light for long.

You ran for the protection of the boat hut in a hurry, going to look for any actual fishermen still working or at least the keys to the little house upstairs, you lived nearby enough to get just fine without a car normally but walking wouldn’t do in this weather.

“Get lost we’re done for the day” A gruff, thickly accented voice sounded from behind a couple of upright boats that were getting fixed up.

You couldn’t help but scoff out a laugh at his terrible attitude “I’m not a tourist” The rain began downpouring outside the posts of the boat hut.

“You’re the girl Arj got renting out the boats?” You finally saw him, a man about 8 or 9 years your senior, his face unshaven with his hair a dark blond, his clothes were dark and baggy and practical for his job, slightly dirtied up by this time after hours of work.

You nodded, focusing involuntarily on the way he rubbed his hands clean on a rag, staining it with the dark motor oil he got on them while working, they looked strong and used, not at all like your last boyfriend’s; All soft and new, if a scratch got on them, it was from football practice.

He extended one of them to you, a smirk tugging on his lips, “Malachy”.

You finally realized who he was when you heard him call his name, Arj had mentioned him a few times, said he usually worked late hours after his shifts at the factory so you wouldn’t see much of him. You told him your name and he repeated it as you shook his hand. “Bit of a situation we got ourselves in, aye?” When he spoke those words you realized the rain wouldn’t stop for hours and you cursed yourself. “Or maybe not, won’t your daddy come pick you up?”

“Dad’s out of town” You should have focused on defending yourself against his mocking before responding but you were so worried about being trapped in there the whole night.

He clicked his tongue “That’s tuff” Malachy spoke nonchalantly as he got done with his job putting his tools away messily. “Don’t look at me all sad, my brother’s got the car tonight, can’t take you ‘ome” He told you when he saw your wide-eyed, distressed face.

“Do you mean for me to sleep on a boat?” You told him slightly bewildered at his lack of care for the situation, you were locked at the edge of town by the rain with no car.

He reached for his back pocket and pulled out a pair of keys, not really bothered by your attitude, when compared with Amy you seemed like a total sweetheart “Go upstairs, I still got to test out this one-” he pointed with the keys to one of the boats behind him “-out on the water so I still have a while left” You took them when he handed them over and smiled extremely thankful “I’ll leave as soon as the rain stops” You assured Malachy, who was already getting the boat down from the suspension, a small sigh of effort escaping his lips as he pulled on the rusty lever “Sleep tight, then”.

You sat on the counter with your legs crossed, one hanging lazily from it, you had put your hair up as soon as you arrived and had changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt you found in a neat little pile with clothes of a few different sizes and styles, they seemed a mix from friends staying over and «missing items» that would probably end up getting turned into rags anyway. as you sipped on some instant coffee from the only clean mug you could find, not wanting to fall asleep out of self-preservation instincts, you looked around the studio that was the boat hut; A few string lights and neon «cafe» sign illuminated the room in an odd mix of oranges and pinks and reds. Down in front of the small utilitarian kitchen was an old red couch as well as a black leather one by another wall, the bed in the corner behind some string beads and curtains was placed on the floor with a messy array of mismatched bed sheets on top. It was comfortable, you thought, especially as the rain battled against the window right in front of you, mixing with the sound of the CD you had found already in the boombox, music from the late 90s played on it and you could imagine malachy recording it back on his high school days just right.

The door opened and in came Malachy, he had his hood on to protect him from the rain, the off-color fabric darkened to pitch black from it. He looked at you while he kicked out his shoes and searched around his pockets, successfully pulling out a fag from the small box. “Comfortable, are we?”.

You smiled a bit, it’s not that you were shy, but staying the night over at this place with him took away your wits a bit “I thought you weren’t coming by now” You confessed while reaching for one of the upper open cabinets, remembering seeing an ashtray when you looked for the mug, when you found it you got up from the counter and placed it on a small coffee table, he simply nodded at you and lit his cig, sitting down on the red sofa for a smoke after work, his eyes closing softly as he leaned back on it, tired.

“You need a back massage?” You offered amused, staring intently as he stretched his neck after pulling his hood down.

“’M trying to do as many hours as possible” He explained, his fag hanging from his mouth after he blew the smoke “Saving up to leave town one day” You scoffed with a mocking smile, leaning against the counter and setting down your coffee. “What’s so funny?”.

“Everyone says that but no one ever leaves” He looked at you, wanting to deny your words and get angry at your claims, but he just smiled and shook the ash from his cig leaning over to the tray, finding you interesting enough.

“Do you mean to stay here forever?”

“It’s kinda pretty, I think” Malachy listened intently to you and it made you lick your lips before continuing “Being born and dying in the same place, you know? Like a full circle”

“I just find it sad to be honest” As he saw the way you pursed your lips at his answer Mack realized how nice you looked, you were far from the first girl the brothers brought up to the boathouse, but, still, he knew a pretty girl when he saw one and the red glow from that stupid neon sign they got years ago, back when they meant to make the hut a cafe made him stare a few seconds, a smile tugging at his lips.

“That’s because boys can never see the pretty things in life” You retaliated, he liked the irony of your timing, but he just took another breather of his fag before answering.

“I’m not a boy, you know”

You two had been talking for over two hours by now, the rain long one, still, neither of you said anything about it as you spoke about your stupid hopes and dreams or joked about the silliest things, you learned a few things about him; He had been working for ten years and he was 26 now, he had been trying to break up with this girl you went to school with, amy knightly, the boat hut used to be his father’s before him but now Arj ran it mostly and he had a dog back at her mom’s house, a retriever mutt he got at 18.

The more you listened the closer you wanted to be to him, maybe it was the multiple beers you both were having after he asked you to get him one from the fridge, or maybe it was how you just kept noticing how attractive he was, sitting beside him on the couch you could see his reddened eyes, nose and lips and darkened under eyes from being out on his boat, the way he smelled like sea salt and his cigarettes and a sweet woody musk from the wood varnish used on his craft, it was intensely masculine and captivating and you couldn’t get enough.

“If you want me to fuck you just say it” You snapped back realizing in half-drunken embarrassment the lewd way you had been eyeing him since you got up for your fourth beer of the night.

You walked back to the couch, setting the drink on the coffee table with a tight-lipped smile, a mix of embarrassment and a terrible quip brewing up “You realize not every high schooler wants to fuck you, right?” You gave Mack a giddy smile as his fell, throwing a pillow at you while you laughed at his bothered expression.

“Don’t be an arsehole, mhm?” He said, taking a swig of his beer while looking at you right after, his blue eyes were burning your skin and you felt the heat all over you as he bulged his tongue against his cheek still annoyed but slightly amused.

You got up to throw away the bottles as Malachy was trying to ready up the couch to sleep, your mind was just clear enough to perform the simple task but as you were walking back to him the drinks caught up to you, tripping against the coffee table; mack quickly reacted, one hand going to your shoulder as another held onto your waist, keeping you upright before you had time to fall, you felt his breathing coming over you as you lifted your head to look at him, you swallowed thickly at the view, his messed up hair from the zip-up hoodie and tightly closed lips as he breathed through his nose regularly, seemingly unbothered by the closeness, you could feel his rough jeans on your bare legs and his hands didn’t let go of you.

Those seconds felt like ages, the pinning for each other hurt as you both held eye contact, he licked his lips without saying a word, trying to hide his small smirk as his hand snaked from your shoulder to the side of your neck his fingers tangling in the loose hairs from the ponytail, the touch of his hands on bare skin was exactly as you imagined, hot and rough as were his lips when they crashed against yours without needing a word, your hands went up to his waist trying to close any remaining distance between you, pulling him until his pelvis leaned against your body.

Your knees went weak as he kissed you, it was nothing like the sloppy mess you were used to with the boys in your class, Mack seemed so experienced and skilled that it made ideas run wild in your mind, completely ignoring the repercussions this might bring.

He smiled as you both tore apart for air, a breathy chuckle parted his lips in a way that had you gawking at him like a schoolgirl, though you supposed that was indeed what you were. “This is so wrong” You spoke with a slight laugh, getting so red your skin felt warm.

“You wanna stop?” He spoke still a bit breathless just like you, looking into your eyes for any sort of doubt, you saw pure mischief in his face as you shook your head no, his smile seemed so mocking that it made you feel in danger, though the feeling went away as soon as he backed down to the couch, dragging your wrist to make you come onto his lap, which you obeyed without resistance.

As you climbed up his lap his hands came under your shirt, almost giving you goosebumps. “You’re so fucking pretty” He almost whispered as he recalled your words from earlier, his accent making his already gruff voice reverberate in your head, or at least that’s what it felt like to you in your mesmerized, tipsy state.

