#in a high tense situation where he’s saving you

[couchlovers]

Hii! I was wondering if you could do Clarisse la rue x reader. Like readers the daughter of Zeus and he gifted her the power that her emotions control the weather?

sorry if this doesn’t make any sense lol. Changing it up however you’d like

Storm’s embrace

masterlist pjo masterlist

YN -> your name YLN -> your last name

6,9k words! hope that you’ll like it!

Camp Half-Blood buzzed with tension after the news broke: Zeus’s master bolt had been stolen. The gods were furious, and the campers whispered of war brewing on Olympus. Y/N YLN, daughter of Zeus, felt every pair of eyes on her. The unspoken suspicion was heavy, lingering in every corner of camp. As the only child of Zeus currently at Camp Half-Blood, she was an obvious suspect.

Clarisse LaRue made no effort to hide her opinion. “You know, it’d be convenient if the thief were the one who can summon lightning at will,” she said, crossing her arms during a heated conversation in the training arena.

Y/N glared at her, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. “You think I’d steal my own father’s bolt? Get a grip, Clarisse. I don’t need his powers to deal with you.”

The campers around them murmured, sensing a confrontation brewing. Clarisse stepped closer, her tone sharp. “Maybe you’re just tired of living in his shadow. Or maybe you don’t have as much control as you pretend to.”

The sky darkened, and Y/N’s hands clenched into fists. “Say that again, LaRue. I dare you.”

Before the situation could escalate further, Chiron’s voice boomed from across the field. “Enough!” The centaur strode toward them, his expression stern. “Both of you, my office. Now.”

In Chiron’s office, the atmosphere was tense. Y/N stood by the window, arms crossed, while Clarisse leaned against the wall, still fuming.

“You two are among the strongest demigods at camp,” Chiron began, his voice calm but firm. “Which is why I’m assigning you to the quest to retrieve Zeus’s bolt. The Oracle has spoken, and it’s clear you’ll need to work together.”

“What?!” both girls exclaimed in unison.

“This isn’t negotiable,” Chiron said, his gaze steady. “The fate of Olympus depends on this quest. You’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “Great. Babysitting Ares’s favorite brute while trying to save the world. Can’t wait.”

Clarisse shot her a glare. “As if I want to be stuck with a walking thunderstorm. Try not to fry me when you lose your temper, princess.”

Chiron sighed, clearly unamused. “If you two don’t learn to work together, this quest will fail. And if that happens, war between the gods is inevitable.”

That sobered them both. Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll do it—for Olympus. Not for her.”

Clarisse smirked. “Likewise.”

The next morning, the quest began. Alongside Grover and Annabeth, Y/N and Clarisse set off into the mortal world, tensions high and patience low. Their first stop was a seemingly harmless roadside diner, where their bickering resumed almost immediately.

“You can’t just charge into every situation swinging your spear,” Y/N said, her tone exasperated.

“And you can’t just summon a storm every time you get moody,” Clarisse shot back, leaning over the table.

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you two save this for later? We’re supposed to be tracking down leads, not arguing over breakfast.”

Grover nodded, nervously glancing at the sky. “Yeah, uh, maybe keep the thunderclouds to a minimum? People are starting to notice.”

Y/N glared at Clarisse but relented, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The sky lightened slightly, and the air felt less charged.

For the rest of the day, they managed to keep their bickering to a minimum, but the tension between them remained. Every glance, every word, felt like a challenge waiting to be met.

That night, as they set up camp by the side of a quiet road, Y/N found herself staring at the stars, lost in thought. She hadn’t asked for this quest, or for the pressure of being Zeus’s daughter. She just wanted to prove she was more than the god she came from.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clarisse’s voice broke through her reverie.

Y/N glanced at her, surprised. “Didn’t think you cared.”

Clarisse shrugged, sitting down beside her. “I don’t. But if we’re going to survive this, we can’t spend the whole time at each other’s throats.”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “Fair enough.” She glanced at Clarisse. “You’re not as terrible as I thought.”

Clarisse smirked. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

For the first time, they shared a small, tentative smile. It wasn’t peace, but it was a start.

______________________________________________________________________

The morning after their reluctant truce, the group prepared to leave their makeshift campsite. Percy Jackson, who had joined their team at Chiron’s insistence, was already up and pacing. The son of Poseidon had his own reasons for being on this quest: proving himself, protecting his friends, and figuring out his connection to the stolen bolt.

“Ready to save the world, or are you two gonna keep bickering the whole way?” Percy teased as he adjusted Riptide at his side, glancing between Y/N and Clarisse.

“Save it, Seaweed Brain,” Y/N shot back, rolling her eyes. “Unlike you, some of us actually know how to work under pressure.”

“Right,” Percy quipped with a grin. “Because yelling at each other is totally productive.”

Clarisse snorted, shouldering her spear. “At least I don’t need a magical pen to fight.”

Annabeth groaned, pulling her Yankees cap lower over her eyes. “Can we all focus? We’ve got a long way to go and not a lot of time.”

The group’s next stop was an abandoned warehouse where, according to Grover’s tracking, a minor god associated with Hermes might have information on the bolt. The warehouse was quiet—too quiet.

Inside, the air was thick with tension as they searched for clues. Y/N’s nerves hummed, her emotions sparking faint static electricity in the air.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her hand hovering near the dagger she carried at her hip.

“Relax, Princess,” Clarisse said, scanning the room. “Not every empty building is a death trap.”

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide as shadows moved in the corners.

The attack was sudden. A group of empousai—vampire-like creatures—emerged from the darkness, their glowing eyes fixed on the demigods.

“Great,” Y/N grumbled, summoning a small bolt of lightning into her hand. “Just what we needed.”

The group fought hard, their teamwork shaky but effective. Y/N and Clarisse found themselves back-to-back at one point, their weapons slicing through the air in perfect sync.

“Not bad,” Clarisse admitted begrudgingly as she slammed the butt of her spear into an empousa’s chest, sending it flying.

“Right back at you,” Y/N replied, the faintest smile on her lips as she hurled a bolt of lightning into another creature.

Percy, not far away, raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Are you two… getting along? Should I be concerned?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” they said in unison, making Grover laugh despite the chaos.

Once the fight ended, the group regrouped outside the warehouse. Everyone was exhausted, but the tension between Y/N and Clarisse seemed to have eased—if only slightly.

“You’re a decent fighter,” Y/N said to Clarisse as they walked side by side toward the road.

Clarisse smirked, twirling her spear. “Don’t sound so surprised. Maybe you’re finally realizing I’m not as bad as you thought.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Percy watched the exchange with a knowing look, leaning toward Annabeth. “Is it just me, or are those two actually flirting now?”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Percy, not everything is about romance. Focus.”

As night fell, the group set up camp again, this time in a quiet forest clearing. The stars were bright, and the crackling of the campfire filled the silence.

Y/N sat slightly apart from the group, staring up at the sky. Her emotions had been running high all day, and she needed a moment to clear her mind.

Clarisse, after some hesitation, walked over and plopped down beside her. “You good?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the question. “Yeah. Why?”

Clarisse shrugged, poking the fire with a stick. “You’ve been quiet. It’s weird. Usually, you’re all lightning and sass.”

Y/N smirked. “Lightning and sass? That’s a new one.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Whatever. Just… don’t lose your head, okay? We need you to keep it together.”

There was an unexpected softness in her voice that caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, she saw past the tough exterior to the person underneath.

“I’ll try,” Y/N said quietly. “Thanks, Clarisse.”

Clarisse glanced at her, her smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Y/N laughed, and the sound was warm and genuine, making Clarisse’s chest tighten just a little.

From across the fire, Percy and Annabeth exchanged looks. Percy leaned closer to Grover, whispering, “I’m calling it now. Those two are totally into each other.”

Grover nodded sagely. “Oh, 100%. The tension is electric.”

Annabeth groaned again. “Focus, boys. We’ve got bigger problems.”

______________________________________________________________________

The group’s journey led them into the heart of the desert, chasing the latest lead on Zeus’s stolen bolt. The Oracle’s prophecy was vague, but Annabeth’s sharp mind and Grover’s tracking skills had pointed them toward a small, seemingly abandoned roadside gas station.

The heat was unbearable, the sun blazing overhead, and tensions ran high as the group bickered over their next move.

“I’m telling you, this place screams trap,” Percy said, squinting at the gas station.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Everything screams trap to you.”

“That’s because it usually is!” Percy shot back.

While the two argued, Y/N stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The oppressive heat made her emotions sluggish, but she could feel a storm brewing in the back of her mind. Something about this place felt off.

Clarisse walked over, breaking the silence. “You zoning out again, Thunder Girl? We don’t have time for you to daydream.”

Y/N sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not zoning out. I’m trying to figure out why this place feels so… wrong.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, her grip tightening on her spear. “Your gut telling you something?”

“Something like that,” Y/N admitted, glancing at her. “You trust me on this?”

Clarisse hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. You’ve been right so far.”

The unexpected admission caught Y/N off guard, and for a moment, she forgot the heat, the quest, and the danger.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Clarisse shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

The group cautiously entered the gas station, weapons at the ready. Inside, the air was stale, and the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. It didn’t take long for the trap to spring—two monstrous automatons emerged from hidden panels, their glowing eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Of course,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide.

The battle was chaotic. Annabeth and Grover worked to disable the machines’ weak points while Percy engaged one head-on. Y/N and Clarisse, naturally, ended up back-to-back again, their movements almost instinctively in sync.

“Left!” Clarisse shouted as one of the automatons lunged. Y/N reacted instantly, sending a bolt of lightning crackling through its metal body.

“Nice call,” Y/N said, a grin tugging at her lips as the machine collapsed in a smoking heap.

“Keep your head in the game, YLN,” Clarisse replied, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

The second automaton charged at them, forcing Clarisse to parry with her spear while Y/N summoned a gust of wind to throw it off balance. Together, they overwhelmed it, Clarisse delivering the final blow with a triumphant yell.

When the dust settled, Percy clapped his hands together. “Well, that was fun. Can we not do that again?”

Annabeth ignored him, crouching to examine the remains of the automatons. “These were definitely sent by someone. They weren’t random.”

“Great,” Clarisse muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “More people trying to kill us. Just what we needed.”

“Welcome to the club,” Y/N said with a smirk.

Clarisse glanced at her, and for a moment, the tension between them softened.

Later that evening, the group set up camp in a nearby canyon. The desert sky was breathtaking, stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet backdrop. Y/N sat by the campfire, absently tracing patterns in the dirt while the others talked quietly nearby.

Clarisse approached, dropping down beside her without a word.

“You keep sneaking up on me,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a small smile.

Clarisse smirked, leaning her spear against her shoulder. “Not my fault you’re easy to sneak up on.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between them.

“You were good back there,” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What?”

Clarisse looked away, fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “I said you were good. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a grin. “Is this your way of being nice?”

“Don’t push it,” Clarisse muttered, though her cheeks reddened faintly.

Y/N chuckled, her heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Clarisse. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Clarisse smirked, her confidence returning. “Of course not. I’m always amazing.”

Their laughter drew curious glances from the others, but neither of them seemed to care. For the first time, the storm between them felt less like a battle and more like the calm before something new.

______________________________________________________________________

The group continued their journey, now following a lead from Annabeth that pointed them toward a forest on the outskirts of a small town. The air was thick with tension as they trudged through the dense underbrush. Despite their shared victories, the group’s patience was wearing thin after days of close quarters and constant danger.

For Y/N and Clarisse, the fragile truce they had formed was starting to feel less like a reluctant necessity and more like a natural rhythm. But neither of them dared to voice it—especially not with Percy’s constant teasing.

“Let me guess,” Percy quipped as they stopped for a break. “Y/N and Clarisse were totally in sync during the last fight again? Should we just start calling you the Storm and Spear Duo?”

Y/N groaned, tossing a small pebble at him. “Don’t you have better things to do, Percy?”

Clarisse snorted, crossing her arms. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous we’re better fighters.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Percy replied, feigning offense.

Annabeth stepped between them, exasperated. “Can we focus? There’s something weird about this forest.”

As if on cue, a deep growl echoed through the trees, sending a chill down Y/N’s spine. The group immediately drew their weapons, forming a defensive circle.

“What now?” Grover whimpered, clutching his reed pipes.

Out of the shadows emerged a massive drakon, its scales shimmering ominously in the dappled light. The creature roared, its golden eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Okay, this one’s mine,” Clarisse said, stepping forward with her spear raised.

“Not alone, it’s not,” Y/N replied, summoning a crackling orb of lightning in her hand.

“Great,” Percy muttered. “More teamwork.”

The battle was intense, the drakon’s sheer size and strength making it a formidable opponent. Clarisse fought fearlessly, her spear striking true, while Y/N’s lightning crackled through the air, disorienting the creature.

At one point, the drakon lunged toward Clarisse, its jaws snapping dangerously close. Without thinking, Y/N threw herself in front of her, summoning a massive bolt of lightning that sent the creature reeling.

Clarisse stared at her, wide-eyed. “What the Hades was that?”

“Saving your life, obviously” Y/N shot back, though her voice was breathless from exertion.

Clarisse smirked, regaining her composure. “Don’t get used to being my hero, Thunder Girl.”

“Noted,” Y/N replied with a grin, their gazes locking for a split second longer than necessary.

With Percy and Annabeth’s help, they managed to bring the drakon down. As it dissolved into golden dust, the group slumped against nearby trees, exhausted but triumphant.

That evening, as the group rested in a small clearing, the atmosphere was lighter than it had been in days. Percy and Grover played a clumsy game of hacky sack with a pinecone, while Annabeth sketched battle strategies in the dirt.

Y/N sat apart from the others, her back against a tree, gazing up at the stars. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed faintly in her veins, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Clarisse.

“Deep in thought again?” Clarisse’s voice broke through the quiet.

Y/N turned to see her approaching, spear resting casually against her shoulder.

“Starting to think you’re stalking me,” Y/N teased, earning a smirk from the daughter of Ares.

“Not my style,” Clarisse replied, sitting down beside her. “But you’ve got a habit of wandering off into your own head.”

“Just thinking,” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “About the fight. About… everything.”

Clarisse tilted her head, studying her. “You’re not bad in a fight. For a daughter of Zeus, I mean.”

Y/N snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a beat of silence before Clarisse added, almost hesitantly, “And… thanks for earlier. For stepping in like that.”

Y/N smiled softly. “You’d do the same for me.”

Clarisse hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

For a moment, the air between them felt charged, not with tension but with something deeper. Before either of them could say anything more, Percy’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he called, grinning. “Are you gonna help with dinner, or should we assume you’re too busy having a moment?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

Clarisse laughed, standing up and offering her hand. “Come on, Thunder Girl. Let’s get back before he decides to make it worse.”

Y/N took her hand, and as their fingers briefly touched, a small spark passed between them—whether from her powers or something else, neither of them could say.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey grew more perilous as the group approached their next destination—an ancient temple hidden deep in a swamp. According to Annabeth, it housed an artifact that could point them closer to the lightning bolt’s location. The air was thick with humidity, and the murky waters seemed to ripple with unseen dangers.

“Great,” Percy muttered, poking at the swampy ground with his sword. “Another creepy location. Why can’t quests ever take us to, like, a beach or something?”

“Stop whining, Jackson,” Clarisse snapped, adjusting her armor. “You’re not the one carrying a spear through a swamp.”

“Yeah, because carrying a magical pen is so much harder,” Y/N quipped, earning a chuckle from Clarisse.

“Nice one, Thunder Girl,” Clarisse said with a smirk, making Percy roll his eyes.

Grover’s ears twitched as he scanned the area nervously. “Uh, guys? Can we not taunt the swamp? I’m pretty sure something’s watching us.”

The group immediately tensed, weapons ready, as ripples spread across the water. A massive swamp serpent emerged, its scales glistening like oil and its fangs bared.

“Because, of course, there’s a monster,” Annabeth muttered, readying her knife.

The fight was brutal. The serpent was fast, its body coiling and striking with terrifying precision. Percy’s water abilities gave him an edge, but the creature was relentless.

Y/N and Clarisse once again found themselves working as a team. Y/N summoned gusts of wind and bolts of lightning, forcing the serpent to rear back, while Clarisse struck at its exposed underbelly with her spear.

“Keep it distracted!” Clarisse shouted, narrowly dodging a strike from the serpent’s tail.

“I’m trying!” Y/N replied, hurling another bolt of lightning. The creature roared, the electricity momentarily stunning it.

Clarisse took the opportunity to lunge forward, driving her spear into the serpent’s throat. It let out a final, ear-splitting screech before collapsing into the swamp, its body dissolving into mist.

Panting, Y/N and Clarisse stood side by side, their weapons lowered.

“Not bad,” Clarisse said, giving Y/N a once-over. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You weren’t too shabby yourself.”

Percy, pulling himself out of the water, groaned. “Can we all agree that swamps are the worst?”

“Agreed” Annabeth said, wringing out her damp clothes.

That evening, the group set up camp on drier ground. The swamp was eerily quiet now, and the only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant chirping of insects.

Y/N sat near the fire, tending to a few scratches she’d gotten during the fight. Clarisse approached, carrying a small pouch of ambrosia.

“Here,” she said, tossing it to Y/N. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, catching it and unwrapping a small piece of the godly food. “I’m surprised you’re being so nice.”

“Don’t get used to it” Clarisse replied with a smirk, sitting down beside her.

Y/N chuckled, the tension of the day easing slightly. “You know, we make a pretty good team.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Does that mean you’re finally admitting I’m not the worst?”

“Don’t push it” Y/N said, grinning.

Clarisse laughed, her usual tough exterior softening for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself, Thunder Girl.”

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. The crackling fire reflected in Clarisse’s dark eyes, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

Before either of them could say anything, Percy’s voice broke the silence.

“You two getting all cozy again?” he called, his tone teasing.

Clarisse groaned, throwing a small rock in his direction. “Shut up, Jackson!”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we focus for five minutes without someone starting something?”

As the night deepened, the group took turns keeping watch. During her shift, Y/N found herself staring up at the stars, her mind racing with everything that had happened.

She didn’t hear Clarisse approach until the other girl sat down beside her, her presence grounding Y/N’s scattered thoughts.

“Can’t sleep?” Clarisse asked, her voice unusually soft.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied, glancing at her. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t either,” Clarisse admitted, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Too much going on in my head.”

Y/N hesitated before speaking. “You ever feel like… this whole quest is testing us more than it’s supposed to?”

Clarisse snorted. “Every damn day. But that’s what we do, right? Prove we’re tougher than whatever the gods throw at us.”

Y/N nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “I guess so.”

They sat in silence for a while, the night air cool against their skin. Y/N felt a strange sense of peace, even amidst the chaos of their journey.

“Thanks for having my back today” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone serious.

