#where the green ants dream

[shiningwizard]

Where the Green Ants Dream (Werner Herzog, 1984)

This is a movie that feels axiomatic that someone would make, but it is surprising/not surprising that that someone happened to be Werner Herzog. Was OK. Aimless and unavailing but not in any real transcendent way. A movie that felt constituted of its pieces as they fell out, as far as Herzog could get them to fall out in Australia. Nice songs and a foreigner's eye over this landscape.

#wo die grünen ameisen träumen #where the green ants dream #last movie i saw #B

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Thunderous

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Bang Chan

Word Count: 11K

Genre: Werewolf AU! Royalty AU!

Warnings: There are some elements of non-con in this fanfic. Please don’t read if you don’t like those elements. Mentions of knotting and rough sex. There’s also a lot of explicit smut and language throughout.

Summary: The Wolf King’s name seared your heart. You had been chosen as the youngest and most expendable daughter to be his mate. But you were terrified of the legends surrounding his bloody campaigns. How were you going to survive?

Tag List: @armystay89 @captainchrisstan @starseekersworld @melsunshine @kibs-and-bits

The Wolf King’s name whispered through the trees and hummed between the villages like the ancient stories of the gods.

Some of the villagers claimed that he could transform—bones cracking and teeth elongating until there was no man left. They said his claws could cut through trees and that his howl silenced the instincts of the mountain lions who cowered in their dens. In place of human skin, fur sprouted thick and rough, darkening until it matched the color of the shadows.

The myth and lore had been passed down for years, and you found yourself on the receiving end of all those stories. As the Wolf King’s future mate, you had also become something of an enigma around the kingdom. People looked at you with a glint of respect, bowing their heads and moving out of your way whenever you made your rounds. 

The attention that you hated. Especially when the marriage had been arranged without your willing compliance. Young girl fantasies of handsome princes and distant lands vanquished in an instant. But even if you couldn’t indulge in happiness anymore, there had been a time when you allowed yourself to dream about your wedding. 

Bubbling colors of red and green—like your kingdom’s annual yuletide celebrations—and a long, flowing white gown extending across the floor like an elegant brush of paint. Pure as you had always been. There was beautiful music in your dream, and a gorgeous prince to take you into his arms and glide you across the floor like the clouds moving in the sky.

Fantasies, indeed.

Instead, of merriment and goodwill, you found yourself trembling from head to toe, holding tight to the sleeve of your handmaiden’s gown as she escorted you through the recital hall, down the aisle to where you recognized the Wolf King waiting.

You had only met him twice before. Once, when you had just turned twelve, on the day your families agreed to meet over the prospect of securing peace between your rival kingdoms.

When you were both little children, the Wolf King had no reputation. He was just a boy, and you greeted him with a smile—ignorant of the true purpose of your first meeting. While your parents talked about the future, you showed the Wolf King your favorite flowers, handing him individual stems while your mother bargained your life away:

“A union is our commitment to peace,” your mother had once proclaimed, reaching out to softly pat your curls. “We think they’ll do well together.”

“Yes.” But Chan’s mother didn’t seem convinced. She was an elegant and beautiful woman with long black hair and bright red eyes to match his defining features. “Chan will decide who he wants to marry,” his mother said.

“Y/N will make a good wife when she comes of age,” your mother insisted. “We’ll hire the best teachers to ensure that she is prepared for her duties.”

“That matters little to us,” Chan’s father spoke, and he regarded you like one might grimace at an annoying ant to step on.

You shied away from his intimidating stare, looking instead at Chan as he designed a flower crown for you, placing it on top of your head with a proud smile.

It was the last time he would ever show such kindness.

Over the years proceding your first meeting, Chan became a man, and his reputation for ruthlessness and fury ignited a storm of gossip. 

“The Wolf King stands taller than the gods!”

“The Wolf King slaughtered a village because they refused to bow down to him!”

“He’s a monster! Have mercy on us all!”

You became terrified at any mention of the Wolf King, wondering if your parents were still serious about a union. You found out the hard way when your mother invited the Wolf King and his generals to your kingdom. But you didn’t stick around for very long.

The next time you met, you were sixteen, and you ran away to the gardens in a rare show of rebellion against your parents who had expected you to dress pretty and show off for Chan.

But that wasn’t in your nature, and your instincts screamed at you to avoid the Wolf King. And you thought that you were alone in the forest. Surrounded by the quiet of the thick foliage. But then you heard the bushes move, and you noticed a large black head peering at you with piercing red eyes.

You relaxed when you realized that it was just a common wolf—probably one from the mountain packs, and you weren’t frightened. Animals had always held a special place in your heart, and you approached the wolf with palms upturned to show your peaceful intentions. The wolf never moved, and you stroked your fingers through the coarse fur on his head. 

You returned home that evening thinking your father would scold you for running off like that. But you were instead warmly greeted by your parents who were both ecstatic. “He agreed to marry you, Y/N!” your mother exclaimed. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

It wasn’t.

Not at all.

And you had never experienced real fear in your entire life. But walking down the aisle in the chapel to where the fearless Wolf King waited for you, there was a bone-chilling tremble aching down your spine.

“So beautiful,” you heard faint whispers join together, urging you closer and closer to the Wolf King who gazed at you with the most intense stare you had ever received.

When you were within earshot, the Wolf King snatched your hand from the poor handmaiden who had been helping you walk down the aisle.

The girl quickly jumped to the side, bowing her head as the Wolf King forced you to stand in front of him, reaching down for your other hand. You reluctantly gave it to him, still looking at everything except for the Wolf King’s eyes, even if the little growl he gave showed that he disapproved.

You could hear your mother’s chastising voice in your head, scolding you for not pleasing the King. But you didn’t care anymore. Wasn’t it enough that you were standing there, giving your life away to a monster?

In the distant background, you could hear the priest delivering his lines, and when it was your turn, you gave your vow of allegiance, even if the words fell hot like acid from your unwilling tongue.

Thankfully, the ceremony did not require you to kiss him, dodging his wayward lips when they fell too close to yours. 

There was a rush when the proceedings concluded, the firm ushering of hands leading you out of the chapel. You stumbled in your heels, bringing yourself inadvertently closer to the Wolf King who held tighter to your waist. You did not enjoy the closeness, swallowing down your nerves as you tried not to think about what came next.

The crowd eventually parted, giving you enough space to walk down the steps in the open air, briefly acknowledging the cheering crowd spread through the streets. There was a distinct awe in the noise from the people around you, clambering over one another to get a good like at yourself and the predator who would soon claim you for his own. Wanting to acquaint themselves with your kingdom’s bargaining chip—a small sacrifice to ensure an alliance between your people and the ones who fought under Chan’s domain.

On paper, it seemed like a worthy solution to helping your kingdom protect its borders and fight off invaders. The problem was that you felt the weight of pleasing a man you had no interest in—someone who frightened you to your core. A sick knot tightened in your guts and your stomach clenched tighter as Chan led you to Castle Miroh—the notorious landmark of his territory symbolizing the power of the ruling family.

As the main doors parted, you winced at the sensation of the cold and harsh air inside, and a shiver passed down your spine as you forced yourself to keep up with Chan’s incessant pace, footsteps clacking against marble. It was dark in the corridors, and the only lighting came from the flames ensconced along the walls, casting everything in shadows. Ahead in the distance, you could see the outline of a grand staircase, and your eyes worked tirelessly to mark each step on your darkened path.

It turned out that Chan kept his quarters on the highest floor, latching your fingers together the entire time, even as you forced down the bile permanently hitched at the back of your throat at the thought of all the blood that had stained those hands. 

At the top of the staircase, you were pulled to the left, marching down an impressive corridor with a soft, velvet carpet beneath your soles. Eventually, you found yourself in front of a large, wooden door, and Chan ushered you through the frame, a hand to your lower back as your eyes paused on the King-sized bed waiting beneath an unholy painting of a bloody battle scene.

You will present yourself to the Wolf King, you recalled the words of your tutor. He will expect obedience from his mate.

You blinked away tears, knowing what you were expected to do next, and deciding to push through your nerves before you lost the contents of your stomach on the floor. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, but you ignored your instincts, loosening the straps of your dress to allow it to pool into a mess on the floor at your feet, and kicking it aside as you eliminated the remaining distance to the bed. 

You didn’t want to show him that you were weak. That he had any sort of influence that might condemn you a coward. You could not be seen as pathetic in the eyes of a monster, crawling on hands and knees to the center of the bed, head ducked down between your trembling arms and waiting.

Your breath caught when the bed dipped beneath his weight, and you gritted your teeth, feeling his hands take your hips with a powerful grip, nails digging into the soft skin.

The Wolf King will fuck you, your tutor had said, Then he will bite you to complete the mating ritual.

You had seen the Wolf King’s teeth. Sharp like razors and pointed at the ends. You would be a bloody mess at the end of this, but no one could ever accuse you of shirking your responsibilities. You had done everything expected of you, holding on to this thought of solace as you waited for him to take his fill.

“Don’t,” he abruptly whispered, startling you as he laid down on the mattress at your side, closing his eyes and letting out a grumble, completely unbothered with his own nakedness. 

It must’ve happened while you were turned away, but it was still jarring to see so much pale skin on display, marred with jagged scars and scarlet bruises. Eyes trailing over the swell of his chest, over the ridges of his abs, and down to this impressive cock. 

You swallowed hard. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

“No,” Chan said, chest deflating. “You do not want that.”

His response surprised you, and you wanted nothing more than to hurriedly tuck the sheet around your body to hide you from him. “I thought you were meant to-”

“We are equals,” Chan interrupted with a much firmer tone. “And you are afraid.”

Equals? The word didn’t seem right coming from him, but you weren’t about to question what was seemingly amounting to an act of mercy. Quick as a flash, you had the sheet bundled against your chest, eyes wide as you looked him over. “The mating-”

“We can do the bite,” Chan continued as if he didn’t care that he wasn’t fulfilling the only purpose you had been given. “But in the morning. The celebrations earlier exhausted me. Such frivolous trivialities.”

“Won’t they notice-”

“Who are they?” Chan barked with a hint of a growl that had you flinching. “There is no one who orders the King around.”

His dark pupils met yours in the dark, searching for something. You swallowed hard, unsure what he was looking for, but focusing on the calming sensation of relief flooding your system at his unexpected mercy. “Thank you.”

He gave a curt nod, dipping his head to the space next to him. “Sleep.”

You obeyed, wondering if you could sleep next to him, even if he had shown you some degree of kindness. It still didn’t erase his bloody reputation, and it worried you to no end that you would be sleeping next to a killer. Born to fight his way to power and rule over his kind. 

You took a deep breath, holding tight to the sheet, and closing your eyes. Perhaps it was the roller coaster of emotions weighing down on you from the day’s events, but you did manage to find sleep, even if it was troubled. Nightmares of wolves following you through the woods, red irises piercing you from the shelter of the trees, and claws slicing through flesh. 

You gasped when your eyes sprung open against an onslaught of bright, morning light, heart palpitating in your chest when you met those same eyes looking down at you from above. Chan was a step ahead of you as if he could predict your movements, grabbing your hands in one of his own to hold them above your head. One of his powerful thighs slung across your lower body, holding you in place with a strength that ignited a fire of burning adrenaline. 

“Hold still,” he said, giving you no other warning before teeth sank into the side of your neck, and your body panicked, fighting against him. Like he might take a chunk out of your neck and leave you on the bed to bleed out. Crimson against the cream-colored sheets. 

Immediately, a pulsating shock erupted from the site of the wound, forcing a scream from between your lips at the overwhelming pain. “I know,” he said, and it was barely discernible over the sounds of your cries, unashamed to lose all inhibitions at the sensation of a pain you had never experienced before.

The Wolf King moved over top of you, and you flinched when you felt his tongue start to lap at the painful bite mark on your shoulder. “The pain will stop soon,” he said. “I’m sorry you have to suffer.”

You held back a whine, digging your nails into the soft flesh of your palms. You supposed he had helped the sting, but it still felt like a piece of glass was being sliced across your skin. Even if the guilt and remorse in his gaze were almost enough to distract you.

“Relax,” he soothed, releasing your hands which instinctively went to wipe at your eyes, drying the salty wetness that had accumulated. 

“I- I can’t...”

“You can because you are mine now,” he declared in a tone that had a different flame sparking in your chest. 

You nodded against the pain, focusing on taking deep breaths, and letting darkness take you under once more.

When you woke again, the King was ready for you. He explained that you were needed in the Throne Room to meet some important people. It turned out that the King had three brothers. They were all younger than him. Or so you had been told.

Their names were Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin. Feared and revered for their triumphs in battle.

Your Wolf King seemed proud to show them off, standing before you in an organized line: from oldest to youngest.

Felix reminded you of your own cousins, with his lithe figure, so much different from the King’s own bulk, and a head of flaming orange-red hair. 

Next to him, in the middle, stood Seungmin. Dressed in dark clothes that only made his already dark hair even more onyx-black. Bright green eyes appraising you slowly.

Finally, there was Jeongin. The tallest of the three. And sporting the same dark-colored hair as his middle brother. He seemed to be the most innocent, eyes wide with wonder.

“They are here to support you,” Chan went on after introductions had passed. “Call on them if you need any help.”

Unlikely, but you forced a nod nonetheless.

“You are dismissed,” Chan informed them after you gave your acquiescence, and you watched them retreat in the same formation down the hall.

In their stead approached a shorter man, dressed in full battle attire. Well-muscled to stretch the fabric of his shirt and pants, with serious dark eyes. “My King,” the man said, bowing once. “You are needed on the training fields.”

You flinched when the man’s eyes found your neck, likely noting the swollen mess that Chan had left behind. “I’ll be there shortly, Changbin,” Chan said, and he waited until the man was gone before looking at you. “The Castle is yours, my Queen. Feel free to look around and acquaint yourself with your new home.”

“I will,” you whispered, forcing yourself to stay still when he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Tonight, we can eat together,” came his parting words, and you grimaced at the idea of sharing a meal with him. 

But the concept of sharing a meal with him was nowhere near as horrible as the idea that this place could ever be considered your home. What a nasty thought! This place was nothing more than a prison forced upon you because your parents were desperate for Chan’s allegiance.

“Why did he agree?” you huffed to yourself, spinning on your heel to start the trek back to your room—as much as you could remember. “Leaving me here as if I know where anything is!”

For months leading up to your shared nuptials, you had pondered the reason why the powerful Wolf King had even agreed to marry you in the first place. Neither of your meetings had been particularly impactful, and your Kingdom had nothing to benefit his own; in fact, your alliance was more of a detriment to Chan and his people—a burden that he willingly took on.

You turned the corner to the last corridor, grateful that you had managed to retrace your steps, faltering when you noticed something on the floor outside of your door. You kneeled to retrieve it, glancing at the writing and noting with a happy hum that it was addressed from the Northern Highlands!

“Grace!” you exclaimed, clutching the envelope to your chest as you quickly rushed inside your room, glancing back to ensure the door was locked before hopping onto the bed to rip the contents open.

Dear Y/N,

Congratulations on your marriage to Bang Chan - it will be a strong alliance for our parents and their Kingdom. 

I apologize for my absence - Hyunjin was unable to make the accommodations.

As you know, snowfall comes to the Highlands in the upcoming months. It will soon be impossible for me to journey to you, or for you to make the journey here. I’d love to see you and your new husband before it is difficult to do so.

Please write to me when you can to arrange a visit.

Lovingly,

Grace

You read over the letter twice before releasing a deep sigh. Would your Wolf King even indulge in such a trip? Perhaps it wasn’t even necessary for him to go. You could make the trip on your own.

You held fast to that thought, of getting away from your prison even if only for a few days, as you lounged around in your room for the remainder of the day. There was little to entertain yourself with, re-reading Grace’s letter over and over again, and sitting outside on the little veranda attached to your room to watch the clouds moving in the sky.

It would be another mercy to escape Chan’s presence if you were to head North alone, but you were afraid that you were pushing your luck, wincing when you heard the door to your chambers opening again, returning inside from your observation of the grounds to greet Chan as you were expected to do.

“My queen,” he rumbled, reaching out to hold your shoulders between both hands, a grip that was impossible to mistake. “Were you able to see more of the Castle?”

“Yes,” you lied through clenched teeth, only breathing a little easier when he released you, eyes dropping to the letter in your hands.

“What is that?”

“It is from my sister,” you explained. 

“I see.”

“She wasn’t able to attend the wedding,” you went on, saving yourself a bit of time as you scrambled for the best way to drop the news to him. Maybe it would just be best to try a blunt approach, giving him your demands since he insisted on calling you an equal. “I wish to see my sister,” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Before it is too dangerous to make the trip to the Northern Highlands.”

Chan grunted at your request, and you weren’t well-versed in his language to know what that meant. “She invited you?”

“I can go alone,” you said. “If it is too much for you.”

“I would love to come with you,” he said, disregarding the determination in your tone. “It will give us more time to spend together on our own.”