You kissed his lips again, one hand on the wall behind the couch and another tangled in his short hair, Malachy traced your body with his, aching to get rid of the excess fabric. “You’re so desperate”.

“I don’t like waiting” Satisfied with his response, you raised up, your body still sitting on his crotch, and removed your top in haste. You had piled your bra away with the rest of your clothes and Mack seemed rather happy about it, that smug, intimidatingly handsome smile on his face has he saw you exposed, the palm of his hand cupping your right breast as his thumb teased your nibble with its pad.

“Be fair with me…” You begged, rolling your hips as you sat down with a bit more pressure. The light falling over your face and the back of his neck was blue and silver with moonlight and streetlights while your body and his face were silhouetted in the red neon sign, he looked so perfect to you as he parted his lips when he felt your contact, quickly paying attention to your words as he sat up to remove his zip-up and shirt.

Broad and strong and not overly defined, with a happy trail of light hair that ran from his belly button all the way beneath his denim, his body was just as you expected, as seemingly all of him was; a reliable, traditional man who worked from dusk till dawn and came home to fuck you silly before repeating the routine. You liked that it wasn’t all guessing and assuming like with the boys, it was easy to lose yourself to him.

After an eternity of a soft back and forth on his lap, feeling each sigh he gave you, his eyes never leaving yours, you could tell that he was getting impatient.

“Let’s get you out of those, yeah?” He coddled you in that voice oh his that made thinking difficult, his fingers doing quick work of the tie front of the cotton lounging shorts, you saw him smile to himself as he dragged them down hurriedly, especially when you got up just to remove them, leaning forward to put a supporting hand on his thigh as you stepped out of them.

As much as the way his big eyes looked up at you demanding for you to get on him instantly, you smiled softly as you shimmied out of your day-of-the-week undies, which he noticed with a smiling scoff. His eyes trailed up your legs as these fell to the floor and continued up your whole naked form.

“You’re not Arj’s girl, are you?” He asked as you came back onto him and his hands went up the backs of your thighs to your ass, it’s not that he would stop at this point, but it would be nice to know.

You shook no with a sweet little smile, you could feel him bulge against his jeans in a way that felt delicious as you stirred on his lap. “Just his employee”.

He nodded amused, leaning his head back as he felt you probably staining his work clothes, not that he cared right now “He better don’t find out then, yeah?”

Malachy knew your response as you began to mess with the button on his pants, he was a bit less drunk, so he easily got rid of them enough for you to trace a finger down his hardened but domestic belly. it sent a shiver down his spine and if you weren’t so focused on getting into his pants you would have gotten the same as he left out a low, elongated curse out his lips when you palmed him over his boxer briefs.

Even though he found it quite cute when you almost tripped over yourself trying to get rid of his jeans and briefs, Mack felt a tang of responsibility as he looked at your worried pout; He was bigger than any of the boys you had been with, granted they weren’t huge, but he made it hard not to notice, dizzyingly long and girthy, it wasn’t overly veiny but just enough, he had a few moles on the base and you smiled sheepishly as you took it into your hand and noticed another on its thick tip.

He took your wrist and brought your hand up midway, spitting on it without any need for words. As you kept up eye contact you wrapped your hand around him, the look on his face was electrifying as if the only thing you ever wanted to do was pleasing him.

You started moving your hand up and down with a repetitive rhythm, focusing on his reactions; Sights and small words of praise that almost sounded like whispers, you were thankful for the slickness the spit gave you as you could just be delighted by staring at how he leaned his hand back in sheer pleasure, it was perfect.

He seemed to last more than the boys, too, you noticed how he kept his breathing almost regular and how his focus was on you the entire time, making you crave him even more. You hurried up your movements, trying to get to see him getting that sweet release, instead, he just held your wrist again, not fully stopping you, “Don’t fucking do that” This time his expression was like that of someone scolding a puppy.

“I just want you to feel good, Mack” You didn’t know if it was the nickname or your pathetic tone, but Malachy grabbed your thighs and brought you closer to him, letting go of your arm.

He turned to his jeans that were sprawled on the armrest of the sofa and from his back pocket he pulled out his wallet, you smiled. “Tis back practice to keep condoms in your wallet, you know? Makes them not last as long” He looked at you with a frown on his brow and a slight smile, he found you incredibly attractive, he would risk another thousand arguments with Amy for you if he didn’t.

“If you want me to I could just ditch it” You couldn’t help but give a breathy little laugh at his simplicity, weakened by the way his voice sounded now, all hoarse and already a bit spent.

You took the condom from his hand and made quick work of it, biting the inside of your cheek as you did it, a simple gesture of concentration that made him so impatient for being inside of you.

Not that he had to wait for long, you took him in your hand and rubbed it against your core in a way that made you close your eyes to avoid any moans from escaping you.

Malachy however, wanting so desperately to hear you that it was almost painful, grabbing a handful of the soft part of your hip as he grabbed himself over your soft hand, guiding it inside in a pleasurable slowness.

“Fuck... you’re soaked” You felt the heat on your face at his words that sounded more like a praise, but you couldn’t answer, even if you weren’t yet pressed against him the stretch from his thickness felt incredible, making you hold on with one hand onto his cheek to make him look at your face, wanting him to see how he was making you feel.

He did see it, his lips parted open and his eyebrows frowned, neither even daring to make a sound as you readjusted yourself, sitting flush against him.

It took you a few moments to even try to move, fearing that it would hurt and distract you from the tight knot beginning in your belly. Malachy tore his eyes away from you for the first time since he got inside of you, his gaze went downwards and the embarrassment you felt only made you slicker with the premise of doing something forbidden; this older, lowlife stranger was seeing all of you and was about to fuck you silly for all that’s worth, and for some reason you trusted him all the more, you felt incredibly good just like this.

The hand that had been teasing your tits moved down with confidence, Mack placed it flat against your belly and began rubbing the slowest circles on your clit with his thumb, it was a teasing, torturous pleasure that made you moan softly as you began moving on him, barely at first, drawing delicious moans from him, who let once again his head backward, his eyes closed trying to focus on the tight, warm feeling that drove him crazy.

It wasn’t long until you needed more, supporting yourself on his thick, muscular thighs behind you as you began increasing your movements, malachy looked back up at you and you felt like he would eat you up right there and then, his waterline was reddened by the lack of sleep and it made him look feral, he kept his fingers on you and his lips slightly parted, groaning gruffly rather than moaning by know, especially as you kept increasing the pace, desperately searching for the release you still felt so far away from.

Mack wasn’t one for passionate sex but he wouldn’t keep his free hand from caressing you, his warm, rough hand holding your waist doing a number on your head.

“I need more” You begged him and you were barely given any time to react before you felt him moving his arms around you, you would have complained about the lost stimulation if it wasn't for the way he laid you on your back on the sofa with your head on the armrest and your hips off the fabric, being hoisted up by his strong arms and thighs.

“You’re making me mad” He admitted almost smiling, the sight of your naked body underneath his did make him go mad, quickly going back to your rhythm and soon after increasing it, it became a pounding that made you move on the couch, his abdomen crashing against your bud on each stroke of his tight, strong hips, his hand supporting him on your belly as he moved mercilessly by the time all the pain was gone, leaving being the sting of being stretched over and over by him, who kept his brows low as he looked at you almost underneath them, he would’ve been scary any other night on the dock but your luck had you holding on to the red sofa as he rammed into you with an animalistic, repetitive motion.

He wasn’t loud but didn’t care for keeping quiet either while you were sure to be giving him a show with your shaky moans from the constant feeling of him almost leaving you before going all the way back inside, it was maddening and your eyes were about to roll back in your skull when he grabbed hold of your ankle to bend your knee further, opening you even more to him.

Malachy had great endurance while you were still inexperienced, especially when it came to coming while doing it, you were sweating and gasping, begging for him to keep going, while he kept his gaze on you letting gasps and sighs leave his lips with the occasional moan, it only made you even more eager for him as the sounds mixed in the lewdest way with the one coming from your bodies crashing, especially given how wet you were for him, which he noticed in his almost out of breath praisings of you and your body.

It didn’t take long for him to make a mess out of you, barely knowing how to mumble for him to go slower, as he was about to make you come; if he heard you or not was up for debate, but he didn’t pay you any mind, feeling the way you tightened around his cock and groaning in return as you squeezed his arm for any kind of support, your eyes rolling back as you arched on the pillows coming around him.

It didn’t make him stop yet, as he tightened his grip around your ankle for leverage and continued fucking into you for long enough to make you clench around him again and again, overly sensitive and teary-eyed from your release.

He couldn’t keep going for much longer after that, even if he adored towering over your fucked-out form, he came with a deep, gruff moan that had your mouth agape and your hand patting around for his arm just so you could pull on it, bringing him down to your face to kiss him softly, which he answered with a tired smile.