Y/N looked at her, surprised. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We’re a team.”

Clarisse’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Yeah. We are.”

For a moment, it felt like Clarisse might say more, but the words hung unspoken between them. Instead, she reached out and gave Y/N’s shoulder a quick squeeze before standing up.

“Get some rest,” she said, her usual edge creeping back into her voice. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Y/N watched her walk away, her heart a mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to untangle.

______________________________________________________________________

The final leg of their journey was in sight. After days of battling monsters, navigating treacherous lands, and dealing with their own personal struggles, the group had finally arrived at the Underworld’s entrance.

But something was off. Y/N could feel it—the tension in the air, the sense of impending doom that seemed to press against her chest like an invisible weight. Clarisse, too, had grown more quiet over the past few days, her sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, as if waiting for something—or someone—to strike.

As the group made their way deeper into the dark, ominous caves, Annabeth’s voice cut through the silence. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, glancing at Y/N. “If Hades didn’t take the bolt, who would? And why would they want it?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She knew the answer to that question, though she didn’t want to believe it.

“I don’t know,” Y/N replied, voice tight. “But we’re getting closer.”

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows. Y/N’s breath caught as she recognized him immediately—Luke.

“You,” Percy said, his voice low, laced with fury. “You’re the one who took it.”

Luke smirked, his eyes cold. “I didn’t take anything. I’m just… helping the gods fulfill their prophecy. Don’t you see? You’re all just pawns in their game. I’m doing what they couldn’t.”

The tension was palpable, a storm of anger and betrayal swirling in the air. Clarisse stepped forward, her expression dark with suspicion. “Why are you really here, Luke? You were supposed to be one of us. You promised to fight for the gods, not against them.”

Luke’s eyes flickered with something almost like regret, but it was quickly masked by a cynical grin. “I realized the truth a long time ago. The gods don’t care about us. They use us until we’re no longer useful.”

Y/N’s heart sank, but she stood tall, her emotions churning. “So you’re willing to risk everything—everyone—just to make a point?”

Luke’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, the storm that raged inside of Y/N erupted. She summoned the power of the skies, a crackling bolt of lightning striking from her fingertips.

But Luke was faster. With a quick, almost mocking motion, he deflected the bolt with a wave of his hand, sending it spiraling off into the cavern.

“You think you can beat me?” Luke sneered. “You’re nothing but a weak little demigod.”

Before Y/N could react, Luke lunged at her, his hands crackling with dark energy. He struck out, slamming her into the cave wall with a force that sent a shockwave through her body. She gasped as pain shot through her chest, her ribs screaming in protest.

Clarisse’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. “Get away from her!”

But Luke wasn’t done. He sent a blast of energy toward Clarisse, knocking her back. Y/N’s vision blurred as she struggled to stand, but the pain in her ribs and arm was unbearable. Her arm hung limply at her side, and she could feel the bone grinding against itself.

Luke turned back to Y/N, a cruel smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Thunder Girl? Can’t handle the heat?”

With a force that surprised even her, Y/N summoned the last of her strength, calling on a surge of lightning that cracked the air around her. The bolt shot toward Luke, but before it could hit him, he deflected it with a dark shield of energy.

“Is that the best you can do?” Luke mocked. “You’re pathetic.”

But before he could make another move, a sudden, enraged shout cut through the chaos.

“No!” Clarisse cried, charging at Luke with all the fury of a storm. Her spear gleamed in the dim light as she swung it at Luke, narrowly missing his chest. But Luke dodged, and with a swift motion, he sent a blast of dark energy straight at Clarisse.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

With every ounce of strength she had left, Y/N reached out, using the power of the storm to summon a massive bolt of lightning that struck Luke square in the chest. The force of it sent him flying back, his body crashing against the cavern walls with a sickening thud.

Y/N collapsed to the ground, the world spinning around her. Her arm was broken, and she could feel the sharp, agonizing pain of her ribs. Blood dripped down her face from a deep gash on her forehead. She was barely conscious, her vision fading in and out.

Clarisse rushed to her side, her face pale with panic. “Y/N? Y/N, stay with me. Come on, talk to me!”

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m… fine.”

Clarisse’s hands shook as she examined her wounds, her expression torn with fear and helplessness. “You’re not fine. You’re hurt… so badly.”

Y/N managed a weak smile, her breath ragged. “It’s just a scratch.”

Clarisse’s eyes filled with emotion. “Don’t joke, Y/N. You could’ve… could’ve died!”

“I’m… still here,” Y/N whispered, reaching out with her good arm to grip Clarisse’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Clarisse wasn’t listening. Her jaw clenched, her hands shaking with barely controlled rage. “I’m going to make him pay. I swear to the gods, Luke will regret this.”

Y/N barely had the energy to protest, her body shutting down as the pain began to overwhelm her. “Clarisse… I just… need to rest… please…”

Clarisse’s expression softened for a moment, her hand gently brushing Y/N’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Despite her best efforts, Y/N couldn’t hold on any longer. As the darkness crept in, she could feel Clarisse’s hand still tightly gripping hers, a lifeline that kept her tethered to the world.

When Y/N awoke, the first thing she saw was Clarisse, sitting by her side, her face a mix of exhaustion and relief.

“Hey,” Clarisse whispered, her voice hoarse. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Y/N smiled weakly. “I’m… sorry.”

Clarisse shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face. “No. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re still here.”

The group had managed to escape the Underworld with the lightning bolt, and Luke was gone—vanished for now. But the cost had been high, and Y/N’s wounds were far from healed.

Clarisse stayed by her side as the group made their way back, and the storm that had once raged inside them both seemed to have calmed, replaced by a quiet understanding—a bond that had been forged in the fires of battle.

They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were stronger, together.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey back to Camp Half-Blood had been tense. Y/N was still recovering from her injuries—her broken arm in a sling, ribs wrapped tightly, and a few stitches from the gash across her forehead. Yet, the mission wasn’t over. She had one final task to complete: to return the stolen lightning bolt to her father, Zeus.

The moment they arrived at the camp, Clarisse was by her side, her fierce protectiveness evident in her every movement. Even though the rest of the group was exhausted and covered in dirt and blood from their encounter with Luke, Clarisse’s gaze never wavered from Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re not going to the gods like this,” Clarisse said, her voice low but firm. She was standing beside Y/N as they prepared for the trip to Olympus. “You’re still hurt.”

Y/N, who had been sitting quietly by the campfire, glanced up at her with a tired but determined expression. “Clarisse, I have to do this. I can handle it.”

“You’re injured!” Clarisse’s voice rose slightly, her frustration clear. “What if something happens to you? You can barely stand up without wincing, and you want to go face your father—alone?”

Y/N stood up, wincing from the pain in her ribs but not letting it show. “I’m not some fragile little thing that needs constant babysitting, Clarisse.” Her voice was sharp, though there was no malice behind it. “I’m a big girl, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Clarisse’s eyes flashed with hurt, and for a moment, she said nothing. Y/N turned away, her heart pounding in her chest. She understood why Clarisse was so worried. After all, Clarisse had been by her side through every battle, every near-death experience. But this? This was something she had to do on her own.

“I don’t care how strong you are, Y/N,” Clarisse finally said, her voice quieter but no less intense. “I can’t just sit here and let you go alone. I… I care about you. More than you probably even realize.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the admission. She turned back to face Clarisse, her eyes searching her face for any sign of insincerity, but there was none.

“Clarisse…”

Before she could say anything else, Clarisse closed the distance between them, her movements swift and sure. In one fluid motion, she cupped Y/N’s face in her hands and kissed her—soft, urgent, and all-consuming.

Y/N’s world tilted as the kiss deepened, her body pressing instinctively closer to Clarisse’s. It was everything Y/N hadn’t realized she wanted—a surge of heat and tenderness all at once. It was more than just a kiss. It was a promise.

When they pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Clarisse rested her forehead against Y/N’s, their noses almost touching.

“You think you can do this alone?” Clarisse whispered, her voice hushed, but full of an emotion Y/N couldn’t ignore. “You think I can just stand by and watch you risk your life?”

Y/N smiled softly, her heart fluttering. “Clarisse, I don’t need saving. I’m strong. But I don’t mind if you want to be by my side.”

Clarisse chuckled, the tension easing between them. “I’ll be by your side,” she said quietly. “But you’re not doing this alone, Y/N. I care about you too much.”

Y/N reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Clarisse’s face, her heart swelling with affection. “I care about you, too. But I’m going. Whether you like it or not.”

Clarisse sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Fine. But I’m going with you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/N shook her head in mock exasperation, though the warmth in her chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible.”

“Only when I’m fighting for what’s mine,” Clarisse retorted, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

As they made their way to the entrance of Camp Half-Blood, preparing to head to Olympus, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. Despite everything that had happened—despite the dangers, the pain, and the uncertainty—she wasn’t facing it alone. Clarisse was with her, and in that moment, it felt like nothing could tear them apart.

The journey to Olympus was a blur, the sounds of the mortal world fading as they ascended to the realm of the gods. Y/N stood before the throne of Zeus, Clarisse at her side, and she could feel the weight of her father’s gaze upon her.

“Daughter,” Zeus said, his voice booming, “you have done well to retrieve my bolt.”

Y/N stood tall, despite her injuries, and offered her father the stolen bolt. “It was a team effort,” she said, glancing at Clarisse with a small, knowing smile.

Zeus nodded, though his gaze flickered briefly to Clarisse. “It seems you have gained not just the power of the storm, but the strength of loyalty and trust.” He paused, a faint smirk crossing his face. “And perhaps a little more.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away from her father’s piercing eyes. “I’ll always stand by my friends and my family. No matter what.”

Clarisse stepped forward, her posture proud. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what happens next.”

Zeus’s expression softened, though he didn’t offer much more than a knowing nod. “Very well. You’ve proven yourself worthy. You may go.”

As they turned to leave, Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her heart swelling with affection. She didn’t need Zeus’s approval to know what she had found in Clarisse was real.

They walked side by side as they descended from Olympus, Y/N’s arm around Clarisse’s shoulders as they made their way back to the mortal world. There was still much to do, many dangers yet to face. But for now, with the storm of their emotions finally settled, they walked together—strong, and ready for whatever came next.

______________________________________________________________________

The days that followed their return from Olympus were filled with a quiet sense of relief and rest. Y/N was still healing from her injuries, her broken arm in a cast and her ribs slowly mending with the help of the camp’s healer, but there was something more significant happening as well—her relationship with Clarisse was growing, shifting from quiet moments of tension to an open, loving bond.

Clarisse, ever the fierce warrior, had softened in ways that Y/N had never expected. She stayed by Y/N’s side constantly, her presence a comforting constant. Whether they were in the infirmary or walking around the camp, Clarisse was always there, her hand always finding its way to Y/N’s—protective, possessive, and gentle all at once.

One afternoon, after another long session with the healer, Y/N was sitting by the fire, the warmth of the flames kissing her skin as she leaned against the stone wall. Clarisse sat beside her, watching over her like a hawk, always making sure Y/N was comfortable, always offering a hand to help when needed.

“You know,” Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on the fire, “I never thought I’d end up like this—injured, resting, relying on others to help me.”

Clarisse nudged her gently with her shoulder, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’ve always been a bit too independent for your own good. Maybe this is a lesson in letting others take care of you for once.”

Y/N grinned, glancing at her. “I suppose I can get used to it, as long as you’re the one taking care of me.”

Clarisse’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “Of course. I’ll always be here, Y/N. Always.”

The words were simple, but they carried a depth that made Y/N’s heart swell. She reached up, gently pulling Clarisse into a kiss, slow and tender, savoring the closeness between them. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desire—it was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without needing words. It was about the trust they had built, the understanding that they were in this together, no matter what came next.

As they pulled away, Y/N rested her forehead against Clarisse’s, both of them breathing softly in the quiet of the night. “You really don’t have to stay with me all the time, you know.”

Clarisse chuckled, her thumb brushing across Y/N’s knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. If anything, you’ll have to chase me away.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering in her chest. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Clarisse’s grin grew wider, a playful glint in her eyes. “You better be. Because I’m not leaving your side.”

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N’s healing progressed. She was no longer confined to bedrest, though she still moved cautiously, her body not quite back to its usual strength. But each step she took, Clarisse was there—offering her a hand when needed, walking beside her through the camp as they shared quiet moments, stolen kisses, and laughter.

One afternoon, after Y/N had finished a light training session with Percy and Annabeth, she found herself sitting in a secluded part of the camp, watching the sunset. Clarisse joined her soon after, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I can’t believe we made it through all of that,” Y/N said, her voice soft but full of gratitude. “We actually survived.”

Clarisse kissed the top of her head, her lips lingering there. “We did more than survive, Y/N. We made it through together. That’s what matters.”

Y/N leaned into her, resting her head on Clarisse’s shoulder as they watched the sky turn shades of orange and pink. It was peaceful here—far away from the chaos of the quest, the battles, and the dangers they had faced.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Y/N murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of Clarisse’s hand.

Clarisse chuckled softly. “You’d have probably gotten yourself into even more trouble.”

Y/N looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re probably right. But I think I’d always want you by my side, no matter what.”

Clarisse’s expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss Y/N again—this time a little more passionately. As they pulled apart, Clarisse’s eyes held a quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me, Y/N. No matter what happens next, I’m here. For good.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling in her chest. “Then let’s face everything together, Clarisse.”

They sat there for a long time, watching the sunset, wrapped in each other’s arms. The journey had been difficult—there had been pain, loss, and betrayal. But now, with Clarisse by her side, Y/N knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

Their love, like the storm within Y/N, had been tested—but now it was calm, steady, and unwavering. And for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt truly at peace.

[confused-wanderer]

All the bats have their own ways of addressing other people.

Dick uses “kid, kiddo, buddy, friend”

Jason is similar, using “hey, kid, fucker”

Tim uses “you, *insert guys name or meme referring to guy*”

Stephanie uses “honey, friend, bud, *insert funny nickname*”

Damian uses “you,*insert what he considers whoever he’s talking to’s biggest flaw*

But Batman?

Batman uses “Love, princess, darling”

That’s how all the thirst traps started.

[kithtaehyung]

minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

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There’s something to be said about the human gut. 

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain. 

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you? 

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run? 

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink. 

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking. 

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too. 

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree. 

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down. 

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you! 

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too? 

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff. 

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved. 

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is. 

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on? 

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling. 

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with. 

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are. 

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home. 

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors. 

Perfect.

“What.” 

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.” 

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?” 

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket. 

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends. 

This is all too much. 

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.” 

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily? 

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian. 

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization. 

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun. 

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again. 

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done. 

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again. 

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal. 

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back. 

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance? 

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic. 

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening. 

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches. 

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire. 

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not. 

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse. 

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck. 

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change. 

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline. 

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.” 

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.” 

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut. 

Fuck. Yoongi’s right. 

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.” 

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls, 

“Not interested.” 

Oh. He’s… 

Oh. 

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial? 

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie. 

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.” 

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core. 

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom. 

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not. 

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room. 

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on? 

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here. 

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot. 

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light. 

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish. 

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use. 

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld. 

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead. 

Uhh. 

What. 

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin. 

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air. 

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done. 

Almost. 

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing. 

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state? 

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.” 

Again with that little slant. 

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life. 

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl. 

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded. 

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved? 

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right… 

Doesn’t matter. 

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.  

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck. 

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright. 

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet. 

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still. 

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut. 

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.” 

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.” 

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.” 

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel. 

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.” 

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.” 

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them. 

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer. 

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so. 

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside. 

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.  

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage. 

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your— 

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!” 

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.” 

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for? 

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.” 

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette. 

And just like that, the conversation dies. 

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible. 

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly. 

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead. 

Your noodles.

Your noodles. 

You’re not hungry anymore. 

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill. 

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand. 

A robed arm. 

Your new utensils come back into view. 

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there. 

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes, 

“Eat.” 

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain? 

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.” 

“You are.” 

“Not anymore.” 

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.” 

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.” 

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.” 

“I literally can’t—” 

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.” 

“What?” 

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight. 

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.” 

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.” 

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.” 

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin. 

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.” 

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier. 

Yoongi looks pissed as hell. 

But he hasn’t moved. 

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again. 

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today. 

Fuck, you wanna hurl. 

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair. 

“It’s better in the long run.” 

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this. 

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes. 

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.  

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too. 

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers. 

“What were you looking for.” 

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth. 

“Did you find it.” 

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?” 

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.” 

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?” 

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought. 

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.” 

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.” 

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion. 

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl. 

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat. 

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure. 

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out. 

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home. 

Yearning pierces right through your chest. 

The elevator is right over there. 

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No. 

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too. 

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase. 

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep. 

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety. 

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room. 

And your defense mechanism blares. 

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why? 

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too? 

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay? 

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.” 

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?” 

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.” 

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.” 

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes. 

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.” 

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms. 

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest. 

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs. 

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.” 

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.” 

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine. 

Well. 

So much for leaving. 

You may spend more time here than you thought. 

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call. 

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that. 

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now. 

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space. 

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere. 

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator. 

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area. 

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet. 

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below. 

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out. 

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart. 

That was so long ago. 

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time. 

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem. 

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm. 

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some. 

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter. 

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.” 

“Do you even drink?” 

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying. 

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?” 

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.” 

“It’s usually silent, too.” 

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.” 

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.” 

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”  

He takes the offered can. “Mm.” 

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present. 

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs. 

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day. 

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.” 

“Why not?” 

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?” 

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”  

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.” 

Your look carries a slight pang. 

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.” 

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see. 

But when it’s open, you freeze. 

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New. 

Wait. 

These patterns. 

These are il-don? 

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless. 

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.” 

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?” 

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.” 

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?” 

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.” 

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter. 

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.” 

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?” 

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?” 

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?” 

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.” 

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.” 

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself. 

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear, 

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe. 

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…” 

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.” 

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now? 

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.” 

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away. 

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose, 

“I should’ve left you for dead.” 

Wait. 

Stop. 

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever. 

And it is frightening. 

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.” 

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist. 

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.  

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.” 

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually. 

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you. 

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power? 

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk. 

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can. 

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it. 

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.” 

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged. 

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes, 

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.” 

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning. 

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it. 

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same. 

So you quell that monster pacing in your core. 

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be. 

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.” 

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin. 

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.” 

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend, 

“This world has already tried enough.” 

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again. 

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn. 

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it. 

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more. 

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else. 

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations. 

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.” 

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip. 

And you freeze. 

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate. 

But fuck, you kinda want to. 

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed. 

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…” 

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to. 

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.” 

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest, 

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong? 

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore. 

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.” 

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone. 

Oh. You’re going home. 

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short. 

