#they have no idea what’s going on but it’s clearly dangerous. it makes sense that a government agency might be formed

[midnightwind]

you guys like me going off on random DA tangents and musings, right?? because I've been awake too long so you're getting another one

I have been sat here trying to figure out Why Lucanis' prison looks like a bunch of ice and why it was so far away from the "lab" settings for a while now. (arguably two rooms fit this description, the one where Lucanis tells you about Zara and the one right outside his phylactery room) Like, even without that bridge being broken, it's in such a bizarre corner of the Ossuary. And I mean, it wouldn't really matter with a normal prisoner, but Lucanis was a notorious Crow and mage killer on top of that, plus he was Zara's special little guy to fuck with. You would not want to take him for a long walk to experience the worst shit on earth every few days. Maybe it's close enough to the little room where he mentions Zara and maybe she wanted him close to the door so she didn't have to go far to torture him, but again, leaving such a challenging subject close to the exit seems like a bad choice. You want him to have to get through so many guys and doors before escaping so you have time to take him down.

This also ignores the magic required to leave, but they're not clear on what that is and not all the Venatori are mages so there's gotta be a mundane way out he could snatch off a guard. I digress, the whole ice cage and far off room doesn't make sense. But we know they were shipping demons to Zara. (I'm pretty sure the few demons you confront in Minrathous were Zara's little pets set loose so we can assume she wanted them in the capital for the eventual Venatori coup on the crown) If Zara was about to be stuck in Minrathous for the foreseeable future, setting things into motion for Elgar'nan, I could see her wanting her pet Crow at her side. Especially if you consider the initial idea for Lucanis: he was going to be a mind controlled murder puppet before you break him out.

Sure, Spite didn't crack open his ribcage and crawl out like some new horror, but having a demon in Lucanis lets her control him via the phylactery if not just outright with her blood magic. Maybe his will was too strong for mundane control, but the phylactery works. We know it works based off of Lucanis' dialogue about it. So we know she had a surefire way to keep him under control. (There's a whole other post exploring the amount of dead Venatori and the fact that Lucanis still has his leathers and weapons [which would make sense if he was Zara's murder puppet, but alas] and whether Lucanis recently made a break for it or if the loose demons/spirits/undead killed them all) Maybe he kept his leathers because Zara wanted him presentable upon delivery, I don't know.

But I do think he was being prepped to move. The Ossuary is falling apart, Zara is pulling all the best results, they're losing personnel and servants without being given more; Zara was clearly moving on from that location. But she wanted her little Antivan prize. He's too dangerous to move normally, a Crow is likely to escape if given an inch especially a skilled one like Lucanis, so they need to lock him down somehow. Ropes and chains aren't reliable, not with a Crow, but he's not a mage. You can use magic. You can literally put him on ice. I think they were packaging him up in an ice cube and doing it next(ish) to the door so they could more easily move him. I think Zara was going to take him and his phylactery to Minrathous and use him to cause some absolutely ruthless mayhem in the city before her cult took it over.

I think Rook showing up weakened the spell being cast just enough for Lucanis and Spite to break out, and I think it saved a whole lot of lives.

[stars-obsession-pit]

A doorway not quite shut

Some incident or another knocked Danny into another universe, specifically into the city of Gotham. Luckily, he managed to make a portal to the Ghost Zone to get back home without anyone really giving too much notice to him.

However, though his portal mostly worked perfectly, one key aspect of it failed.

It didn’t fully close.

Ectoplasm, previously sparse in this universe, starts to leak through.

Effects aren’t immediately apparent. But gradually, it starts to sink into everything. Changing it, empowering it.

The city’s ghosts become stronger, more tangible. Its living citizens, too, are more durable. Tech experiences inexplicable glitches. Food, left for too long, starts to come alive.

It eventually becomes impossible to ignore.

What the hell is happening to Gotham City?

[blujayonthewing]

SUPREMELY frustrating that we found something actually really cool and intriguing and plot relevant in tonight's session but I'm still so constantly preoccupied with whether the DM is going to 100% kill us with sheer poor game design that I barely have enough brainspace left over to even enjoy it

[shidoukanae]

also now realizing there's a heavy possibility that the unknown event Daniel references where he asks Lyla "how are you going to find your happiness?" is the same event Helene references when she tells Lyla that Lyla "betrayed" her.