It was raining again outside and the both of you couldn’t help but laugh as he scooped you up to move over to the bed though the sky was already a very light blue.

dividers credits: @cafekitsune taglist: @sadpuffpuff @sidrhds @forgetcakes

this is my first story in a loong time so i'm very nervy. would love some feedback!

[starwarsanthropology]

Canon genders the clones, both individually and collectively, pretty aggressively. They're men, brothers, boys, sirs. Omega is notable for being the "female" clone, to the point where she's not recognized as a clone in a meaningful way.

But the clones grew up without gendered social groups! Despite how clones are gendered by external factors, gender is functionally a nonentity in their lives until they meet civilians, and civilians do a load of other weird shit anyway.

So why do they still use gendered language?

My argument is that feminine language isn't used as a gendered form of address, but as a form of address that reflects a specific kind of power dynamic and relationship between parties.

Given the structure of the clone army, the only people a vast majority of young clones interact with who could insist on being called ma'am are exclusively kaminoans.

The kaminoans view clones not as autonomous subjects, but as property. They have and expect complete control over their lives and actions. Incidentally, the female kaminoans we see (such as Nala Se) tend to demonstrate an even more proprietary perspectives on the clones.

You can question a sir, like your superiors or trainers, at your discretion, but you can't question a ma'am. A sir is someone who has power over you, but is somewhat responsible for you. The have personal accountability to you in some way. Sirs are responsible for men under them. A ma'am is someone whose power over you is absolute, an authority without accountability, who is not beholden to you but that you must obey. You are tool or a number to a ma'am.

And when you bring clones out into the wider galaxy, I'm not sure anyone would figure it out that quickly.

Say you're a new jedi general. You meet your men, and they address you as "ma'am". Maybe you correct and move on, figuring that they've grown up surrounded by thousands of identical men and aren't great at guessing genders based on social and appearance cues. Scuttlebutt has your forms of address spread through the men by the end of the day, and you don't think about it again.

The clones, on the other hand, take this correction as he/him jedi stating that they want to work with them and suppourt them despite having so much power over them, which fits with both what they know of the jedi and, most often, their leadership style.

She/her jedi (see Shaak Ti especially!), clones maybe treat a little more as absolute authorities. This gendered divide in behavior gets met with, "hm, maybe they're just not used to women." For many jedi, they eventually switch to calling them sir as well, especially as they build rapport.

For Shaak Ti specifically, she is an absolute authority as the representative of the Jedi on Kamino, not just as a figurehead but as a decision maker and educator. Even as the clones grow to trust and love her, she's a relatively distant and all-powered figure. She has near total authority over them, and clones might ask for help or suppourt, but there's no social obligation for those requests to be met, she's just kind. It's compassion, not duty.

Senators, there's a good mix of different factors that make it confusing. "Senator" is always an acceptable form of address if you're not sure how'd they react, even if they should be ma'ams by default, but they're either trying to build rapport for some reason or genuinely want to work with you when they say to call them sir, regardless of the actual power dynamic at play. The she/her senators that respect the clones are in the same boat as Shaak Ti: Padme Amidala may care about clone rights, but I am still just one of hundreds to her and she has no personal accountability to me. Her position is such that she should not and cannot owe me anything. Same with Riyo Chuchi, Mon Mothma, etc. etc.

And a civilian that insists on being called ma'am or sir is going to be an asshole either way, and they technically have power over clones without personal accountability or responsibility for them. It works.

Finally, Palpatine.

He's a slimy rat fuck who pretends to be affable and kind, so of course he's going to laugh and say, "Oh, no, call me Sir!" when you call him ma'am. He is not personally accountable to you, and he does not care about you, but it helps his image and it helps him manipulate people to pretend, so of course he's making you use sir to build false intimacy despite the fact that he's the ma'am of ma'ams, both in power gaps and lack of accountability for his treatment of clones.

So having clones using sir vs ma'am not as a reflection of gender but as a reflection of power? Yeah, I think it works.

[lovecoremarbs]

Proudly Displayed

fandom: smiling friends

prompt: charlie dompler/reader

words: 1,264

summary: Things were going well as you and your boyfriend unpacked the first few boxes, that was until he got to the bottom of the first box and stumbled across something you wished he wouldn't bring up. Your degree.

notes: Yes, this was totally inspired by the game "Unpacking" where you have to put the character's degree underneath the bed of their shitty ex to progress through the game. I tried a new writing style with this by trying not to break up paragraphs like I normally do, hope you like it!

Boxes were all strewn around Charlie’s apartment, you two were bringing in the last of them as you only had rented the moving truck for a few hours and your time was quickly running out. You and Charlie, after months and months of back-and-forth discussions, decided to bite the bullet and finally move in together. Your lease was almost up anyway, so the best decision was to move into his place by the end of the month. You both had moved the last of the boxes into the small space, crashing down on his couch as you both leaned against each other on the lumpy cushion, your chests heaving as shitty timing decided you moved in during the hottest point in summer. Your mind wandered as Charlie breathed heavily next to you, his eyes half-lidded while sweat poured down his face onto his white shirt, leaving a thick wet ring around his neck. Damn, he must really love you if he’s willing to do all this work to help move you into his place. Charlie was known for doing the bare minimum at work, home, basically anywhere so to see him go through this much effort for you made your chest fill up with butterflies, daring to make you nauseous. He really wanted you there with him and showed it to you, even if he didn’t mention it…

Your mind wandered further, thinking about the moving truck. You reached out for your phone on the coffee table, your screen reading 3;40 pm. Shit, you needed to have the moving truck back by 4, or else there would be an extra fee. SIghing, you were preparing to get up and moving only to have an out-of-breath Charlie pull you back down onto the couch with him.

“Not now.” He swallowed hard as he spoke,”Ugh- You need to rest.” You raised your brow, pointing to the window, “But the truck is-” “Those stuck-up assholes can wait, I don’t want you getting heatstroke.”  He was right, you were already sweating your ass off in your shirt and sweatpants, if you went out in the sun right now, you would pass out right in the middle of the road. But there was no point in sitting there and doing nothing, you wanted to get this done before bed tonight and the boxes won't unpack themselves. Getting up off the couch, you walked over to a leaning pile of small boxes and ripped the tape off of one of them with your bare fingers.

“H- Hold on.” Using the bottom hem of his shirt, he wiped the sweat off the top of his forehead with it. “Gimme a minute and I’ll help you with that.” He’d been getting better at doing things on his own accord and not having to be asked, you took note of that. You smiled at him and turned your attention back to the contents of the boxes, small trinkets and necessities filled this one, stuff you needed Charlie’s help to find a place for. Right on cue, he walked over and pulled out things one at a time. It was stuff that was all mixed about, as you didn’t really have time to organize shit. Well, you kinda did but procrastination can be a bitch, y’know? But it got a laugh out of Charlie, which in turn made you laugh. “Babe, what is a PEPPER GRINDER doing in a box with your bathroom shit? How in the hell did you do that?” Your boyfriend laughed his ass off as you tried to explain yourself, “I was in a hurry!” “My ass, what did you do? Bring the pepper grinder into the bathroom as you were making dinner?” It was like that for most of that box as you worked on emptying another, until he got to the bottom where he pulled back the newspaper to see a degree displayed in a very nice frame. 

“Oh shit, this is a master’s degree.” You were pulled from your thoughts as you looked over, seeing Charlie holding the frame, his eyes slightly wide as he looked back at you. “You didn’t tell me you went to college, let alone you graduated.” Snatching it away from him, you held the frame to your chest, “I didn’t think it was that important.” You started to sweat again, this time not from the sweltering heat. “Babe, that’s like- super impressive and important. Do you know how many people actually finish college and graduate?” Your face flushed as your chest tightened, he was making a big deal out of this when it really wasn’t. You didn’t feel like bringing it up so you didn’t! “I just figured you didn’t wanna hear about it, it’s no big deal.” You looked away from him, going back to emptying the boxes. Only problem? You couldn’t focus at all and kept picking up the same two things, staring at them as Charlie continued. 

“What do you mean I ‘wouldn’t wanna hear about it’? What would make you think that, honestly?” Shit. You really didn’t want to think about him ever again, but Charlie’s question really made you think. Think to the point you dug up old memories you hoped would be locked away in the void pit of your brain forever and ever. You took a breath, despite the large lump in your throat making it hard to do so, and faced him. “You remember that ex I had right before I met you?” Charlie’s expression softened as he sat down, “Yeah? What about him?” “Well, he had all these things hanging up on his wall that he proudly displayed-guitars, records, family pictures.” Your breath hitched as you continued. “Well, when I first moved in with him, he told me he… Had no room for my degree and I had to put it away. Said ‘It wasn’t that important anyways.’ So I did, haven’t hung it up since.” 