What was that? What was any of that? 

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over. 

…But do you want it to be? 

Yes. 

Of course you do. 

Clouds let moonlight shine again. 

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real. 

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane. 

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging. 

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out. 

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed? 

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets. 

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes. 

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams. 

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own. 

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion. 

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air. 

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out. 

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too? 

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness. 

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start. 

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do. 

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows. 

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity. 

For nothing. 

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all. 

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal. 

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder. 

Fuck everything. 

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.” 

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares. 

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

—

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a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Him (Them)

( So I decided 'fuck it' pitch pearl babyyy, I've seen other people do this ship and decided well why the hell not right. Anyways have fun!)

~

Phantom and his council were finally in the end processes to a peace treaty with Earth,

As years went on from what was once only the USA with their Ecto-Acts got worse. The GIW began opening in other countries without them truly realizing what they were allowing, until the Infinity Realms were at the point of declaring war on all of Earth itself.

The only reason that managed not to happen was because of Phantom finally being able to contact the Justice League and sit them down to have an actual conversation about everything that was going on.

That's where they were right now the world leaders, the 3 founders of the JL , and High King Phantom with his council arguing back and forth the peace treaty.

Phantom turned as one of the men stood up

" And just how are we supposed to truly trust you and yours to not take over or cause harm to our people?"

Others began chiming in, arguing that there was no true guarantee in what Phantom was saying.

Until a voice towards the back called out an idea

" Marriage! To truly unite our worlds in peace King Phantom must marry one of our own!"

Phantom subtly tensed the idea of a loveless marriage to a complete stranger made his core tremble with rage.

He glanced around seeing the looks of the people around him, he saw their greed for his power and status, their point for the marriage would be to control him or at least give them an advantage.

Phantom tuned out the arguing between the JL and the rest.

Thinking of what to say to get out of this situation without risking the treaty.

Snapping back to attention holding back a sharp smirk.

" Gentlemen if what you fear is the safety of your people then do not fret I have protected and saved your people and world since my creation, as for your request of a marriage to unify our world then I have wonderful news for I am already married to one of your people and even have children with him."

Phantom looked at the shocked faces around him, a couple grimacing or frowning at their missed opportunity to have control and access to him by one of their chosen.

A rather stupid man for what else could he be with what he said next.

" Then divorce him and marry someone that we find more suitable!"

Phantom's form distorted around him as he processed what he had just heard.

" Divorce? You wish for me to Divorce my husband, the one who I cherish above all else, the one I have shared my core the very being of myself with. The one who I gave my very being and soul to create our children. The one who is half my being, the one who if not for him we wouldn't be speaking at this moment because it was only his word that kept me from declaring war on your world."

"Make no mistake I do wish for peace between our worlds, many of my people are from this world and would like to continue to stay or visit especially for their loved ones, and I would like that for them without the danger of being hunted and torn apart."

"For if I wished war your planet would not stand a chance for what is a few million of your soldiers compared to my infinite soldiers that only would continue to grow as yours died."

"For him I fought and won against the previous tyrant King for daring to to cause him pain, the very King who only was defeated previously by the combined efforts of the strongest in the Infinite Realms, The very same King I defeated alone."

"So please do continue talking against my husband."

"..."

"What is his name?"

"Danny Fenton."

~

Just an Idea

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Caught at the last second with Clark Kent?

.⋆｡The Fall｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

Faced with a choice between you and Lois, Clark has to decide who lives and who dies

Warnings: angst, fear of heights, literally a life and death situation guys, unrequited love (maybe), vivid imagery of drowning, kind of ambiguous but happy ending (you’ll see) WC: 1.1k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Isn’t this a predicament Superman? Your ex-lover and your best friend in such precarious situations, across the globe from each other. You’ll only have time to save one of them.” The LEDs of the monitors behind Luther seared into Clarks eyes but he refused to look away. Already his muscles were tensed, ready to dart away at any moment. “I wonder which one you will choose, I know which one I would.” 

Luther smirked, eyeing the monitor that clearly displayed your panicked face as you struggled against the chains wrapped tightly around your soft body. “She is quite the fighter, isn’t she?”

“Why are you doing this Luther?” The man rolled his eyes, finally turning to look at Clark.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are a nuisance, self-righteous, and aggravatingly nosy. If I kill one of them, and I will, I think you’ll learn your lesson. So, here we are. Lois Lane, the only woman you have ever loved, suspended over a cliff somewhere in Europe,” Luther gestured to the image of Lois, her head raising as his voice repeated over the feed and Clark realised that they could both hear what was happening, “and your best friend. The woman who has never stopped supporting you, somewhere in the Pacific with an anchor attached to her, I’m sure you can imagine what her fate is.” The man had the audacity to laugh then, as your expression fell and you stopped struggling.

“You don’t have to do this Luther. Just let them go and I’ll spare you.” 

Lex hummed. “You know, you’re right. This is quite boring by my standards, let’s shake it up.” Suddenly, a ground of masked men surrounded you, briefly blocking the camera before there was a scuffle and the feed cut off. Before Clark could react, another camera turned on, showing the criss-crossing metal beams of a crane as cables in the background shifted in the high winds. “Give them a minute, would you? Not all of us can move so quickly.” 

“I’m going to rip you apart, molecule by molecule.” Red creeped into Clark’s vision, slowly casting a haze of rage over everything.

“Now, if you kill me, you won’t get a hint as to where your women are. So be a good boy and watch. Ah, there she is.” Two men had you by your arms as they dragged you through the crane’s walkway, your eyes squeezed shut. Clark knew how badly you hated heights, descending into panic attacks if he even mentioned taking you out on a flight. His chest burned with fear. “And now, we have a level playing field. So, who are we picking?”

Your chains were thrown onto the edge of the structure, almost out of the camera’s line of sight, the huge iron anchor balancing treacherously by your feet. 

“Kal!” His eyes darted over to the second monitor where Lois was now fighting against a pulley that was quickly tugging her towards a sheer cliff face. Only her hands were bound by thick rope but he knew that as soon as her full body weight pulled on it, the rope would snap. 

“What’s the hint?” He snarled, ripping his gaze back to Lex Luther who was now beaming.

——————

The cold wind was like knives against your exposed skin, cutting into every nerve on your body. You desperately prayed that you would go numb soon, not wanting your last moments on this Earth to be ones full of pain. Your nails bit into the palms of your hands as another gust of wind made the crane groan and sway. It was all you could do not to scream.

Yet you kept your mouth firmly shut because you knew that if you said or did anything now, it would only feed into Clark’s guilt. He was going to pick Lois and you wanted to give him peace of mind. You forced your eyes open to watch the sunset. Your death would not be quick, even with the dizzying height, it would not be enough to kill you. Instead, you would be dragged to the depths as salt water filled your lungs and your screams forcefully ripped from you.

You wouldn’t blame Clark as you sank, you hope that you could instead think about his smile as the dim light above you disappeared into the blue.

You would not tell him that you loved him, refused to leave that weight on his soul when he already carried so much pain within him. But you would imagine a life with him, a kid, maybe two in a small townhouse somewhere quiet, as the pressure and cold consumed you. 

Lois’s voice crackled through the intercom by your head, distorted and warped. A band of fear wrapped tightly around your chest, pressing down harder than the metal chain keeping your arms pinned to your sides. You forced yourself to breathe in the salty air, knowing that it could be your last.

“I’ll be ok Clark, don’t worry about me. Just be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.” And as the sun dipped below the horizon, you let your eyes shut again, your entire body relaxed. “I’ll be ok.”

Metal scrapped against metal. You were pulled forwards. 

The wind screamed.

You could see the vivid blue of his eyes.

You were weightless.

You could hear his laughter.

The chains rattled.

You saw the moment you met him; the rain around you, a single umbrella between you.

The sound of waves crashing was getting closer. 

He was always so kind, so warm. You never knew a man better than him. 

Gravity slammed into you, knocking a pained cry from your lips. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Warmth enveloped you as something crashed into the ocean, droplets of water splashing against your ankles. Your cheek was pressed against something hard as a loud, frantic beating filled your ears. “You’re safe.”

Soft fabric wrapped around you, soothing the burn of your skin. Shakily, you reached up, your limbs stiff and aching. “Clark?” With all the strength you had left, you opened your eyes.

You were barely 5 feet up front the ocean swell, a hazy ring of bubbles below you was the only indication that something had been dragging you down at all. Clark was indeed there, holding you tightly to his chest as a huge abandoned oil rig loomed behind him, half of it on fire. His eyes were wide, fearfully examining every inch of your body before his shoulders drooped and he sighed in relief.

“No broken bones or internal bleeding. Thank god.” His lips descended onto your forehead, pressing kiss after kiss to your cold skin.

“You picked me?” He pulled away only enough to look into your eyes. 

“I always will.” A hand cupped the back of your neck, drawing your face upwards. Your lips parted as he glanced at them. “I will do anything to keep you safe.”

And as the fires behind him, Clark finally kissed you, washing away the smell of blood and screams of pain that he had inflicted upon those who took you from him. No one would ever hurt you again.

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[tasiawrites]

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck in A Wall - Micheal Myers

Micheal Myers x Black Fem Reader

it contains: reader is in her early 20s, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), very dubious consent (borderline non-con), creampie, mentions of death and murder etc

Enjoy!

This whole thing was ridiculous. Somehow, trying to escape the “shape” of Haddonfield you ended up in Micheal Myers's childhood home. To make matters worse you were stuck. You had attempted to climb out of a semi-barred window into the back yard but after getting about 40% of your body through a hole that logically no one should fit through, your costume got you stuck. Now there you were hanging halfway in and halfway out, scared for your life with the knowledge that Michael was behind you.

Tears welled in your eyes but you didn't let them fall. Maybe just maybe he didn't know you were there as yet. You felt something move behind you and that sliver of hope left. You were stuck and about to be murdered. Something cold touched your hip and you said your last prayers to the god that you may or may not have believed in. The tears flowed down your face silently. No amount of screaming would reasonably help you in the situation so you stayed quiet hoping he would make it quick.

Instead, you felt a puff of air against your pussy. All the small squirming of your body stopped as you tried to figure out what the actual fuck was going on. Another puff and all your thoughts came to a halt, he couldn't be? But the feeling of hands on your thighs spreading apart confirmed your suspicions. Honestly, you thought he was asexual the way he went around killing high school kids but it turns out he wasn't. 

The warmth of his palms led you to believe he was not wearing his usual gloves. They were large and rough. One gripped your cheek while the other rubbed up and down your slit so slowly it felt as if he were carrying out an experiment. It didn't take long for those wandering hands to find your clit and you squirmed. He rubbed it, hars only, but somehow it still felt good. It was embarrassing being pleasured by a serial killer while being stuck in a window. Not seeing what he was doing made the whole experience both thrilling and terrifying. 

The hands left you and your entire body tensed up once more. That was until you felt something else on you. It was wet thick and slimy. Micheal was licking you. He traced you slowly, saving the taste as you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter.  The hornier you got the more he licked you. His tongue found purchase on your clit and your entire body twitched. It felt like an electric current ran down your body as he focused on playing with your nub.

Everything felt so intense because you could not see anything. You felt him pull away once more. You couldn't hear anything through the walls but you felt when he stepped closer to you. Something round poking at your entrance. His hands spread you apart as he fed his cock into you. Inch by inch he spread you open. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he opened you up. The only thing that ran through your head was how big he was. 

You could feel him in your guts, it felt like he wasnt stopping. He stopped moving and you breathed a sigh of releif, you were stuffed to the brim. Just as slow as he fed himself into you he pulled out until it was just his tip left in you. Then in a ay you never expected he pushed himself into you, hard. He began fucking you roughly. You could feel him in every rideg inside you. He was carving you out to fit himself.

He kept going at it hard and you could feel bruises start to form where you were stuck. It's not like he cared since he just kept going. You were starting to feel good. To enjoy the rough fucking you were receiving from the shape of Haddonfield. The feeling of your slick running down your thighs made you hang your head in shame

Suddenly Michael hit something in you and you let out a wheeze. There was a spasm inside you where you couldn't tell if your body wanted to suck him in or push him out. Micheal paused his movements and started angling himself to hit that one spot over and over again. Unconsciously though he began fucking something else inside you. The tip of his dick was hitting your cervix dead on. “W-wait,” you cried, the first conscious words escaping your mouth since you got stuck. You tried to pull away from the feeling of him trying to break into your womb.

It didn't work, instead, he pulled you into him thrusting so hard you knew that if you ever survived this you would be on bed rest for days. Scarily you could feel yourself getting worked up. You could feel the coil in you winding up. It was tightening and so were you. Just by the way his balls were slapping against your clit with every thrust you knew you were making a mess; and you hadn't even cum yet. 

You weren't sure how much longer you could hold up. Then Michael started doing something you never expected. His fingers flicked your clit. Over and over he rubbed small circles into the bundle of nerves. An unholy moan escaped your lips after holding them in for the entire time. Your thighs began to shake as the slowly tightening coil began to release. The entirety of your body tensed as your pussy pulsed around his shaft. You let out a squeal as you squirted all over. Somehow Micheal kept going, even as your insides pulsed, tightened, and sucked and sprayed all over him.

Your body shuddered from overstimulation as he kept going. It didn't take long for Michael to come too. A few rouch thrusts and the man shoved himself as deep as he possibly could. You felt every spurt of cum fill your already over-stuffed walls. It slid down your thighs even as Michael was still inside you. Then as abruptly as it began, Micheal pulled out.

It had been almost an hour, by your probably incorrect account of time, since you were left hanging. The cum had stopped leaking out of you over thirty minutes ago and hanging there post-sex felt extremely shameful when you thought about who could possibly find you. All of a sudden you felt tugging on your lower half. After a few tries you popped free. As you let your eyes adjust, you looked up to see the shape of Haddonfield looking down at you. You felt something poking your back. Looks like he's back for round two.

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

I still don't know what's going on, tell me if I missed anything or just give me feedback in general!

I know I haven't posted the past few days but I'll get to them soon. see you tomorrow tho

Masterlist

[loves0phelia]

Saturday Meetings

Summery: When Eddie learns Y/N has a similar music taste as him everything change.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Bullying, fighting, grammar mistakes.

Eddie Munson was always seen as a freak ever since he entered highschool. The basketball team, cheerleaders, party kids and even the smart kids thought he was a satanist for listening to metal music and wearing ripped jeans accompanied with chains. The permanent ink that decorated his skin did not help his case either. 

High school was a nuisance for Eddie. The only thing that motivated him was the Hell Fire club. A club where kids from juniors to seniors played dungeons and dragons.

For the members, this game meant the world, it was packed with excitement and fun. Yet, for others, it served as a tool for bullying.

During lunch you sat multiple tables away from him. You were dressed in the usual green, white and yellow cheerleading uniform the school provided, your hair pulled back into a neatly curled ponytail, you blended in with the rest of the team. But deep down, you were different. You had a passion for the same things as Eddie Munson. It was a part of you no one else could ever know.

Your Metalica, Black Sabbath and AC/DC cassette were tucked away underneath Madonna and tears for tears inside your backpack. You thought how Eddie was freely listening to the music you loved so dearly while you couldn't. 

Your head turned over your shoulder and you watched as he talked. His arms were flying around as he expressed himself. His big and extraverted gestures made you giggle. Nobody at your table was this extravagant. Seeing someone like him felt refreshing. You always wondered what it was like having spontaneous conversation was like. At your table it was like a routine. Sport, girls/boys, parties, repeat.

“What are you looking at?" Jason's voice broke your concentration, prompting you to snap your head back to face him. He was sitting directly across from you at the cafeteria table.

"Oh, it's nothing," you attempted to brush him off, but the concern in everyone’s faces at your table made it impossible to avoid.

“You sure? Looks like you were looking at Munson” The judgment in his voice was clear. It was like mentioning his name burned his tongue.

"I, um, I was just... he looks weird, doesn't he?" you stammered, trying to save the situation. His brow furrowed as he glanced between you and him. The concern dissolved from his face as he chuckled and nodded in agreement with your previous statement. With a sigh of relief, your tense shoulders relaxed, and your racing heart gradually slowed its pace.

Your anxious gaze met Chrissy's, Jason's girlfriend, and she responded with a gentle smile. In that moment, her glance was reassuring, silently letting you know that everything was okay. 

…

That night, you layed in bed, the sound of "Thunderstruck" blasting through your Walkman, was drowning out the world around you as you stared up at the ceiling, thoughts filled your mind, wondering how different life could be if you were surrounded by people who truly understood you, rather than pretending to fit in where you clearly didn't belong.

“Y/n!” Your heart dropped when you barely heard your name over the music. You threw The headphones off and you saw your mom in the doorway.

“What is it mom?” You asked and sat up.

"I've been calling that dinner's ready for the past 10 minutes. Are you still listening to that crazy music?" she sighed, rolling her eyes as the sound echoed from the headphones now abandoned beside you.

“Come downstairs, now” she scolded and you followed her down to the kitchen where once again you talked about school, boys and sports instead of something that really interested you.

…

The next morning, the thought of staying home was tempting. Everything seemed to conspire against you, discouraging any motivation to face another day of repeating the same exact routine as the day before.

But you knew your parents would not want you to stay home.

As the school bus pulled up in front of your house, you found yourself once again lost in your music, the volume cranked up high enough to fill your ears but low enough to keep the people around you from hearing it..

When it arrived at its destination people rushed to get out of the yellow vehicle. You, on the other hand, walked slowly deadring the moment you will have to enter class.

As you turned the corner in the main hallway, you collided with someone so hard that the Walkman's headphones slipped off your head and began to fall to the ground. The cord connecting the headphones to the cassette player on your waist tugged, causing it to tumble to the floor as well making the Metallica cassette spill out onto the ground.

“Oh I'm sorry sweetheart” your heart pounds against your chest when you finally recognized the boy you bumped into.

“Let me get that for you- Metalica?” He examined the cassette as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

“You really listen to that?” his smirk is inevitable.

“No. It's- uh, for my brother” You snatched the cassette from his hand.

“You don't even have a brother” He laughed when he caught your lie.

“How would you know that?” 

"We've been in the same classes for two years, Y/N." The sound of your name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine.

In this moment you noticed how Andy and two other boys from the basketball team looked at you and Eddie as they passed.

In a hurry you grabbed his hand and tugged him away into the nearest janitor closet.

"You know, you could've asked me out first before dragging me in here, but I guess I'll give you points for spontaneity," he says with a smirk, his confidence made you roll your eyes and slap his forearm.

“You cannot tell anyone that you saw this alright?” You shoved the cassette into his face. ”Jason would ruin my life and probably find a way to kick me out of the team because he thinks it's… it’s satanic” Eddie sighed harshly.

“Fine. But-”

“No buts!” 