Coincidentally, that's probably the same event that allowed Helene to be manipulated by the Empress into turning against Lyla and might have been the cause of Daniel leaving Lyla (probably to find out how to awaken as a dragon so he could gain the power to take her away from her family faster? maybe even going so far as to try and compete w/ Paris for the throne if it means protecting Lyla?)

There's also a suspicious gap of time from when Helene was poisoned to when she told Lyla to get away from her that has been omitted. And considering baby Lyla cries about Helene not wanting to be with her anymore...and that same baby Lyla is seen hugging Daniel in the unexplored scene...Lyla what the fuck did you do to Helene to embitter her like this?

[phantom-dc]

Bruce sighed.

He never thought he would die like this. When he started out as Batman he was certain he would meet his end fighting the criminal underworld of Gotham. When he got older and life got stranger, he believed he would die fighting off a threat like Joker or Deathstroke, maybe even Darkseid. Being used as a human sacrifice to the King of the Infinite Realms was not on that list, let alone being a willing sacrifice.

Unfortunately, it had been necessary. An asteroid was on collision course with Earth. The asteroid had a colony of sapient alien life on it, so destroying it was not an option. As the League grew desperate, Constantine revealed a similar incident had happened a few years ago. The King of the Infinite Realms had, along with his subjects, turned the Earth intangible and both the Earth and the Asteroid had survived. Constantine isn’t sure why or how, but there are signs an extremely powerful ghost had merged realities and in the process erased the memories of this event from the entire population of Earth! The only reason Constantine knows about it is because a Demon with time-based powers told him during one of their poker games. Summoning this King was risky, as they had no idea what the King would want in return, but this entity seemed like their best bet. Now Bruce thinks they had been wrong.

Superman pulled Bruce out of his thoughts:

“Bruce, are you sure you want to go through with this? If we work together, we might be able to-”

Bruce cut him off:

“No, Clark. You heard Constantine. If we do not hold up our end of the deal, the Ghost King could simply make his ally, this “Clockwork”, reverse time to before the planet was saved. The Earth and the asteroid will still be destroyed, killing everyone on both. This is the only way.”

Clark looked dejected. He knew his friend was right. The King had turned the entire Earth intangible with one hand! He knew the League couldn’t defeat this foe, not without help. Any being that could help them would demand even more bloodshed in exchange, though. One human life in exchange of saving the entire planet had been a steal, according to the Justice League Dark. Clark looked at Bruce:

“Are you going to put on your cowl? This will be the only chance you have to tell the other Leaguers who you are.”

Bruce looked at his cowl. He had taken of his suit, so that his family had something to bury. But to reveal his identity to anyone other than Clark....

“I will keep it on. Even if I die here, I cannot risk anyone finding out my identity and using it to get to my family. I hope the League understands.”

Bruce is pulled into a hug. As Clark holds him as close as he can without breaking bones Bruce cannot help being filled with regret. He wanted more time with his family and, dare he say, friends. This was not how things were supposed to go. Clark pulls away and seems to want to say something:

“Bruce, I just want you to know, I-”

“WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON, B?”

Suddenly Nightwing enters the room, along with the entire Bat-family. Even Alfred and Oracle, donning masks, are there. They looked confused and scared, which made sense. They had all been summoned to the Watchtower, and when they had seen non-field members there as well they knew something was very wrong. Robin stepped forward, demanding an explanation:

“Father, what is happening? Why did you ask for us here? Explain yourself this instant!”

Red Robin looked ready to fight, staff in hand and in a low stance:

Where is the danger? Who is the enemy? Do you have intel for us? ARE YOU BEING MIND CONTROLLED?

Spoiler yanked at Red Robin’s cowl, pulling him out of his paranoid spiral:

“Easy, Captain Paranoid! Let him speak!”

Red Hood was clearly agitated. It was never a good sign if he was asked to the Watchtower:

“The fuck is going on, old man? Are you dying or something? That’s my stick, not yours!”

Bruce steeled his nerves. This was not going to be an easy conversation. How does one tell their family they are going to die and there is nothing to be done about it? Things had been going well for them, too. Dick and he hadn’t fought as often anymore, Jason had not called him names when he patrolled Crime ally last week, Tim hadn’t done anything that could be considered villainous (that he knew of) and Damian had not stabbed any goons for a month. Truly things had been good. Bruce knew this would mess it all up. He feared Jason would start killing again, or Damian would take out his grief on the criminals or Tim would… Well he had no idea. Last time Bruce disappeared Tim blew up so many LoA bases (he still wasn’t sure whether there had been people inside or not), so it was anyone’s gue-

“Sir, could you please elaborate on why we are here? I’m assuming it has something to do with the reason for this dreadful cold, and perhaps your lack of a shirt?”