“Oh.” Your gaze remained trained on the floor, hopes dashed that you could leave him behind. 

“It will be nice to visit there,” he said. “I will make the arrangements. You may write her back to expect us very soon.”

“As you wish,” you sighed, trying to keep the disappointment from your tone, flinching when he grabbed one of your wrists. He didn’t seem perturbed by your reaction, and you watched as he pulled a delicate piece of jewelry from his pocket.

“Well?” he smiled, something that made you shiver. “What do you think?”

“What is it?” you asked in return, resisting the urge to pull back the wrist clasped between his scarred fingers. Even if you did manage to finally meet his gaze.

“It is a gift for you,” Chan said with a smile you were not expecting—blinding and warm. “I made it myself.”

“You made this?”

“As our traditions dictate,” he agreed, keeping a firm hold on your wrist to clasp the little bracelet around your delicate flesh. “It is meant to show our bond to the world.”

You studied it curiously, noting the simple design and the small wolf-shaped carvings engraved in the metal. It was cold against your skin, even as the heat from his body balanced it out.

“Shall we eat?”

He dropped your wrist, and you were able to gather your bearings. “Of course.” You managed a nod, watching as he opened the door wide, allowing a small servant girl to enter the room.

The girl offered you both a respectful bow before she started to set the table, laying out silverware and fine china plates. Behind her, another girl rolled in a cart, wheels squealing on the floor, with prepared food steaming from beneath metal lids. 

“Here, sit with me,” Chan said, patting the space on the bed next to him. “Until they are ready.”

You obeyed, sitting down next to him. Your gaze remained trained on the servant girls, moving about in a well-rehearsed manner as if they had done this too many times to count. 

He reached for your hand, and you did your best not to flinch. “Look,” he whispered, urging you to follow his gaze. “This line on your hand, do you see the way it moves?”

You shivered as he traced the mark he referred to, following it up and down the length of your palm. “Yes,” you whispered, struck by the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.

Goosebumps followed the trail he left on your wrist, and you held your breath when he brought it to his lips. “The same as mine,” he said, almost reverently. Your eyes widened, breath hitching as he aligned your hands together. “A perfect match.”

You could hardly believe it, eyes searching back and forth, but seeing the same line digging into both of your skin. Like it belonged there. 

“There are reasons for everything,” he said, and you felt a small flicker of shame when you read his knowing gaze as if he could sense those dark thoughts that you sheltered about him—wondering why you out of everyone in the world had been chosen to stand at his side. “I wouldn’t question so much,” he continued. “The things that fall into place so perfectly.”

He offered you a wink, surprisingly playful for a man of his reputation. “Let’s eat.”

You nodded, the most you could, and followed him to the table. He was polite as always, allowing you to pick first, waiting until your first bite before claiming his own. You were content, at that moment, to answer the questions he threw your way, increasingly aware of the way the place he had touched warming and the mark on your neck drummed in a gentle pulse.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and there was less trepidation in your soul when you lay with Chan to sleep. 

You journeyed to the Highlands the next morning, riding behind Chan on horseback, leaving the Wolves’ imposing Castle behind. There was a lightness about you as distance added more miles to your ride, growing brighter and brighter the further you traveled. Even with light conversation petering between you and Chan, you had never been freer in your entire life, the wind blowing back your hair as you soared across the plains.

Despite his repeated requests for you to take a break, you were determined to make it to your sister’s palace before nightfall. You wanted to see her outside, in the meadows that spread invitingly across the Highlands, and walk together just the two of you as you did as children.

There was excitement spiking hot adrenaline in your veins when the hills opened up in the distance, revealing a gorgeous mountain Castle with imposing towers and the familiar flags of your sister’s powerful family. She belonged to Hyunjin, taking his name and crest, and it made you sad to realize that there was a greater distance between you both. You loosened your grip on Chan’s waist, not realizing your grip on him.

You had grown tired of being around him, constantly blinded by the weight of his shadow. At least out here, with the sun beaming down from above, you could feel great relief from the pressure lightening. Perhaps there should be shame associated with your actions, but as soon as you could identify a familiar shape up ahead, you were already leaping from the horse despite Chan’s protests.

Thankfully, your sister was there to greet you, surrounded by two guards. Immediately, you jumped from your steed, falling into her arms and inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. “Grace,” you squealed, keeping her held tight to you as if it would be the last time you could ever do so. 

“Y/N,” she sing-songed back, and you smiled at her playful attitude, only growing a little despondent when you detected Chan’s approach from behind.

“Hello,” she greeted Chan with a polite bow. “It is an honor to welcome you to the Northern Highlands.”

“Your palace is beautiful,” Chan complimented, and you shivered when he drew fingers down the length of your spine—a show of affection that you would never get used to experiencing.

“Thank you,” she said, turning around to gaze back at it as if she were seeing it for the first time. “It has centuries of history.”

“I have heard the tales,” Chan remarked. “From when I was a boy.”

You tried not to snort, not wanting to relive any memories of Chan from his boyhood. Grace’s careful eyes, however, seemed to detect something, and she looked at you with a curious gaze. “Well, I can show you to your quarters.”

“No need, I’m sure one of your guards will know the way. I think Y/N has been waiting for some time with you. I’ll leave you both alone,” he said, even without your prompting, and your sister gave you a familiar smile.

“As you wish,” she said with a little curtsy, beckoning a guard forward with stern orders to help the Wolf King settle in while you and Grace took a stroll of the grounds.

You held your breath, not wanting your impatience to show as the arrangements were made. Only once Chan had started in the direction of the Castle, guards following him closely, did you exhale. Reaching for Grace’s hand, and tugging her forward.

“No need to drag me!” Grace chuckled at your actions, and she linked your arms together, steering you toward the familiar meadows.

You both settled into easy conversation as it always seemed to happen, topics flowing from one to another. There was a lot to catch up on, things left unsaid from your sad exchange of letters. Rumors swirling around the highlands, and stories from your own homeland that you consumed greedily, excited for any mention of your little Kingdom.

Even if you didn’t really belong to it anymore.

You wanted to walk forever, to keep going beyond the highlands. Escaping to a distant land with just you and Grace. A place where you could both live in peace and go about your days just chatting and reading together by the fireplace as you did when you were children.

She laughed at your complaints, forcing you to return to the Castle when the sun had started to set. Thankfully, you didn’t go all the way inside just yet, and the two of you sat down at one of the picnic tables in the gardens. As you settled next to Grace, bowing politely to the maids who brought you both a cup of tea, you frowned as you recognized Chan between the hedges, strolling along with Hyunjin, Grace’s King, down the trodden paths between the mazes. 

You did your best to ignore him, focusing instead on the moment you had with your sister. The setting sun was warm as you reclined your head, eyes closed as you accepted the gracious touch—burning just as hot as your sister’s intense stare.

“Do you have something to say?” you huffed. “I can feel you looking at me.”

Her smile was clear in her tone. “You just seem...different.”

“How so?”

“Like you’ve been tamed.”

Your eyes flew open at the comment, glaring at her. “Stuck in an arranged marriage, you mean?”

“Mine was arranged as well, but you can rest assured that I don’t take the same comfort from my particular suitor.”

“I hardly take comfort from the Wolf King,” you argued, but Grace simply shrugged.

“You’ve never seen things as I do.”

“What’s so bad about Hyunjin anyway?” you asked instead, to direct the conversation away from Chan,

Her smile curdled. “He keeps busy with his whores,” she said, shocking you with such an accusation.

“Grace-”

“Don’t.” Your sister sighed. “There’s nothing you can do.”

She attempted to restore her previous smile, looking back over your shoulder with a sigh. “I like your Wolf King,” she eventually said. “He cares about you a lot. I haven’t seen him take his eyes away from you once.”

Grace must be imagining things. “He’s tolerable at best,” you decided, earning yourself a sigh from your sister.

“My how your perspective has changed,” she remarked, finally turning her attention to the lukewarm tea in front of her. “You were kicking and screaming when you first learned of the marriage.”

“It is something that was forced on me!”

“But you’re not the only one, Y/N,” Grace said with a tone filled with sadness.

Suddenly, you felt chastened and guilty for even protesting her. “For us both, it has created nothing but discomfort.”

“I think there is potential in your match,” Grace argued. “You resist because you are stubborn in nature, but I think there could be good things for you if you just tried to make it work. Wouldn’t it be better, sister, to live with him as lovers than as cold strangers?”

“He is too wild for marriage,” you weakly protested. But your argument held no merit, and you hated the logic in her words, turning away to glare into the distance.

Night passed before your eyes, like the dimmest flicker, and you had never been more unhappy to greet the rising sun. 

It seemed that all good things inevitably came to an end, and you were holding back tears when you parted from Grace the next morning, holding the embrace for far too long. Even as you allowed Chan to help you back onto the horse, positioned directly behind him on the saddle, you kept your gaze trained behind you, watching Grace grow smaller and smaller.

Until she was gone.

Your heart was heavy when you returned to Chan’s castle that same afternoon, but your foul mood didn’t last for long. Distracted as you were, surprised by the bustling activities throughout the grounds, everyone scrambling for something you couldn’t identify. “Our moon festival,” Chan explained. “We will be shifting tonight.”

Oh, right. You had forgotten about that part, too distraught reminiscing on your brief moment of freedom with Grace. “I almost forgot.”

“There will be a feast tonight,” he explained. “We will both join as King and Queen.”

You scowled at the idea. “As you wish.”

Chan frowned at the comment. “You must be tired from the journey,” he continued, choosing not to react to your passive comment. “Feel free to rest in our quarters. I will come get you later.”

You agreed with a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment. Sleep did sound like a much-needed relief from the exhaustion threatening each unsteady step you took up the stairs. It was what you blamed your disorientation on, barely noticing when Chan leaned in to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek.

That same spot burned under the barely-there attention. But you chose to ignore it, instead focusing on how your feet were throbbing when you landed on top of your bed with a huff, allowing tears to escape as you gave yourself a moment to purge the nasty emotions that had built after leaving the Highlands. Unable to do so as you rode behind Chan.

There were too many different emotions piled on throughout the day, mixing with a heady combination of your exhaustion from traveling. Countless thoughts also swirled through your head, and it was inevitable that you would fall under, losing yourself to the easy promise of sleep. An easier task than grappling with your conflicted feelings. 

Darkness greeted you like an old friend, and your dreams were wild. One moment you were back with Grace, strolling through the meadows. The next, you found yourself in an empty forest, shadows chasing each breath evaporating on cold air, ensnared by a pair of red eyes in the thick foliage.

You stumbled on the undergrowth, falling backward ungracefully. You only had the wherewithal to put a hand over your face, trying to block everything out, as those eyes descended on you. Fear caught in your throat, and it was the lasting image that haunted you as you jerked upright in bed, barely withholding a scream when those same eyes met you in the real world.

“Y/N.”

Chan’s voice was deep, guttural in its intensity, and filled with concern. You flinched when fingers came out to gently remove sweaty bangs from your eyes, heart thunderous inside your chest. His hand paused in its motions, and for a fleeting second, you thought you might drown in his stare.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “Bad dreams.”

“I see.”

There was a question in his tone, but you didn’t know how to provide an answer, choosing instead to gently push his hand away. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

He nodded, lower lip caught between his teeth. “If you’re certain...”

You studied him for a moment, wishing that you could confide in him. But there was still a great distance between you, perhaps put there by your own accord, but heavy in its existence. “I shall get ready.”

Chan allowed you the space, agreeing to meet you in the hallway as you rose to get dressed, finding the dress that had been laid out for you by the maids. You slipped the fabric over your body, shivering as the silkiness slid across your skin like a lover’s caress.

True to his word, Chan was waiting patiently on the other side of the door, and you hesitated before taking the outstretched hand offered to you. Unprepared for when it pulled you in closer, under the scrutiny of his affectionate gaze. “Beautiful,” he declared, nostrils flaring as if taking in the scent of the perfume you sprayed. 

“Thank you,” you offered in return, choosing to keep silent as he led the way, helping you down the stairs in your heels. 

For once, you willingly stayed close to Chan, especially as you approached the Great Hall where the festivities would take place. Chan led you into the dining room, perhaps a bit too hastily, uneasy with the weight of his people’s stares boring down upon your figure. Dressed simply in that white gown—pure, as you had always remained—and looking entirely out of place amongst battle-hardened soldiers. 

You caught Changbin’s stare from across the room as you sat at the head of the table next to the King. There was lust in his gaze. And it deeply unsettled you, to the point that even Chan caught your shiver.

He followed your gaze to Changbin who looked away at once. “Tradition says that the King can share his mate,” Chan whispered. “But I will not share you with him. So he can only look.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything in return. “I didn’t know.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Chan stood, addressing the room. “Let’s feast together, comrades! We run together at the moon’s highest cycle!”

A chorus of cheers and howls greeted his words, and everyone started to fill their plates, easy conversation flowing between the wolves like the smell of the delicious-looking platters laid out before you. Still, your stomach revolted, swimming in circles as you picked at the helping Chan had served you. You wrinkled your nose when his grease-stained fingers brought a piece of chicken to your lips, and you forced yourself to take it from him. 

Chan sighed as you chewed, forcing the morsel down your throat as it stung. “I won’t be with you tonight, of course. We will likely stay out in the moonlight until dawn. But I will return in the morning.”

“Okay.” You shrugged, seemingly indifferent. Some time to yourself seemed nice. And you weren’t keen on being outside when they were no longer human. 

“You don’t have to be miserable here, my Queen,” Chan suddenly said, tone taking on a hardened edge. Perhaps the first time he had ever sounded stern with you. “Wolves mate for life, and they choose their partners seriously”

You contemplated his words, chosen ever so carefully. “I - I will try,” you managed, recalling Grace’s advice from the previous day.

To live as lovers rather than strangers. 

He hummed at your agreement, eyes glued to your form as he appraised you with something akin to curiosity. “Don’t roam so far from the castle tonight. It isn’t dangerous, but it is your first time. Of course, there’s usually nothing to fear in the gardens.”

There was a layered hint in his words, but you chose not to think about it too much, simply nodding your head as you resumed your task of picking at your food. There was nothing wrong with the offering in front of you, but your newfound uneasiness mixed with your emotional charge from earlier—it had not yet completely dispelled itself from your system—left an unpleasant ache in your chest.

As if something was missing…

Later that night, long after the wolves left the castle, you realized you couldn’t sleep even if you tried, listening to the chorus of howls from outside the castle walls. They rang through the night, loud and clear, and harmonized with one another as if perfectly in sync. Perhaps they were since Chan and his wolves shared a tight bond, and you wondered what it must be like to be so perfectly in tune with one another.

It was these thoughts that plagued you, and even as midnight came and went, you grew more restless. You resolved to walk through the castle, to quell your thoughts and ease your mind. Even as your footsteps echoed through the halls, you found yourself becoming more awake instead of the opposite effect.

Fresh air would be nice, you thought until you remembered the wolves outside. But then again, Chan did promise you that the gardens would be safe. You could trust him, right? Or was that the problem? Your lack of trust in someone meant to be your partner. 

You resolved yourself in that moment to try. And if that meant venturing out into the gardens, then no one could accuse you of being silent and passive. This was your attempt at trying, and if it ended badly, then you would have all the more leverage to ignore him.

However, despite your attempts to steel your resolve, you found your heart beating impossibly fast when you greeted the moonlight outside. Each lungful of air that you forced down your lungs felt like sharp knives attacking your flesh. Gaze swimming in front of you, footsteps unsteady as you entered the hedge maze surrounding the gardens.

You inhaled deeply, trying to find comfort in the familiar smell of the foliage. There was a strange air of peace surrounding you, and that was all the solace you needed to keep going, admiring the way the colors of the blooming flowers bled in a different light. It was easy to grow distracted by the sight, as beautiful as it was, and perhaps you could blame your wandering eye for failing to adequately identify the rustling of something large in the undergrowth of the forest. 

You hummed to yourself, leaning down to run your fingers over the soft petals of a rose. Its usual red was subdued somehow, under the moon’s glow, and you smiled at the effect, completely ignorant of a different red seeping through the hedges near your right.

It wasn’t until a gentle whimper sounded that you jerked to a stop, hand fluttering to cover your chest as you whipped around to locate the source of the sound. And what stood before you, as powerful as the looming mountains above the castle, nearly had you falling to your knees.

Except, you realized upon a second cursory glance, that there was something uncannily familiar about the beast in front of you, and it only took you another moment to make the connection. A gasp fell from your lips when you realized that it was the wolf from your childhood—the one you had found that day Chan visited your home for the second time. The one you played with in the gardens. The one you spent time with just talking and believing it was nothing more than a common wolf.

You stumbled then, recognizing the now familiar crimson eyes looking back at you—the same ones that belonged to your husband. The wolf, your Wolf King, butted his giant head against your outstretched hand, giving an affectionate lick to your fingertips.