“BUT you have to help me with O'donnell's test for next month” you considered it for a moment. If anyone saw you with him they would probably do worse then kick you off the team. But you didn't have a choice.

“Fine but you come to my place on Saturday nights, and you have to come through my window.”

“Exciting, romantic, I like it”

“This is not romantic!” and just at this very moment you noticed how tight the closet was. How close your bodies were. “I- Am going to get out and you have to wait 5 minutes before you do, understood?” 

“Understood, maam” he nodded and quickly you came out of the closet. Fresh air immediately brushed on you.

The rest of the week went smoothly, you sneaked glances at him every now and then but nothing was abnormal. During the integrality of Saturday you were impatient for the moment eddie would come knocking on your window. And when he did you were listening to one of your many vinyls, as you opened the window and welcomed him in.

“Holy shit” he whispered as he took in your room. In his head it would have been filled with pinks and purples, neat and well organized. But there were vinyls of his favorite bands on the wall next to posters and a concert ticket framed in a black picture frame. You had books scattered on your desk that he had also read, and 5 pairs of different colors converse on the floor.

“You are full of surprises”  He had said and you just ignored the compliment and went 

straight to studying.

On the following Saturday night, Eddie returned without fail, and you both studied again. As the hours passed, midnight approached and you were both tired and yawning.

“I should go,” He said as he started gathering his notebooks and his backpack.

"Same time next Saturday?" you inquired as Eddie made his way halfway out of your window.

He nodded, a sweet smile lighting up his face, making your stomach erupt with butterflies.  Every Saturday preceding the test, unfolded the same way. Sometimes you found yourselves watching movies, almost cuddling, his arm draped around your shoulder, and occasionally you allowed your head to rest on him.

Friday, the day before your last study session before the math test, was a game day. You knew Eddie and his club had a reunion the same day but you still invited him to come watch your cheerleading routine along with his friends.

Surprise flickered across your face as you spotted him in the stands just before the end of the game. His unexpected presence threatened to throw you off balance, but you swiftly regained your focus.

After the game, as the team was heading back to the locker room, Jason spotted Eddie lagging behind waiting for you.

"Waiting for the girls to come out, perv?” Jason sneered, his minions laughing along with him.

Eddie tried to brush off the insults, but Jason's words cut deep. Just as Jason was about to deliver another cutting remark, you came out of the changing room holding your sport bag.

you looked between them for a second in silence. Eddie looked at you and a lightbulb lightened up on Jason’s head.

“Oh I see what's going on here. Munson’s got a crush on y/n!” His loud tone made everyone grow quiet. Students nearby started surrounding them, their eyes darting between Jason and Eddie. Eddie's cheeks burned with humiliation as he struggled to find the courage to respond

“Sorry to break it to you but a cheerleader would never go for a freak like you” With a smirk on his face, Jason draped his arm around you in a cocky way. It was in no way near as comforting as Eddie's embrace.

“Fuck off, Carver” you pushed him off your body. His smirk faltered for a moment as he received the unexpected rejection, but he quickly regained his composure, scoffing at Y/N's boldness. 

"Really, y/n? You're into Munson now? I didn't think you would go that slow but you've always been a slut” he shrugged and some people around you snickered and some other gasped

Jason's menacing presence loomed over you. You stood frozen after the words came out of his mouth. Eddie stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he positioned himself between you and him.

Eddie hesitated before striking a punch right into his jaw. Jason’s head flew to the right and he stumbled backwards. Everyone gasped loudly.

With a fierce growl, Jason lunged forward, aiming a wild swing at Eddie's nose. But he was quicker. With fast reflexes, Eddie ducked under his punch and returned one to Jason’s gut, earning a grunt of pain.

The fight was on. Fists flew as Eddie and Jason traded blows. The students who were gathered around cheers added to the chaotic atmosphere.

“Stop!” You screamed but they were blinded by rage and humiliation.

Despite Jason’s size and strength, Eddie held his ground. With each blow, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The echoes of grunts, cheers and strikes alarmed various teachers and when they saw the scene, they were both separated. The boys were panting and Jason was quick to put the blame on Eddie.

He looked at you desperately before walking into the crowd of students to storm out of the school ignoring the calls of a teacher demanding him to stay and explain himself.

You dropped your sport bag with your uniform inside and ran after him. 

“Eddie, wait” Once outside you saw him about to enter his van. Your calls stopped him and he turned to face you. You didn't fail to notice the large bruise on his cheekbone already forming.

“Eds- im so sorry” he shook his head dismissing your apology.

"It wasn't your fault, Y/N," He reassured you softly, and in a swift movement, you wrapped your arms around his chest. At first, surprise made him motionless, but after a few moments, he returned the embrace, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug.

“Y/n” A much softer voice called out behind you. You and Eddie both looked toward it and Chrissy was standing there holding your bag.

“This is yours. Right?” She extended her arm.

“You can keep it Chrissy… my uniform is in it, now that Jason knows, nobody will want me on the team” 

“I want you on the team, and I'm the captain” she pushed the bag inside your arms. “If someone has a problem with your relationship with Eddie, they will be kicked off the team.”

“Were not in a-” Eddie started with a shy tone.

“Thanks Chrissy” you hugged her tightly before saying your goodbyes.

“Bye Eddie. See you monday y/n, love you”

“Are we in a relationship?” His question is genuine and full of curiosity.

“I- uhm, do you want to be?” 

“Hell yeah I want to. The whole studying shit was just an excuse to spend time with you!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face.

“What?!” 

“Do you actually think I, Eddie Munson, would study willingly?” He giggled. 

"I can't believe you," you said between giggles, resting your head on his chest as laughter bubbled up between you both.

With a hesitant yet determined step forward, Eddie closed the distance between you, his hand reached out to gently cup your cheek. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the warmth of Eddie's touch, a shiver of anticipation traveled your body. Eddie leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And then, with a tender brush of his lips against yours, Eddie closed the gap, sealing your lips with a soft kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up longing and desire that had been building between you.

And when you  finally pulled away, your lips tingled with the lingering sensation of his kiss, the fight long forgotten. You knew that this was just the beginning of yours and his journey together—a journey filled with passion, love, and endless possibilities.

[gremlingottoosilly]

A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader

Konig saves you from a bomb threat when you get stuck at your Uni. Based on his bio - presumably, Konig was a part of the Austrian Special Forces before joining KorTac. He is also a bit of a dork and we have a bit of an obsessive episode.

Tags: Fluff, Reader is a cringefailure, Konig is overstepping his authority, hurt(not really)/comfort Warnings: Bomb threats, mentions of terrorism Word count: 2450

Someone called a bomb threat in your college. 

Well, at least, this is what the automatic email is telling you. The email that was sent to you, about especially avoiding the library on the second floor because the anonymous(not for long, since they have a knack for exposing who the hell is calling those threats each time) caller said that there is a huge chance of the bomb being placed here. 

You know, the same library that you were sitting in, right now, reading this exact email on your laptop. You thought no one was around because it wasn’t a busy day, just after the major finals, with most people staying on campus only if they failed first tests or just wanted to get extra credits for some extra curriculum. Even if you were staying here just because you wanted to work on campus’s newspaper – the library is a good place to scoop for some rumors about the dean of the uni being three raccoons in a trench coat, or the lunch staff posing as Polish mafia. 

The thing is – it seemed like you were the last fucking person to receive the email. The thing is, there are only a few weeks left before summer break, and the campus already started to turn off major announcement equipment since no sports or other events are planned. Are you going to die? Probably, there is a huge chance of you dying, as you can feel directly in your bones – god, there are probably some terrorists or uni shooters or that weird Christian suprematist who are going hysterical at the mere sight of religion other than theirs. You are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to…

— Scheisse! There is a civilian! 

You were never particularly religious, maybe only at the time of finals and work submissions – and in situations like this, where you are already mentally preparing yourself to get blown up with unfinished articles and forgotten hopes and dreams and everything and…

You were never particularly religious – so you have no idea why your pre-death auditory hallucinations suddenly included an angel’s voice with devil's timbre and some huge, tree-trunk-like hands wrapping around your waist, checking you for possible injuries or explosive device. 

These hands are really huge – and muscular, you can see how tense they are even through your black uniform, and they are roaming over your body in a way that would make you scream bloody murder and file sexual harassment if it didn’t belong to an obvious angel. Angelm in special forces uniform, an angel with a really nice boyish voice and warm hands that are sliding to your thighs, groping and checking for every possible outcome – for weapons, probably, because you are literally the only person in the room that was deemed as a bomb threat, and if you were this guy, you’d also think that you were the culprit. 

His fingers linger on your hips perhaps a bit too long – you can him patting you down like you were heading to a club – and then he lets you go reluctantly, not finding anything except for your phone which he also checked for possible timers. The interaction lasted…a minute or so, but you are already hot and bothered, getting off the strong hands holding you, even though he already let you go. 

— Are you alright? 

He must have noticed your worried face and international student badge – his English is a bit accented but nonetheless confident. You never thought that small traces of German in a speech can sound so fucking hot but, perhaps, you are just traumatized and high on adrenaline and weren't getting laid for too fucking long. 

He wears a badge – something something long German words, huge design construction that made you think he must be pretty high-rank – knowledge that you only had because of the movies and games you were playing, trying not to get off the military kink too much. Something in the situation told you that you’d spend the whole evening searching for porn with guys dressed in all black today. Maybe, a touch of cargo. 

— Y…yeah. Fuck, sorry. I’m fine, fine. Yeah. 

You are rambling and he tilts his head to the side. This large, looming hand goes to your face – you wait for either a harsh slap to return you back to reality, or a passionate and deep kiss from your fantasies and dirty novels. He slowly traces his fingers on your face, getting up, in the hairline, searching for something – perhaps, a nasty head parasite that got you acting so weird around this random guy. Random guy who is just doing his job, securing that you’re safe, sound, and not going to explode in the next few minutes. 

— No head injuries. Gut. 

You want him to touch your face some more. You want him to check for mouth injuries, to evaluate the status of your lips. Maybe do some chemical tests with that gloss you were using today. Check the reaction with his tongue. 

He twirls you in place and you almost want him to press you against the wall. Search you some more, maybe get his hands a bit deeper, pass the oh-so-modest pants that made you look like a little bitch boy – his hand goes to cup your waist again, checking for anything that might catch his interest. Nothing – and you were never this sad about Hot wearing a concealed weapon that might force him to pin you down or get you into a chokehold with those massive biceps of his. 

— What were you doing here, ma’am? 

Studying in Vienna, you never found an Austrian accent this sexy. Never knew that you might like being handled like this before – it’s not romantic, not even in the slightest, but you smile a bit shyly, a bit awkwardly, and look at him from under your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. You are innocent – you weren’t doing anything, you were just trying to study and write in the last few weeks. Concentrated enough, so you never even noticed a fucking bomb threat. Didn’t hear soldiers running through the building, securing each room. 

— I…study here? 

You gulp loudly, taking a few steps away from the soldier. Allowing him to examine the room, deem it safe – the bomb threat called on your university was probably fake. Maybe a call from a paranoid individual, maybe someone with nothing better to do than pranking colleges. You seriously doubt anyone would try to blow up this place while almost none of the students are actually inside – especially the library during the low season. Even you almost decided to ditch the traditional writing atmosphere and just do something in the cafeteria. 

— Oh. 

His voice actually sounds…nice. Funny even, that small remark also makes him cough and look at you more seriously. He has a mask concealing his face, some weird hood or net on top of it – you try to see his eyes, but you can only occasionally catch glimpses of ice staring at you. Mysterious, you like it. Too mysterious, that little journalist club member inside of you is itching to get a look at his face better – you tilt your head to the side, contemplating just yanking it upwards and praying that he won’t kill you. 

Although you wouldn’t mind being crushed in his hold. 

— Let’s get you out of here, ja? 

You don’t question him when he suddenly picks you up – when the world starts to spin and you are pressed against his chest, his hands are supporting you under your knees and back. Securing you in place, making sure you are nice and comfy in his hold. You don’t ask questions when he slightly adjusts your hold so he can touch more of your thighs – you think he is just getting you comfortable, and you appreciate just how thoughtful he is. 

You don’t ask questions when he holds you almost like a bridal carry, even though you are certain you aren’t injured, and someone like him probably has more interesting things to do than saving poor college students who decided to ignore bomb threats. 

His hands are warm, his chest is even warmer, and his muscles aren’t even slightly trembling. You don’t know what sort of training those guys are coming through, but it must work – his steps are light and decided even when he can’t press you firmly against him, vest standing in the way. You don’t know what to do with your hands and you don’t want to mess with the government property – you think there is a law against fidgeting with special forces soldiers on duty – so you just get them on your knees. Like a good girl. Polite girl. Girl who isn't drooling over the guy who is just doing his job. 

— Thank you. For saving me. 

You whisper it in his headset – you are worried about someone else also hearing you, but there is something intimate about tilting your head upwards and getting right into his face, your lips millimeters away from the edge of his mask. You don’t want to sound suggestive, so you sound weak instead. You don’t to sound ungrateful, so you sound pleading instead. 

His hold on your thighs gets stronger. You lick your lips nervously, chuckling to ease the atmosphere a little bit. 

Your leg brushes above his waist – and you swear that you can hear his breath hitching. It’s impossible, you think, he must be a tough and content little soldier, perfect to save damsels in distress just like you – but something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at the edges of your body, makes you think otherwise. Maybe, you’re just dreaming. Maybe, you know nothing. 

Someone slams into the room. Another man – shorter than the one who holds you, by a large margin, but none less intimidating. Burly, muscular, dressed up in full uniform which is expected – and with his face covered up by a similar veil or mask or whatever this is – which is unexpected. You thought that special forces would have something less eye-obscuring, but what do you know? You would be dead if the bomb threat was real. 

— Other sectors secured. No bomb in sight. Commander. 

He almost hisses, the similar accent in his voice makes your cheeks heat up even more. You feel weird, dirty even, thinking of those two large, intimidating men in such an intimate setting while they are just trying to save your life – but you try to silence that little annoying voice, to convince yourself that this is probably just adrenaline, ovulation and sudden urge to procreate before you would die. 

You feel your entire body stir when the man takes a step closer, looking at you. You can’t see his face, not even the outline of it – but you feel the burning gaze on your scared expression and obediently folded hands. 

— Gut. Other civillians? — 20 civilians in the building in total. University workers, some students. Already evacuated. — Any casualties? You hear a cruel chuckle from a shorter man. — If they were, you’d hear about it, sir. No, the sector is clear. — Gut. Dismissed – we’re finishing here. — What are you doing with the civi…

— Kruger, dismissed. 

The man who holds you is surprisingly stern when he isn’t talking to you. He used a much softer, quieter tone when he was talking to you, observing if you were hurt or in danger – and he is much, much different now. A cold voice, serious tone, the image of the ruthless commander flying in your head – well, at least you were right about his patches meaning something important. 

A shorter man leaves, and the door behind him swings open. To your surprise, the man who holds you – a mysterious stranger, you can’t even seem to find a name on his uniform – doesn’t let you go. His touches feel like you’re burning alive, he is igniting and brilliant and fucking perfect and…

He lets you down to the care of the local police department and some of the uni workers. His hand brushes over your face again – you think he was checking for the injuries but, then again, why would he touch your hair ever so gently only to move it out of your face to take a good look at your lips before letting you go? You’re imagining things, you probably must be – the man is just doing his job, he isn’t trying to fuck you in the nearest hallway even if you wanted him to. 

— Sir. I…thank you, really. For the help. 

— I didn’t do anything, Schatz. Someone must been playing a joke on everyone. 

You are going to find the guy – or a girl, or someone else, you don’t discriminate, everyone is equally capable of calling on the false bomb threats – who informed the special forces about the bomb in the building, and then you are going to kiss them. 

— What kind of joke is this? 

— A dumb one. 

He looks over to his unit – a group of tall, burly men, with weapons and uniforms and everything a girl could ask for – already packing in the vehicles to move out. You brace yourself to ask for his number – for his contact, anything, everything, maybe the favorite tree in the park under which you could meet again. You know that those guys aren’t supposed to reveal their identities, that he is probably out of town anyway, special forces aren’t usually called off to false threats, you know that your attempts are futile and yet, you lick your lips for added confidence and…

— Goodbye, Scahtzen. Stay safe, ja? Don’t want to save you from a real bomb one day. 

— I…I…um, you mean you wouldn’t save me from a real bomb? 

He was already halfway to the armored car before you could say anything. You aren’t nearly confident enough to yell across the whole fucking campus territory to get a number of this hot special forces guy, and something in his hunched shoulders, twitching fingers, and slightly less social and more abrasive manners tells you that he would hate the gesture as much as you would. 

Just like this, your first even real-life military crush is driving away, leaving you bombless, hoeless, and, most certainly, more depressed than ever. Summer is going to be great, right?

*** — What do you mean calling a fucking bomb threat?! 

Your friend wasn’t happy about the pick-up strategy you wanted to use.

*** — Of course, sir, let’s raid a fucking college dorm room. 

Sergeant Sebastian Josed Krueger wasn’t happy about his commander’s newfound love for college girls. 

Mostly because König refused to fucking share. 

[cutielando]

knight in shining armor | r.c.

synopsis: in which Rafe doesn’t prove to be the biggest asshole around

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

The island was quiet, only the crashing waves breaking the eerie silence of the night.

It was late - much later than you had planned on staying at the bar. You didn’t go out often, especially not this late, but an invitation from your girlfriends to go to the bar and a couple of shots later, here you were.

Battery dead, walking home in the middle of the night.

It might have been because you hated walking alone, or because of the sketchy streets, but your skin prickled with unease and tension.

You tried to tighten your jacket around you in a desperate attempt to soothe your worries, but it was useless. The tense feeling wouldn’t go away.

Someone was watching you.

You kept your head down, cautious yet very fast steps carrying you closer and closer to home.

Only a couple more minutes and then you’re home. You’ve got this.

You kept telling yourself that as you navigated through the streets, but suddenly stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a group of men sitting on a bench, exactly across the street from where you were supposed to go just now.

The voice in your head was very adamant, turn around and find another way home, but there was no other way to get to your house.

Sighing and gritting your teeth, you began walking again, not sparing the men a glance in hope that they would just ignore you and leave you alone.

That thought and hope went out the window as soon as you were passing in front of them.

A high-pitched wolf-whistle broke the otherwise quiet night, making you stiffen and almost stop in your tracks.

"Hey sweetheart, pretty late to be out and about all on your own" one of the men called out, laughing at the end of his sentence.

"You want some company?" another one said.

"Come on, don't be shy now" a third chimed in.

A feeling of panic and fear settled heavily in your chest. You were thinking about a way to respond, to say anything to get rid of those assholes, but a voice stopped you from doing so.

"She's not interested" the voice said, rough and edged with a warning of what might happen if they didn't get the hint.