Charlie’s expression turned to one of frustration, his lip slightly quivered in anger. Balling up his fists, he spoke rather loudly, “With all due respect-nah scratch that, fuck that asshole. With NO due respect, that’s bullshit!” He took the frame out of your hands and stomped over to the junk drawer of your now-shared kitchen, pulling out nails and a hammer. “Charlie, what are you…?”  

His knuckles were turning white from how tight he was holding the hammer, lining up a nail to the kitchen wall as he hammered one in. “I’m showing you, this is something that needs to be proudly displayed!” He hung your degree on the wall, taking a step back to look at it with you. 

“Does it look crooked? I-I can’t really tell.” “No, it looks fine Charlie but why did you do all that? I mean, it’s just a damn piece of paper.” Charlie pointed at you as he continued, “See? That’s why I did it, right there. If you really believe that, I’m never taking that ‘damn piece of paper’ down.” That feeling in your chest came back, not the one where it felt like your heart broke into pieces but the one where it felt like your heart was in a chokehold, in a good way of course. Charlie wrapped an arm around you as you both stared at your master’s degree. Yeah, you should feel proud, all those years of studying and tests were damn worth it right that second. 

Your proud moment was short-lived however when Charlie looked at his phone and mumbled “Oh shit. We gotta get the truck back now, it’s thirty minutes overdue.” 

[swrkn]

can you maybe do some wooin in a relationship hcs pretty please, thank youuuu! ur writing ate <3

𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Wooin x g/n reader

Genre ; fluff , sfw

Author note ; thank you so much and sorry for the late reply i didn’t log on tumblr for a few days, i also tried a new style for my headcanons so please don’t hesitate to tell me which one you like more ! My request are open !

𖣔 First of all, i see Wooin with someone who has to match his vibe, so you know someone who likes to goes out and maybe a little freaky.

𖣔Wooin has a knack for making sarcastic comments or teasing you about the smallest things, like how you pronounce a word or the way you hold your chopsticks. He finds your annoyed expressions way too entertaining.

𖣔He has a bad habit of stealing random items like your phone or snacks and holding them just out of reach until you chase him for it. It’s all in good fun, though—he always gives them back with a smug grin.

𖣔Wooin will playfully mock you about it—like mimicking a character from your favorite show or pretending to be clueless about it. But secretly, he loves seeing how passionate you are and might even look into it himself just to understand you better.

𖣔 Wooin is the type of guy who will act like he doesn't care about you even tho he clearly does. He'd try to maintain his calm, aloof demeanor but his actions would totally betray how much he cares about you.

𖣔 You don’t know about the drugs with sangho choi, as it could be too dangerous for you.

𖣔 He definitely stalks you.

𖣔 Even if your not in a relationship with him, Wooin would casually barge into your place without warning, acting like it's completely normal.

𖣔 Wooin would be the type to casually ask you to paint his nails, and it would come with his signature mix of nonchalance and lowkey affection. He’d drop the request in the middle of a conversation, like, “Hey, you should paint my nails,” as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He’s not shy about it, but he pretends it’s purely practical.

𖣔 Wooin gives off the vibe of someone who’s not into pda, but that doesn’t mean he’s not affectionate in his own way, he just show it in private.

𖣔 Does he get jealous ? Yeahh. Does he show it ? Noo.

𖣔 Wooin’s personality was a little weird in the start of your relationship, he would leave you constantly questioning where you stand with him, and it’s probably intentional on his part.

𖣔 I kinda see him as the type of guy who yaps a lot about you with his close one, so hyuk definitely knows about you, and maybe even joker.

𖣔 You see those people who always send cats videos saying “us” ? Well i think he would send you those stupid videos like this just to annoy you.

𖣔 Your friends definitely don’t like him, and always warn you about him. Why ? He’s a walking red flag but i guess you just can’t see it.( me too )

𖣔 He looks like he has a baby face, so i think those days when he barges into your house, you guys would just do nightcare and stuff like this while watching movies.

𖣔 Speaking of movies, i just know he loves horror movies, so during those nights when your watching movies, he would scare you for almost the whole movie, because “your face looks funny when your scared”

𖣔 When he sees you sleeping, he takes pictures of yours and can annoy you with those for days. He would also draws things on your face, and he would say nothing even if you go out like that.

𖣔 I don’t think he would see any problem with you wearing revealing clothes, i can’t say why but he gives this vibes.

✵

[glamourscat]

୨୧ Shidou's hcs ୨୧

CW: nothing?? maybe a little angst

a meme sender. Idk he just gives off those vibes, he would probably fill any messaging chat w random memes. Or even worse, reacts to some of your messages with those really cringe meme reaction pictures ... like this one

takes pictures on your phone when you leave it around. Good luck w your storage, cause it will always be full of random pictures. From forehead pics, funny faces, pictures of you sleeping

We know that one of his fav/best subjects at school aside from PE was art. I like to think he likes art as a hobby, especially after a stressfull day on the field. Mostly painting or sketching, but I can see photography and music especially.

It’s no secret that he doesn’t fit in. From his bold and extravagant style, I mean the guy's colour palette is literally hot pink, but that aside is — he is literally the total opposite of what the Japanese culture claims to be. Unapologetically loud, extroverted, doesnt accept societal norms. No wonder he is seen as an outsider in blue lock lmao. Especially because, like Bachira but slightly different, Shidou doesn’t play because he wants to win. Not like Isagi, not like Rin, who if they lose a match will go absolutely nuts. He plays because he just wants to play. His philosophy on football is to leave a mark, big enough that people know he was there and to just enjoy football as it is.

But, with that said, taking in consideration his philosophy and the way he lives, I think he would be into someone who’s pretty much the opposite of what society expects. He doesn’t want “the society standard”, he doesn’t want you to change yourself because of him (eg: shaving, cutting hair like you think he would like, less or more makeup etc..) he wants you to be yourself. From your clothes to the way you present yourself. He wants someone that can be loud as him, unafraid to be free— to search for that freedom with him, but at the same time someone who’s brave enough to be calm during the storm (aka at night when you two are alone with your thoughts and feelings) 

His partner will be the same coin, just different side of it. Someone that can literally match his freak lol, but who’s different enough to anchor him down. Someone who sees the world in colours, someone who’s unconventional in the eyes of all. 

Aesthetically wise, I don’t think it really matters to him. Again, it’s a matter of vibes mostly. Still, I can see him taking a liking into people who have unconventional features or fashion style. Anyone who "doesn't fit in". Both people with muscle and plus size people. He gives me the vibes of someone who would enjoy squeezing the living out of you, I can’t explain why. If you’re into makeup, even better. I think colour wise, his partner would have a clothing palette maybe similar to his. Some colourful stuff, mixed with base colours. I don’t see him with someone that just dresses with one tone/colour. Someone who maybe doesn’t even have a particular fixed style, but every day dresses differently base on their mood. 

Just by taking a look at what his favourite manga, movie and song is (i go in more detail about my analysis on them here) I feel he is an extreme political being. His style was already a dead giveaway, but, the fact he likes those three pieces of media that hold such heavy political discourse, the lack of freedom, the sense of feeling trapped… I would say he is someone who’s definitely involved in politics. See it as you wish. 

Lastly, i think he struggles to make friends. It’s no secret, he comes across as strong, personality wise— extremely imposing. His aura has probably scared a few people off before. He probably craves those deep, intense, friendships with someone.

let me know your thoughts on them!

© glamourscat

[marzipanandminutiae]

Do you know much about historical cuisine? Saw yet another anime with friends and they went the whole 'modern food always tastes better' bit. I feel tired of the trope and am wondering how different historical cuisine would taste compared to modern times. So anything you happen to know as a historian would be cool to know!

That varies MASSIVELY based on time and location. Like. Much more than fashion does, even, I'd imagine (in a given sub-region- I can talk about Mainstream European and Euro-American Fashion of the 19th CenturyTM but the food was so different in different countries that were dressing the same, if that makes sense? just as an example).

Food is often more globalized in a lot of places nowadays, so the characters might have more diversity of flavors from the regional norm than they're used to. But this could be a good or a bad thing- a woman from 17th-century Japan might love pizza and much sweeter Western pastries, or she might absolutely hate them. Which is not to say regional cuisines haven't evolved, too- a museum here in Boston used to have tastings of 18th-century-style hot chocolate, and it was very different from the modern sort. But that's the largest blanket difference across the globe that I can think of, food-wise.