“I understand,” you whispered, unable to decipher the emotion in your voice, but one thing that you knew for certain—there was a clear absence of fear. Because you had never feared this wolf, always approaching it with happiness, completely ignorant of its true state. 

The wolf gave you a meaningful look, and you were struck by the humanness of the gesture. Understanding dawned on you—Chan had always known. He had always known it was you—the one his wolf had chosen. The girl who had never shown fear to a beast that others considered a monster. 

You had known Chan for your entire life without even realizing it, and your eyes welled with tears, watching him toss back his head and release a spine-curdling howl. One that was joined by a chorus of beautiful melodic cries, merging and joining together, and reaching down to your very bones.

You dropped to your knees then—a mere speck before the Wolf. You cried without fear, and this time, the tension between you and your King vanished like the stars in the night sky when dawn cracked across the horizon.

Three Months Later

On most mornings, Chan was gone before you woke up, and that left you with a disconcerting feeling of disappointment. You supposed there was much to do for the King of the Castle, but lately, it made you ache for something you couldn’t quite discern.

For the past several months, you found yourself opening up to the Wolf King in ways you would’ve never imagined. The truth of who he was, the Wolf from your childhood, along with Grace’s well-intentioned advice, had managed to crack through the stoic guard you had raised from the moment you bound yourself to him.

He taught you about the bond—how, even if you weren’t a Wolf and couldn’t experience the same emotions, he could feel each flicker of happiness or stroke of sadness as it moved through you. 

You had not known of this connection before—because of your stubborn nature—and you would always regret resisting it. But things were better, and you could see the beauty in the bond and how truly spectacular it was to feel and understand another person so intimately. It made you wonder—for longer and longer periods of time—just how deep you could make that bond.

Curiosity weighed heavy on you, and your eyes cracked open at a gentle knocking on the door—an opportunity presenting itself when you recognized a familiar servant girl entering your room. “Good morning, Y/N,” she said, and you nodded in return.

At first, you had kept yourself closed off to the other maids, but this one in particular, Ivy, had been insistent. It was hard to deny her, especially when she became your best teacher, indulging you in learning everything related to the wolves and their way of life.

She was also quite willing and open to help you with anything, even if it involved the more intimate parts of your relationship with the Wolf King. You brought it up again that morning, growing more and more confident, especially since Ivy was completely shameless when it came to that sort of thing.

“I thought about your words from the other night,” you opened the conversation, watching as she put your breakfast down onto the table.

“You’ll have to remind me.” There was a teasing note in her tone, and you glowered at the playful look she shot in your direction.

“We spoke about the King,” you said. “You told me things…what I can do to please him.”

“I remember.” She took a step closer, and you were wary of the look in her eyes. “Does he not fuck you well?” Ivy asked, and her tone was absent of the same filter that would stop your tongue.

Still, you were embarrassed, looking down at your feet, wondering how to disguise the truth. “It doesn’t feel good when it seems like he just uses me to get himself off.”

That much was true as you had heard Chan masturbating next to you on countless nights, and your name often fell free from his lips.

“I see.” Ivy nodded. “He doesn’t know better. He was taught that a good alpha fucks his mate and makes sure that she is pregnant for him.”

You winced at her blunt explanation. “Is that all...wolves need?”

“Not necessarily,” Ivy said with a bright smile. “I can teach you...if you want.”

“Teach me?” you asked, gasping when Ivy placed a hand on your chest, forcing you to fall back on the bed.

She was all smiles when she crawled into your lap, grabbing your hands and securing them to her waist. You gasped when she started rocking her hips into your own, feeling the pleasant ache resonate up and down your spine. “The most important lesson of them all,” Ivy said with a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “The art of seduction.”

“I - Ivy...”

“Tell me, Y/N,” Ivy interrupted your ramblings, leaning down so that the tips of your noses brushed together. “Would you like that? Seducing your wolf? Driving him to the point where he can’t resist taking you?”

You moaned around your response. “Yes! Please show me.”

Her hips rocked harder into yours, and you could see white forming at the edges of your vision. “Leave it to me.”

And you did, surrendering to her touches, and the wicked way she showed you all the ways to drive a King mad. 

The following night, you bravely waited for your Wolf King to return from patrol, wearing nothing but a sheer robe that left little to the imagination. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, you caught each breath as it rattled between your lungs. Nervousness eating away at your resolve and leaving the poor skin around your cuticles abused by your touch. 

Ivy’s advice rang clear in your mind as if she were there with you, holding your hands between her own as she taught you how to please the King. You blushed at the memory, hands covering the bare skin beneath your robe, caressing the delicate flesh as she had done the night before. Demonstrating to you the best ways to please a man, and to make him beg for you. 

That kind of power held its curious appeal, and you thought about it constantly. Wondering what it would be like to make Chan lose his mind to the sin of your smell and touch. You could hardly wait, bouncing your leg and jostling the flimsy material of your coverings. 

Thankfully, your Wolf King didn’t make you wait for very long, punctual as always in these recent times of peace in joining you during the evenings. The easy smile he always offered you vanished as soon as he closed the door behind him, eyes locked on your figure clad in so very little.

“Be assertive.” You recalled Ivy’s words, and you stood on shaky legs to take a few tentative steps towards him. The implication was not lost in translation. You could barely get out a greeting before Chan was on you in seconds, gently pushing you back against the wall. He pressed his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, initiating the first indulgent kiss that lit a fire that you felt down to the tips of your toes.

“Then have me,” you said against the purse of his mouth, tongue tracing that full bottom lip. His gaze widened perceptibly, holding you at arm's length.

“What do you mean?”

“Take me the way you want,” you replied. “I’m ready. You love me, don’t you?”

The intensity in that gaze you had started to yearn for burned even brighter. “You know that I love you Y/N, and I understand why it would be hard for you to believe. I’m more than willing to take this chance to show you.”

He pulled away despite the tight grip you kept on his powerful bicep. Even so, you kept your eyes open as wide as possible to enjoy the scene playing out in front of you when he kissed you again. You curled your fingers into his thick black hair, remembering Ivy’s advice, and pulled his mouth against yours, crushing your lips to his. Chan’s chest rumbled as he kissed you fiercely in return, grabbing onto your arms as his tongue plundered the hot cavern of your mouth.   

Your lungs screamed in protest, and you pulled away suddenly, shivering at his resounding whimper. You opened your eyes, keeping your hands in his hair to hold it back from his crimson orbs. You found the lust there, making his eyes appear darker.  “It’s so hard for me to do this,” you said softly. “I- I want to please you…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Chan replied. He pressed his hips into yours and you felt something hard against your stomach. “Y/N,” Chan murmured, leaning into your neck to inhale deeply. “I want you more than anything else.”

You shivered as you felt his other hand come to the sleeve of your gown, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingertips slid across your skin, weakening your resolve. His lips followed his touch, peppering soft kisses along the exposed skin. He tugged on the fabric more and you felt the fabric at your right breast start to fall, slowly exposing the flesh to him. His blazing eyes looked down at what he had uncovered, as his hand moved up to hold your breast in his palm. You moaned when his thumb started to rub against your nipple, growing alarmed at the sudden ache between your legs. Like before, his lips soon replaced his fingers and you cried out when he gently nipped the sensitive skin.  

He suddenly tugged the fabric back up, releasing your wrists so that he could have both hands when he grabbed the sides of your robe and tugged it aside to reveal your bare skin to him. Your hands fell to your sides as your chest heaved up and down to match each of your panting breaths. Clad in the lingerie Ivy had helped you pick out the previous night. 

Chan’s eyes were glued to your bare torso. With a moan of his own, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he trailed his mouth down, over the soft skin of your throat, down your chest, and between the valley of your breasts, over your smooth stomach down to the top of your lace panties. Looking up at you with hungry, lust-filled eyes, Chan started to tug the fabric down your legs.

Clenching your fists against the wall, you couldn’t begin to describe what you felt when he pressed a kiss against the front of your panties, holding your thighs in his strong hands. Standing back up to his full height, he pulled his shirt off next, tossing it onto the floor. You breathed out deeply as your eyes greedily took in the sight of his muscled torso. Timidly, you reached out a hand, aware of his eyes watching your movements as you hovered your palm over his firm abdomen. “Touch him with your fingertips,” Ivy’s words whispered against your ear. He groaned, bracing his arms on either side of you, moving his head against the wall next to your ear. You heard Chan’s husky voice whisper: “Baby, please touch me.”

Your eyes fluttered at his request, and you placed both palms on his hard stomach, moving them up and feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. Your hands danced across his pectorals, rising along with the muscles. You moved your palms over his shoulders and then back down, pausing when you hit the top of his pants. Before you could muster up the courage to move any lower, Chan’s lips were back on yours, kissing you senseless. You wrapped your arms around his neck, working your mouth against his, feeling your lips become swollen from his kisses. As your tongues touched, you felt Chan’s hands return to your thighs, lifting them so that you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his trim waist. Holding you against him, he carried you into over to the bed to deposit you on top. You missed his warmth as soon as he was gone and opened your eyes to meet his black gaze.

This was your chance. You remembered Ivy’s words and scrambled to get in position. Present. The command burned its way through your whole being as if you had no control over it. Instead, you turned on your hands and knees, arching your back and keeping your ass held high in the air.

You had never done this before, and you felt so exposed, but at the same time so good, so right, and you restrained yourself from trying to cover up against the shameless crimson stare watching you.

Suddenly, all went quiet, prompting you to glance over your shoulder. The Wolf King was staring at your ass, his mouth slightly agape. “Good girl,” was all you heard before Chan dove down abruptly to taste your dripping cunt, dragging his tongue all the way up to the source of the wetness leaking from you with a single, hot swipe, before latching on and sucking eagerly at the sensitive skin around your opening. 

You keened at the sensation and shivered at his satisfied grunts and moans as he took his fill of your taste. It made you want to please him. To do whatever it took to make him completely lose his mind.

“Chan!” You moaned out, reaching beneath him to flick at your neglected clit. “More!” 

Your demand did not go unanswered. With a grunt, Chan yanked your ass up higher for a better angle, digging his hands into the plush flesh of your hips. His touch was rough, and strong, undoubtedly leaving marks behind, but you absolutely loved it. And when the wiggling muscle of his tongue finally pushed inside, you cried out in absolute bliss and pleasure. Time itself seemed to slow down as that tongue relentlessly moved inside you, searching for that spot that could make you see stars and, once found, pressing down hard. Again and again, Chan dipped inside with his tongue, and each time you moaned for him. It didn’t take you long until your body tensed and shuddered, squeezing around the intrusion as you rode out your orgasm. 

With a satisfied groan, Chan released your hips, and you collapsed on your stomach, still aching for him.

You attempted to look back at Chan, groaning when you realized he was pushing down his pants and underwear, freeing his stiffening cock before crawling back over you. You were met with a flurry of kisses, on your lips, your cheeks, and your neck, before his tongue trailed lazily over your chest and down to the delicate curls damp from your release. 

You squirmed under him as he held himself up on his arms, dragging his eyes unbearably slow from your face and down to your toes. He moved one finger down over your stomach, and you watched it enter the forest of blonde curls around your center. Panting, and nearing combustion, you found yourself instinctively thrusting your hips up, begging him for more than just touches. Growling, he practically shoved your hips back to the bed, reaching down and jerking his thick cock with rough strokes. He abruptly flipped you over onto your back, craning his neck to look down into your eyes. “Let me make love to you, Y/N.”

His words sent a flurry of heat straight to your core. You had never had sex before, but you wanted it desperately. You told him as much and could see him visibly shaking. “I’ll go slow,” he promised, kissing your lips tenderly, before reaching down to line himself up at your entrance. You closed your eyes and winced as he pushed into you. Pliant and soft from his earlier ministrations, the bulbous head found little resistance as it breached your cunt.

You could feel his face bury itself into your shoulder, his knuckles turning white as they gripped the bedding, as if it was taking everything he had to go this slow. Once he was buried inside of you completely, you groaned, adjusting to the sudden intrusion. You could feel him still above you, and his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder. “Son of a bitch,” he growled. “It’s taking every ounce of control I have not to flip you over and fuck you senseless.”

His words, as crude as they were, only served to heighten your arousal. “Move,” you said, grabbing his black hair and pulling his face to yours. You kissed him quickly. “I’m fine.”

He needed no further encouragement, as he slowly pulled out before pushing back in. You could see the sweat breaking out across his forehead from the exertion, causing strands of his hair to stick to his forehead. His right hand moved behind you to grip the headboard as his hips slowly rocked against your own. As good as it felt, you could see he was about to lose it. “Faster,” you told him, and he complied, speeding up his thrusts and allowing some of the tension to escape his body. It was a little painful, especially when he let out a low growl and really started grinding his hips.

You could feel it building inside, the pleasure of his rough movements far outweighing the discomfort. You let out another moan as he moved in and out, feeling the smooth friction all the way to the tips of your toes. The Wolf King chose this moment to draw his hips back, dragging his length out to the tip, before slamming it back inside with a powerful thrust, rocking your body to the point that you felt your vision turn white for a moment. Without giving you time to recover, Chan repeated the motion over and over again, speeding up and adjusting the angle to relentlessly hit deep inside, hips bumping your clit with every smooth grind.

He grunted from his efforts, one hand on the headboard while the other came to grab your breast, his lips sucking at your neck. For your part, you arched your back against him, allowing your hips to come up a little to meet his movements as he hit even deeper inside of you, just barely kissing your cervix. Your fingernails scraped down the smooth skin of his back at this new angle. He moaned when your nails dug into his flesh, bringing his lips up to yours and you kissed him feverishly, tasting him like your life depended on it. One of your hands curled into his smooth black hair while the other gripped his bicep tightly, sighing happily as you felt the muscles move.  

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to not feel overwhelmed by all of the things he was making you feel. Buried deep inside of you, you could feel him hit all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure to your tight center. Meanwhile, his lips were working magic against yours, leaving you breathless.  

You could feel an intimate warmth building inside of you the longer he snapped his hips against yours. Groaning, you let out a cry as you felt something inside of you break open, releasing wave after wave of heat through your core, leaving your body drowning in pleasure.  

There was a haze of lightheadedness clogging your senses, and you almost didn’t even realize the swell pushing against your ass, until it breached your core. “Chan!” you hissed at the combination of pain and overwhelming pressure, retreating and then swelling again as he ground that hot mass against you.

“My knot,” he groaned, and you could feel the heat from his chest against your breasts as he pressed even closer. 

You vaguely recalled Ivy warning you about this, telling you that it would be hard to prepare for the massive instrution. You felt a spike of fear as it stretched you even further, and you worried that your virgin body would suffer. All you could do was grit your teeth and bury your head into the blankets beneath you, feeling the swell of his knot pressed against the cleft of your ass. You fisted the sheets between your hands. He would split you in half, and then you would be nothing.

“Y/N!” he growled, slowing his hips to a timid roll as his knot locked between you both, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt his release flood your insides, filling you to the point that your lower stomach had started to swell from his cum. 

He groaned as you both came down from your highs, and you gently petted your finger through his unruly curls. He experimentally rolled his hips to test how firmly the knot was locking him inside and it wouldn’t budge. Your cunt squeezed the knot, eliciting another grunt from Chan, another twitch, and another spurt of hot cum inside of you.

The pop didn’t swell until Chan was fully seated, his thick cock barely able to seat itself fully between your pulsating walls. It was a painful stretch, of course, but you were hardly focused on it.

Chan continued to hump against you, long after his release and teetering on the cusp of oversensitivity, but those seductive hips had lost their rhythm. It was only moments later, as Chan pulled away from your lips and buried his face into your chest, that he growled when something warm filled your center. You let your hand wander down his spine, stroking along the individuals knots. You could feel him breathing hard above you, and you tried to soothe him back to normal.

You were locked together for a long time, and you were almost asleep when Chan was finally able to pull out, collapsing onto the mattress next to you, looking up at the ceiling. You watched as his chest rose and fell quickly until you could barely see it move at all, signifying his return from his high. Your own breaths came out much shorter, and you were aware of the sweat that coated your skin. 

You watched as Chan ran his hand through his dark hair, moving it out of his face. Looking over at you, he turned on his side and used one hand to bring you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist. You hummed in delight as your chests pressed together, moving in sync with each other. Chan’s eyes scanned over your face as he leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I love you Y/N,” he said. voice rumbling. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

You were barely coherent, collapsed against the sheets with a line of drool pooling out from your mouth. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall against his chest, savoring his warmth.  “I trust you,” you said softly, and you could feel him sigh in relief. Simply holding you against him, surrounded by his warmth, you suddenly felt very much like you belonged.

“You and I have always been destined,” Chan whispered, and for the first time since you had taken your place as his Wolf Queen, you weren’t afraid.

Instead, you were irrevocably alive.

#stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x you #bang chan #bang chan smut #chan smut #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x female reader #chan oneshot #bang chan oneshot #chan imagines

[heythereprettyblueeyes]

begin again

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

summary - Satoru is so completely different from your ex, you have no idea what to do. luckily, he's there to help

warnings - slight angst, mentions of abuse (from a previous relationship, not Gojo), hurt to comfort, Gojo beats up your ex

a/n - please i love soft Gojo so much 🥰🥰

Gojo had always been a good friend to you, but once you started dating him it was like he upped the ante on his kindness, love and admiration. He treated you like a goddess, putting you on a pedestal and practically worshipping the ground you walked on. It was strange, so new to you, but it also made you happy.

Something you hadn't been in your previous relationship.

"Good morningggg, beautiful!" A cheerful voice met your ears as you walked into the school.

Gojo was standing there, looking like he had been waiting for you, his smile brighter than the sun when he saw your figure walking in. Your cheeks warmed up, a soft smile tugging at your lips as the white-haired man rushed over to scoop you up into his arms.

"Good morning, Satoru," you giggled. "You're in a very good mood today."

"Well of course I am, you just arrived!" He peppered your face with kisses, as if he hadn't seen you for days, when in fact it had only been a few hours.

You couldn't help but smile more at his words, butterflies blooming in your stomach. He always made you feel good, and it was like he never had to try. Just his presence was warm and comforting enough to put you at ease.

"Wait, aren't you supposed to be training Megumi, Yuji and Nobara??"

"...Technically, yes."

You just laughed, and Gojo offered a goofy smile. He loved hearing you laugh, even more so when he was the one causing your laughter.

He decided to take you out for lunch today. He wouldn't tell you where, but when you found yourself standing next to him outside your favourite restaurant you understood why. He'd wanted to surprise you, and it was extremely sweet gesture. But...

"Satoru, it's too-"

"Forget the pricing," he pouted, looking like an overgrown child, but it was cute. "You just seemed a little down today, so I wanted to cheer you up!"

Green flags. Green flags everywhere with this man. So unlike your past relationship, you wondered if you had dreamed Satoru into reality. Surely this couldn't be real. He couldn't be real, he was too good to be true.

"Come on," he put his hand on the small of your back and guided you into the restaurant. He pulled your chair out for you and pushed it back in when you were seated before he took his own seat. "Order anything you want, because if you don't then I'm ordering the most expensive thing on this menu."

You laughed and shook your head at his teasing, smiling as you told him what you wanted. You stared at him lovingly as he relayed the order to the waittress, his hand snaking its way across the table to find yours. He interlocked his fingers with yours, and didn't let go. You blushed, looking at your intertwined hands and feeling warmth surge through your body.

That warmth, however, was quickly extinguished when a familiar voice rang out a few tables away.

"(Name)? Is that you? Long time no see!"

You gripped Satoru's hand tighter, trying your best not to shut your eyes in terror. You knew that you would only see flashbacks of the abuse you suffered at the hands of the owner of that voice.

"(Name), come on, it's me!"

The flashbacks hit you full force.

Waking up on the cold floor after you'd been knocked out, a fresh bruise decorating your cheek. Curled up over the toilet, retching and coughing up food and blood as you clutched your gut, a dark bruise already forming. Flinching every time he walked into the room, crying your eyes out after he yelled at you for something or the other, being unable to sleep with him next to you in fear of him waking up and beating you for something that happened in his dream. Being unable to sleep because you were already living in a nightmare.

"Hey, you okay?" Satoru squeezed your hand, already on guard and worried about your reaction to that man. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Can we go?" You asked quietly, breath shaky. "Please?"

"Is it because of him?" Satoru asked, "Did he do something to you?"

Before you could answer, a hand clapped down on your shoulder. Your entire body stiffened and you flinched, causing Satoru's eyes to narrow. He knew the signs, and he was steadily becoming angry with this man's presence.

"Who's this, sweetheart? Your new boyfriend?"

You couldn't look at him. You didn't want to. Your breathing came out fast and uneven, and you could already feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I'll only ask you once," Satoru's tone was colder than you'd ever heard it, "Take your hand off my girlfriend and leave us alone. In fact, leave the restaurant entirely."

"Or what?" Your dumb ex challenged, a mistake on his part.

"I didn't want to cause a scene, especially since this is her favourite restaurant," the white-haired sorcerer kissed the back of your hand as he stood up, a silent promise that everything will be okay.

You relaxed. He made you feel so safe, so secure, that you believed his quiet reassurance and felt your body stop trembling.

"But you are making her very uncomfortable, after I told you nicely to leave." Gone was the sweet, friendly Gojo Satoru you had known and come to love.

This was the scary, powerful Gojo Satoru who could as easily end your ex's life as he could breathe.

What happened next was a blur. You hadn't even known that Satoru was such an adept hand-to-hand combatant, because every enemy he'd faced he'd used sorcery. But here he was beating your ex up - in the alley because he'd had the decency to drag him out of the restaurant - like it was nothing. You normally don't condone violence, especially after what you went through, but Satoru wasn't even hitting him that hard, and he was also getting what he deserved. All your boyfriend had to do was smack him on either his forehead or his shoulder and your ex went tumbling backwards like he'd tripped.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Satoru immediately apologised to you when he was done warning your ex to not come anywhere near you or he wouldn't be as nice next time. "And I'm sorry he ruined our date."

As Satoru pressed gentle, loving kisses to every part of you he could reach, you felt yourself tearing up again. But for a different reason this time, and then smile on your face told him as much.

"You're amazing," you managed to choke out, "But even that's an understatement." You took a shaky breath. "Thank you, Satoru."

"No need to thank me," he pulled you into a warm, soothing hug, "I would never let anyone touch you again, and I hate the fact that I'm letting him off so easy after what he did to you."

"You can't murder him!" You giggled, wiping your tears of joy.

He reached up to do that before you could, "For you, I'd do anything." Then he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "Now come, let's go find you a new favourite restaurant."

"No expensive ones though!"

"No promises."

-

You were getting ready for bed that night, after a wonderful day with your sweet, doting boyfriend. Your living room and kitchen were littered with dozens of bouquets of (favourite flowers), and you were pretty sure you had enough chocolate to knock out all your teeth. You smiled at these gestures, a heavy blush falling across your cheeks.

Then you realised you couldn't sleep, but before you could even pick your phone up to call Satoru, your phone buzzed.

pretty blue eyes 💙: im outside, open up for me ❤

You smiled at the nickname you'd given him when you'd first seen him with his blindfold off. He'd liked it so much he changed his name to it on your phone. Butterflies formed in your stomach once more, and you felt that lovely warmth fill you again. You eagerly padded over to your front door to open for Satoru.

He was sporting a silly little grin as he held up a bag of food, "Thought you might want some company- actually I wanted to come even if you didn't."

Your heart swelled, "Come in. I was actually just about to call you."

"Yeah?" His smile grew. "I guess it was meant to be then."

You giggled at his cheesy line and shut your door, moving to the living room with him. He whistled when he saw all of the flowers, offering you a smirk.

"You must have a really huge admirer," he teased.

"Oh I do," you laughed, "He's the sweetest."

Gojo's heart did a flip at that, and he leaned over to kiss you sweetly for a moment, "He also thinks it's not enough to show how special and wonderful you are."

Your eyes widened, "But-"

"Shhh, no buts," he put his index finger on your lips. "You're my girlfriend, get used to me treating you."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling genuinely happy and excited in a relationship for once. As you settled down to eat with him, you realised that you had fallen so deeply in love with him that you never wanted to come back up.

"Baby?" You called, feeling your own heart flip when his face lit up at the nickname.

"Mhmm?" He smiled at you.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course, baby."

a/n: ughhh i cannot get enough of this man, he's literally perfect

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reaser #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you

[globalrebrand]

When You Deny Them

Third Years Part I: Vil, Leona

Warnings: None, not sfw, gn!reader, fluff

A/N: I'll do more of these for the other third years, hopefully.

Vil Schoenheit

With Vil, sex usually happens organically and by mutual invitation. A cuddling session will turn frisky, a scheduled encounter you both have been anticipating all day, (you and Vil are so busy you have to plan sex 😢 but it can still be sexy!)

Otherwise Vil goes off your cues. Touch his thigh and give him sultry look and he’s prepared to put you back in your place for "groping him so brazenly." Crawl into your shared bed and straddle him, or whisper in his ear how much you missed him. After some teasing, Vil will put aside most things to indulge you.

However he’s not used to you not giving him the green light. And Vil prefers you initiate because he likes to feel wanted, it's the ultimately a little ego boost for him. So what does he do when he’s horny but you’re not matching his energy or giving him the signal?

He doesn’t actively seduce you generally. The only times Vil initiates are on special occasions, your birthday, anniversary, etc, or when he’s trying to interrupt your plans so you stay in instead of going out without him.

However, if you keep turning down his advances he'll preen just like a peacock would, metaphorically spreading his tail feathers and flashing them at you.

Vil will put in a little more effort to get your attention. He'll lounge around in silk pajama with the shirt unbuttoned and recline in seductive poses.

He’ll even sneak up on you shirtless, lightly perspiring while wearing some running leggings that show off his toned ass and bulge and whisper in your ear that he's about to take a shower and how boring it would be without you.

If you wave him off he might spill something on you so you have to join him

If those attempts don't work, he'll up the ante. Vil will plan a romantic evening at home, hiring a private chef and serving a meal exclusively of known aphrodisiac foods and red wine. He'll turn on music the two of you can slow dance to on you patio over looking your beautifully maintained garden. Then he presents you with a new piece of jewelry or fancy watch. Hoping that is overtures will entice you. After all what a good partner he is! Spoiling you so.

And if that doesn't work...Vil’s not above playing the jealousy card to rile you.

If he's being subtle he'll post a thirst trap on magicam that will get a lot of attention, if he really wants to make you jealous he'll make sure you see other people fawning over him when you go to events. He hopes you'll get so worked up that you just drag him in to the bathroom and ride him. Pretty please, he won't beg. yet

Vil would never admit it, but he kind of loves then you play hard to get, telling him your busy and denying him, it only makes him all the more eager to finally get you back in his bed, or shower, wherever really since he can be so competitive, but... after a certain time the fun wears off and he has to get more forceful.

He does this by nudging you awake if you fell asleep after completing your nightly skincare routine and telling you that he has something that can ensure you have good dreams (his dick), but if you rebuff him yet again he’ll just shoot straight.

"Is something wrong my love? Have I not made my intentions clear enough? I want you...very badly."

If you tell him you're tired or over worked and thusly not in the mood, he pulls one last resort.

He schedules a vacation where he can have you all to himself.

Vil gets it you are both busy with your respective lives but you both have needs that neither of you are fulfilling with your current routine. If you work he’ll call your boss and tell them he’s taking you on vacation for a month and that if they have a problem with it that he can get you a better job with the snap of his fingers.

He picks an extremely romantic vacation in a gorgeous locale but there's really little point, Vil just wants to keep you in the hotel room.

"Isn't this wonderful, I have you all to myself little one." He'll coo while he curls his arms around you as you look out of a balcony over crystal waters. "Zero distractions. How about you make it up to me? You can start on your knees."

Leona Kingscholar

Sex with Leona is frequent and if it doesn't start as a natural part of how much time you spend napping and cuddling in bed, Leona initiates by telling you exactly what he wants you to do. Sometimes he's sweet and sultry about it, "pretty little herbivore, why don't you go ahead and get yourself off on my dick, yeah?" Other times he's straightforward. "Oi herbivore, get over here and ride me." Depends on his mood.

Regardless, Leona is a man with expectations about the sex he is "owed" in a relationship and if he’s not getting it he’ll be vocal about it. He's horny damn it! You're supposed to take care of that.

If you scold him for being grumpy towards you he’ll probably respond with something snarky like "sorry, I haven’t had my dick sucked in a week" And yes a week is all it takes to have leona protesting about sexual neglect and alienation of affection.

When it comes to you, Leona is absolutely shameless. He goes on the prowl, for you. Stalks you in your (shared) home during the day. He'll tug your undergarments down and grope at you or fondle you over your clothes. He will knock it off if you tell him to in a really firm tone that's not what you want right now, but then he’ll start demanding reasons why the two of you can’t drop everything and fuck in this hallway. The servants would just look the other way so there's really no harm in it, right? wrong

If he’s really desperate he’ll try to service you to entice you. A rare occurrence. You’ll wake up and he’ll be kissing the insides of you thighs and asking if you need him to do anything for you or complaining that he's hungry. Leona makes it very hard to turn him away, but if you have the strength to bat a pining Leona away from your spread thighs power to you.

In another bout of desperation for you, Leona will purposely arrange a situation where you catch him masturbating. On your bed, in the shower, hell even on a couch in a very high traffic area of your home. Shirt unbuttoned, cock out, looking completely unashamed as he asks, "You can help me with this can't you herbivore?"

He'll start walking in on you naked more than he already does to try and strike when you're vulnerable. And while normally Leona's a bit stingy with compliments, they suddenly become free flowing, if a not a little guilt tripping.

"So pretty, herbivore, and for what? Depriving me of this beautiful body. It's such a shame."

After a while Leona makes you a proposition. "If I beat you in chess, I get to do whatever I want with you." He won't take no for an answer (he's painfully stubborn) but the game really isn't fair considering how good Leona is at chess. When he inevitably wins he'll gloat and make sure you make if up to him. He won't tell you, but he really missed your routine intimacy.

"Finally, I can get what I need." Leona purrs as he pulls you into his chest, when you complain about his statement he adds, "Don't worry I'll take care of you too, but you have a lot to make up to me...now on the bed and spread 'em, be quick about it."

#twst wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona smut #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #vil schoenheit smut #leona kingscholar smut #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #vil smut

[wordsinhaled]

Alright y'all, I've been asked for some guidance and Middle English resources following up on my "Hob 'Middle English survives in me' Gadling" post, so... here goes! :D @slavicwitchling I hope this is a lil helpful! I feel like this... went way too in-depth for what was actually asked of me but feel free to say hi if you have more specific questions or anything else I can help with <333 (Or if anyone has q's about other random Medieval Lit Things that might be helpful for fandom please feel free to stop by!!! (Also lol, I make myself sound like an Expert or something but it's been a minute since I was in school doing this, though to be fair I'm diving headfirst back into this passion lately and may potentially be going back, so always happy to do some research if needed!)

What is Middle English? Middle English describes the period of the English language where it transitioned from Old English to Early Modern (aka Shakespeare's) English. During this period from the Norman Conquest in 1066 to the late 1400s, English also borrowed a lot of characteristics from French, and a lot of changes happened grammatically & structurally to make English sound, look, and feel a lot more familiar to our modern ears than Old English does. Here's a helpful article on this! There's some debate on when ME was spoken but more or less 1150 to 1500. What did Middle English sound like? What would Hob have probably sounded like? Here's my back-translation of Hob and Dream's 1389 conversation into Middle English! Here is also an example of a Middle English lyric found in the manuscript Harley 2253 (which dates to c. 1340) - "When the nyhtegale singes" ("When the nightingale sings"). Middle English was beautiful and Hob probably sounded kinda like this! Actually just go listen to all of Briddes Roune it's so pretty <3 And here's what the manuscript page looks like!

When the nyhtegale singes,  The wodes waxen grene, Lef ant gras ant blosme springes In Averyl, Y wene ; Ant love is to myn herte gon With one spere so kene, Nyht ant day my blod hit drynkes Myn herte deth me tene. Ich have loved al this yer  That Y may love na more; Ich have siked moni syk, Lemmon, for thin ore, Me nis love neuer the ner, Ant that me reweth sore; Suete lemmon, thench on me, Ich have loved the yore. When the nightingale sings, The trees grow green, Leaf and grass and blossom springs, In April, I suppose; And love has to my heart gone With a spear so keen, Night and day my blood it drains My heart to death it aches. I have loved all this past year So that I may love no more; I have sighed many a sigh, Beloved, for thy pity, My love is never thee nearer, And that me grieveth sore; Sweet loved-one, think on me, I have loved thee long.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight read in ME

The Canterbury Tales General Prologue read in ME (this is 45 minutes long, but you can just listen to part of it, haha)

helpful resources & websites

Luminarium — an anthology of medieval literature 1350-1485; I especially love the section for Middle English lyrics & poems!

the Middle English Dictionary via University of Michigan Library; an AWESOME searchable database of Middle English words and examples of their usage in context within texts. You can use the "Modern English word equivalent" search function to back-translate things!

Middle English manuscripts online at the British library!

List of Middle English terms of endearment — helpful for Dreamling fics ;)

How to call someone beautiful in Middle English <;3

(Some) notable literary works in Middle English in case that interests anyone!

Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, written between 1387 and 1400 — links to Harvard's Chaucer website w/ the text & in-line translations + helpful guides on how to read Chaucer, etc.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight by anonymous, c. 1400 (the Gawain poet) — links to the Weston translation but I really like the one by Simon Armitage, which is great for learning ME because it's a facing page translation! I've seen a lot of people recommend against starting with SGGK as your first ME work because it's super weird and super steeped in Arthuriana, but like, I'm not gonna tell people what to read! If it interests you, you should read it :D Granted, I'm SUPER BIASED in favor of SGGK (it's my favorite work, no contest) but it could be good to be familiar with some Arthuriana first before reading

On that note, Sir Thomas Malory's Le Mort Darthur c. 1485 (links to a version online up on Project Gutenberg) is a translation & compilation by Malory of French & English Arthurian stories (the Old French Vulgate romances, the Alliterative Morte Arthure and the Stanzaic Morte Arthur). Fun fact, Le Mort Darthur was first printed by Caxton in an abridged version in 1485, right as Hob was getting in on printing! Afterwards they found the Winchester manuscript, which dates to prior to 1485 and is considered to be the more accurate version compared to Caxton's The Norton Critical Edition is a great unabridged Middle English full text version that reproduces some of the visual characteristics of the Winchester manuscript (illuminated capitals and fancy font for all the names, etc.) and has a lot of literary criticism, analysis, and a glossary in the back included. BUT I think this version could be a difficult read to get through if reading alone. Here is the Oxford World's Classics version (ed. Helen Cooper) which is easier/more approachable!

William Langland's The Vision of Piers Plowman c. 1370–86 (aka just Piers Plowman) - honestly, it really is not my favorite at all, but there is an entire International Piers Plowman Society. It's like the Ulysses of ME literature I guess??? So i... won't rag on it too much, haha; maybe I just need to revisit it and I will find something new in it to like. It's a series of dream visions in which the dreamer/narrator seeks a true Christian life. Here is the Middle English text (University of Michigan Library). Here's the Oxford World's Cassics translation

The Gawain poet is thought to also have written Pearl, Cleanness, and Patience, which are 3 works that survive in the manuscript Cotton MS Nero A X, the same manuscript as SGGK (the "Pearl manuscript", c. 1400) (more info on the manuscript)

#yes i will put this in the #the sandman #tag sorry... but not... #dreamling #middle english #Spotify #Youtube

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 5

Part 5: Liar

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.1k (this was supposed to be short...) Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, blood, injury, all that crazy stuff. more angst but it will get better 🙏 A/N: ok so. not an early update... if u wanna blame someone blame my uterus for giving me a hellish period this week. but also give her a hug because she hurts </3

The grass was damp from the night before’s rain. It left green stains on your knees, and smears of dirt along your palms. 

Your lip quivered. 

Just a minute ago, your grip had been firm. Decisive; live or die, and you’d decided. 

That same grip melted away from the sear of hot metal against skin. Fingers softening, resolve crumbling away with every little shake. The gun fell to the ground with a quiet thump. Just like that woman had. 

Moisture hung in the air, a tinge of iron drifting. A fog settled, blurring each and every one of your senses until you could barely hear your own quiet, shaky breaths. The only thing that seemed to break through that grey haze was her face, marked by the trail of blood dripping past a wide-eyed stare. The type of stare that was absent of any thought or recognition. 

Dead. 

You looked to the ground. Cold, soft dirt. Fingers dug in, trying to forget the weight of the gun you could still feel in your hand. The throbbing across your forearm had dulled. The pound of your heart against your ribcage was nothing more than an echo. 

Something tickled your hand. A slow sensation to drag your attention back, beckoning you out of the fog and back into reality. Your eyes flickered to where the little ant crawled across your pinky finger. 

Then he was there. 

A warm pressure settled on your shoulders, gripping your left arm right above the spot a stream of blood started. It felt like a dream; him moving so fast, you slow and quiet. His mouth opened and closed only for the words to be lost between you. Eyes, the same colour as yours, flashed from you to the woman, shot dead, ahead. She still had that knife laying in her limp palm, decorated with a thin line of your blood.

“It's okay. I’m okay,” you said to your brother, who looked so young with those wide, scared eyes. 

Your mouth parted, expression slack, and repeated, “It's okay.” 

— 

“Don’t move a fucking muscle.” 

You were frozen, anyway. 

The realization of a gun aimed at the back of your head made your stomach sink, weighing you down. It kept you steady, even if your hands were already slick with sweat. 

“We can talk about this,” you swallowed. “If you need food or—“ 

“Shut up,” the woman growled. Her tone was exhausted, already fed up with you at the mere implication of a truce, and you worried if you kept talking, she might’ve just pulled the trigger to get you to stop. “Put your hands up— slow!” 

The steadying weight inside of you seemed to falter then, waved by the increasingly worrisome demeanour of your attacker; your hands shook as you raised them, muscles twitching with adrenaline. Her breath got closer, fanning across the back of your neck as the barrel of the gun pressed into the top of your spine. From the corner of your eye, thin, blood-splattered fingers undid the buckle of your knife and pulled the blade out. 

Two gunshots echoed in the distance. 

Your heart dropped. 

Daryl. 

As if the gun at the back of your neck wasn’t enough to have you cursing whatever fate put you and her here today, you were silently screaming for Daryl’s wellbeing. No matter who fired that gun, if it was Daryl or one of her friends, it meant something bad. 

She seemed to know that too.

“Did those assholes just—” she huffed in frustration before she seemed to remember your presence and bit her tongue. 

It was odd. It didn’t feel like she was forgetful, per se, but perhaps that was a biased opinion, on account of her gun pressed into the nape of your neck and all; to be held up was one thing, to be held up by someone who didn't even have the brain to keep their focus on you, was another. 

Unfortunately, the alternative wasn’t great, either. If she felt confident enough to let her attention slip off of you, it was safe to assume she was a brute force to be reckoned with. Two long years in this world taught you about people like that. People who fought their way to the top, who stole and lied and killed. Who looked down on the ones who just couldn’t, even if it was their best chance to survive. 

You’d known a few of those people— hell, even the way she sighed was achingly familiar. 

After regaining her composure, she whistled. 

Glancing out the backdoor, you saw Daryl tumble out of the woods— literally. Two men, frames almost as big as his, followed behind. One landed a heavy kick to his stomach, rolling him across the damp grass. Even from across the backlot, you heard his groan of pain. Saw the red dripping down his left arm; fresh blood where you assumed a bullet must’ve hit nearby. The man who’d kicked was aiming Daryl’s own crossbow at him, the other holding up a shotgun. 

The sight of it all made you take in a sharp breath. Your thoughts raced. A mix of dread, panic, and regret. 

How the fuck did you end up in this? 

You could feel that fog fill the air again, sinking into your lungs and choking every breath you sucked in. You remembered the pull of the trigger, the snap of the gun as it fired. The smell of ash and gunpowder. 

You didn't know if you could do that again. 

One of them yanked Daryl to a stand, dragging him into the gas station. When your eyes finally drifted off his beaten body and the weapons raised, your heart stopped. 

Ross and Lee. 

“Holy shit,” Lee muttered, his gun’s aim still steady on Daryl. Though the second your name left his lips, everyone’s attention snapped toward you. 

A firm hand landed on your shoulder before the woman at your back spun you. You faced her wide-eyed look for a second before the barrel of her gun— Emily’s gun— drew your concern. It didn’t take long for her eyes to turn dark again, anger twisting her delicate features into something cruel and mean. 

Emily had always had a fire inside of her, and her aggression had a long intimidation behind it. Back at the camp, her opinion was always made abundantly clear, either by malicious looks or a harsh tongue. It wasn’t uncommon to call in Martinez to calm her down, less common for it to work. If she hadn’t been such a good shot, you swore he would’ve given up on her months ago. She and Mitch were alike that way, dominating through fear and force. 

It made sense that she got out. 

Of course, Mitch’s story ended differently— at the prison, with your bullet in the back of his skull. After his force had finally lost him his own life. 

She scoffed something under her breath, glaring at you beyond thin curtains of dark hair. You tried to follow the fast pace of her lips, remembering her impulsiveness and its cruel outcome combined with that anger in her eyes. 

“What the hell are you doing here? Why are you with him?” 

“I—“ 

“You buddies with this asshole?” 

Amidst her rapid questioning, she never lowered the gun from your chest. Even so, your eyes flickered back to Daryl, now kneeling on the tiled floor and staring at you through his messy bangs. 

He looked drained. Tired. There was already a bruise blooming across his jaw, a slow drip of blood from his parted mouth. You didn't know if it was from a cut on his lip or if he’d been shot somewhere else, too, and was coughing up his own blood. The mere thought of that made your lungs squeeze— 

A rough grip twisted in your tank top yanked your attention back to her.

“Huh?” 

“I— I was alone,” you stammered. “He knows how to fight the dead, how to hunt. I figured I’d do better with his help.” 

It was hard to keep your eyes off that gun now pointing to your sternum, but you managed to center a shaky focus on her narrow, suspicious stare, instead. 

“He didn’t know I was there— at— at the prison. He thought I was just some… some survivor.” 

Electricity ran through every inch of you, waiting for the second you were forced to fight or flee. But as Emily’s stare continued to pick you apart, unsure how to feel about your admission, you willed yourself to hold still and wait. 

Or for her to call bullshit on your lie and finally fire that gun. 

The seconds ticked by, and finally Lee stepped forward from the corner of your eye. 

“Em,” he urged. This world had made him strong and mean, but he was still the kindest of the trio. Had almost even been a friend back at camp. 

“Let her go.” 

She did— reluctantly, from the cruel look in her eye, and the way she practically threw you back. 

“Either you finally grew the fuck up or you learned how to tell a half-decent lie,” she hissed. 

You bit back that sigh of relief. 

“Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I don’t know how to survive.” 

She scoffed. Then looked down at Daryl, a few feet away. 

“Use what you can use,” she said under her breath. 

“Yeah.”

A bitter taste settled in your mouth. The implication that you were just using Daryl made your throat sting, but you knew that nauseating assumption was the only thing keeping the both of you from being riddled with bullets. 

You only hoped Daryl knew that too; that his fallen head and the squeeze of his eyes in pain and regret were all an act. 

“Well, he doesn't seem to have much use anymore,” Ross spat. He was still holding Daryl’s crossbow, waving it in front of him as a childish taunt. 

You dragged your eyes away from him, afraid of the look in his eye if he’d met yours back, and cautious of giving any hint that you did care about him further than whatever use he could provide. 

“How’d you guys find me, anyway?” 

Me— not us.

“We were already close. Smelt the fire,” Lee answered.

“Right.” You nodded, silently cursing yourself. “I guess I’m just lucky it was you three.” 

“You are,” Ross added. “If it was his people, they'd kill you in a fucking heartbeat.” 

“How are you so sure? 

“Everyone’s dead. Brian. Mitch. Lily.” Lee sighed. Your heart dropped at the mention of the little girl. “We’re the only ones that got out.” 

“Did you see Tara?” 

Emily rolled her eyes. Ross was too busy glaring down at Daryl to give you the time of day. 

“Last I saw she was hiding behind the tank, jumping at her own shadow.” Lee shook his head. 

You nodded. Tara was a sweet girl and had been more of a friend than anyone else back at camp, even if it was only for the short time before Brian took over and led you all into a losing battle. It was only because you were searching for her that you came across Mitch and that little boy in the first place. You guessed it was likely she was dead, too, considering everything they’d said. 

“But wait, if you thought you were the only survivors, why follow the smoke?” Your brow furrowed, glancing across the room at the various faces. Blood and dirt splattered all of them, while your hair was just barely dry, skin clean. They looked like they’d been through hell. “Why risk it?” 

Emily scoffed from behind, beckoning a glance over your shoulder. 

“They killed our people. All of them,” Ross answered, tone firm. 

“They don’t get to live.” 

You managed to bite back your retort— maybe if we hadn’t attacked them, they wouldn’t have killed any of us. But the look on your face was harder to control. Growing up, your brother used to joke about your eyes offering a glimpse into your mind; it was cheesy, but unfortunately true. 

Lee saw through it, he always did have that skill. It was that inch of softness preserved beyond all those scars and trauma that made sniffing out your weaknesses a type of second nature. Thankfully, the hotheads of the group, Emily and Ross, were a different story. 

“You don’t agree?” asked Lee. 

“I— I just…” You shook your head. Your words had to be careful— precise— if you wanted to keep this facade up long enough to survive. “You know I’ve never been one for killing. But after everything, I get it.” 

Your eyes fell to Daryl, reluctantly, and your lip almost quivered with the next question. 

“Have you found any of them?” 

They all knew what you meant— have you killed any of them?

Any more. 

You could still see that sword slice into the old man’s neck. 

Tempted by your question, Daryl palmed the ground and gave himself the leverage to position his battered body an inch straighter. His bangs still hung in front of his narrow eyes, dirt smeared across his tense, right forearm that took on his weight, his left side still dripping with blood. It’d been about thirty minutes that you’d seen him clean, now he looked as beaten as ever. 

Ross’ boot slammed into his back— throwing him back down to the ground. The breath was knocked out of Daryl’s lungs, rough coughing echoed throughout the room between low whimpers of pain. 

“Stop moving, asshole.” Ross grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his neck back to growl in his ear. 

That was it— seeing Daryl’s neck stretched back, veins tense with adrenaline and his teeth barred made you snap. 

“Ross!” You stepped forward. “He’s—“ 

Emily was quick to push you back, hand heavy on your chest. But she didn’t raise the gun again. Her intense stare was almost as terrifying, anyway. 

“Well you definitely haven’t grown up,” she mocked. You’d always had an aversion to violence back at the camp, which was uniquely odd in this world. That was probably why she didn’t like you, to begin with. “So the question is, are you lying to us? Or him?” 

You huffed, “I already told you.” 

When her gaze didn’t lessen, you sighed in defeat, “Em.” 

She scoffed at the nickname. 

“Y’know, I saw you back there,” Emily sneered. “You didn’t shoot a single bullet.” 

That wasn’t true— but you’d probably be dead if she knew any better. 

You inhaled. 

“I was going to say that he’s not worth it. Look, he’s already hurt. Shot.” You tried not to choke on that last word. “There’s a herd not far from here, and those shots you fired are gonna draw them in on us, so we should just get the hell out of here already.” 

You hadn’t seen a biter in two days. 

It might’ve been a lie, the kind that always raised your voice an octave higher, but unless she was willing to risk her life to call your bluff, you figured it was your best shot. 

“You thought it yourself, right? When we heard the shots?” 

Emily’s expression faltered for a moment, eyes darting to the store’s front. Newspapers painted the wide windows, blurry rays of sun shining through. Her hand fell off you, again, only this time she seemed to be deterred by her own distraction. 

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" she hissed. 

"It can be hard to think straight with a gun in your face." 

Ross stepped forward, past Daryl’s crouched state. 

“Thanks for the warning.” He nodded at you, before turning to half-heartedly reason with Emily, who's face was twisted after your retort.  “She might be a coward, but she’s still one of us.” 

They held each other’s stares for a second until Lee’s tired sigh interrupted the tense air. 

“No one’s gonna check the damn street?” he muttered while crossing the storefront to peel an edge of the newspaper back. 

“Shit,” he gasped. “She’s right. They’re coming.” 

Your heart squeezed. 

Fuck. 

Of all the times to be proved right… 

“Find our exit,” Ross barked.

Lee followed his order, running to the back of the gas station and propping the steel door open. He glanced left and right, then called back out, “Got a minute, maybe two. I’ll find a path.” 

Ross glared down at Emily. “There’s no time to argue. You ready for this?” 

“Whatever.” 

An apathetic agreement was enough, all things considered. Ross grabbed your knife from her grip and turned on his heel to face you. “Here.” He handed the blade to you first, then shoved a spare pistol into your other hand. “Might need that, too.” 

“She ain’t gonna use it anyway,” Emily scoffed, walking past you toward Daryl. 

"What are we gonna do about this prick?" 

"Leave him for the biters if you want." Ross shrugged. "Asshole ain't going anywhere on his own." 

"I'd rather no loose ends." 

Your throat tightened, eyes lingering on her gun and the way determined, malicious fingers wrapped around the trigger. 

Ready to pull. 

You knew that look. You’d had it twice before. You were sure it had been more than that for Emily. She seemed too disinterested, too disconnected from the reality of being on the cusp of taking a life. 

Ross followed her, walking toward the backdoor. Neither of them, for all their firey hostility, had eyes for you; arrogance had taken root, rotting away any precaution. It didn't matter that you'd survived two years before finding their camp, or that you'd survived the prison massacre that, by their own admission, left everyone dead. You were weak to them. Harmless. No one other than Daryl was interested in the way you handled that gun, checking the chamber and cocking it, slow and silent. 

They certainly didn’t have the diligence to notice how your expression suddenly mirrored Emily’s.

Before she could, you pulled. 

One shot into the back of her skull, then two into his spine. Ross was farther, harder to aim at, but he dropped just like she did, nonetheless. 

“Guys?” Lee’s voice echoed from outside. 

You charged forward, kicking the brick from the door frame before the heavy metal slammed shut. From the other side, you heard him yell a curse and the loud thump of his shoulder hitting the door. But the lock was automatic, and the steel was too thick to break down. 