You froze, slowly turning around to see who had jumped to your rescue from the shadows. And your shock was even greater when the figure finally stepped into the light, revealing the last person you had thought you were going to see.

Rafe Cameron.

"Who the hell are you, man?" one of the men called out again, not moving from their spot on the benches.

"Doesn't matter who I am. She's not interested, so you're going to leave her alone or you'll have to deal with me" he replied, his tone low and dangerous.

It was the way he said it that made the men finally slink off into the night and leave you alone.

The street fell quiet again, which allowed you to let out a breath you hadn't realized you had been holding.

"Are you okay?" Rafe asked, his voice much softer now, as he turned around to look at you.

"Yeah, I think so" you nodded, even though your voice was shaky and your hands were trembling. "Thank you"

He shrugged his shoulders, like what he did was the most natural thing in the world.

"It's nothing. You shouldn't be walking out here alone at night, it's dangerous in this part of town" he said, his eyes remaining on you.

"I know, but I don't have much of a choice. This is the only way home and my phone died, so I couldn't call a cab" you explained.

"Where do you live?" he asked, his tone direct, but still gentle.

You hesitated, your mind wary. He was Rafe Cameron, and his reputation very well preceded him, but after all, he had just saved you from a very uncomfortable situation. And the walk towards your house only got sketchier.

"Near the south docks" you finally replied, making him nod.

"I'll walk you" he said, falling into step with you, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans.

The silence between the two of you was awkward at first, neither of you saying anything. But as the minutes passed, you found yourself sneaking glances at the Cameron boy. He didn't seem dangerous or crazy as people had claimed him to be, he was... normal.

"You don't have to walk me home, you know" you said after a little while, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yeah, I do" he replied, his tone neutral.

"Why? You don't even know me" you pointed out.

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn into a faint smirk.

"I don't like seeing people get pushed around" he said.

It was a very simple and straightforward answer, but the fact that it came from Rafe Cameron was the big surprise.

You had heard many stories about Rafe Cameron from different people on the island, but none of those matched the Rafe Cameron currently walking you home to make sure nothing happened to you.

By the time you had reached your house, the tension between the two of you had slowly disappeared and the heaviness on your chest had eased.

"Thanks again, for saving me and walking me home" you said as you stopped in front of the house.

"Get inside safe, okay?" he said, his eyes finding yours.

You nodded, smiling a little.

"I'll see you around" you said before turning around and walking towards your front door, stealing one last look at him before entering the house.

Maybe the island didn't know Rafe as well as they thought.

Maybe they were wrong about him, after all.

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[novaursa]

The Queen's Command (2/2)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You came to Westeros to offer your services to the crown as a healer. And once the Dance starts and both Queens start to curry for your favor, you are forced to change the already written destiny of this war forever.

- Paring: Rhaenyra Targaryen/male!reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Tag(s): @subjectac7 @isansstuff @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The night air on Driftmark was suffocating, the aftermath of Laena Velaryon’s funeral long overshadowed by the violence that had erupted between the children. The stone halls of High Tide, once somber in mourning, were now buzzing with fear and anger as lords, ladies, and guards gathered in the Great Hall, surrounding the injured prince.

Aemond sat on a stone bench, blood streaming down his face from the horrific wound where his eye had once been. Grand Maester Mellos hovered over him, his hands shaking slightly as he prepared his tools, the sharp tang of herbs and ointments filling the air. Viserys stood pale and helpless, watching over the scene with a deep sadness, while Alicent paced beside him, her face a mask of fury and concern.

Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys had arrived moments earlier, alerted by the chaos. The moment they saw Aemond’s bloodied face and the children huddled in fear and anger, it was clear the gravity of the situation had far outstripped any funeral rites. Corlys’s voice cut through the din as he barked orders to his guards.

“Go fetch him,” Corlys commanded, his tone grim. “Bring our healer.”

Rhaenys glanced at her husband, surprised but trusting. Corlys’ employment of a mysterious healer had always been a point of contention with Mellos and the other maesters, but he had proven his worth time and again. Now, with Aemond’s life hanging in the balance, Corlys wasn’t taking any chances.

The Kingsguard stood in a tense line, swords at their sides, unsure of what might happen next. The children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena—were still being held in check by guards, their faces pale as they watched the horror they had played a part in unfold. Luke’s face was stricken, his small hands covered in blood, shaking from the realization of what he had done.

Mellos looked up as he applied pressure to Aemond’s wound, muttering to the king, “We need to act quickly. The wound must be cleaned, stitched, or infection will take hold. I fear the eye is lost, Your Grace. There is nothing more I can do.”

Alicent, standing beside Viserys, her hands clutching each other tightly, looked frantic. Her son was maimed, his face forever changed. Her gaze flickered to Luke and Jace with seething anger. Before she could respond, the doors to the hall swung open, and the guards returned with you in tow.

You strode in, wearing your Asshaii robes, the dark fabrics catching the torchlight as you approached. The moment you entered, the room fell into a deep silence. All eyes were on you, and the tension ratcheted up even further. Your face was concealed behind your mask, as it always was, and your appearance—foreign, strange—made you stand out even more starkly against the richly-dressed nobles of Westeros.

Mellos straightened immediately, bristling at your arrival. “This is not necessary, Lord Corlys,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “I have the situation under control. The boy’s eye must be treated properly, cleaned, and stitched before infection sets in. This man’s methods are… unorthodox.”

Corlys ignored the Maester’s protests, his voice calm but firm. “I trust my healer’s skills, Grand Maester. He has proven himself more than capable of saving lives where others have failed.”

You approached Aemond, your eyes flicking briefly over the prince’s injured face, assessing the situation with the calm detachment of a healer who had seen far worse wounds. Mellos, still standing over the boy, looked at you with open disdain, stepping in your way as you neared.

“The eye is gone,” Mellos said flatly. “There is no saving it. The boy will need to be stitched up before it festers. That is the only way.”

You did not respond to him, instead turning your attention fully to Aemond. Your voice was quiet but clear, laced with your distinct accent as you addressed the room. “The eye is not yet lost. I can save it, but only if I act now.”

A wave of surprise rippled through the room. Even Aemond, despite his pain, blinked up at you in disbelief. His mother, Alicent, took a step forward, her voice sharp with hope. “You can save his eye?”

Mellos scoffed, turning to Viserys and Otto, his voice rising with indignation. “This is madness. His methods defy the very will of the Seven! The wound is too severe—if we do not treat it in the traditional way, the boy could lose more than just his eye. Infection, fever—it could kill him!”

You stood firm, your hands steady and prepared. “I have seen injuries like this before. The methods I use are from Asshai, far beyond the knowledge of Westerosi maesters. I can save the eye if you allow me to work.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the King or the Hand to respond. Viserys looked torn, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but before he could speak, Alicent stepped forward. Her voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. “Let him do it.”

Otto Hightower stiffened immediately, his gaze darting toward his daughter. “Alicent—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice cold but resolute. “This is my son. If there is even a chance he can keep his eye, I will take it. Let him work.”

Otto frowned, his mouth tightening into a hard line, but he said nothing more. The decision had been made, and Alicent’s gaze had a fire in it that brooked no argument.

Mellos, clearly furious, stepped back, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line as he moved aside to let you through. “You will regret this,” he muttered under his breath, but no one responded.

You knelt beside Aemond, pulling your satchel open, and began to work quickly and methodically. The room fell into an uneasy silence as you applied a dark salve from the Shadowlands, your hands steady as you worked with a confidence born from experience. You could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you—Mellos watching like a hawk, Otto frowning in the background, and Alicent standing near, her gaze never leaving her son.

As you worked, Aemond hissed in pain, but he did not flinch. The boy was strong, and you could sense a resolve in him that reminded you of those you had treated on the battlefield—those who had survived even when the odds were stacked against them.

Minutes passed, tense and quiet, as you stitched the wound using thread coated with a special tincture. You worked with precision, ignoring the disapproving mutterings of Mellos nearby. Finally, you sat back, your work complete.

“The healing will take time,” you said, rising to your feet. “But his eye will recover.”

Alicent released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her relief evident. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

The doors to the hall slammed open with force, and in strode Rhaenyra and Daemon, their faces a mixture of worry and fury. They had clearly heard the commotion and rushed to see what had happened. Rhaenyra's eyes immediately fell on her children—Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena—who were standing apart from Aemond, looking shaken but defiant. She moved to them quickly, kneeling down to inspect them, her hands brushing over their faces and arms, making sure they were unharmed.

But then, as she glanced up, her eyes fell on you. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her world stopped. She hadn’t expected to see you here, not after all this time—not after you had promised that your paths would cross again. Yet, here you were, standing over Aemond, your mask now removed, your dark and foreign features bathed in the flickering torchlight. The sight of you stirred something deep within her, a flood of emotions rushing through her heart.

Before Rhaenyra could speak, before she could ask why you had returned, Alicent’s voice cut through the air, sharp and venomous.

“Look at what your son has done to mine!” Alicent barked, her eyes blazing as she turned on Rhaenyra, her finger pointed toward Aemond, who still sat on the bench, his face bandaged, the remnants of blood on his cheek. “He has maimed Aemond! He will never be the same because of your boy.”

Rhaenyra’s shock turned to rage as she rose, her protective instincts flaring. But before she could speak, the children began to talk all at once, their voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of accusations and defenses.

“He stole Vhagar!” Jace shouted, his eyes wide with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

“He called us bastards!” Luke added, his voice trembling with both fear and defiance.

“He has no right to Vhagar! She was our mother’s dragon!” Baela cried out, her face flushed with fury as Rhaena, standing beside her, nodded in agreement, her own tears threatening to spill.

The hall erupted in noise, the children’s voices mingling with the angry murmurs of the gathered nobles and guards. Rhaenyra’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Alicent. Daemon stood at her side, his eyes cold and dangerous as he surveyed the scene, his hand twitching toward his sword.

But before the situation could escalate further, you stepped forward, your calm, measured voice cutting through the chaos like a knife.

“Dragons cannot be stolen.”

The room fell into a sudden, stunned silence as all eyes turned to you. You met Rhaenyra’s gaze briefly before turning to Aemond, your expression neutral but supportive. “Vhagar chose him. Just as your dragons chose you,” you continued, your voice steady. “The bond between a dragon and rider is not something that can be taken by force. It is forged by something deeper.”

Aemond looked up at you, his good eye wide with surprise. For the first time since the incident, someone had spoken in his defense. Despite his injury, there was a spark of gratitude in his gaze as he listened to your words.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions as she processed your defense of Aemond. Part of her bristled at the thought, but she knew you were right. Even in her anger, she could not deny the truth of your words.

You turned back to Aemond, your tone softening as you spoke to him directly. “You should rest, Prince Aemond. The wound will take time to heal.”

Aemond nodded slowly, still clearly in pain but comforted by your calm presence. You turned away then, making your way toward the door, your dark robes flowing behind you as you moved through the silent hall. As you passed by Mellos, you caught his muttering discontent under his breath, but you paid him no mind. His opinion no longer mattered.

Viserys, standing by the edge of the room, watched you go with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. As you passed him, he whispered, “Thank you,” his voice so low that only you could hear.

You offered the briefest of nods before slipping out of the hall, leaving behind a room full of tension and unfinished arguments. You knew the storm brewing within these walls was far from over, but for now, you had done your part. The rest would be up to them.

And as the door closed behind you, the weight of Rhaenyra’s gaze followed you out, her heart still racing from seeing you again after all these years.

Later that night, the corridors of Driftmark were quiet. You were alone, standing in a small antechamber, gazing out of the window into the dark sea. The events of the evening played on your mind, but you were used to such chaos. The court had always been a breeding ground for chaos and intrigue, and tonight had been no different.

The door creaked open softly behind you, but you didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Her presence was unmistakable. Queen Alicent’s footsteps were light, hesitant as she approached.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice low, almost uncertain.

You turned to face her, watching as she stood there, her fingers clutching the folds of her gown nervously. Her face was a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something she seemed to be struggling to put into words.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, her eyes lowering briefly before flicking back up to meet yours. “For what you did for Aemond. You saved his eye. I... I didn’t think it was possible, but you did it.”

You inclined your head slightly. “I was doing my job, Your Grace. Nothing more.”

Alicent’s lips pressed together, as though she had expected a different response, something more personal. There was an awkward pause as she seemed to weigh her next words carefully. You could see it—the conflict in her eyes, the weight of her father’s warnings, the judgment of the Faith. Yet there was something else there, too—something that had been stirring within her for far longer.

“I know why you were dismissed by the crown,” she admitted, her voice softer now, as if confessing a secret. “My father warned me about you. He said your methods were unnatural, that you were dangerous. And yet...” She trailed off, stepping closer, her eyes searching yours. “I watched you in court, when you served. I couldn’t help it. There was something about you. Something that I couldn’t ignore.”

Her hand, hesitant at first, slid up your arm. The touch was light, testing, as though she expected you to pull away. But you didn’t flinch. You stood still, your eyes steady as you watched her, understanding what she wanted, what had been stirring within her for years now.

“I was always drawn to you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if speaking the words aloud might break something fragile within her. “Even if it was against everything the Faith taught me. Everything my father said.”

You allowed her touch, her hand moving up your arm, her fingers brushing the edge of your robes. There was a tension between the two of you now, palpable and thick, and yet you didn’t move away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, allowing her to continue.

Alicent’s breath hitched, her hand lingering at the edge of your robe, her fingers trembling slightly as they slid further up. Her gaze flickered with uncertainty, but also desire—desire that had been buried beneath layers of duty and repression for far too long.

“You don’t stop me,” she whispered, her voice almost accusing, though there was no heat behind it. Her other hand reached up, brushing against the edge of your collar, her fingers trembling slightly. “You let me...”

You tilted your head, your expression calm, though your eyes held hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “I understand what you want, Alicent,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. “I will not stop you. You’ve been bound by chains for far too long.”

Alicent swallowed hard, her breath shallow as she processed your words. Slowly, she began to disrobe herself, her fingers moving with deliberate slowness as she unclasped the brooch holding her gown together. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath, and she stepped closer to you, her eyes never leaving yours.

Her breath came in soft, uneven gasps as the gown fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. For a moment, she stood there, vulnerable, exposed in more ways than one, waiting for your reaction.

You remained still, your eyes studying her without judgment, your hands at your sides. The quiet understanding between you stretched on, the boundaries of propriety and duty long forgotten in the silence of the night. There was no need for words now. What was about to happen had been written long ago, a secret desire neither of you could deny any longer.

Alicent reached up, her fingers grazing your jaw, her touch tentative but filled with need. You did not pull away. Instead, you allowed her to explore this moment, to embrace what she had been too afraid to admit to herself for so long.

The moon hung low over Driftmark, casting its silver light through the windows of the chamber where you and Alicent stood in the quiet aftermath of your encounter. The fire in the hearth had burned low, embers crackling softly as the room filled with the muted sounds of fabric rustling. You pulled your robes over your shoulders, the dark cloth sliding easily into place as you fastened the ties and reached for your mask.

Alicent, still standing near the bed, dressed slowly, her mind seemingly far away. Her hands moved absently over the delicate fabric of her gown as she pulled it back into place, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. The silence between the two of you had settled into something heavy, and it lingered as you adjusted the mask over your face, returning to the familiar anonymity that had shielded you from the world for so long.

As you fastened the final strap, covering your features once more, Alicent finally spoke, her voice quiet but filled with uncertainty. "What happens now?"

You turned to face her, your eyes meeting hers through the shadow of the mask. For a moment, you simply regarded her, the vulnerability in her expression, the weight of everything that had passed between you still hanging in the air. There was no regret in her eyes, but there was something else—something fragile, like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and didn’t know what lay beyond.

“Now,” you said softly, “I leave.”

Alicent blinked, her brow furrowing slightly as she took a step closer. “You’re leaving? Where will you go?”

“Where I am needed next,” you replied, your voice calm and even, as if the answer had always been inevitable.

Alicent’s lips parted as she struggled with the reality of your words. “I can speak with my father. I can convince him, perhaps even convince Viserys. They could employ you again—bring you back into the court. Your skills could still be of use.”

But before she could continue, you raised a hand, cutting her off gently. “No,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind. “The crown is dead, Alicent. It is no longer something I need to serve.”

The words hung between you, stark and final, and you could see the flash of confusion in her eyes. She had spent so long within the walls of power, serving the whims of the crown, that the idea of someone simply walking away from it, choosing another path, seemed foreign to her. She stood there, searching your eyes, trying to understand.

“But...,” Alicent began, her voice faltering as she realized there was nothing she could say to change your mind. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said softly, taking a step toward the door, “that my time with the crown is over. I go where I am called now, and Driftmark, King’s Landing... they are no longer places for me.”

Alicent took a deep breath, her hand coming to rest against the frame of the bed as if she needed the support. “Will I ever see you again?”

You paused at the door, your hand resting on the handle as you turned back to face her one last time. The mask obscured your features, but your eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something unspoken between you.

“Perhaps,” you said quietly. “But our paths were never meant to follow the same course for long.”

With that, you opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air, leaving the warmth of the chamber behind. The torches lining the halls flickered as you passed, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the silence.

Behind you, Alicent stood alone in the room, watching as the door slowly closed. The weight of the night, of what had transpired, pressed down on her as she stood there, feeling the chill of the empty space where you had once been. She wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to hold onto something—something that had already slipped away.

And outside, the sea whispered against the shores of Driftmark, its endless rhythm a reminder that the world moved on, even when the heart wished to stay.

The wind howled around Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, ever-present whisper of the sea. Within the stone walls of the castle, chaos reigned. Word had come from King’s Landing, brought by a raven in the dead of night—the news that shattered the fragile peace Rhaenyra had built around herself.

King Viserys was dead.

And the Hightowers had already acted, crowning Aegon the Elder as king, usurping the throne that rightfully belonged to her. The blow had struck deep, sending Rhaenyra into a state of shock so profound that her body had betrayed her. She went into early labor, her third child with Daemon, not yet due for weeks, now threatening to come into the world far too soon.

For three long, agonizing days, Rhaenyra labored. The cries of pain and anguish echoed through the halls of Dragonstone, casting a pall of anxiety over everyone within the castle. Daemon had not left her side, his face etched with worry as he paced outside her chambers, unable to do anything but listen to her suffering.

On the night of the third day, the storm that had been brewing over Dragonstone reached its peak, dark clouds swirling overhead, the rain coming down in sheets. Inside the dimly lit chamber, Rhaenyra writhed in pain, her body struggling against the birth that should not have come so soon. Maesters and midwives hovered over her, their hands trembling as they attempted to assist, but her strength was fading. And in her agony, her voice broke through the noise, crying out a name that hadn’t been spoken in years.

“Y/N!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate, echoing through the stone walls. Her hand gripped the edge of the bed as another wave of pain wracked her body. “Y/N!”