Not sure what anime this was, so it could have been Japan-specific, but I feel like this gets applied the most to the 19th-mid 20th century UK and United States. The whole Captain America line about "food's better; we used to boil everything," for example, and the general belief that everything was bland mush in those areas until the 1950s and then it was incomprehensible Jell-O mold horrors until approximately the 1980s. And of course, none of that's true- there were plenty of dishes that used spices and different cooking methods, many of which are still popular today. See also: Jonathan Harker, a Normal 1890s Englishman, getting so rhapsodical about paprikahendl that he simply must have the recipe for his fiancee to make. There also WERE bland mushes and fluorescent nightmares, but there's less than ideal food today, as well.

(Note that I'm much less confident talking about the whole English StodgeTM thing as we get into the 20th century. That is outside my history wheelhouse and there's a lot of different stuff embroiled in it relating to class and such that I don't want to talk out my ass about. All I know is that I've seen plenty of recipes from as late as the end of the 19th century, from England and some from urban Scotland if I recall correctly, that made ample use of spices. Nutmeg, mustard, black pepper, rosemary, caraway, and cayenne pepper were especially popular (not all together obviously). There was a belief among the middle and upper classes that strong flavors of garlic and onion were distasteful to ladies, but the fact that cookbooks and such feel the need to mention it implies that those elements WERE being used in cooking generally, in the UK, at that time. So wherever the idea that All British Food Is Beige And Tasteless came from, it wasn't mainstream late Victorian cooking for adults as far as I can tell)

(They gave kids a fair amount of the beige and tasteless because they believed their digestive systems couldn't handle strongly-flavored- okay now I'm getting off topic. Read Ruth Goodman's "How To Be A Victorian." Anyway!)

tl;dr- The answer to "is modern food better?" is "that's literally impossible to answer as a blanket statement, since it's massively dependent on the character's original time, place, social status, and personal taste- and where they end up in the present, of course."

Now, I do agree that the trope is annoying the same way every single princess being totally shocked and appalled when her marriage is arranged gets annoying- not because it can't be true based on history and human behavior, but because fiction treats it as some kind of universal precept. Mix it up a little sometimes! Have a Regency character who comes to the present, finds out that her favorite local cheese isn't being made anymore, and loses her entire mind!

[yanderestarangel]

DUMB MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS - BI HAN | SUB ZERO MK1

Night 2: anal and vaginal s*x

TW: smut, afab reader, M!receive oral sex, blowjob, saliva, anal sex, vaginal sex, degradation, no pronouns used other than "you".

You didn't even know how many hours you had been there, on your knees bent on the bed in doggy style, the flesh on your legs burned and your muscles ached, while Bi Han fucked your pussy and ass, alternating between holes, there was no point in whining or asking for mercy, the grand master dominated you, and would continue fucking you until he was satisfied.

Bi Han continued to alternate between your pussy and ass, driven by his insatiable hunger for dominance and pleasure. His thrusts were powerful, each one causing your body to jolt forward as your ass collided with his hips.

As he spanked your ass, leaving fiery imprints on your skin, his voice filled the air with a sadistic amusement. "-Look at you, my little slut..." -Bi Han taunted. "-Do you think you deserve to cum? You'll have to beg for it, beg like the obedient toy you are."

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he thrust into you with renewed vigor. The sensation of being filled simultaneously in both holes heightened your arousal, intensifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

"-I decide when you'll cum... And right now, you haven't earned it yet. You'll have to show me just how much you want it, my delicate thing."

"-Very well, my little whore...Cum for me. Show me just how much you need it."

With those words, he unleashed his own pleasure, his rhythm faltering as he succumbed to his own release. As his warmth spilled into you, mingling with your own climax, the world around you blurred as you were overwhelmed by an explosion of.

Bi Han's dominance reached its peak as he pulled his spent cock from your pussy, positioning himself in front of you as he guided his pulsating length into your mouth. The taste of his musky essence filled your senses, the mix of pleasure and submission overwhelming you.

With a firm grip on your ass, Bi Han used his free hand to part your slick folds, pushing his fingers into your overstimulated pussy. The sensation of his digits stretching you even further sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Your attempts to speak were silenced as Bi Han thrust his cock deeper into your mouth, taking control of your oral cavity. You gagged slightly but eagerly accepted him, your wet and sinuous tongue working to please him as you sucked and bobbed your head, Bi Han's moans mingled with your muffled cries against his dick.

He reveled in the feeling of power, his erection pulsing in your mouth as he used you for his own satisfaction. Bi Han's hand tightened on your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh while his fingers worked inside your sensitive pussy. The overwhelming stimulation pushed you closer to the brink, your moans vibrating against his throbbing cock.

With a final thrust, his hand tightened in your hair, guiding your head as he let out a guttural grunt. Hot spurts of his release erupted into your mouth, coating your tongue and dripping down your chin.

"-Open your fucking mouth you fucking slut." -Bi Han growled the order, squeezing your cheeks as he watched you open obediently, your tongue full of his cum, totally sticky and dirty. He spat on your tongue as he told you to finally swallow.

"-Yes, exactly like that you are an extremely good whore, aren't you? Now come here, I'm going to use your tight little pussy again."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[ryanmarshallryan]

I've been having a lot more people reach out about the vore stories I write, so thought I'd throw it out there if anyone wants to donate to help me have more time to write stories, or likes my style and wants to commission something let me know over dm!

I usually write thinking from a prey perspective, but was feeling hungry after eating salads for a month and switched to pred for this story.

DIET BACKFIRED

I love my weight. I think my belly looks great on me. When I see those old statues of historical figures with dad bods I see myself and love it. But after gaining 25 pounds in a few months from stress, I decided to try out a diet for a bit, just to be cautious of my health. Man, it was hard. And this morning my hunger took control.

I was preparing a salad, heated up some chicken to mix in, sprinkled in some shredded cheese, spinach, lettuce, cucumber, tomato and such. All I could think about was how wonderful it would feel to have a full belly again. Not just feeling satisfied, but pigging out and shoving as much down my maw as possible. Feeling the gainer bug while also trying to diet was not going to work for me. I tore through my cabinet to find an old box of cookies. I opened the box, came to my senses and closed it, then decided I didn’t care and ate the remainder in one sitting. To try to slow myself down and tire out my palette, I tried to eat a bunch of lettuce, but then added a bunch of croutons and snacks without thinking. I still felt hungry, but just left the kitchen to stop myself.

Later, I hung out with my work-out buddy, Max, and vented about my hunger, “I’m still eating a lot! Just replacing chips with a lot of low fat snacks. So if the quantity of food I’m eating is the same, why am I always feeling sooooo hungry? Ugh.”

“Bro, sounds like you need a cheat day. But, hey, if you’re stressed about having too much high fat food, I can help you eat big while still holding back on the chips.”

“Well it can be helpful to sit with the feeling for a while. So if you start feeling hungry, write down exactly what you are craving and what that feels like. By the time you are done writing it out, if you’re still hungry for it… go for it. If the feeling passes, then move on,” Max continued.

“I’m sure we could try it, but I don’t see how much of a difference it’ll make.” I replied. I knew Max worked as some sort of private personal trainer or something on the side, so I felt inclined to believe him, but my stomach was doubtful.

After our workout, we visited a smoothie place and got large chocolate banana protein smoothies (after writing out what I was craving and waiting a moment before deciding to go through with it). I sucked mine down so fast I got a mild brain freeze.

“So how are you feeling? Hungry for another one?” Max asked, playfully placing a hand on my gut and giving it a quick rub.

“Ugh, I would totally go for a burger and fries right now… no, onion rings… actually both,” I replied, as Max handed me a notepad and pen. I wrote down the menu in my mind and thought about how it can be nice to feel so full without another care in the world.

“It’s been a few minutes… still hungry?” Max said with a sly smile.

“What do you think?” I asked him, lifting my gym shirt up to reveal my hairy belly, which gave a perfectly timed gurgle.

Max drove to my favorite burger joint and ordered a few meals and insisted on paying “This is my idea, don’t worry about it… for science!”

After downing two large burgers, a full bag of onion rings and a couple sides of fries, plus an apple that came with Max’s meal that he was too full to finish, I sat with my gut extended out in front of me.

Max leaned over to me, pulled my shirt up over my belly and patted it with his closed fist as if knocking at a door, “So how are you doing, hungry guy?” He put his ear to my side and listened intently to the stomach gurgles, occasionally making sounds of “Mmm,” “Yes, I see,” “Interesting.” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of Max speaking to my belly.

“What’s so funny about listening to your gut? Intuitive eating is no joke,” Max said with a joking smile, “What is your stomach telling you?”

I thought for a moment, grabbed the notepad and wrote down ‘Though I should be full and done eating… Ice cream would hit the spot right now… Surely that would fill me up, and fill the void the low fat snacks have opened.’ I handed Max the written note.

Max looked from my belly to my eyes with a poker face, “I know just the place.”