Then there were shots. Screaming. 

The growls of the dead. 

You stepped back and felt something sticky below. Blood— Ross’ blood— coated your shoe. Your mouth parted, staring at the thick red pool, filling in the gaps where your sole had been. With a shaky hand, you grabbed the lone backpack— Daryl’s bag was still outside, probably crushed under the dead’s feet— then ran back to him. It didn’t matter how thick that steel was, once the dead surrounded the building they’d bring down the windows in seconds. 

Lee would keep the dead busy long enough to get out. 

At least, you hoped so. 

Bloody footprints marked your path through the building, stumbling back to Daryl who was grabbing onto the shelf of an aisle, trying to lift himself back up. 

You knelt in front of him, not even thinking before you moved his bangs away from his face. Your eyes flickered across his hurt, noticing the cut on his lip was just that, a cut, and the redness at his jaw wasn't the only bruise forming. 

“They only shot your arm?” 

“Mhm. Hit me over the head, too.” He winced as you brushed your fingers over his forehead, feeling a bump hidden in his hairline. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. 

Another thump against that door. 

You pulled off your zip-up hoodie, tying it around his shoulder. Hell, you didn’t even know if that was the right technique or if he’d be better off with one of those padded bandages in your bag instead of some half-hearted tourniquet, but you didn’t exactly have the time to think it through, either. 

Daryl hissed from the pressure, but bit back a groan. "My bow." 

You blanked for a second, brain foggy under the pressure, but once you snapped back into focus, you dashed back to Ross to grab the crossbow he'd been swinging around. Then, back by Daryl's side, you bent down to lift him. 

“Come on,” you huffed, dragging his body by his right forearm— the one that wasn’t marked with streaks of blood. He groaned in pain as you pulled him up, wrapping his arm and weight around your shoulder. The crossbow, the backpack, and him were all heavy— too heavy. You tried to take a step forward and stumbled, just narrowly catching yourself.

“Put it on my back,” Daryl mumbled. 

“O— Okay, just stay still.” 

His arm slipped off you and you buckled the strap around his chest. It weighed down his already hurt body but he nodded, anyway. You wrapped his arm back around you and started limping forward again. 

The front door Emily must’ve snuck through was slightly open, a ray of sunlight beckoning you through. You and Daryl followed it, shuffling out to the open road. It was wide and bare of biters; they’d all been distracted by Lee. 

And you, you tried your absolute hardest not to be. 

The dead were relentless. Anyone around these days was well aware of that. Though that expectation of their brutality never seemed to be enough because every time you were actually faced with it, reality hit you in the gut all over again. 

Lee’s screams were cruel. Torturous. The haunting gurgle of pain and blood caught in his throat as he died a slow and excruciating death. Even if you hadn’t seen the rip of his muscle and skin between yellow teeth, you could hear it, imagine it— you almost did, before your grip on Daryl slipped an inch, pulling your attention back. 

“It's okay. We’re okay,” you gritted between clenched teeth and continued forward. 

Daryl shuffled beside you, your head frantically turning left and right to watch for any biters. Your grip on Ross’ pistol was always tight and ready. Even if firing a bullet next to a herd, no matter the size, was the last thing you wanted to do. 

It went on like that for a while, until he was pale, and the distance between you and the gas station felt far enough. 

Walking down a stretch of small, run-down cottages, you stopped at one with a broken tire swing and overgrown grass. Even the stone path to the peeling white porch was difficult as Daryl almost tripped over any imbalance underneath him. 

You had to clear the house, you knew that, but you didn’t want a bleeding, almost unconscious Daryl to be stuck on that porch like a giant ‘eat me’ sign, either. Just in case that herd was still moving. Once you got the door open, you led him inside too, resting him against the wall of the front hallway. He sighed when you finally unbuckled the crossbow strap and dropped the weapon to the floor, next to his feet. 

“I need to clear the house. Can you stay here?” 

He slipped down an inch, and you grabbed his waist out of instinct. Something warm coated your hands, something thick and bright red. 

“Fuck, you’re still bleeding.” 

“‘M fine,” Daryl slurred, “jus’ need to sit a minute.” 

“Come on,” you groaned, then led him around the small foyer, into a living room. With his arm thrown over your shoulder again, you hurried to the couch before you almost collapsed under him. 

He fell onto the firm cushion with a low groan. You dropped the backpack next to him and decided clearing the house could wait until you got Daryl settled— so long as you were quiet enough. 

You grabbed a pillow and ripped the case off, folding it into a pad. 

“Here, put firm pressure,” you mumbled. 

Daryl listened, but his energy was dwindling. Every creek in the floorboards, whining under the weight of your knees, had your heart skipping a beat. Panic was soaking your muscles, making you twitch with every shift in the goddamn air. 

“Go,” he rasped. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

You wanted to protest. Didn't want to leave his side until the bleeding had stopped and his skin pinkened up again. 

But, despite his exhaustion, Daryl's stare was firm. 

“Just stay awake,” you whispered, unsheathing your knife. “I’ll be back soon.” 

————————————————————

-> part 6

A/N: oops? funny thing. my first draft for this was like 1700 words and I thought I'd just have a short part to share. well... it ended up at 4.1k lol

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon / reader #Daryl Dixon x you #daryl x you #daryl / reader #daryl / you #norman reedus #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfiction #Daryl Dixon series #all you got

[la-pheacienne]

Top 5: quotes from asoiaf 🙂

Sorry nonnie I procrastinated so much on this because it was impossible for me to choose just 5. I won't mention the quotes that encapsulate asoiaf the best necessarily, but the quotes that speak to me the most personally.

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door. "… the dragon …" And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely. Keep walking. If I look back I am lost. Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. Will I ever see such sights again? On Drogon's back she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of this world could not touch her. How could she abandon that?

A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

Jaime lay on his back afterward, staring at the night sky, trying not to feel the pain that snaked up his right arm every time he moved it. The night was strangely beautiful. The moon was a graceful crescent, and it seemed as though he had never seen so many stars. The King’s Crown was at the zenith, and he could see the Stallion rearing, and there the Swan. The Moonmaid, shy as ever, was half-hidden behind a pine tree. How can such a night be beautiful? he asked himself. Why would the stars want to look down on such as me? "Jaime," Brienne whispered, so faintly he thought he was dreaming it. "Jaime, what are you doing?" "Dying," he whispered back. "No," she said, "no, you must live." He wanted to laugh. "Stop telling me what do, wench. I'll die if it pleases me." "Are you so craven?" The word shocked him. […] "What else can I do, but die?" "Live," she said, "live, and fight, and take revenge."

A Storm of Swords - Jaime IV

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but… well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.” Those were the last words Rhaegar Targaryen ever spoke to him. Outside the gates an army had assembled, whilst another descended on the Trident. So the Prince of Dragonstone mounted up and donned his tall black helm, and rode forth to his doom. He was more right than he knew. When the battle was done, there were changes made […]. It was queer, but he felt no grief. Where are my tears? Where is my rage? Jaime Lannister had never lacked for rage. “Father,” he told the corpse, “it was you who told me that tears were a mark of weakness in a man, so you cannot expect that I should cry for you.”

A Feast for Crows - Jaime I

Marsh flushed a deeper shade of red. "The lord commander must pardon my bluntness, but I have no softer way to say this. What you propose is nothing less than treason. For eight thousand years the men of the Night's Watch have stood upon the Wall and fought these wildlings. Now you mean to let them pass, to shelter them in our castles, to feed them and clothe them and teach them how to fight. Lord Snow, must I remind you? You swore an oath." "I know what I swore." Jon said the words. "I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. [...] Are you certain that I have not forgotten some? The ones about the king and his laws, and how we must defend every foot of his land and cling to each ruined castle? How does that part go?" Jon waited for an answer. None came. "I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord—what are these wildlings, if not men?"

A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

#valyrianscrolls #anonymous #ask game #asoiaf #asoiaf quotes #daenerys targaryen #jaime lannister #jon snow #brienne of tarth

[mwseo]

WERNER HERZOG (1968 - 2019) [subtitulos]

1968 Signs of Life

1970 Even Dwarfs Started Small

1972 Aguirre, the Wrath of God

1974 The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser

1976 Heart of Glass

1977 Stroszek

1979 Nosferatu the Vampyre

1979 Woyzeck

1982 Fitzcarraldo

1984 Where the Green Ants Dream

1987 Cobra Verde

1991 Scream of Stone

200 1 Invincible

2005 The Wild Blue Yonder

2006 Rescue Dawn

2009 Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

2009 My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done

2015 Queen of the Desert

2016 Salt and Fire

2019 Family Romance, LLC

[searchingforserendipity25]

post-reembodiment finrod befriends the snakes that live in the green forests of lórien.

he is technically not supposed to be there. in fact elves very much not supposed to be there, in the dark places where dreams and memory and wild whimsy come together in strange guises. and especially not newly-returned finrod, the first of the exiles to come back and still very getting his bearing back.

they meet because the snakes actually set out to be the ones to do a first-contact conversation with him. they have been patient, and thought on the matter at great length - for snakes, of course, are philosophers at heart, as well as hunters.

the smell of rot and freshness clings to the silent walker that crosses the aildes of the ancient trees with nary a sound. it brings them near; it calls to kinship, and inquiry. they have so many questions. what does rebirth feel like to elves? does finrod remember his change? does he feel his discarded skin rotting far away? does he remember all that came before, and in-between? how much liberty does he have to choose the glint of light on his new fur, is he made for camouflage or has he decided to develop a more potent poison?

finrod does remember, in time. not much, then - barely his own names, barely his own languages. but to speak of the lack of memory is to gain memory anew, and never more so when it is done in a new language, cautious, couteous hissing, while long vipers curl around each other and move with laughter at his accent.

the snakes of lórien, finrod learns, have a beautiful and very simple language with a very vast syntax, and death is not a word in it; only the twelve variations of terms for change, and alteration, journeying and discarding. the aching first growth of the shacking away of the past skin. the joyful slithering through the moss with the new skin, when every sense prickles and every discomfort is a small glory, and all things are new, new, and the inside renewed and full of long memory.

are they ainur? are they just long lads? unclear. in valinor, the difference is less than it might seem. the important thing is that they are snarky companions and very invested in looking amazing draped all over his shoulders.

they are friends, the first finrod makes in valinor, this time around; and they remain friends, for all the long ages to came. for the snakes of lórien never do die; sometimes they shake out their old selves in the rain-sweetened shadows of the forests. they leave themselves to be food for the ants and roots of the orchids and the thick ferns, and invent for themselves new skills and dangers and wisdom - but they do not die.

finrod learns a great deal, from the snakes of lórien.

#finrod gets a role reversal as the anthropological curiosity this time #it's fun and good for him! #finrod

[cheerleaderman]

Yuya Florence

A magicless human from other world seemingly with no memories or perhaps locked memories.With only a driver license and  journal that gives them some identity .Now in this new place Yuya is just trying to survive what NRC throws at them hoping to recover what they lost.

Twst- The shooting star over the castle in the beginning of movies

Personality 

Kinda complicated to explain but Yuya honestly doesn’t have a consistent personality in the main story because they change to how to protect themselves or what the situation needs/happening around them it’s in the way of her trying to survive and does it subconsciously . Out of main story when there isn’t a crisis and can somewhat relax Yuya is kinda childish, sassy at times, blunt , more on the quiet side,Petty,chaotic asking the most random questions,  intrusive thoughts are likely to win but is deeply hurting on the inside.

Basic info

-Age : 18

He/her/ They

Voice claim: Eng-Veronica-Heathers the musical (OG) Jp-Ibuki mioda-Danganronpa

-height : 172

-Birthday : August 8

-dominant hand : Left

-Nicknames : Srimpy(Floyd) Yu-Yu (Cater, Lilia, Kalim) Trickster (Rook) Herivore or Omnivore if ignored (Leona) Child of man( Malleus) Human/Human perfect (Sebek) Yu(everyone else) Perfect (basically everyone but main after Book 3)

-favorite food: Chili oil noodles, candied lemon, strawberry lemonade

-hobbies/likes : Rhythm games,horror movies, collecting cute bags, scrapbooking/journaling , Photography, crocheting and knitting

-Dislikes: Bland food, Green tea, Fuzzy socks, Ants ,smell of alcohol, feeling sweaty, strong smells

-Pet peeve : Forgetting things

-Favorite subject: Alchemy

-club : hopes between clubs mostly at board game club

-Talent: lock picking, Cooking, Dodging

More info

- Has a bit of an obsession photography because they represent memories and Yuya doesn’t want to and scared to forget again

-Got called a beast tamer and ran with it, can make friends or form some kind of bond with all kinds of creatures, Ghosts etc.

-Yuya sleep walks and it gets worse over time

- trying to keep it together

- Will fight like her life depends on it even outside the overblots

-Yuya was really in denial of being in other world up until the end of book 2. Getting a scar from Leona’s OB was how it really settled in for Yuya that Twisted wonderland was not a dream. Before that his thinking was “I don’t belong here so surely someday I wake up and I’ll be back where I belong “ was how they were trying to rationalize being in an another world.(Didn’t get any scars from Riddle tho)

-Yuya is insecure about the scars they get not even like to look in the mirror

- After OB will get a dream of the full movie. Will have dreams about people outside of the OB like the staff members and will get full context after 3 dreams.

- Yuya doesn’t really good out of his way to talk to people most times it was others who introduce/ be introduced but if Yuya ran into someone they’ll still introduce themselves to be respectful.

- Took a bit for Yuya to warm up going out to talk to others (Ace, Deuce and Grim are bit of the exception given how they’re always around each other tho Yuya was mostly quiet in the beginning)

-Gave up on hope of ever being able to get home after book 4 and  focus on trying to get their memories back

- Doesn’t ask for help for themselves but to help others or if Grim asks them to like in book 4

- got a staff weapon after book 2

-Starts to tired being the Perfect and having to help others is all they’re worth and scared to know what happens if they stop helping others,” will I be forced to leave Ramshackle is the only home I know”

- Skips a lot of orientation/assembly stuff. Some tried to scold Yuya “ Your the ramshackle perfect you need to set an example” along those lines but Yuya would just ignore it or respond  “ Since when has anyone respected me as a Dorm leader”(Yuya doesn’t like the memory of orientation )

-Human arm rests taller or shorter doesn’t matter (Floyd,Leona,Cater,Ace are the main perpetrators)

-“Where did you get that!?!?” “…don’t worry about it”

Outfits

Backstory

Yuya after their mother passed got sent to live with her Aunt family. It was basically to make them look good and all must make it look like they were the perfect family.

Yuya didn’t really get to be their own person but the mold his aunt and uncle wanted which ties into why he doesn’t have a consistent personality

#twisted wonderland oc #twst yuu #twst oc #oc art #twisted wonderland #artists on tumblr #twisted oc #cheer!Yuya #twst yuu oc #yuu twst #art #cheer!art #oc #original character #oc lore #oc info

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Dramione Month (Part 4)

Dramione Month 2023:

An Insufferable Duo by MarinaJune - G, one-shot - “Granger, take a look at this!” The excited tone of Malfoy’s voice had her rushing over to stand by his side in seconds. The potion glowed a gentle shade of lavender purple, the vapors surrounding them in a sweet aroma. “I think this is the best color we’ve seen yet at this stage. I have a r eally good feeling about this one, Draco!” The instant his name left her lips, she wanted to take it back. The grin that had filled his face had transformed to a look of shock she was afraid to analyze too closely. Despite their truce and these several weeks, pleasant as she might dare to describe them, she had never once referred to him by his given name. Except in her dreams.

10-minute Surprise by MarinaJune - E, one-shot - “Professor, if I may have a moment of your time?” Hermione swept past his Potions students where they leaned over cauldrons and diligently chopped ingredients in the no-nonsense manner she’d perfected from a young age. Like him, she wore her teaching robes, having recently finished with her Ancient Runes class of 6th years. Draco raised a curious eyebrow at her request but said nothing. He merely stood with a very Severus-like sweep of cloth to follow her into his office. The students paid them no attention, having become accustomed to the two professors taking private meetings during class.

Somewhere Between a Quill and a Biscuit by MarinaJune - G, one-shot - He tossed down Floo powder and shoved his head into the flames before she could finish her sentence. Mere moments later, he backed up to sit more appropriately on one side of the couch. He summoned a box of biscuits from the kitchen and started munching happily. She hoped he choked on them. “Theo, who did you—” Once again, Hermione found herself interrupted by the figure that stepped out of the fire and into their common room. “Malfoy?” He spun around mid-swipe, dust still clinging to his uniform. "Granger?” As if on cue, they both turned suspicious gazes towards the couch. “Theo?” Their joint accusation sent the Head Boy into a fit of laughter.

Mixtape by emilyinwonderland - G, one-shot - Draco Malfoy discovers muggle music in the Eighth Year Common Room.