Daemon, standing just outside the door, stiffened at the sound of the name. He glanced at the midwives who scurried in and out of the chamber, his jaw tightening. The name lingered in the air like a ghost, a reminder of someone he hadn’t seen in years—a shadow from Rhaenyra’s past.

Before he could make sense of the moment, one of his men rushed to him, breathless and soaked from the storm. “My lord,” the guard panted, “a ship just docked, and a figure... a masked and robed figure... arrived. He is asking for you.”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. He turned sharply to the guard, his voice low and filled with tension. “Where is he?”

“On the beach, my lord. He came ashore alone. The crew stayed back.”

Without another word, Daemon stormed down the corridors of Dragonstone, his footsteps heavy with purpose. The rain was relentless as he stepped outside, the wind whipping his silver hair around his face, but he barely noticed. His focus was singular, his mind racing with the implications of what this could mean.

The beach was a blur of grey and white, the storm churning the sea into violent waves. And there, standing alone on the shore, was the figure Daemon had heard about. The robes were unmistakable—dark, flowing, and shadowed by the flickering light of the torches held by his men. The mask covered his face, just as it had years ago when Daemon had last seen him.

The healer from Asshai. Y/N.

Daemon approached quickly, his sword at his side, though his hand did not rest on the hilt. His eyes locked on the figure before him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from days of sleepless worry. “Why now?”

You turned slowly to face him, your mask hiding the expression beneath, but your eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “I go where I am needed,” you said, your voice as calm and enigmatic as ever. “And she called for me.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched. “She needs more than your tricks,” he said coldly, though there was a flicker of hope buried beneath the anger. “She’s been in labor for days, and the child—” His voice faltered, betraying the fear he rarely showed. “The child may not survive.”

You nodded once, stepping forward. “Take me to her.”

The storm raged on, but within the halls of Dragonstone, the tension was even more palpable. The midwives and maesters surrounding Rhaenyra barely noticed as you entered the room, your presence commanding without needing to say a word. All eyes turned to you, but none dared question your right to be there.

Daemon entered behind you, his gaze never leaving Rhaenyra’s trembling form on the bed. Her hair, damp with sweat, clung to her face, and her eyes fluttered with exhaustion. She looked up as you approached, her breath catching.

“Y/N...” she whispered, her voice weak but filled with relief. “You... came.”

You knelt by her side, your fingers brushing lightly over her forehead, feeling the fever that had taken hold of her. “You called for me,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “And I am here.”

Rhaenyra’s lips trembled, her fingers reaching out to grasp yours weakly. “Save my child,” she begged, her eyes filled with desperation. “Please.”

You glanced briefly at Daemon, who stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark with worry. Then, you turned back to Rhaenyra, your voice steady. “I will do everything I can.”

As you began your work, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the storm outside roaring as you focused on the task at hand.

Daemon watched, his heart pounding as he placed his trust—once again—in the healer from Asshai.

The maesters and midwives stood by, their faces pale and uncertain, as they reluctantly stepped aside to allow you to approach Rhaenyra. The storm outside seemed to echo the turmoil within the room, the howling wind and crashing waves matching the chaotic emotions swirling around them all. The maesters exchanged uneasy glances, their rigid adherence to tradition conflicting with the reality of Rhaenyra's condition and your presence.

Your hands moved with calm precision, though the weight of the room’s eyes was heavy upon you. The midwives whispered among themselves, clearly uncomfortable with what was happening, but they dared not challenge you—not with Daemon standing nearby, his gaze dark and intense, a silent command that kept everyone in check.

The birth was long and painful. Rhaenyra’s cries echoed off the stone walls, her body wracked with exhaustion after days of labor. Daemon’s face, normally so controlled, was tight with worry as he watched her struggle, his fists clenched at his sides. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each moment pulling tighter on the threads of fate that bound them all together.

And then, in the oppressive silence that followed, the child came into the world.

You held the small, silent babe in your hands, her tiny body still and unnervingly quiet. The room seemed to hold its breath, the absence of a newborn’s cry weighing down on everyone like a leaden shroud. The silence was deafening.

“It’s a girl,” you said quietly, your voice cutting through the tension as you gently cradled the child in your arms.

Rhaenyra’s head turned weakly toward you, her face pale, eyes wide with fear and exhaustion. Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixed on the still form of his daughter. The maesters and midwives shifted nervously, their faces filled with dread.

“She’s not—” Grand Maester Gerardys began, but you cut him off with a calm but firm voice.

“Leave the room.”

The command was simple, but it hung in the air like a challenge. The maesters hesitated, Gerardys stepping forward as though to protest, but before he could say anything more, Rhaenyra’s voice, weak but filled with authority, spoke up.

“Go,” she ordered, her eyes sharp despite her exhaustion. “All of you. Leave us.”

The room fell silent once more, the tension crackling like lightning in the air. Daemon gave you a long, searching look, his face tight with uncertainty, but he nodded slowly. His hand lingered on Rhaenyra’s for a moment before he turned to leave, his steps slow and reluctant. The others followed, filing out of the chamber one by one, the oppressive silence returning as the door closed behind them.

For hours, Daemon stood outside the chamber doors, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Grand Maester Gerardys stood beside him, his face stiff with skepticism and unease. The storm continued to rage outside, its fury mirrored by the fear that gnawed at Daemon’s heart.

“Whatever that man claims to be able to do,” Gerardys muttered, his voice tight with disbelief, “it is impossible. The child was born still. There is no—”

Before he could finish, a sharp, piercing cry filled the air.

Daemon’s head snapped toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The maester’s eyes widened in disbelief, his face paling as the newborn’s wails continued, clear and strong.

“That... that is not possible,” Gerardys stammered, his voice trembling with shock. But Daemon was already moving, his hand throwing the door open as he rushed back into the chamber.

Inside, the sight that greeted him was something no one could have expected. Rhaenyra lay in the bed, her body weak but her face alight with emotion as she cradled her newborn daughter in her arms. The small babe was very much alive, her tiny fists clenched as she cried out into the night, filling the room with the sound of life.

The midwives gasped in shock as they gathered near the door, their hands covering their mouths as they took in the miraculous sight. Even Gerardys, ever the skeptic, stood frozen in the doorway, his disbelief etched into his every feature.

Rhaenyra, tears in her eyes, looked up at Daemon as he approached the bed, her voice soft but filled with awe. “Her name is Visenya.”

Daemon stood there, rooted to the spot, his eyes wide as he stared at the tiny girl, alive and well, nestled in her mother’s arms. His gaze flickered to you, standing quietly in the corner of the room, your robes shadowed by the flickering light of the fire. He looked at you, bewildered, searching for some explanation—some answer to the impossible.

But your mask, as always, betrayed nothing.

You stood silently, watching as the room filled with wonder and disbelief, your role in the miracle already fading into the background. Visenya’s cries echoed around you, the sound of life returning to the hall. And as you moved toward the door, your part in the story complete, Daemon’s gaze followed you, questions burning in his eyes—but you offered no answers.

As you stepped out of the chamber and into the cold corridors of Dragonstone, the storm outside began to fade, leaving behind only the soft whisper of the sea and the distant cries of a newborn who had defied the odds to enter the world.

You stood by the hearth, your hand clutching a letter—its seal bearing the unmistakable sigil of House Hightower. The letter had arrived just hours ago, carried across the sea from King’s Landing. It bore a simple message, written in the elegant hand of Dowager Queen Alicent, summoning you to the capital.

The words echoed in your mind as you reread the letter one final time:

"I now have the power to employ you once more. Aegon, the rightful King, and Aemond both support my decision. Come to King’s Landing. Your place is with us."

With a flick of your wrist, you cast the letter into the fire. The paper curled and blackened as the flames consumed it, the message reduced to ash. You watched it burn without a word, your face expressionless behind your mask.

The sound of the door opening behind you pulled your attention away from the fire. You turned, your eyes narrowing slightly as you saw Rhaenyra step into the room. She was calm, her expression soft but thoughtful as she moved with the quiet grace that always seemed to surround her. Her silver hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her violet eyes held the weight of too many burdens.

You nodded in greeting, acknowledging her presence, but said nothing. She took a seat in one of the chairs by the hearth, her fingers tracing the armrests as she stared into the flames for a long moment. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the exhaustion that lingered beneath her outward composure.

“I don’t know how to ever repay you,” she said quietly, her voice filled with a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. “For what you did for me, for my daughter.” She paused, glancing at you with an almost sad smile. “You refused every reward I offered.”

You stood silent for a moment before speaking, your voice low but steady. “I need nothing, Rhaenyra. I live to serve.”

Rhaenyra frowned at your response, her eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You speak of service,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I wonder… who or what do you serve, truly?”

You didn’t respond immediately, the question hanging in the air between you. It was a question you had asked yourself many times, but the answer remained elusive, always just out of reach. Rhaenyra watched you closely, waiting, but when you offered no reply, she didn’t press. Instead, she sighed, her gaze softening.

“You abandoned me,” she said quietly, her words carrying the weight of years. “All those years ago, when you left the court. You left without a word, and I never saw you again.”

There was no accusation in her voice, only sadness. It was a wound that had never fully healed.

“I have abandoned many things in my life,” you replied, your voice even, though there was a hint of something deeper beneath it.

Rhaenyra rose from her chair, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps. When she was close enough to reach out, she did, her fingers brushing against the side of your masked face with a tenderness that had never dimmed over the years. The warmth of her touch was a stark contrast to the cold distance you often kept between yourself and the world.

“You will always have a place by my side,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with conviction. “You belong here, with me.”

For a moment, you stood there, her hand resting against your mask, her touch filled with affection and something more. The weight of your shared history pressed down on you, and the years you had spent apart suddenly felt insignificant compared to the bond that still tied you to her.

But just as quickly as she had come close, Rhaenyra pulled away, letting her hand fall back to her side. She gave you one last, lingering look before turning and leaving the room, her footsteps fading into the distance as the door closed softly behind her.

You were left alone once more, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

And now, you were faced with a choice.

On one side, there was Rhaenyra—the Black Queen, the woman who had just bared her heart to you, offering a place by her side in the fight for the throne. She had never forgotten you, never let go of the connection you shared, and now she was calling you back, offering you a role in her kingdom.

But on the other side, there was Alicent, waiting for you in King’s Landing. The Dowager Queen, who had always been drawn to you despite her father’s warnings, now had the power to bring you back into the fold. She had reached out to you, offering a place in Aegon’s court, with the support of both Aegon and Aemond behind her.

Two queens, two crowns. Two paths.

And now, the choice was yours to make.

[tarrynightss]

How jealous are they and how do they show it?

Characters: Jake, Quaritch, Tonowari, Tsu’tey

Warnings: None

Jake Sully

Jealousy level; pretty low. He’s a fairly confident man who knows that you are his, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just let others flirt with you. He’ll put his arm over your shoulder, his back straight as he does his best to appear strong and steadfast. He won’t tell the person off. Jake will inject himself in the conversation, holding you close and putting in a “isn’t that right, sweetheart?” here and there.

He’ll tease you about the situation later, betraying that it does bother him a little bit. “Seems like you made a new friend today,” “You would think you have honey on your ass from the way he was following you,”. When you settle on his lap with a smile, it’s clear that you see through him. He’ll sigh in defeat before shrugging his shoulders and pulling you against him, his jealousy quickly forgotten as he is the one who holds you in his arms at the end of the day.

Miles Quaritch

Jealously level; high. Miles is a possessive man who doesn’t like people ogling what’s his. Fuck, he can’t blame them, you being the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not opposed to hitting someone square in the face if they stare at you too long, nor will he apologize for it. “What? That fool should mind where his eyes wander.”

Him constantly hovering around you to make sure you are safe also allows him to see every little thing, which is not good for his sanity. Some days it feels like he’s pulling you aside every few minutes, his ears pinned against the sides of his head as he kissed you angrily. He needs to feel you, needs to assure himself that you want him. Blowing off some steam that way allows him to calm down a bit, and saves others some nasty bruises.

Tonowari

Jealousy level; medium. Tonowari has that quiet but intense type of jealousy. He’ll watch something happen from a distance. A look that crosses your conversation partner’s face, or a touch to your arm or hand that’s just slightly too familiar. He won’t approach, won’t say a word. He’ll watch and wait for the person to come anywhere near him afterwards. When they do, he’ll grab onto their arm, and stare. The normally kind chief can give an angry stare that would shake even the toughest soldier. He doesn’t need to say a word, holding the other’s eyes for a minute before letting go of them with a slight push. The message is clear; don’t come close to my mate.

Tonowari won’t mention it to you, his jealousy only noticeable because of all the extra affection he shows you. He’ll give you a massage, kiss all over your body and give you one compliment after the other.

Tsu’tey

Jealousy level; high. After everything this man has lost he definitely has some abandonment issues. When someone else expresses interest you, Tsu’tey panics and lashes out. He’ll jump the other, pressing a knife to their throat as he makes it clear you are his mate, and the only way they’ll ever get to you is over his dead body. It takes him a long time of laying in your arms afterwards before he can calm down again, his breathing rapid and his muscles tense. His fear is clear to you, and if you do your best to comfort him and give him physical affection, he’ll stare up at you with such intense loving that it makes your heart hurt.

JUST GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK OKAY.

[biscuitsngravie]

the men are talking

cw/tags: stsg x reader, fem!reader, edging ?, vaginal fingering, whispers of pussy eating, whispers of overstim

wc: 1035

mx + b = y

That was the equation right? Right?

“So we’re going through all the formalities: when, where, the purpose and so on—”

“Sugu—”

“Quiet, baby, the men are talking,” Geto coos, gently letting up ever so slightly before resuming his pace. “And honestly, the venue is really nice. You remember Harajuku?”

Gojo hums in response, shifting a bit so that your head can lay a bit more comfortably in his lap, his legs crossed under you. Maybe it’s an accident, maybe it’s another level of sadism that he wants to layer on the situation, you couldn’t tell — all you know is that you can feel his growing heat press against your left cheek. 

If mx + b = y, then maybe if I solve… if i solve for x then—

Your breath hitches when you feel soft, lazy circles on your clit, the sensation leaving you just as quickly. You whine as you grip the sheets beneath you even tighter, turning your head into Gojo’s now full erection to your left. Everything feels so hot, the sheen of sweat covering you feeling more and more sticky as the torture continues. 

“Ssshhh,” Geto warns, continuing his previous conversation, “and you know it’s always seedy when they don’t tell you upfront about the sponsors.”

“Right,” Gojo affirms, leaning down to caress your sides, not bothering, no, refusing to look at you as you drool on his dick through his slacks. His touch feels electric, seemingly bored but barely holding on with his occasional squeezes along your curves. You swear you’re going to stop breathing when you feel his thumbs lightly brush over your nipples for a fraction of a second. 

“They start with the unnec—” Geto pauseses, sighing with feigned exasperation, “hold on.”

“M’sorry—”

“No no no, don’t start with that,” he says softly, prying your legs open once again. His middle and ring fingers have been teasing you for longer than you could count, not that you could count if you wanted to anyway. With the occasional brush the spot within you you couldn’t reach with your own fingers, and then occasional attention to your clit, following the instructions not to cum were becoming more and more implausible.

Your heart is beating heavy against your chest as he holds your thigh down with his free hand. Before you can even whine or beg for something more, the hands that visited your nipples return with a vengeance, pinching and plucking them with purpose. 

The sensations are too much, your back arching into the touch as your thighs tense under Geto’s hand. You let out a guttural moan, your toes curling as you shudder from each graze of a finger tip and each press to your core.

“Ahhh, shouldn’t’ve done that,” Gojo chides, mirth in his voice. He leans over, his voice dropping a few octaves and nearly to a whisper, his dick throbbing against your cheek, “You’ll get punished, you know…” the way he says it sounds less like a warning and more like an anticipation of your inevitable demise. 

You mewl into his thigh, jumping when Geto sighs and presses against the spongy part of you in the back more purposefully. You turn your head into the wet spot growing in Gojo’s slacks, gripping his thigh as you mewl into him. Your heart is threatening to jump out your chest as Geto presses his thumb to your clit, moving faster than before. You can feel your body tightening up, a pressure building in you when—

“Ah ah ah…” Geto stops immediately, causing you to cry out. “I told you—”

“Please! Please please,” you sob, drooling from the high you were desperately chasing. You cling to Gojo tightly, glancing up at him through wet eyelashes, your lip puffy from biting down on it. Hooded eyes that are nearly glazed over completely are enough to threaten to make him come on the spot. 

“Satoru won’t save you if he knows what’s good for him,” Geto says, reinserting his fingers and pumping slowly. 

Gojo closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. He moves away from your nipples to gently massage your breasts as he sits up. It takes only the mention of the incident to reel him back in, the memory of being forced to edge for an hour only to find relief from rutting on a pillow rather hot in the moment, but wholly unsatisfying. “Sorry babe, you’re on your own,” he says gently, giving a small peck to your cheek. 

It warrants a small, amused chuckle from Geto before he continues. “And so they said, ‘I’m sure you’re well acquainted with Gojo Inc. —”

“No way!” Gojo exclaims, squeezing your breasts in surprise. You abuse your bottom lip once again, taking it between your teeth. 

So if m is 5 and y is 3…

“Way!” Suguru confirms, pulling his finger from you completely and watching your pathetic hole clench around nothing. He smiles to himself when he surprisingly doesn’t hear a peep. He grunts as he repositions himself between your legs tying his hair and a bun and wrapping his arms around your thighs to lock you in place. 

“Suguru…” you say as a silent plea, sniffling as you feel each searing kiss get closer and closer to your needy cunt. 

“What did I say?” 

“Fuck…” comes from Gojo, nearly breathless. His own dick is achingly hard in his pants. “C-can I—”

“When I’m done,” Geto says with a smile, nuzzling his nose against your clit and relishing in the way you jump. Gojo lets out a whimper of his own as he watches the scene. 

“So they’re expecting me to pay for it?”

“Pretty much,” is all Geto says before laying his tongue flat against your heat. It’s dizzying, causing you to shut your eyes so hard you see small sparks of white. “Ha ha… always so fucking wet.”

In your delirium you swear you can feel Gojo’s dick twitch in his pants. “They’re not getting shit.”

“That’s what I said.” the hard point of his tongue presses over your needy hole, your thighs tensing under you. “Ah what the hell. You can come as much as you want, babe. Only I’ll decide when you stop.”

-- -- -- --

this is my first stsg x reader fic. i wrote it in a hurry cause this book pub im at asked me if i wanted to read erotica and i didnt feel like looking through my ao3 lol. thinking about possibly updating it properly later

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part eight

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Eight - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but when I wake up, the first thing I notice is the warmth of a bed beneath me, soft and comforting. It takes a moment for the fog in my mind to clear, but then I feel it—a heavy limb draped across my back, pinning me down. My heart skips a beat, panic rising before I realize who it is. I shuffle slightly, turning my head just enough to see Wade sprawled out beside me, his leg thrown over the middle of my back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His torso is nearly falling off the edge of the bed, his mask slightly askew, revealing a rare moment of peace on his scarred face.