In a few minutes we rolled up to Max’s apartment. Inside he pulled out some pints of cookies and cream ice cream and some mint chocolate chip. He handed me a spoon and opened the containers and sat across from me.

“Do you want me to get a bowl?” I asked.

“Nah. Try to intuitively eat. Just eat until your body feels done.”

“So… eat until there’s a nationwide ice cream shortage?”

Max threw his head back laughing, “If we get to that point, maybe we’ll pivot to a new tactic, but for now, feel free to eat as much as you want.” He looked endearingly into my eyes, and I felt my gut rumble, whether by digestion or hunger, or both, I couldn’t discern.

As I scooped down ice cream, we chatted about hunger, about scarcity mindset when it comes to food, and he told me some interesting facts about digestion and how to make room in one's stomach faster than normal by laying on the left side.

“Is this the stuff people need to know for your personal training work and such?” I asked.

“Personal training stuff?” Max gave a look of puzzlement then laughed, “I think I said that sarcastically a while back. A few guys pay me to help them gain weight and eat big. So sort of a personal trainer, but kind of the opposite effect that most would expect.”

“Ohhh, this tactic makes a bit more sense now,” I replied, continuing to eat the ice cream.

“Well, I thought if I encouraged you to experience the ability to eat as much as you want without restriction, you’ll realize that you don’t have to eat everything. It sounds like you are always hungry, because you are always denying that you want food.”

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” I went to scoop up more ice cream then realized I’d eaten all of it.

“How are you feeling?” Max asked, rubbing the top of my belly.

I felt a grumble deep in my stomach.”I can definitely feel my belly full of food, but I also could definitely do the whole thing all over again.”

Max considered me for a moment, then started listing off some random digestion facts again. He put his head on my stomach again, lifted my shirt off my body, listened again, took his hands and gently opened my mouth wide and peered down my throat, until I started laughing and he couldn't hold my mouth open.

“What are you doing? You think my stomach is gonna speak back to you in English?” I joked.

“No… but I wonder if I could better understand your hunger if I could better see inside your gut. Hmmm, maybe even just peering down your esophagus…”

“Don’t you need a fancy scope for that or something?”

“Not if you’re willing to relax your throat for a moment…” Max said. I shrugged, and he straddled my lap and shoved his head into my mouth. I could feel his energetic breathing against my tongue and wondered how on earth he could see anything down my throat with his head blocking light from the outside.

I heard a muffled “I’d like to see a bit further…” and felt him push his whole body forward into me. His shoulders shoved their way into my maw and stretched my jaw wide like an opera singer. I choked a little bit feeling his scratchy hair make contact with my uvula and the bottom of my tongue. I reflexively closed my lips over his skin and swallowed as the hair and breath tickled my maw. I realized that my peristalsis must have taken a bit of control, because I was surprised to see that I was looking down at his lower back with his arms pinned to his sides. I felt his nipples and pectoral muscles sliding against my tongue and felt his head squeezed tightly through my lower esophagus. What was going on? Though the sensation was filling me with dopamine and adrenaline, I realized that somehow my body was getting ready to eat a whole human, so I mentally prepared myself to try and regurgitate him. But instead I felt him force himself deeper into my throat, as his feet pushed off against the floor, and his upper torso wriggled and squirmed to slide deeper into me. I felt a sloshing in my gut, and heard a muffled intake of air and the continuation of more digestion facts being spewed out of Max’s ever curious mind obsessed with digestion.

Since Max seemed so intent on getting inside my stomach, and I knew I would need to breathe soon, I decided to help him out. I lifted his legs up over my head and felt gravity pulling him down my throat. I pulled his gym shorts and such off him and felt the interesting texture of his little belly over his abs, mixed with gym sweat and belly hair, felt past his hard on and groin, and his thick thighs as they all passed over my tongue and against my soft palate. My stomach finally began to feel full, as it sloshed with its soupy contents of dinner encasing Max’s squirming upper body. I knew Max’s hands had been freed from the tight grip of my esophagus as my inner stomach felt a peculiar tickling sensation with Max rubbing it from the inside. I felt him poke around and heard his muffled casual observations about my stomach.

I felt Max’s muscles seize up as he put his legs together tightly and let them slide easily down my throat. I felt his cold feet tickle my tongue, uvula and esophagus until they finally plopped into my stomach and I felt my throat open enough for me to exhale and breathe in more oxygen finally.

I took a few moments to gather my thoughts and catch my breath, feeling Max move around and curl up into a ball inside my tight stomach. I looked down to see the bulge his head made toward the top of my belly, with other odd bumps sticking out that I assumed were his knees and feet pressing up against my stomach walls. I felt his clammy hands push up against my stomach as he surveyed his new situation.

“Max, I forgot to write this craving down first.” I said, jokingly.

“Don’t worry I already did!” I heard him shout back, hearing it almost come up through my own throat. I stared in confusion at the opened notepad next to me and flipped to the last written note that read ‘Ice cream and everything else isn’t satisfying enough. Maybe eating me will do the trick. - Max’

My belly gurgled in surprise, “You planned for me to eat you?”

“I did shove myself down your throat, didn’t I?”

“But why would you -”

“Hey you didn’t try and stop me, bud,” he replied. I felt a pat against my belly, and shivered a little bit.

“Yeah, but I thought you just wanted to glance inside, but you wriggled in deeper!”

“Are you mad that I did?” Max asked. I felt him shifting his weight inside my gut and resting into me.

I considered the events of the night. I had really craved a day to just eat all I wanted, and Max gave all that to me and more. Even though I definitely didn’t expect him to force his way onto the menu, my belly felt much more satiated than it had been. “... I’m not mad at you… just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into… but I do have a confession.”

“What is it?” Max asked, shifting around and pressing his head up against the place where my hand was resting on my belly.

“I could go for some orange sherbert right now… I think your diet tactic failed.” My stomach added a large grumble and groan in agreement.

“Failed for you, maybe. But I’m cozy!” Max tried to stretch out a bit and I watched my stomach bulges shift in a funny manner, and felt my belly tighten and knead Max in response. “Plus, I think I figured out why you’ve been so hungry lately.”

“And what have you discovered?”

“That you should have eaten me ages ago! Once I’m digested into belly fat you’ll have more energy stored in your cells for longer, so you won’t be as hungry all the time! It’s simple science,” Max replied matter of factly.

“I’m not sure that science is sound, but as long as you’re happy, I’m fat and happy.”

“If you don’t think the science is sound, maybe you ought to repeat the experiment. Have a cheat day every once in a while,” Max replied, as he curled into a tight ball again and let my stomach relax and get to work over him. “I know I’ve been seeing that cute guy at the gym drooling over your gut, you know, the one who always wears that green hat? I’m sure he’d love to be a part of your next cheat day once you’ve had enough of your salads and diet again.”

I enjoyed the peace of feeling Max getting comfortable deep in my gut. I took deep breaths and felt my diaphragm move Max around slightly as my chest expanded and contracted. “Maybe I’ll ask him. But I’ll leave it up to him whether he wants to take it as far as you did tonight.” I rubbed my belly and stared, mesmerized at the lumpy spots on my belly indicating Max’s body relaxing against my stomach walls. I felt his heartbeat in polyrhythm against mine, with his breathing patterns tickling my stomach walls. I tasted the lasting flavors of his skin on my tongue, mixed with ice cream and other sustenance I had downed throughout the evening. Good thing we worked out first, to balance out this sharp intake in calories. So I suppose even if I had a cheat day from my diet, eating a whole human balances out to be healthy, right?

[cagesofgold]

eren jaeger headcanons <3

🎵teenage fever - Drake 🎧

His favorite way to unwind is to play with your hair. Due to having longer hair himself he’s grown accustomed to the different skill sets required to craft different hair styles, and actually, is really good at it. His fingers are lithe and nimble and are able to weave through strands with ease.