Fantasies and Realities by writes_and_wrongs - Draco Malfoy’s eyes raked over her body like hot coals. They seared into her skin and made her flush. He wanted to devour her. And she wanted him to. She blinked rapidly. This was so realistic. "My, my,” he smiled to himself. “How lucky am I?”

anting to Know Me; Wanting to Know You by MarinaJune - T, one-shot - “So what do you say, Granger? You willing to hear me out and let me do the same for you?” Malfoy’s persistent question pulled her out of her fantasies, and if she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn a hint of his old smirk played at the corner of his lips as if he knew exactly what she’d be envisioning. Obviously, that was just her imagination. She was Hermione Granger, godammit. Head Girl. Gryffindor. Survivor. She thrust out her hand and he stared at it blankly. “It’s a handshake, Malfoy. I’m agreeing to try this thing out.”

We Should Be Friends by belladeexx - T, one-shot - A short peek at Hermione and Draco's 8th year after she insists they become friends.

Hufflepuffs Invite Everyone: Dramione Edition by Sparkly_Bee - E, one-shot - Hufflepuff parties are known for a few things: 1. They always invite everyone - “Leave your house rivalries at the door or else!” 2. They always have the best food and drinks available. But the third thing that Hufflepuff parties are known for is their legendary party games! This story follows my two favorite idiots, Hermione and Draco, as they navigate their way through a few salacious games. Expect Hufflepuff lore and some shameless smut!

Green Boxers by Wanderingfair - E, one-shot - “It’s those green boxers, you know.” He could feel her smile with his eyes closed.

“What about my green boxers?” He looked up at her before letting his eyes flutter shut again. “I didn’t realize the effect they’d have on me, Malfoy.” “I’m quite glad you’re so taken with them.” He leaned up to meet her lips.

Speed Dates & Surprises by anxiousm3ss - G, one-shot - “Well? Are you a regular at muggle speed dating, Malfoy? I thought your parents arranged your betrothal when you were twelve or something.” 6 years after the war, Hermione Granger runs into Draco Malfoy in an unexpected place.

#dramione month #fests/exchanges/challenges

[manawari]

Tawata Kanae as the Plague Monarch's successor!

It was that one post from @i-bring-crack, but I can't remember which one. The idea lingered just then! Especially when I have another AU in the works ;)

Both Kanae and Querehsha have red eyes, purple lips, and pure badass, girlboss energy! I think her lore could be put this way:

Querehsha appeared in Kanae's dreams and offered her new powers. Kanae refused and told the monarch to screw off, which caught the Plague Queen off-guard, but was impressed with the hunter's crude attitude. So, Querehsha then offered Kanae to bring all her guild mates back to life — Goto, Akari, Ippei, you name it! Kanae, who was still deeply grieving for her deceased acquaintances, agreed. The entity smirked and a bright green light flashed around them both. Kanae jerked awake. At first, she thought the dream was faux until she received a call from none other than Goto Ryuji, demanding her where she was.

Needless to say, Kanae had never been so happy as much as she felt indebted to the Plague Monarch.

The catch is: she would be used as a puppet in a plan Querehsha was scheming.

Kanae would soon feel rage against Jin-woo, someone whom she had no idea of, but the mention of his name made her blood boil. From what Querehsha told her, Jin-woo had stolen the army that would've been Kanae's. The ants should've been hers.

Also, this could be a funny idea the dynamic Kanae and Jin-woo would have in this AU. Kanae holding a grudge against Jin-woo, who's like "wtf did I ever do to you?!" and then he'd start hating her back.

Everyone being so shocked when Kanae was suddenly determined to get close to Beru, the ant who had wiped the majority of her guild, and what was even more confusing to them was how Jin-woo seemed to hate her more than he hated Goto.

"THAT ANT SHOULD'VE BEEN MINE!"

"FINDERS KEEPERS YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

#i have a list of successors in my drafts but i am waiting for that MISSING PIECE so i can finally post it #so yeah have kanae as the plague momarch successor #solo leveling #solo leveling au: ruler and monarch sucessors #tawata kanae

[fanfic-recs-01]

MHA Fics

This is a list of MHA fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Most of these are focused around Deku, so I tried to categorize as best I could. Also some have ships and some don’t. 

I have a separate post for tododeku here.

I have a seperate post for bakudeku here.

Updated 12/27/23

Vigilante Deku

the Quirkless Vigilante: Seishin by Tired_And_G4y

~When Izuku Midoriya becomes the vigilante Seishin and ends uo running into a injured Erasure Head what will he do? And what will he do when he keeps running into the hero in and out of uniform? Will the hero help or arrest him?~

Green Lightning ReachingForStars152

~After the emergence of quirks, the official definition of 'vigilante' changed to match it.

"Vigilante: Someone who illegally uses their quirk to fight villains without a hero license."

...So, then, wouldn’t it technically not be illegal if you didn’t have a quirk?~

Vigil, Ante, and their Vigilante Antics  by BelleAmant

~What happens when you knock Izuku to the ground and take away all of his hopes and dreams? The boy will get back up, clawing his way to the top if it's the last thing he does.

Featuring Vigilante Izuku, his partner-in-heroism Hitoshi, and some Parental Aizawa as a bonus!~

A deadman's gun by NohaIjiachi

~“I—“ Izuku hesitated, gaping wordlessly, before admitting softly. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to go home. There’s nothing for me, there.”

“So you filled this hole by playing detective— And how long is that going to last, I wonder?” Stain replied, still massaging his chin. “But you— You have potential.”

Izuku blinked at Stain’s chest, before looking up. “Excuse me?”~

Pied Piper by Blackholeca

~If they wouldn’t give him a chance then the solution seemed simple, he’d give himself one. He’d force the world to see him, force them to recognize his hard work. He wasn’t missing a quirk, it was simply that everyone else had been given an advantage. He wasn’t broken, or useless, or incapable, and he’d prove it by outrunning all of them, he who was quirkless, he who had started in last.~

Desperate Measures by GlowingArrowsInTheSky 

~AU in which Izuku stays quirkless and finds his own way of becoming a hero~

Oracle: Weak by orphan_account

~Izuku Midoriya couldn't become a hero. Everyone in his life told him he couldn't. But they never said anything about becoming a vigilante, and after one life changing event, he might just take up that offer. All he needs is someone in his corner. If he can't become a hero, then he sure as hell can become a vigilante!~

Tightrope by EloFromMars

~Sometimes, your life can be changed forever because you don't have any soy sauce left.

Or where Izuku never meets All Might, never attends to UA but being a stubborn problem child, he ends up doing hero stuff...more or less...~

The thin gray line by A_ToastToTheOutcasts 

~The beauty of the era of quirks wasn't the amazing abilities; it was that nobody sane would even entertain the thought that Kuroko, the most wanted vigilante in all of Japan, was Quirkless.~

Support Strategist Deku

That Strategist in Support  by AnitaArainai

~When Izuku jumps, a hero-to-be is there to save him. Focusing on his analytical skills, Izuku joins the support course and sets out to prove he doesn't need a quirk to make a difference.~

Oil, Rust, And Burns  by cinnabananamon

~Midoriya Izuku, 14 years old, never want anything in life beside being a Hero. But life seems to like to punch him in the face because, in the era where quirks define the worth of a person in a society, life choose Izuku to be quirkless. His dream as a Hero was turned to ash after All Might, his childhood hero and the one he look up to the most, give him a slap to reality.

After losing his only goal in life, Izuku met Mei Hatsume in the midst of explosion and fire. 'Support course in UA??'~

Blank Canvas by jokeraddicto

~All his life, nobody truly believed in Midoriya Izuku's dream of being a Hero. Not his mother, his childhood friend, his classmates or teachers...not even the Number One Hero believes in him. What is a Quirkless boy to do?

Show the world it's wrong, that's what. Finally, after years of no one believing him, there was one man who did. After All Might left Izuku on a roof with the answer of 'no', one man who was not a Hero finally told the boy, "I believe you can become a Hero." Izuku wants to prove the man right.~

Cheat Code: Support Strategist by Clouds(myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown)

~After All Might gives Izuku a much needed reality check, he has to find a new dream. When he learns that the support course at UA offers an emphasis in Intelligence and Analytics, it sounds like the perfect new passion for him to throw himself into.~

Villain Deku

One May Smile, and Smile, and Be A Villain  by AvaRose

~(Canon divergence where Midoriya Izuku never meets All Might, never inherits One For All, never attends Yuuei.)~

One Wrong Turn (and everything fell apart) by Ashtonthefabulous

~Left on a rooftop as his idol walks away, Izuku is left lost and hopeless. But, then, a strange man presents an offer that Izuku can't refuse.

Almost a year later and Bakugou is angsty, All Might is still without a successor, and the new class 1-A at U.A. is being plagued by the appearance of a strange villain amongst the crowd.

With one last shot at redemption, Izuku struggles with his morality, memory, and loyalties as he's forced to question everything he thought he knew.~

Twisted Crown of Villains by RandomFanfictions

~Izuku Midoriya is the only one who knows how to take down the League of villains, but in doing so, he has to become one of them. Or at least pretend to be one.

He can only hope to complete his mission without anyone finding out his true intentions until it is complete so he can regain his reputation as a hero or face the fate of dying while being thought of as a villain.~

Even Heros Need Saving by Diana_Zephyr

~In a world where All Might never found the sludge villain before it got Midoriya. It took over his body to hide, bringing him back to the League of Villains without thinking.

Midoriya knew too much for the League to let him go. They found his mother and held her life over his head. Either he complied or they killed his mother and then him.~

Misc.

How To Get Adopted Without Letting Your Dad Know He's Adopting You, A Guide By Class 1-A  by lesbianclerics

~Mina waits until Aizawa’s well out of earshot before muttering a teasing, “Okay dad” under her breath. Kirishima’s eyes go wide. Midoriya chokes on air and the soap he’s spraying goes wide, hitting the wall as well as the stove. Kaminari freezes halfway through tiptoeing across the kitchen. They all stare at her, frightened for a moment that Aizawa heard her somehow. Then, when nothing happens after a moment, Kaminari cackles, loudly, and doubles over laughing.~

Toward A Bright Future by LazyRainDancer

~You wake up at UA, the highest ranked hero school in the country, with no recollection of how you got there. Unfortunately, those aren't the only memories you're missing. Still, you can't let a little amnesia get in the way of you warning the school about the attack you know will happen during Class 1-A's field trip to the USJ. ~

Not Broken, but a Little Bent by FriendlessAnimeLover 

~Kaminari Denki ends up leaving the hero course after a certain incident takes place and enrolls in general studies where an unlikely ally reaches out to him, slowly helping ease his pain. But even as Denki tries to heal and starts finding a new path with Hitoshi Shinsou, he can't help but think of those he left behind.~

Guildy Pleasures by Mysecretfanmoments 

~As the only son of a powerful politician, Todoroki Shouto's life is just one big boring cutscene—except when he logs on to Land of Heroes, where he plays as ShoutO, slaying foes and keeping his fellow guildmates alive. It's enough fun that it almost distracts him from the fact that he's falling for two of those guildmates. Almost. But he's got to stay in stealth mode, because Bakugou and Midoriya are mega-popular streamer duo ZeroDeku… and they're already dating each other.~

don't you just want to go apeshit? by kkachis, MargaritaDaemonelix

~Midoriya jokingly says, "Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit?" Everyone's too focused on Iida telling him off for swearing to notice Shouto in his corner of the lunch table, mulling over his words.

He is tired of being nice. He does want to go apeshit.~

You're My Foe. Rival. Idol. Enemy. Nemesis. Dork. by bernard_greybridge

~5 times Midoriya's friends see him distressed and Bakugou intervenes, and 1 time Bakugou's friends go to Midoriya when he gets distressed.~

Not All Who Wander Are Lost by Chuthulhu (Mangaluva), Mangaluva 

~Touya should have run away on his own and left them behind. But he didn't. (AU in which all four Todoroki siblings ran away together.)~

(our fables) tell our truths by youareoldfatherwilliam

~In one universe, Todoroki Touya runs away from home and becomes the villain known as Dabi.

In this one, he takes his little brother Shouto with him.

This is their story.~

Chapstick, Chapped Lips And Things Like Chemistry by Dreamweaving 

~Shoto Todoroki is determined to have friend time with both Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugou at the same time. An operation he has deemed "Operation Threesomes". Unfortunately he may have misjudged what a threesome is.~

no rest for the wicked by crossroadswrite

Midoriya has absolutely no filter when he's sleep deprived. That's it. That's the fic.

Izuku's Project by redanick

~“Midoriya? It’s half past four in the morning, what the hell do you want?”

“Oh, is it really? I hadn’t noticed. Anyway, if I told you I had a way to majorly fuck up your dad in the public eye, would you be okay with it?”

He paused in shock that Izuku had sworn. “...Yeah, sure, whatever. Go nuts.” Todoroki hung up.~

A Sucker for Pun-ishment by Gotcocomilk

~Shoto gets hit with a quirk that forces him to tell jokes. They are all bad, but the pick-up lines are worse.~

Clothes Make The Man by PotterheadAvengerDemigod 

~The one where Baku models for his parents' fashion company and his classmates find out.~

Katsuki Bakugou has No Goddamn Chill (But It's For The Best That He Doesn't) by Sif (Rosae)

~Izuku and Bakugou had a long and complicated history, but most of the school was pretty sure that they understood where the two currently stood as rivals. Then Izuku's dad showed up on campus and everyone's preconceptions were mercilessly thrown out the window. In which Bakugou tries to murder a man, has a soft side and convinces his entire class the twilight zone is real.~

Bakugou and Todoroki's Foolproof 5-Step Plan to Fuck with Mineta Minoru by Anubis_2701   

~It was a simple enough idea; screw around with the resident bastard of Class 1-A to let him know that his medieval ways and perverted behaviour weren't going to be tolerated by even the most career-focused of UA's students.~

If We’re Being Honest by thequeenofwhump

~Class 1-A is hit by a very powerful truth quirk, and lots of things come out. Some things are quite harmless - quite the opposite, really - others are quite funny, and some open wounds that never really healed.~

Halfway to the Moon (But the Sun is So Bright) by Catisred

~Izuku doesn't know how to handle being depressed, his middle school bullies, the rigorous training All Might has him on, and the burden his mother is under trying to provide for a kid all by herself.

So he doesn't. Not well, at least.~

Tomorrow by MabtheWinterQueen

~In a universe where All Might does not tell Midoriya Izuku that he can become a hero, he becomes one anyways, because if there's two things Izuku does have, they are spite and a plan.~

Engraved in your Mind by Hejter

~Kacchan is still a stubborn prick while suffering from face blindness. Also, quirk discrimination is a thing.~

The kids are gonna be alright by tsumoo

~Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright along his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”.~

pater proelium by unexpectedchair

~“Sadly, we won't be able to get justice right away,” Present Mic admitted, a melancholy note in his tone.Inko glanced down at her wedding ring, eyes widening. She then chose that moment to open the door, and proceeded to step into the room.“You might not be able to, but I might,” Inko's determined stare fixed on everyone in the room. “But you need to do exactly as I say. Excuse me while I make a call.”~

Tango for Two, Electric Boogaloo by Maxine

~Five times Bakugou and Kaminari were absolutely not dating, and one time they maybe actually were? Possibly? Somehow?? Don't ask, because Bakugou sure has no idea how the hell it happened.~

Love Sick by Jacksonofabitch

~Following an accident in training, Kaminari has little choice but to confront his own feelings for Bakugou Katsuki. Especially when he accidentally confesses.~

Just Say When by Bounemr

~Denki is shocked to find himself tutored by Todoroki. Will he finally rise from last place, academically, in class? Will love shenanigans happen? Probably. They're not mutually exclusive.~

#fic recs #my hero academia #vigilante deku #villain deku #support class deku #tododeku #izuku midoriya

[lorata]

bb victor creed, for @transrevolutions

so i herd u had a bad day

Victor Creed (Emory version)

Sunlight dances through the apple leaves overhead. Now and then the branch moves and the sun itself glints through, a blinding flash that leaves purple spots dancing across Creed’s vision. He doesn’t look away, staring up at the mesmerizing shift of greens and browns and those distant patches of blue. Grass tickles the back of his neck and there’s a persistent tickle at his ankle where an ant keeps trying to climb his leg. He gave up trying to shake it off.

The Arena feels far away, hazy and distant like the wisp of a dream in the muddy moments before waking. His life before feels even stranger, an echo he can hardly remember.

“Am I alive?” Creed asks.

Again.

Again, Emory answers, “You are.” This time she hands him a river stone, worn smooth by the repetitive motion of the water, and he turns it over in his fingers and marvels at the glossy surface. When he holds it up above his head the sun shines through it, translucent, thin veins in the pale yellow-orange stone like a picture he once saw in a science book of a chicken embryo. Distracted by the image of a fetal-chicken-rock, Creed loses his grip on the stone and it falls and lands on his forehead.

“Ow.”

“There, you see.” Emory taps him on the forehead. “Good and living.”