I grumble, annoyed but not entirely surprised, and carefully shimmy out from under him. He doesn’t stir, still lost in whatever dream world he’s managed to escape to. I glance around, taking in the environment, and relief floods through me. It’s familiar, comforting. I breathe a sigh of relief. They found us.

I sit up properly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My muscles protest, sore from whatever happened before I blacked out. As I survey the room, I catch sight of Logan standing in the corner, a glass in hand, drinking from what I immediately recognize as Remy’s liquor collection. I shake my head slightly. Remy’s not going to be happy about that.

Logan turns to me, his eyes locking with mine. We don’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, just staring at each other, unspoken words hanging in the air. There’s a tension between us, a thousand things we should probably talk about but never will.

The silence is abruptly shattered when Wade shoots up, nearly falling off the bed in the process. He looks around, his usual manic energy snapping back into place.

“Where are we?” he asks, his voice groggy but laced with that familiar sarcasm.

I gesture to him and then to the room around us. “We’re in my bed. And this is the Borderlands.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, I hear footsteps approaching. My senses go on high alert, and I instinctively tense, but it’s just Elektra. She steps into view, her eyes sweeping the room, assessing the situation. I give her a small wave, and she responds with a short nod, her gaze lingering on Wade and Logan with clear suspicion. Then Eric walks in, followed by Remy and Johnny. The sight of them makes my heart swell with relief, and I quickly cross the room to hug Johnny. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel the tension in his muscles start to ease.

“I don’t know how the fuck you did that, but you saved my life,” Johnny mumbles into my hair. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable, and I can’t help but smile.

Wade immediately jumps in. “Okay, look at you all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are Wonder...”

“Elektra,” she corrects him, her voice sharp and clipped.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget?” Wade continues, undeterred. He shifts his attention to Eric, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you, I was not expecting to see you here, but you were, you know, retired.”

“Retarded?” Eric responds dryly.

“Retired. I’m already in The Void. I’m not trying to get canceled again.”

“I don’t like you,” Eric says bluntly.

“You never did.” Wade shrugs, then turns his attention to Remy. “And who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

Remy smirks, his Cajun accent thick as he introduces himself. “The name’s Remy LeBeau. De Diable Blanc. But you can call me The Gambit.”

Wade, ever the smartass, retorts, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade, hit me again.”

“They call me The Gambit,” Remy repeats, his tone laced with a challenge.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

“You know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.” Remy says to Logan who gruffly responds, “It's a good thing I don’t give a fuck.” Remy’s eyes flash purple as he whispers something under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, a playing card flies across the room, charged with kinetic energy. It shatters the glass in Logan’s hand, sending shards flying.

Logan glares at Remy, then his eyes flicker to Johnny, “How the fuck are you here?” he asks.

“Ask Y/n, she did it,” Johnny replies, glancing at me with a hint of pride.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like hurt crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. Wade claps his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Well, now that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you four,” Wade says, his tone suddenly serious.

“There’s five of us,” Elektra corrects him again, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“There’s five? Wait, is it Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto...”

“Dead,” Johnny interrupts, his voice flat.

“Fuck! Now the author gets lazy? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

Remy mutters something in French, and I try my best to understand, catching a bit about Wade being a nasty devil. Wade just grins, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s stirring up.

“Not a single word,” Wade quips, “What do you do exactly?”

“I charge the playing cards. Make them go boom,” Remy replies coolly.

“Your powers are close to magic. That’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So who brought us here?”

As if on cue, Laura walks in, her expression as fierce as ever. “That would be me. Don’t make me regret it,” she says, her voice icy.

Wade’s eyes widen in recognition. “Holy shit, Logan, that’s her, that’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.” He says to Logan who looks at Laura, then looks away. “How did you all get stuck in The Void?”

“There was a knock at the door. TVA sent me here,” Eric replies, his voice grim.

“Me too,” Elektra adds.

Remy shrugs. “Maybe I was born here, so it’s hard to know for sure.”

“The TVA decided our universe was dying, and I never even got a chance to fight for it,” Eric says, bitterness seeping into his words.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out,” Elektra adds, her tone fierce.

“The answer is yes, I’m in,” Wade declares, his voice filled with determination.

“In what?” Eric asks, confused.

“A team. Me, you, you and me, all of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar,” Logan snaps, his voice filled with anger.

“It was an educated wish! Look, we’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of The Void is through her. She can get us home. She told us. Look, there’s strength in numbers, all right? Us, plus you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of The Void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all,” Elektra retorts.

“I’m good,” Eric agrees.

“Gnawing at your gut like a coke duct tape worm.”

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul,” Wade says, his voice almost reverent.

I look at him, confused as to how these two seem to be matching each other’s energy so to speak. 

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. Maybe you couldn’t save your worlds, but Jesus Christ, you could save mine.”

“I don’t give a shit about your world, but if these four made it out alive, maybe together, we could get back in and take her down,” Elektra says, her voice laced with resolve.

“Where I come from, we call that suicide, cher,” Remy mutters, his voice somber.

“If we can block her psychic powers, we can get a leg up. I know it. Now, I know Magneto’s dead, but I venture to guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere.”

“Cassandra melted the helmet,” Eric says, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Fuck!” Wade curses, his frustration palpable.

“Then she killed him,” Eric adds.

“She don’t play,” Elektra says, her voice cold.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers. The only other helmet that strong is Juggernaut’s, but he works for Cassandra.”

“Juggernaut’s helmet, that’s it,” Wade says, his voice filled with hope.

“And we don’t be knowing that it ain’t coming out his head,” Remy warns, his tone cautious.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the weight of decisions that could change everything. 

Wade, pacing back and forth with his usual frenetic energy, stops and looks at Remy, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m so sorry, beautiful, how could this be gentle?” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who is your dialect coach? The minions? I feel like we’re missing critical exposition here.”

Elektra, her patience wearing thin, snaps, “I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of hiding. Let’s face it, our world’s forgot about us.”

“Or never learned about us,” Remy adds, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“The heroes we were,” Elektra continues, her tone growing more impassioned.

“The lives we saved,” Blade chimes in, his deep voice resonating with an almost mournful tone.

“Or wanted to save,” Remy finishes, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ground, lost in thought.

Elektra’s gaze hardens as she looks around at the group, her voice resolute. “Maybe these three are our chance, to be remembered the way we deserve.”

“Yes,” Wade agrees, his voice jumping an octave.

“An ending,” Elektra says, her voice filled with a mix of finality and hope.

“A legacy,” Blade adds.

Wade, unable to resist injecting some levity into the heavy moment, clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, let this man cook. This is what I’m talking about. Big slow motion, fight sad music, everybody working together. Who knows if you live or die, that sort of thing. Who’s ready?”

Blade straightens, his expression fierce. “I was born ready.”

Wade turns to Remy, a playful smirk on his lips. “Yes, Gambit?”

Remy shrugs, a wry grin spreading across his face. “I ain’t know my daddy, but I’m sure I shot-out-of-his-dick ready.”

Wade pauses, blinking in disbelief before shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, that is graphic. Pumpkin?” His gaze then drifts over to me, and I can feel his eyes on me, almost as if he is trying to read my thoughts.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’ll do it,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. I glance at Logan, searching his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. “I might regret it,” I admit, the weight of my words hanging in the air. “But I have nothing to lose.”

Wade’s expression softens, a rare moment of sincerity in his chaotic persona. “Oh, sweet cheeks, you won’t regret it. The author has some crazy plans for you.” He then tunrs his attention to Laura, his voice taking on a challenging tone. “X-23, what’s it gonna be?”

“The name’s Laura,” she says, her voice cold and determined. “Let’s fucking go.”

Wade grins, his excitement bubbling over. “Let’s fucking go.”

Elektra’s eyes blaze with a fire that has been long extinguished. “We’re doing this,” she declares, her voice unwavering.

Logan, ever the cynic, mutters darkly, “You’re all fucking dead.”

Wade, not missing a beat, shoots back, “My god, read the room.”

Logan huffs and storms out the room, I watch him leave, hesitating before following. I hear Wade whispering from behind me to no one in particular. “It’s happening, they’re finally going to communicate. Thank you, sweet author. I’m sure the readers were tired of the dialogue recaps.” His voice fades away as I follow after Logan.

Next Part

A/N: Guys, this chapter is a lotttt of just going through the meetings of the other characters, the good shit is coming soon. Sometimes when I’m writing for scenes that are in movies I find myself getting really repetitive with it, so next chapter I’m taking more creative liberty.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[kithtaehyung]

minted: part two (snippet) (m) | myg

snippet: minted: part two (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au series: masterlist | part one summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! enjoy this snippet since i missed the initial part two drop! note 2: this series is for @sailoryooons, @joonary, and @minttangerines! love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma, poor reader :(((, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee…, tension, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn est. drop date: september 16th, 2024 snippet word count: 1.5k est. total word count: 9k >:))

—

—

There’s something to be said about the human gut. 

Not because it’s the source of multiple health aspects, or the way it’s connected to the brain. 

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you? 

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run? 

You don’t know if you released your hand or if Yoongi let it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink. 

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking. 

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too. 

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree. 

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down. 

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you! 

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too? 

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff. 

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved. 

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is. 

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on? 

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling. 

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with. 

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are. 

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home. 

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors. 

Perfect.

“What.” 

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.” 

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?” 

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket. 

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends. 

This is all too much. 

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.” 

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm, and the voice you hear courses through your ears, “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside wait he’s gonna let you go that easily? 

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian. Nor man, for that matter.

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization. 

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him than you are by yourself right now. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun. 

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with Yoongi, either. You don’t even know who he is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again. 

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done. 

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again. 

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal. 

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back. 

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance? 

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic. 

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening. 

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a hotel employee, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches. 

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire. 

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not. 

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse. 

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions and words you can’t name.

Yeah.

You fucked up.

Fuck.

-

-

tbc. :))

-

are we ready for the drop?! | join the taglist!

a/n: this is just the beginning!! who knowwwws what's gonna happen during the rest of the 9k+ lsdkfjdskl thank you all so much for hanging in there for me as i navigate multiple hobbies and endeavors. it means a lot to see your words of encouragement! always appreciated, and i hope you look forward to the real drop hehehe. more links: masterlist

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 4 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to let me know if you prefer the OC to become y/n and/or gender neutral.

Also, I apologize for any mistakes you might find, I'm just a French girl doing her best with Google Translate and her average score of 5 in English classe.

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Happy reading!

Chapter 4

Luxiana laughed silently as she made an apologetic face at the three Illyrians, asking them silently to forgive Nesta's behavior. 

They sat down around the table, leaving Tamlin's sleeping body on the ground, which Lucien and Feyre had gently put his back against a wall, waiting for him to wake up. Nesta had taken her place at the end of the table, and Elain at her side soon found herself facing Lucien. Feyre positioned herself at the redhead's side and Rhysand, to Feyre's dismay, took his place beside her. Cassian and Azriel sat in front of them, with Luxiana at the end of the table between Rhys and Cassian.

Dinner was very tense. Nesta didn’t stop throwing cutting remarks at Feyre and Lucien defended her, although he was quieter with Elain, to whom he only gave blushing glances. 

As for Cassian, Rhysand and Azriel, who understood nothing of the animosity between the sisters, remained silent, not caring how Feyre was treated or what had happened to them. That said, giving sideways glances at the pretty blonde at their side, the three Illyrians could see that she’d lowered her head. Their soulmate seemed saddened by the quarrel between the three Archerons, and this was what made them curious and wanting to know more about the situation. 

Azriel tried to find out more and Elain vaguely explained that they didn’t take care of Feyre when they should have. Cassian was irritated to see the situation impact his soul mate, so he wasn’t able to restrain himself from throwing bad remarks at the viper who was their host. Rhysand, as a good high lord, had to contain his anger despite wanting to do the same as Cassian, and so, he deviates the conversation to the subject of the queens, the meeting and the letter he would like to send them. 

Luxiana kept her eyes focused on her plate, her head bowed, her eyes sad. She didn’t listen to any of the conversation, her thoughts still focus on what Feyre told her she'd been through in the past few months. She was sad, and she knew she couldn't totally hide her sadness when she raised her head from time to time to pretend to listen to the sisters' words, but she couldn't stop her heart from breaking. She had let Feyre suffer. She failed to protect her despite the fact that Feyre saved her life. She couldn't make the same mistake again. She couldn't let Feyre go back on the other side of the wall. At least, not alone. 

“Write the letter to the queens, Elain and I will go post it tomorrow. We're leaving,” said Nesta, rising from the table with an air of disdain that allowed Luxiana to shake her head and come back to herself. “Luxiana will show you your rooms.” 

They both disappeared, allowing the atmosphere in the room to lighten a little. 

Feyre turned a somewhat shocked gaze on Luxiana, realizing something. “Do you live here?”

Luxiana nodded, smiling. “They offered it to me when they realized I was sticking to them all the time. Besides, I'd almost settled here in spite of them anyway, so it was easier to keep an eye on them.”

“Wow,” exclaimed Cassian with shining eyes, “you've managed to charm that viper?” 

He was undoubtedly talking about Nesta, which caused Luxiana to burst out laughing uncontrollably. 

Cassian began to feel pride swell in his chest at the hilarity he had provoked in the blonde. Azriel couldn't believe her ears. How was it possible to have such a melodious laugh and look so beautiful? Rhysand had to hold on to the table with both hands, his whole body tickling. 

“Do you doubt my capacity for seduction, Commander of the Armies? I can charm anyone when I want to,” Luxiana said with a smirk, winking at the brunette with the red siphons.

Cassian had to brace himself to keep the member between his thighs from swelling. This woman was his soul mate, damn it, he could feel it in his bones, in his heart, under his skin. 

Azriel felt a wave of jealousy and anger devour him from the inside. He didn't want her to charm anyone, just him, and she'd already succeeded very well.

Cassian was his best friend, but Rhysand could have sworn he'd have ripped his skin off if he wasn't also his soulmate's mate.  

“You haven't changed a bit,” exclaimed Feyre.

“What?” smiled Luxiana, already knowing full well what her best friend was going to say.

“Stop flirting with everyone,” mocked Feyre. 

The three brothers couldn't help but tense up even more, gritting their teeth. They really didn't like hearing that their mate had already flirted with men before them. They felt even more irritated than before. Although Cassian's ego took a whack at the understanding that she didn’t only flirt with him and that he has then nothing special, his disappointment was rapidly replaced by sharp anger and all-consuming frustration. Azriel had the irrational urge of wanting to find her previous lovers and rip off their hands, eyes and tongues. Rhysand had to restrain his power to explode around him and kill every man in the land because some of them had once laid eyes on his soul mate. 

No matter how much they tried to reassure themselves that this woman was far too charming to have never had a relationship before, the idea that other men had already laid hands on her seemed to plunge them into an incomprehensible rage. They were so jealous that it made them feel as if they were being torn into a thousand little pieces. It was a completely strange, crazy and incoherent sensation. Illyrians were possessive, but the way they were with that girl although they didn't even know her was already far too insane. As if they could feel more emotions than before... As if… As if their feelings were multiplied by three. 

***

Luxiana gave a room to Feyre, who hoped to be joined by Tamlin during the night, and left Lucien in another room with a polite smile. 

“Are the three of you going to sleep together?” asked Luxiana, opening the door to the largest room in the house to allow the Illyrians access.

“Yes, as we don't know the place, it would be safer for us to stay together,” replied Rhysand. 

The three brothers entered the room, examining it from floor to ceiling, then turned back to the blonde unable to take their eyes off her for too long.

“Unless you invite me to sleep in your room,” Cassian whispered seductively to the blonde.

Luxiana returned his expression. She really wasn't intimidated by Cassian or his obvious way of flirting with her, and he loved it. 

“My room's at the end of the corridor, you can sleep there if you want, but unfortunately I won't be there tonight.” 

The three Illyrians froze, tensing their muscles, trying to hide their irritation. Why the hell wouldn't she be in her room tonight? Whose room would she be in?  

“Are you leaving?” questioned Azriel, frowning and gritting his teeth.

“Indeed, I must...” Luxiana began hesitantly, “...go and do something.”

“In the middle of the night?” grumbled Rhysand, squinting with incomprehension. “What kind of thing do you have to do?”

The blonde lowered her eyes for a second, her empty gaze shining with a glint of sadness. “The kind of thing that's not going to do me any good if you ask me, but... I've got things to elucidate before…”

She shook her head before saying too much. She didn't know if she could trust them, and anyway, what she was going to do with her life, how much she wanted to protect Feyre or the goodbyes she was going to give tonight were none of their concern.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel didn't like this at all. Luxiana remained mysterious about her occupations and distorted by a bitter taste of jealousy on their palates and a vice in their guts, they felt like they had a bad feeling. They really didn't like it.

“Isn't it dangerous for humans to walk alone in the streets in the middle of the night, especially for a woman as pretty as you?” asked Cassian, clasping his hands behind his back so he could clench his fists without her noticing.

Luxiana shrugged mockingly. “It is, but I'm in a good mood today, I shouldn't be attacking anyone.” 

Cassian smiled for a second, he loved her confidence, but he soon lost it. He and his brothers were no longer in the mood for laughter either. 

“Will you be alone?” asked Azriel in a much colder intonation than he would have liked. 

Luxiana squinted and gritted her teeth, shivering. Part of her didn't like the tone, but another thought it was far too sexy. “You three do ask a lot of questions,” she remarked suspiciously as she crossed her arms, forcing herself to scowl. She didn't understand their curiosity or the point of all their questions, and then suspiciously thought they were trying to get some compromising information.

Azriel's anger buzzed in his ears. Why was she being so secretive about her destination and intentions? Was she meeting another man? Someone she would love more than him and who already took his heart? He gritted his teeth. 

The irritating mix of feelings Cassian was trying to contain as best he could was insane. He couldn't stop the flow of anger and frustration inside him. He knew all these questions were intrusive, especially for people who didn't know each other, and he didn't want to sound indiscreet, but damn it, it was killing him not to know where she was going or what she was going to do.

Rhysand held back a grimace as he noticed the young woman's discomfort and realized they'd gone much too far, “Let's just say we don't want anything to happen to a woman as charming as you coming to our aid.”

Luxiana had to lower her eyes and head for a moment, biting her tongue to stop herself from blushing. She didn't believe his concern for a second, but the way he'd tilted his head and leaned forward toward her with a piercing gaze had the merit of warming her cheeks.