Bruce sighed. Alfred always knew how to get through to him. With a heavy heart he told them everything. He would sacrifice himself for the survival of both planets. There was nothing to be done about that, and he asked them to please accept his decision. Naturally everyone was outraged. Amidst the chaos, Orphan asked a question:

“Why you?”

Bruce explained that, according to Constantine, the King had asked for a single sacrifice in return: “To feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed.” It had pointed specifically at Batman, making sure they all knew which one it wanted. There had been no time to negotiate the prize, so he had accepted. After that it had left immediately for Earth, turning it intangible so the asteroid flew through harmlessly and fulfilling its end of the deal. Orphan seemed to think for a bit, before speaking up again:

“We’ll miss you.”

She hugged Batman. The others, realizing there was nothing they could do, at least not before facing the King, joined in as well. Bruce told them how proud he was of everyone. That they were strong and brilliant, and to please protect each other and Gotham in his stead. He thanked Alfred and Oracle for their help over the years and to please continue to support the others with the same strength they used to help him. After a moment they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Wonder Woman had entered the room. With a saddened expression, and a dented doorhandle that showed her tension, she had come to collect her friend.:

“Batman. It’s time.”

Bruce nodded at her. Thanking her, he tried to leave with her, but was stopped by Alfred. After a quick hug, Alfed offered Bruce a cookie from the plate he had brought along:

“Every man deserves a final meal. I’m sorry this was all I have to offer.”

Taking a grateful bite, Bruce allowed himself to indulge in the taste of home.

“Thank you, Alfred. This means more to me then you realize.”

Steeling himself once more, Batman and the others followed Wonder Woman to the main room. It was the largest room in the Watchtower, several stories high with observation platforms, security screens showing cities all over the planet and a teleportation platform. As they approached the room, Batman was surprised by the cold that radiated form the entrance. Opening the door the source of all the cold and grief became visible to the group. Signal had to shield his eyes:

“What the hell!?!”

There it was, the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms. A giant being, which had been so large they had to move to the observation platform to speak with it. Even then it towered over the heroes. It’s skin impossibly dark, with constellations spotting its tail & torso. The stars converging on its lower arms, making it look like it was wearing glowing white gloves, the same as a strange symbol on his chest that seemed important. The stars on its neck blending seamlessly with its hair, yet leaving its head completely dark aside from a few little spots on its face. The only facial feature they could make out where 2 Lazarus green eyes, focused on the new arrivals. On its hand, a ring with a skull on it that had freaked out the Lanterns. On its head a dark crown covered in patches of frost, and its own Aurora Borealis spreading from it. The room had already been partially covered in frost simply from the King’s aura. Power emanated from it, which had caused several members that had been dead and revived before to kneel on reflex, which was frightening even if they managed to get up on their own again.

Martian Manhunter had tried to peek in the Kings mind, hoping to find a way to convince the King to spare Batman, but he had been unsuccessful. As soon as he tried his knees buckled, and he had been pushed out. Ever since the Ghost King had radiated frustration. Now, as Batman entered wearing only his cowl and some spare pants, that frustration seemed to spike dangerously. Was the King upset he had been left to wait for his offer?

"What the fuck is this? I didn’t ask for a striptease, especially from some old Frootloop!”

“Constantine, what’s wrong? What is it saying?”

Batman was worried. He had not expected more anger from the being when presented with the offering. Looking at Constantine, he saw the magician frantically looking through the pages of his books, desperately looking for a translation.

“Hang on, mate. I’m doing my best here! Ehrm… no, that’s not right… Something about mating? Maybe he likes you, Bats. He also said something about ��the absence of clothing” so…

Suddenly he is cut off by a strange sound coming from the Ghost King. It makes a strange motion with its body and its giant maw opens, as more of those sounds escape. It reminds Robin of Alfred the Cat when he has a hairball. However, there is more sound in the Watchtower now. The Red Hood is clutching his stomach as he is doubling down in laughter.