“How many days?” he asks her.

Her fingers brush his hair back from his forehead. It’s shorter now; when they pulled him out his curls were matted thick with sweat and dirt and blood. Must have been easier than washing it all out. “Four since we got home,” Emory says, and leaves it at that.

He wants to ask how many total but that’s a harder question. Time is — fuzzy, before, all those days half-awake, the surgeries, sleeping in hospital, does that really count? Does recovery start when they pulled him out, the first time he woke up, the first time he spoke, the first time he remembered? Creed watches a leaf turn over on its stem, back and forth, back and forth. “How many more days?”

Emory pauses. “You did your countdown,” she says finally. “From here we count up.”

Creed’s heart clenches in his chest. There’s too much heart, actually, not enough room for lungs, all this blood pumping and pounding with nowhere for it to go and no air, everything pushing and fizzing and pressing outwards —

“Hey.” Emory’s hand presses down on his chest. “Breathe with me. Yeah? One at a time.”

She brings him back and he collapses against her, back curled into her chest. She wraps one arm around his chest to hold him steady and he tips his head onto her shoulder, staring up at the leaves. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it, it’s too far, I’m exhausted. There’s too much — how do you go, every day, without an end? Tomorrow there’s another day, and another day, and another day, and you have to keep doing this forever?”

Emory’s arm is solid. He grips it, digs his fingers into the sharp curve of muscle. “I won’t lie, that is a hell of a thing. But it doesn’t always feel like this.”

A bird flits to a top branch, silhouetted by the sun. “Would you lie, if I asked you to?”

Emory taps one finger in thought, absently, like she forgot her hand is at Creed’s side. It tickles, but it keeps him present. “Okay,” she says. “The hard part’s over. No one will ever ask anything of you again. Your enemies are dead and gone and everything is safe as sunshine. Every choice you make will be an easy one with no wrong answers. You will never see another death again.”

He sits with that, lets it sink in like a flower petal on the water. “Okay,” Creed says. “Now the truth.”

Emory’s exhales ruffles his hair. “Our jobs start the day we walk out alive. You’ll meet people who smile when they hurt you, and all you’re allowed to do is smile back. None of us are safe, but we do our damn well best to keep each other as safe as possible. The other districts will hate you. It’s not their fault. Purpose looks different after the Arena, and it sounds fake until it hits you in the face. But the biggest truths are these: you will always make me proud, and I’m never gonna leave you.”

Creed lets out a long, slow breath. The sun blinks down through the branches, stinging his eyes. “It does sound fake,” he says, voice scratchy. “You know I wasn’t meant to make it out. I was a statement of faith. What is a sacrifice supposed to do with a last-minute reprieve?”

“How about blackberries,” Emory says. “There’s a nice patch on the other side of the fence.”

“Blackberries.” Creed cranes his head back to give her an incredulous upside-down stare. “Twenty-three kids are dead and I should be one of them and you want to pick blackberries.”

One blonde eyebrow quirks. “You got a better idea?”

The blackberries do taste delicious, actually. Creed scrapes up both arms and one knee crawling through the brambles to get to the sweetest ones in the middle, and they eat their bounty spread out on a blue handkerchief under the August sun. Creed licks the juice from his fingers and holds up his purple-stained hands to show Emory like a six-year-old.

And so, the first day of the rest of Creed’s life passes: sunburnt, juice-smeared, and laughing.

#we must be killers: tales from district 2 #my writing #oc: creed seward #oc: emory

[kaihavoc]

Little Miss Never Swears ; Christian Pulisic

Recommended listening: All Mine (Slowed + Reverb) -  Plaza  Warnings: 18+

“How’s the new boss?” Mason chirps around the parmesan-dusted breadstick currently invading his mouth.

“Awful,” you answer glumly. Defeated, you eye the almost-empty bread basket as Mason reaches for another breadstick.

“Leave some for the rest of us, will ya?” Christian says, snatching the last breadstick before Mason can stake his claim on it. Your boyfriend offers you the butter-soaked bread but you decline it with the shake of your head. You're too out of it to enjoy carbs right now.

You feel bad, bringing the mood down at what’s supposed to be an upbeat, end-of-the week dinner with Christian and your mutual friends. Christian had even gone all out by making a reservation at an upscale Italian restaurant for the occasion. But you can't find it in you to do anything other than sulk. 

It’s Friday evening and you just got off of work, where your boss had scolded you in front of the entire office. You can feel the tears brimming in your eyes as you recall the embarrassing scene that made you feel smaller than an ant.

“She’s a complete and… witch,” you continue, swallowing back the waterworks. You're so riled up that you would use a stronger word to describe your nightmare of a boss but, growing up in a conservative household, you didn’t often use expletives — even now as an adult.

Beside you, Christian does a terrible job of holding in his chuckle. You brush him off. 

“What happened this time?” Mason prods, sinking his teeth into his main course of spaghetti and meatballs. 

“She doesn't give me any room to breathe! She’s always hovering over me, giving me zero autonomy in my own job. When I put together a new social media plan for a client, she hates everything about it. If I propose reusing an old plan, she says it lacks intentionality. It’s like, I'm danged if I do and danged if I don't!” you huff.

Christian snickers again, and this time you're unable to ignore your boyfriend’s disrespect. You shoot him a brief warning glare.

“Will you excuse me, boys?” you say to Mason and Ben. The latter had recently joined the table settled next to Mason. Ben's blue-green eyes offer you a sympathetic look. “I need to go to the ladies’ room. Christian, can you help me find it?” You look pointedly at your rather impish boyfriend.

“Of course, baby.” Rising to his feet, Christian snakes his tattooed arm around your waist. Dressed in a form-fitting scarlet dress, you can feel Christian’s fingertips drumming against you as he steers you toward the restrooms. He releases you when you push open the restroom door with your heeled foot. 

“I’ll be out here, waiting for—” he begins.

You don’t allow him to finish that sentence, dragging him inside the restroom with you. The space is open and glamorous, filled with the aroma of something sweet, like warm caramel. The lighting is dim and moody, fitting more for a dance club than a bathroom, you note. It’s so over-the-top fancy there’s even a lounging area with a red-cushioned loveseat behind the sinks.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Christian’s unfairly long eyelashes cast a shadow across his chiseled features. He’s so beautiful, you think to yourself and crack a small smile.

At one point, earlier in the summer, Christian had dyed the tips of his lovely brown curls a horrid corn-yellow color—“It looked dope when Jorgi went blond!” Christian explained when you first saw his at-home dye job. And then, to rub salt on the wound, the very next day, he declared he was going to spend the rest of the summer growing a mullet. (“Is this you trying to live out your unfulfilled country singer dreams?” you had groaned.) 

It was like he purposely tried to put your unconditional love for him to the test. Of course, you loved him no matter what, regardless of his hairstyle. Some hairstyles just took longer to get used to than others… But now, he’s back to his classic look. The all-American boy you met and fell madly in love with. With his untamed curls and milk chocolate eyes and millions of freckles, you could never get enough of him.

“I don’t appreciate you laughing at my work problems,” you say with a pout. 

“Aw, baby, I’m not laughing at your situation,” Christian says, approaching you at a tantalizing slow rate. “I’m laughing because of how sweet and innocent you act in front of our friends. Little Miss Never Swears.” He brushes your hair so that it falls to one side of your shoulder. “Only, I know the truth—how dirty Little Miss’ mouth really is.” As his eyes linger on your mouth, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. And then he breaks into a smirk. 

“It’s not an act. I don’t swear.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Oh, really?” Christian quirks a thick eyebrow.

“Really.” 

“Liar,” he whispers the word into your bare neck, sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he begins sucking on your supple skin and softly sinks his teeth into your flesh.

“Ch–Christian, wh–what are you doing?” you breathe. It’s reflexive the way your eyes flutter shut as he continues his amorous assault.

In an instant, Christian pulls you along as he walks over to the loveseat. He sits with his back against the arm rest, one leg sprawled across the cushions, the other hanging over the seat. He draws you in so that you’re sitting between his legs with your back flush against his chest. 

“I’m proving you wrong,” he mutters darkly. His fingers inch their way down to the hem of your dress, shimmying it up to reveal your stomach and thighs. “We don’t have much time. Mase and Chilly will be wondering where we are if we’re gone too long. You’ll be a good girl and play nice, won’t you?”

You gulp and nod, the tingling in the pit of your stomach intensifying at his mere words. The hold this boy has on you is pitiful. The worst part? He knows it. He relishes it.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” Christian purrs in your ear. 

“I’ll be good,” you hiss between your teeth. You reach behind to weave your fingers through his hair when his own fingers brush over that spot.

Chuckling with satisfaction, Christian peels off your lacy white panties and discards the material in the pocket of his jean jacket. He rests his hand on your inner thigh and you’re already writhing with anticipation. Of course, your squirminess doesn’t go unnoticed by the man of the hour.

“Look at you.” Christian clicks his tongue. “You’re a mess and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Christian,” you whine, kicking your outstretched legs. “Less talking, more doing.”

“Now, now. Is this how you talk back to authority? No wonder you’re always in trouble at work,” Christian chastises disapprovingly. “That sort of behavior will get you nowhere.”

You roll your eyes. You could give him an earful for bringing up your work, especially at a time like this, but you’re in too vulnerable of a position to risk not getting what you're desperate for. “I need you. Please,” you whimper instead. You lift your hips to meet his cupped hand, the tiny taste of friction not nearly enough relief for you.

“That’s more like it.” As a reward, his fingers work their magic on you, going round and round in a slow circular motion. “Watch yourself in the mirror," he instructs. "Look how beautiful you are when I make you feel like this.” 

Obeying, you turn your head to see both of your reflections in the large mirror above the row of sinks. For a moment, your mind flashes with worry of someone walking in on the two of you like this. But then you watch as Christian slips a finger inside of you and all concern dissipates. You moan, needing more contact, needing his sweet lips on yours.

You tip your head back and, as if reading your mind, Christian lowers his, attacking your lips in a passionate kiss. You gasp as he slides in a second finger, never once neglecting your most sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, squeezing your legs together only for him to gently pry them apart.

“What was that?” he hums. You can see amusement all over his face through the mirror. “Did you just… swear?”

“No,” you lie. You don’t know why, you’re just too caught up in the mind-boggling pleasure. 

Christian abruptly ceases all activity. “There you go, lying to me again," he admonishes. What happened to your promise to be a good girl?”

“Another lie?” you offer. As soon as you say it, you know you shouldn’t have.

“As defiant as ever,” Christian growls. He slides out from underneath you, shrugging out of his jean jacket and setting it under your bum. Roughly grabbing your thighs, he digs his fingers into your soft skin. He dives between your legs, his tongue swirling inside of you.

“Fuck!” you cry, your hand fisting through Christian's locks, grasping onto anything to prevent yourself from shattering entirely. 

“Shhh.” The sound vibrates against you, heightening all the delicious sensation of his tongue and touch.

“That feels so fucking—” You’re unable to finish that sentence because while Christian’s tongue is lapping inside you, his nose teasingly grazes that sensitive spot.

“Christian. Christian. Christian.” His name falls from your lips like a heavenly mantra as you ride out your high. When your body convulses for a final time, Christian comes up from between your legs to kiss you lovingly, allowing you to taste yourself.

“Tell me now, who doesn’t swear?” Christian asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you. He straightens out your tight dress before helping you stand you upright. 

“Not me,” you reply innocently. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, you smooth out your dress before swirling around and holding out your hand for Christian to return your panties.

“You are so in for it when we get home,” he mutters as he shakes his head. He walks straight out the ladies’ room, denying you your lacy undergarment for the rest of the evening.

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic smut #christian pulisic fanfiction #christian pulisic fanfic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic one shot #footballer smut #footballer imagine #footballer fanfic #football imagine #chelsea #usmnt #footballer x reader #football fanfic #footballer blurb #christian pulisic fic #footballer #footballer fluff #imagine

[sappymix1]

thought it would be fun to do those fem dnf prompts from twitter :) 1k words of manhunt girl dnf under the cut

“Oh, George!”

It was a sound she’d heard a million times. Low, alto voice. Obvious grin coming through in just two short words. The taunting tone made her name pitch sour, and George’s mouth automatically curled into a scowl. Goddamn it. It had hardly been two minutes since George had ducked into a cave tucked behind a waterfall on a hunt for iron and already Dream had tracked her down.

She moved further back into the cave, pulling a torch from the bag thrown over her back. She lit a match and slowly the torch sparked to life, illuminating the walls of the cave. It was, probably, what was going to get her caught if Dream found the same cave, but she also didn’t love the idea of running into a creeper in the dark, so. Sometimes you just had to make do.  

Of course, the bigger issue was probably the waterfall. The roar of the water was loud enough to drown everything else out, especially the sound of Dream’s soft footsteps. She always moved so quietly, but George’s ears were normally well tuned to hearing her every move. That familiarity wasn’t going to help her much here. 

She carefully turned around, running the light of her torch over the walls of the cave. A little bit of coal tucked behind a ledge. She squinted at something that glimmered in the light and then sighed. Just a piece of copper. 

George moved deeper into the cave. She couldn’t hear Dream anymore, but she didn’t know if that meant that she had given up and moved on or if she had caught her trail and decided to go for stealth instead of intimidation instead. She should probably hurry up.

George had never been as good as being quiet as Dream was. Her leather boots, dyed dark with squid ink Ant had given her for her birthday, always thudded steady footsteps against the stone ground, echoing back to her. They were rapid as she tried to get through the cave as quickly as possible, scanning her surroundings for even just one piece of iron. There was no way that this cave was totally empty, right? She brushed a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead where it was falling out of the two pigtails she had pulled her hair into before going out, swearing under her breath. She was not patient enough for this. She just wanted to get some iron and get out. 

She was muttering curses under her breath — at the cave, at the iron spawn rate, at Bad for leaving this task for her, at her chest plate for being too loose and slamming into her shoulder blade every time she moved — when she heard it. 

A breath. Then, “boo.”

George automatically yelped, jumping back and reaching for the stone axe hanging from her waist. She was better with a bow, but it was too small in here and too dark for her to drop her torch to use both hands. At least with the ax, she could swing blindly and still maybe hit someone. 

As soon as she got a grip on the wooden handle of her axe, however, it was sent flying from her hand. “What the hell?” she said, voice going high and echoing back to her. Something firm hit her chest, slamming her back against the wall. Her chest plate clanged against the smooth stone, and George heard the sound of birds reacting to the loud noise somewhere ahead. Fuck, the cave must have let out ahead. No wonder she wasn’t finding shit. 

A flash of curly dark blonde hair caught in the light of her fallen torch, and a white smiling mask slid into her view. “You have to do better than that, Georgie.” 

“This isn’t fair,” George complained. She felt Dream’s own axe – iron, of course – press against her side. It was just the dull end, but it made her suck in her breath anyway. Her voice wobbled slightly even though her words remained characteristically whiney. “How was I supposed to know that the cave opened up again? How did you even know? This is, like, cheating.”

Dream scoffed. She pulled her mask up, revealing sparkly green eyes and a familiar soft spattering of freckles. “How is this cheating? I literally scaled a cliff wall to get here.” 

“Nobody made you do that.” George normally stared down everyone she met. She knew her eyes were deep and dark and hypnotic and she used it to her advantage. She dropped her eyes down to Dream’s mouth. “Can you hurry up and get on with it? I’m bored.”

Dream rolled her eyes, a big and theatrical movement. She was tall and her shoulders were broad enough to make two of George’s, and there was always something stage like in the way she moved. Maybe she was just so used to performing for the hunters. “You’re so needy.”

It didn’t feel performative, however, when Dream pressed her lips to George’s, warm calloused hands gentle against her cheeks.

George immediately leaned in, hand wrapping around Dream’s waist. She wished she wasn’t wearing her armor. She wanted to feel Dream’s warm skin under her fingers so desperately it hurt. She settled for sucking on Dream’s lower lip instead. It didn’t matter how deep into the hunt they got; she always sort of wanted to just crawl inside of Dream and make a home there.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

When Dream pulled away, it felt like there was an unbroken line between them. It drew taught, when George turned to scowl at Sapnap. “I don’t know, what’s it look like?”

“Well, it looks like you’re supposed to be finding iron,” Sapnap met George’s dirty look and matched it. She had a thin cut on her cheek and was drenched – undoubtedly having had to duck through the waterfall. “Bad!” she called, just cementing this being the worst moment of George’s life. “Dream’s here! George is just being a little bitch about it!”

Bad’s muffled voice drifted into the cave. “Language, Sapnap! Language. Where’s the little muffin?”

“In here! She’s got George. Kinda, I guess.” She gave them another vaguely traumatized look. “Hurry before she gets away!”

George groaned, falling forward to rest her forehead against Dream’s chest. “I fucking hate manhunt.” Dream just laughed, running her fingers through George’s tangled hair. 

#focusing on this instead of finals let’s gooo #sappy.ao3 #dnf #wlw dnf