She raised her head with a confident look, forcing herself to appear self-assured “Your concern is touching, but don't worry, I'm used to it. I'll be back at dawn. Have a good night.”  She wasted no more time, going out of the room, and closing the door behind her, leaving shocked and angered Illyrians there.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel said nothing more, standing with swinging arms in the middle of the room. Each of them struggled with the irrational urge to follow their soulmate, whom they barely knew, to make sure she was all right and didn't go off with another man.

“We should follow her,” Azriel gave up first.

“No, we can't penetrate into her intimacy like that,” Rhysand remarked reluctantly, his own insides making him pay. He needed so much to follow her, to touch her, to feel her. His whole body was burning all over, clamoring to be near her, but he knew full well it was overstepping his rights and interfering in her privacy. “She said she was used to it, so there's no reason for us to worry.”

“Speak for yourself I've got a whole bunch of reasons running through my head right now,” Cassian retorted with a worried look, his breathing suddenly panting. He plopped down on the bed and rested his forearms on his thighs, despite one of his legs jumping up and down in a hurry. “It's been months since we haven’t seen you smile, Rhys. Ever since you came back, you've been like a ghost, but there, in front of her, you gave the impression of being you again, of being alive again.”

Rhysand didn't answer, his gaze still focused on the door where his soulmate had just left him. He knew his brother was right. This woman was his mate, and the burst of life she had awakened in his chest was doing him a world of good. He felt alive again. Ever since he'd laid eyes on her, Rhysand was breathing. He was breathing, for God's sake. She'd given meaning to everything he'd experienced. Everything. He didn't even know her yet, and yet the mere words he'd exchanged with her had already filled him with excitement. 

Azriel also detailed Rhysand. Cassian was right, Rhysand hadn't behaved like this since he'd returned. The Illyrian with the blue siphons was very worried about his brother and what he must have gone through under the mountain. It pleased him to see that Rhysand seemed to be coming back to life a little thanks to this girl, but it drove him crazy with rage because he too felt alive thanks to her. He would always sacrifice his happiness for his brother's, especially after what one of them has been through for fifty years, even if it made him tired to have to do it, he'd have done it. He would have left his brother the woman he loved. But here, with her, his soul mate, he simply couldn't think of not having her, even if it was at his brother's cost. She was his. 

Cassian looked at his two brothers in turn. He could almost read their minds and know what they wanted. Luxiana. She was their soulmate. He knew they felt strange things for this girl, something beyond simple attraction because he felt the same way they did. This woman intrigued them. Her mind and body reacted in a thousand ways in her presence. Hell, there was no doubt about it. Especially not the way her body tingled whenever she laid eyes on him, or the way his mouth burned with the desire to taste her. And it wasn't just physical; Cassian had already been physically attracted to a woman and it had never disturbed him so much. Even now, with Luxiana gone, he still thought of her and his muscles burned with the desire to pursue her. She was everything and the only thing he and his brothers wanted, because she was their soulmate. 

“What if she's going to join another man?” growled Azriel, mad with rage and jealousy at the thought, his teeth clenched so tightly it was hurting him. 

Cassian growled as he clenched his fists, his jealousy tearing at his stomach. 

Rhysand felt the same, but his good conscience was stronger for the moment. “It's her life. We can't stop her from doing what she wants.” His words burned his tongue.  Hell, he wanted to give up and join her, but it feels so wrong. 

“We're not stopping her from doing anything, we're just making sure she doesn't get hurt,” Cassian said as he gripped the edge of the mattress, squeezing the sheets between his fists. What he just said was only part of the truth. He also wanted to make sure she didn't join another man tonight. He couldn't help it. 

Azriel was shaking, an image of a man touching that fragile little woman to hurt her emerging in his mind. “Stay here if you like, I'm going.” He threw himself at the door to open it and step out of the room.

That was all Cassian and Rhysand needed to follow him. The three of them made themselves invisible and ran silently towards Luxiana. They caught up with her in the entrance hall. They winced as they watched her rush out of the house without even putting on a coat or grabbing a cloth to cover her arms. 

Luxiana stepped into the biting cold of the night and headed for the stable to pick up a horse. When she'd seen Feyre in the house, she'd forgotten how she'd frozen to death this morning fulfilling yet another mission Kaden had given her, and how she'd promised herself to take a coat the next time she went out.

The cold was brutal this evening, but Luxiana, because of her guilt over what had happened to Feyre, accepted the wind's bite on her face and arms as a deserved punishment. Her best friend had suffered far worse under the mountain because she'd been too stupid to trust herself and that she hadn't gone to make sure she was okay. 

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel followed her, flying at a distance as silently as possible, but worry, anger and jealousy made their bodies hum loudly. Such a fragile little human should not be wandering out alone in the dark night in such cold temperatures without any protection. From where they stood, they could see her arms and face reddened by the temperature in the negative, and notice her limbs shaking violently.

Cassian had to fight with every cell in his being that urged him to throw himself at her to warm her up and bring her back to the Archerons' abode. He didn't like the idea that she had someone so important to see that was so worth putting her life on the line for. He didn't like the fact that she hadn't even thought of taking a coat. He didn't like the fact that she hadn't wanted to tell them where she was going. And fuck, he didn't like the tugging, aching sensation of his body which just wanting to take her in his arms.

Azriel was angry. She should have brought a coat. She needed to be punished for going out so late, especially if it was to join another man, so the cold was an excellent way to do it for her. But damn, it was so crazy and reckless for a young woman to be walking around half-naked in a frozen landscape. It meant that the person she was joining was more important than her own life, and the idea that it might be a man drove Azriel mad with rage. If that were the case, he'd burn every inch of this man's skin that had come into contact with his soul mate and he would make her watch.

Rhysand was worried. Humans got sick very easily. She could become seriously ill from this cold. His soul mate. His fragile, human, little soul mate. He was already so worried about her when she wasn't even his yet. A part of him - which he didn't even know how his good conscience still managed to fight - just wanted to kidnap her and lock her up in his house, where she'd be safe, cherished and loved. But he knew she wouldn't be happy, not by being forced into a place against her will. And it was knowing his soul mate was happy that mattered most to Rhysand.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Luxiana disappeared. The three Illyrians froze in mid-air for a moment, before rushing down to the place where they last saw her. They put their feet down, looking in all directions, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but she had vanished.

“What the hell?” panicked Cassian, spinning around in circles, trying to catch a clue to the disappearance of his soul mate. 

Rhysand's heart pounded in his chest and a ball of anguish crushed his gut as he prayed that nothing bad had happened to his soul mate. 

Azriel managed to keep a controlled calm, or rather a controlled panic. He noticed the footprints of the horse his soul mate took, which were still very much present in the icy white layer of the ground, despite the thick snowflakes that were falling. 

Their visibilities were reduced, but the tracks Azriel could see showed him that his soul mate had turned off to the side in one fell swoop, leaving the road and entering the dense forest ahead. 

“This way,” he told his brothers in a voice louder and sharper than necessary, a voice filled with anger and uncertainty. 

They threw themselves body and soul into the wood, following the horse's footsteps and chasing their soulmate to make sure she was all right. But the forest was too dense, the trees too close together, the grass far too tall for them to follow the trail properly and quickly, and above all, there were other tracks everywhere. Animals that had passed by and were unintentionally blurring the trail. All that, until they totally lost the track of their soulmate.

Worry, anger, guilt and frustration made them tremble. How could they lose track of her so stupidly? They felt so dumb. Their mate !

They searched everywhere for hours and hours, but they hadn't found her. Not even in the next village, where Rhysand had searched everyone's minds to see if anyone had seen her, but she had simply disappeared. 

In the end, they resigned themselves to returning to the Archerons' home, their only hope being that she knew where she was going, what she was doing and, above all, that she would come back safe.

[derfpossessions]

Rented You Out - Part 2

(Read Part 1 if you haven’t already!)

Chapter 1 - Exposed

Moments after Markus got ejected from Denholm’s body, he got up and got dressed with the extra clothes he brought. He then got Denholm dressed too. He got very curious on the switch behind his back, which was currently on “on”. He then flipped it back up, where all of a sudden Denholm started breathing. The rip on his back was also completely gone. He was human again. Markus saw this as an opportunity to escape Denholm’s house, when suddenly he woke up. “Ma..Markus??? Wha..what are you doing here??”, Denholm said while breathing heavily. Markus didn’t moved a single muscle. He didn’t even wanted to turn around as he was going to open the door. “Markus hold on! Why do I feel… tired.. like my insides hurt so bad…” Denholm added. Again, Markus didn’t say a word. “Markus I knew you did something to me. What did you do?! Markus!” Denholm got increasingly angry. Markus finally turned around and screamed, “You were turned into a goddamn suit! You got kidnapped and got abused by a group of men and left you at the gym where I discovered you and then you became a literal bodysuit so I decided to put you on for a day so I can spend time more closer to you!” Markus abruptly said everything that happened. Denholm was stunned. “What?!?” He stood up. “Look at your back! It has a switch in it! If you turn it on, you’ll lose consciousness and become a bodysuit that anyone can control!” Markus started explaining how it worked. Denholm was more shocked to see the lustful selfies that Markus took on his phone which he forgot to delete. “Bro listen… I’m tired of all the bullshit I’m going through right now so please. How do I fix this??” Denholm begged Markus. The two got more tense and Markus was put under pressure. “Why is this my fault?! All that you should know is that I was the one who discovered you! Who saved you! Who covered up a story for you! And I did that ALL for you because I love you!” Markus started tearing up, and he walked away. “Markus please.. don’t leave me. I know you love me but I love someone else.. but please. Don’t leave me here.” Denholm begged Markus to stay. Markus reluctantly agreed. Time flew by and the two started discussing on how to handle the situation, then something else came up to the discussion, Denholm’s father. He is currently in pain right now and is suffering from a severe chronic disease, and Denholm doesn’t know how long he will last. His family is also running low on funds to sustain his father. Markus then jokingly said, “since we have you as a bodysuit, why not we turn that into a rental? Like someone would try to live your life in exchange for money.” “Are you crazy? That would of course violate me!” Denholm got mad. “Please trust me, I will take good attention of your body while you’re not conscious. I promise. I will set out limitations for the people that will use you.” Markus tried to convince Denholm, to which he said, “Well if that’s the only way… so be it.”

Chapter 2 - Mr Denholm

The next day has passed, Paula and Denholm went to school together as usual. Markus waited for Denholm so they can set out their plan. Conveniently and inconveniently, their teacher, Mr Singh was walking around the halls when he overheard the two’s conversation. He confronted the two of them and asked, “What in the blackmarket is going on here?!”. Markus said, “But.. its true.. You can live through as Denholm because he has the ability to turn into a suit..”. “Please, don’t expose us!”, Denholm begged.

Mr Singh then grinned. “Expose? Well I think you got the wrong idea. Actually I NEED to live someone else’s life! This is a wonderful idea to have!” Markus and Denholm were in shock. “In fact, allow me to be your very first customer. I really wanted to know what it feels to go back to high school. Especially as a popular boy like you.” Mr Singh said.

At the school’s boys shower room, the three initiated their plan. “Are you ready Denholm?”, Markus held his best friend’s hand. “Yes. All for my dad. Take care of me bro.”, Denholm surrendered to his fate. Denholm got undressed and wore only a bathroom towel as Mr Singh got prepared.

“Just turn on the switch and start wearing inside him. Legs first then up to head.” Markus explained. Mr Singh went to the other room and got undressed. Denholm was turned around. “Ready when you are”, Denholm said. Mr Singh switched it on. Denholm was a suit again.

There was minimal sound when it happened, so Markus assumed it was going very well and smooth. After around 5 minutes, a new Denholm emerged from the other room, wearing teacher’s clothes.

He was just looking at Markus while chuckling. “De..Denholm? What happened?” Asked Markus. “No. it’s Mr Singh.”, “Denholm” replied. Markus’ heart sank as he saw Denholm looking like a hot math teacher. “Woah… sir.. you look attractive..” Markus was in awe. “Don’t call me sir, that’s awkward! Just call me Denny! I’ll be your bro for the day!”, said Mr Denholm. Markus nodded and whispered to himself, “Damn. Daddy got more daddified?! What in the actual fuck?!?”

Chapter 3 - Youth in You

Mr Singh was filled with ecstasy at that time. He didn’t know where to start, if he wanted to ace a math test, play at the football field, get cheered by his co workers at the faculty, or make fun of the students that he hated. You name it.

“I am so grateful for this Markus. I’m feeling SOOO ALIVEEEE!!” Mr Singh or Denny said as the two walked down the hallway.

“Umm… Mr Singh-erm- Denny, it’s just weird to hear my friend say that, considering that he always feels down.” Markus felt like he was always missing something from Denholm.

“What?? But I’ve always seen this kid as the happiest man alive! And who would’ve thought I would ever see the world through these eyes!” Denny said while admiring Denholm’s body.

“Well you wouldn’t get it sir. If only you witnessed the time when he told me that he didn’t wanted to live his life AT ALL. It’s always the people that seem happy who actually feels miserable in their lives.” Markus was sad.

“Geez… that’s really awful to hear. I’m sorry if I was insensitive about it. I wish I could hug your best friend right now to comfort him.” Denny stopped smiling and turned very serious.

“I mean… can I hug you sir?? Or him..” Markus was about to tear up.

Denny opened his arms to hug Markus. “It’s okay, come here. Rub it in.” Markus embraced Denny’s body.

“May I ask why… are you crying??” Denny wondered.

“Well… um… I love him. I love Denholm.” Markus confessed to Mr Singh.

“Oh-ohh… that’s really.. that makes a lot of sense now.” Denny was shocked.

Without a warning when Denny turned around, Markus grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. Denny hesitated and pushed him away.

“Markus what the fuck?!? Why did you do that?!” Denny was bewildered.

“I’m sorry!! I’ve been wanting to do that to him for a long time! But the rejection hurts too much!” Markus was desperate.

“Well Markus let me tell you something, you are a GOOD kisser.” Denny was impressed. “I know you’re hurt and all, but what about you forget about all that and let’s have a little bit of… fun”, He added.

“What the fuck? Sir! This is wrong! You’re violating my friend! I’m violating my friend!”

“Well, the contract stated I could do ANYTHING I WANT. So come here to my classroom before I change my mind.” Denny was pissed but maintained his seductiveness. Markus had no choice but to submit to him. Denny then grabbed him into the Math classroom to have a little fun time.

Chapter 4 - Stuck With You

The tension between Markus and Denny increased, as Denny closes the classroom doors and turns off the lights. He then proceeds to take his shirt off.

“Have you ever wondered what you and Denholm would’ve been if he was actually gay?”, Denny flirted with Markus.

“I think about that every night..”, Markus sighed.

“Well you don’t have to wonder now 🫦, Come here baby.” Denny started to move towards Markus. Markus felt mixed emotions as he indulges on Denny’s warm body.

Then, here comes the fun part. As Markus undresses to reveal his hardening 5.7 inches down under, Denny looked in awe. “Hard already? Let’s do it.” Denny then stripped to reveal his new rubbery 6.8 inches.

The room suddenly got sweaty, and suddenly Denny’s body shimmered in glimmering white. It was all so perfect, like a movie scene, something Markus would’ve longed for, and now he finally had it.

“Yes… yess.. YES!!” Markus started screaming. The pleasure was so good and it felt so real for him. He never been happier in his life until that moment. The chalkboards rocked as the two slammed each other against the wall, sharing a sweet long kiss as the both of them felt each other. It was a goddamn fever dream.

Then, came the loads. “Hey stop! Don’t we need protection??!”, Markus stood up from the floor. “Why the fuck do we even need that?! This is a rubber dick!”, Denny laughed, then pulled Markus to the ground. Denny couldn’t resist it but to release massive amounts of load. Denny then inserted the huge thing into Markus, and the silicone-like texture made it more pleasurable for Markus.

The creams came pouring down, and that’s when Markus felt like he was drowning, but that’s when he could finally breathe. It was too good to be true. Well you know what else is too good to be true? NOT GETTING CAUGHT.

Suddenly, students from outside heard the blunt noises that were coming from the classroom, and knocked to see if something was up.

“What the fuck do we do?!?” Markus whispered.

“Go clean up the mess! I’ll assure them everything is FINE!” Denny said while wiping off the cream on the walls. The two got to work.

Denny opened the door and saw Denholm’s friend, and the student council Vice President, Sabrina. “Bro, what’s happening in there?” Sabrina looked at him weirdly as she noticed that Denholm looked and stood very oddly.

“Hey Sabrina, it’s nothing! I was just substituting for Mr Singh’s class and decided I would lock myself in the room to prepare!” Denny smiled.

“And the screams? I’m sure that was also part of the practice?” Sabrina looked in disgust.

“Well, I was raging over something that’s all. Say, why not you do me a favor and go to the faculty to pick up my stuff for class.” Denny redirected the question.

“YOUR stuff? Seriously dude what the hell is up with you today? You didn’t showed up to the council meeting this lunch and now I’m put in trouble because of some random screamings that came from this room!” Sabrina was mad.

“Well I’m sorry, I’ll promise I’ll make it up to you.” Denny apologized. She walked away as Markus appeared behind Denny’s back. Denny went to the window to have a talk with Markus.

“There’s no screamings, but there IS creamings.” Markus joked. The two laughed uncontrollably.

“I enjoyed it while it lasted, but sadly things need to come to and end.”, said Denny.

“You should spend the rest of the time hanging out with people. Trust me Denholm literally gets along with everyone. He makes everyone feel special.” Markus said.

“Ok, I’ll meet you later at the parking lot. And I promise, I’ll bring him back in one piece.” said Denny. The two then had one last kiss before Denny said goodbye.

Chapter 5 - Sweet Goodbye

As Markus pulled up to Denholm’s house, it was all set. It was time for Denholm to return.

“Are you ready Mr Singh?” Markus asked.

“Well I am gonna miss being this kid. He’s all I ever wanted to be.” Denny said as he looked into Denholm’s reflection and felt his body one last time.

“Here it goes. Goodbye.” Markus said. Mr Singh unzipped Denholm’s body and went out. Then, Markus turned off the switch. Everything is now back to normal. Mr Singh then bid farewell to Markus to head home.

“See you tomorrow, kid. Calculus homework is due.”, said Mr Singh.

“Markus.. is that you?” Denholm mumbled as he tried getting up from the ground.

“Denholm… I- I’m…” Markus couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Why.. why does my arms hurt so bad… And it felt like I pulled my groin… Argh… it hurts.” Denholm struggled to walk.

“Well.. nothing happened I promise!” Markus was shaking.

“That’s good to hear, you should get going now. Thank you so much bro.” Denholm hugged Markus as he left.

“Well, at least the real you is still kind to me. But I know all I’ll ever get is a hug.” Markus whispered as he walked away from Denholm’s place.