He drives an all black car with tinted windows, and has a polaroid of you in a photo booth with him on your first date in a plastic case hanging from his rear view mirror.

he also always makes sure to keep your favorite snacks in the car, as he’s a guy who’s bound to text you at 2am asking bout some “you up for a drive?” 💀

in terms of tattoos despite popular belief, i personally think he’d keep it on the minimal side. He’d maybe have some on his arms - or a sleeve, but he likes to keep them tidy. Although, he is one of those guys that would have that tiktok thirst trap spider on his chest or adjacent to his v line…..

this mf smells gooooood, he’s so paranoid about smelling bad because of Jean saying he smelt like a burning pile of bodies in high school and hasn’t been able to shake the fear since.

despite not being overly adorned in tattoos he does like piercings. He’s got about five on his ears and has a nose piercing but he always forgets about it.

loves reality shows. A few months into your relationship he noticed you watching them and acted with his full chest that he had no interest, yet as the weeks rolled by he somehow got closer and closer to the couch and before you knew it he was fully shouting over Lisa Rinna. (You’ve also seen him following over 30 housewives from the different shows on instagram…)

cannot stand metal music because he spent his entire childhood covering his ears from where it bled from under Mikasa’s door. (Otherwise he’d probably enjoy it)

he’d dress quite simply, mainly with blacks and whites and would sometimes mix and match with some red or green, but i don’t think he’s as ambitious as some of his friends fashion wise, but he still looks good as hell.

his favorite holiday is with out a doubt halloween, is some of this because he spent so long as a child building the most elaborate scares for the kids on his street? maybe. but he also likes autumn as a season so that has something to do with it.

doesn’t get along with his dad too well but is a total mamas boy. He visits her at least twice a month considering they live in different cities.

is a cat person, but when he was younger he liked dogs more as according to him they were “much radder” - his own words 💀, but as he got older and became more subdued he developed a preference for cats.

has anxiety that he manages to hide, he wasn’t used to being comforted and it took a while for him to fully open up to you.

despite smoking weed with Jean and connie almost every other day he still makes a dramatic scene any time Zeke lights a cigarette around him, i’m talking coughing and clutching his chest, Zeke’s standing there like this 🧍‍♀️waiting for him to stop his fucking shenanigans.

if you want to go out with Eren Jaeger prepare to be a victim of the sassy man apocalypse, because my god, this man is relentless, and the SIDE EYE on this mf is ridiculous. He could knock down an army with his sass alone.

takes good care of his hair, oils it twice a week and does hair masks in order to keep it soft and shiny. He can’t have his gorgeous girl going out with some guy with brittle, greasy ass hair…

goes to the gym but doesn’t like it very much. he goes most days for at least an hour but never posts gym pics on his instagram or anything, he just has no interest apart from maintaining his body.

cannot sleep without you. he can try, sure, but he’ll never be successful. Before you both decided to move in together he was at your house every night, nuzzled against your body with light breaths slipping from his lips, which sparked the conversation, why not just move in, you’re here everyday anyway?

tends to bottle things up, and if something is bothering him you will have to work it out of him slowly…but he’s trying, for you he’s trying.

his lock screen is a photo of you asleep against his chest, he just thought you looked so peaceful.

gets embarrassingly competitive in just dance, threw a Wii at Connie once because he made him lose a perfect score on timber.

finally, he loves stargazing, especially with you. He’ll take you out to a deserted street, a bag full of snacks and a joint as you both lay on the hood of his car, chatting about whatever comes to mind, and it’s at those moments, when his eyes focus on the slope of your nose and the shape of your mouth, that he feels a warmth inside him he’s never felt before. <3

[wayfayrr]

do you think the self-aware boys could be aware of other games you play on the console? this is kind of a silly thought but i got age of calamity when it came out and didn't play much because i was really bad at it. i've been playing totk recently but some self-aware au posts reminded me that i have age of calamity so i popped it back in to try out again (i'm still not great at it). and i just imagined tears getting jealous haha sorry hon i swear i didn't mean anything by it

(not me who plays a ton of indie games on my switch - guys I'm so sorry I just like the silly sushi game)

So as for them being aware of other games, they start off as not knowing much, just knowing that they're there. but after a while they can see the hours played! think the switch timer that shows how much you've played or maybe steam library style, I'm not entirely sure yet

as for your other point - I think their jealousy really depends on what game you're playing, how long you're playing for kinda a mix on the two!

other zelda games could have little/no jealousy or they could actually end up causing a literal fight if those two links met. I actually really need to draw out a relationship chart! cause I've been planning a self aware links meet and I've been stewing over this for a good while <3

say for legend? yeah, he's not going to be jealous of himself - that would be a waste of energy Sky would be a little petty if your totk playtime is higher than his but he gets along well with tears - to the point he'd be willing to share you with him (the same goes for wild/ possibly wars) Twilight wants to work with others - not all of them mind you but time, wild and wind? given the chance he will go out of his way to work with them rather than not and he is the ONLY one who does this - this is not 100% reciprocated with all of those links. (and his allies depend on what console you're on) the others are opportunistic with allies but they don't go out of their way like he does.

other series games? yeah no get them OUT of here they aren't sharing you with them.

in your case though anon?

I think tears would be more than fine with you playing aoc!! he's a little bitter over the fact (in his head) you might prefer the version of him that didn't die but no don't worry he's not that offended Calamity on the other hand? he's going to be a smug little shit. He had more than a bit of an inferiority complex when it comes to the others - aoc kinda flopped compared to other games (4mil copies to totks 20mil (totk sold half of aocs total sales in japan in THREE DAYS)) if you have more hours with him than with wild/tears then he will become more of an ass and get whiny about having your attention on him when he gets out. I also like to hc him as having really bad anxiety which leads to a really clingy yan

[hookedonhuge]

Lucky Shorts

This is a story about the luckiest day of your life.

It all started when you went to a rugby match which wasn’t your usual style as you had no interest in the sport. The people playing the sport on the other hand, well let’s just say they had bodies built to be watched by people like you.

If eyeing off the large men wrestling with each other wasn’t enough for you, then seeing one of the star players peel off their tight, sweaty shorts from their giant, bubble butt and huge, athletic legs and toss it into the crowd after the match certainly was. The icing on the cake was that those very same shorts landed in your hands. It was as if he knew just how desperately you wanted them.

As soon as you got home you went into your room and pressed those sweaty shorts into your face. You were in total bliss as you breathed in the intoxicating, ripe odours of the shorts, imagining that big, sweaty stud being in the room with you. You revelled in the fantasy of him smothering his stinky shorts into your nose, his face painted with a mix of pride and disgust as you got off on inhaling his potent musk.

“How pathetic,” you imagined him saying. “Not even the sweatiest, smelliest players on my team can handle my post-match stench. Yet, you love it.”

You had to try on those shorts. Even if they were going to be a bit big for your smaller frame, you needed to feel the damp fabric against your ass.

You took the shorts away from your nose, it wasn’t easy to say goodbye to the scent, and pulled them up over your black underwear. Huh, it was a tighter fit than you expected. The sweat-soaked material wrapped snugly around your butt and you could feel the moisture soak into your underwear. You pinched at the shorts and it was so skin tight that all you could feel was the heavier, wet underwear fabric beneath.

Wait, the shorts weren’t just skin tight, there were actually no shorts on you at all. Of course there were no shorts, you had been in your room in just your underwear the entire time. What were you doing again?

You aimlessly wandered around your house trying to think of what you were supposed to be doing. You eventually sat down on a seat in the living room, scratching your empty head in confusion.

“Bro, if I swung that way I’d definitely hit that ass up.” It was your roommate. He was straight as anything, and a total bro. He was staring at your butt; your big bubble butt. “Why do you always have to stick that massive thing out like that, you’re going to make me hard one day if you don’t be careful.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t make you hard already?” You joked, leaning your body forward and sticking out your dump truck ass a little further. “An ass like this is very popular with boys like you.” You loved teasing your straight roommate.

He took a cautious step forward then pinched his nose in disgust. “Your ass reeks bro, have you just come back from the gym?”

The gym, of course! That’s the thing you were planning on doing this whole time. You quickly got changed into your gym gear, throwing your black underwear on the floor of your room, and rushed out the door.

The gym felt like home to you. You couldn’t wait to lift up some weights and get your sweat on, and boy did you sweat. You were only on your first exercise and already a large sweat mark had formed under the band of your grey compression shorts.

As you continued your workout you kept getting sweatier and sweatier. It wasn’t long until your shorts were completely drenched. 

The best part were the slaps of encouragement your ass would receive from the gym bros. The slaps would make a satisfying squelch noise and then your bubble butt would jiggle like jelly. This was usually followed by a comment fawning over your dump truck ass or congratulating you about how sweaty and smelly you were (to the gym bros this was a sign of a good workout). To say you were getting a lot of attention was an understatement. You were enjoying every second of it too, even making sure to bend over and stick your butt out when one of your jacked fans walked past.

Once you finished your workout you headed straight home without showering. Why waste all of that beautiful sweat you worked so hard for?

When you arrived home you stumbled across a very fortunate surprise. It was your roommate, and he was on the floor of your room sniffing the sweaty black underwear that you left there.

“Now are you sure I don’t make you hard?” You said with the smuggest grin. He turned around to meet your gaze and he was in complete shock. His face turned bright red and he couldn’t get a single word out. “How pathetic.” You said, changing to a deeper and more condescending tone. “Not even the sweatiest, smelliest men in the gym can handle my post-workout stench. Yet, you love it.”

You lifted up your shirt to show him your spectacular body that glistened with sweat. “No point denying it, you're in love with me.” You were literally talking down to him. “And most of all, you’re in love with my sweaty body.”

Your roommate sprang up from the ground and began frantically licking the crevices of your hairy abs. You grabbed his head and pushed it into the damp abyss between your two amazing pecs. Moans of pure happiness reverberated into your chest, which only made you push his face in harder.

Once you felt he was done with your chest you shoved his body to the ground. “It’s time for the main course,” you said with a grin. You turned around so your massive butt was facing towards him. Your shorts were so drenched that sweat was dripping off them onto your housemate’s body.

“Yes please, I need a taste!” Your housemate begged.

You lowered your behemoth ass onto his face. Both cheeks spread around his face and touched the floor. His face was completely trapped in the dampest, rankest, nastiest, foulest cage imaginable. You couldn’t tell if he was screaming in joy or screaming for release but either way the vibrations felt amazing as they rippled through your cheeks. How lucky that he has a stinky, sweaty housemate who is willing to use his fat, pillowy butt to indulge his fantasies.

[shalscumbunny]

hi! I was wondering if you could write a fanfic abt yandere! shalnark having his s/o kidnapped (again🌚) and placed in a glass cage? Kinda..like the one Melanie Martinez had in her music video ‘detention’ with the whole performing for other ppl kinda deal?

Glass cage | Shalnark x Fem!Reader

Summary: Shalnark has captured his beloved, but apart from having her all to himself, he can't help but show her off as his beautiful and perfect possession to others.

Pairing: Shalnark X Female!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapped reader, doped and drugged reader, manipulation, glass box, clothing and imposed way of life.

Author’s note: I always mention it in all my writings in English, but better safe than sorry, English is not my native language so it is very likely to find many mistakes and also that I know practically nothing about writing “X character and Y/N”

Sites: AO3

You were poorly unconscious in that state, the drugs and narcotics in your blood made you have a totally altered perception of reality, although apparently, it was only a matter of a couple of hours before you were completely conscious again.

Your breathing was slightly labored and the only thing you saw clearly was that you were still in that glass cage, the second thing you saw through the glass was him.

Shalnark let out a sickly, infatuated smile when your gaze met his, completely enraptured by your image and presence, simply in his eyes you possessed unparalleled beauty, but at the same time you were a fragile and extremely precious porcelain doll, explicitly... HIS LITTLE AND PERFECT PORCELAIN DOLL.

You looked like a doll straight out of the factory, thanks to the fact that he usually chose your clothes, which made you look like a Victorian ballet dancer, extremely docile and graceful, although unfortunately he had to accept certain aspects of you, that he considered to be “factory defects.”

When the drug left your body, you would return to having that “rebellious” and disrespectful attitude, and he hated it, since it prevented him from showing you off to others.

However, the glass cage around you allowed him to show you off to the world as his and at the same time no one other than him could ever possess you, since he was the one who possessed the only key that opened the cage.

“Just one more show… You can rest soon, darling” He said kindly “Now just do what you do best”

Shalnark smiled listening to the expectant murmurs of the people, people who thought that all this was just a kind of dance mixed with theater, people who ignored that there was literally a kidnapped and drugged person in that cage, forced to entertain them.

“Everyone wants to see you, love…”

Minutes later, the stage curtain opened, leaving you in full view of the people sitting in the seats, most of them marveling at the style of your clothing and others by your “excellent performance”, playing a dancer in a cage.

The light had momentarily blinded you when the curtain opened, but soon the record player began to play music, the light melody reaching your ears, making your limbs and body coordinate so that you could start dancing.

You moved with a sensual and soft grace, but it was not that kind of obscene sensuality, Shalnark reserved those types of shows for himself, in the eyes of the spectators, the sensuality of your movements was attractive and innocent, combined with your lost gaze. You really seemed like a doll moved by strings, oblivious to the world, oblivious to people, belonging to an owner who gave them the joy of being able to witness your existence.

Your dance practically hypnotized everyone and that allowed the most discreet and fastest members of the Gen'ei Ryodan to steal at will the cell phones, wallets, rings and other extremely valuable jewelry from the wealthy spectators.

After a couple of hours, the show ended, the loot would probably be distributed tomorrow since Shalnark asked his companions as a personal favor that when the show ended, the place would be empty, that only you and him would remain.

Everything went dark, except for the place where you two were, so Shalnark opened the glass cage where you were lying, carrying you with great care until he finally sat down on an armchair and sat you on his lap.

“You gave a good show today, I'm very proud of you, you're learning to behave” Shalnark's smile was bright and real, his eyes contemplated your existence with absolute adoration

“My head…” You complained between small sobs and gasps

“Don't worry, honey. They're just side effects” Shalnark reassured you by taking your hands and kissing them

“I don't want to be here… I hate being here… I want to go home” You said weakly trying to get out of his grip, although it was completely useless, since your body was not at all able to try to face him

Shalnark sighed rolling his eyes and gently letting go of your hands.

“The same old story again… Can't you say anything else?” Shalnark scolded you as if you were a little girl. “I haven’t spent so many months educating you for you to say such ugly things to me, my love”

You didn’t even respond, you gulped as you saw how Shalnark had already taken the syringe with drugs from the nightstand next to the armchair where you were sitting.

“I don’t want injections, please” You begged between sobs, hiding in his neck like a repentant puppy.

“Then start behaving well” Shalnark said, patting your back and gently sticking the syringe close to your neck.

In a matter of seconds, you began to whimper and complain about the pain as the liquid entered your body.

“There… there… it’s over, Y/n” Shalnark left the used syringe on the nightstand and hugged you with both arms to comfort you “You should be thankful that I always inject you with great care, when I torture people, I usually do it harder and more painfully”

“I want to go home… I don’t want to be here… let me go…” You begged between sobs “I'm not a doll…”

Shalnark sighed in annoyance and frustration, roughly grabbing your face making you look at him face to face.

“I hate it when you behave like that again…” He said in a serious tone “It seems like you never pay attention to me and you only give me excuses to consider punishing you and having you in that cage all the time, is that what you want? To be in the cage all the time? I can do it if you want”

You gulped at the threat, tears running down your cheeks from the fear you felt mixed with how weak your body was, you were afraid of his falseness and cynicism, you didn’t understand how someone with such a sweet and kind smile could say all those things as if it were nothing.

“I love you… I love you more than anyone in this world…” Shalnark said, pulling you closer to him “Everything I do… I do it for your own good… for the good of both of us…”

After his last sentence, Shalnark kissed you softly, cupping your face in his hands, the tips of his fingers caressing your wet, red cheeks.

“Everything I do… is for us…” Shalnark whispered on your lips before kissing you again “The glass cage is your tower… when you learn to behave, I will rescue you from that tower…”

Shalnark kissed your forehead lovingly and then rested his forehead against yours, looking at you completely in love, hypnotized, enslaved and obsessed with your existence.

“And so… you will be my perfect princess and I will be your prince... and we will be together... forever...”

Thank u for reading, I hope you like it and what I wrote is good. 🤍

[lets-try-some-writing]

I spent the entire last night binging Action and this may just be one of the best yet humorous AUs I’ve ever seen put to words. What inspired the idea and Optimus’ portrayal? And will we ever get to see that journal he was keeping?

Yeeeeees I'm so glad you enjoy my work!! I wish I could write faster to give you and other readers more to chew on, but I take forever to update it because I A) Have a lot to write per chapter and B) Greatly enjoy weaving comedy and intrigue into Action! That said, to answer your questions:

The idea came about in a bit of a hazy daydream months upon months ago. I wrote a quick drabble for it here on Tumblr, and next thing I knew, I was writing an actor AU with only one actor. I think I saw a few posts about other actor aus and maybe some art with those fake screencaps and behind the scenes interviews. That may have helped inspire me too. As for Optimus's portrayal? I have a dark history of binging FAR too much manga and online comic content as a young teen. Those days are long behind me, but the cliche plots gave me a basis for Action. I wanted Action to be a bit of a parody mixed with real political struggle. Have you ever read one of those terrible webtoons with no character development that is totally just a power fantasy? Yeah that's what I was aiming for. The world of Action is, on its surface, a poorly written webtoon, and that's how Orion sees it. But in reality it is a Game of Thrones/Lord of the Rings style world with darkness and brutality written into its very core. Optimus Prime was meant to be a surface level villain, but Orion is an overachiever and through his efforts to play his part is unintentionally playing directly into the real nature of the world. He's given Optimus Prime character that there never was previously, and I think he would be proud to know that.

In regards to the journal, I plan for it to come into play later. It will take a minute, but it will ultimately be one of the key items to make Orion realize that his role as Optimus Prime is NOT a game. At least if my plans don't change.