“HAHAHAHA!!! WHAT? HOW THE FUCK DID YOU TRANSLATE THAT BADLY? HOLY SHIT!”

The Ghost King stops making the noises, and it’s eyes snap to Red Hood. It moves it’s head closer to him, casually passing it through the barrier Constantine had put up. Constantine’s swears in surprise, but the King seems not to care as it “speaks” to Red Hood:

"Oh, thank the Acients! Someone who understands Ghost Speak! Can you PLEASE help me and translate for us? This trench coat guy is terrible, and somehow twists everything I say in the worst way!"

Red Hood relaxed, looking up at the Ghost King’s giant head.:

“Sure man, no problem. I’m pretty sure he is using like 3 different dictionaries to get this far. I saw him first translate Ghost to Pixie, Pixie to Gnome and Gnome to Demon before telling us in English! So, what’s up?”

Batman was stunned. The Ghost King actually face palmed. What the heck was going on?

"Of course he is. That explains why it sounds like he is putting this through Google Translate 4 times! These guys summoned me to save the Earth, which, totally cool. Happy to help! But a summons makes it official, which means I need to get an offering. I can’t leave without it or I face a mountain of paperwork from some stupid bureaucratic eyeballs for not following proper procedure. But I can always ask something simple and get it over with. No biggie, right? WRONG.”

Red Hood actually grabs a chair to sit on. Not even in a somewhat respectful way, he is sitting on it backwards, casually leaning on it.

“Oh, boy. How badly did they fuck up? Gotta be big since Batman over there is ready to be eaten?”

The King glares at Constantine, who puts up his bravest “time to out-bollock a Eldritch Demon” face. The King is not impressed:

"Man, I asked, and I quote: “I’d like to eat a regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like that guy would eat!” I wanted it to be clear I didn’t want blood, or corpses or virgins or any of the other horrible things stupid cults try to give me! I just wanted a burger or something! But then Mr. triple dictionary over there somehow turns that into: ‘’I wish to feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed, and it must be that one.” I’ll admit I was pointing at one of the non-supers, but that didn’t mean I wanted to eat him! I just wanted to make sure it was normal food, something that doesn’t fight back!”

Red Hood looked confused, asking if the King’s food usually fights back. The King rolls it’s eyes:

"In life, I lived with mad scientist parents who treated lab safety as a suggestion at best and a chore for teens at worst. Put enough samples in the fridge and you get a whole new type of Thanksgiving trauma. Dang, I’m getting even more hungry. I’d love some turkey right now. Could you get them to bring me some food? That way I can have my sacrifice and leave…”

Red Hood stands up. He asks if the King can wait a few more minutes, claiming that after all that frustration he deserved something better. Getting a nod from the Ghost King, the Red Hood suddenly shouted over the platform railing towards the waiting Leaguers:

“FLASH! Get your squad up here, and bring pen & paper! I got a job for y’all!”

Zooming up every member of the Flash family gets a list of things to get and a warning not to tell the Bats what’s on it, or Red Hood will shoot them in the knees. Looking at the lists, they quickly caught on what was going on and promised they wouldn’t tell. This was way too funny! Red Hood does a fake bow to the King, clearly amusing himself.

“Don’t worry, your Hungry-ness! Your sacrifice is being prepared! Anything else we can assist you with?”

The Ghost King seems to tilt its head in amusement. Whatever Hood was doing, it was working, which honestly was the only reason nobody had tackled him to the floor.

"Actually, if you could get that Frootloop to put on a shirt that would be great. He is shivering and honestly, I’m worried he’s going to poke someone’s eye out with a nipple. Why is he shirtless anyway? Please tell me he wasn’t actually trying to seduce me or something, he’s old enough to be my dad! Gross!”

This caused Red Hood to again double over in laughter. Everyone was confused, what could possibly be so funny in this situation? Constantine had frantically tried translating during their conversation, but it had gone too fast for him. He gave up when the King mentioned eyeballs and seduction, accepting he wouldn’t get anywhere like this. Batman however couldn’t resist his need to know everything anymore.

“Hood, report! How are you communicating with the entity?”

Red Hood turns to Batman, walks past him and towards Alfred, grabbing one of the cookies he had brought with him. As he walks back and hands it to the Ghost King, he starts to explain:

“Honestly, not sure. It feels instinctive, like a second mother-tongue. Pretty sure it’s some sort of “dead-guy-language” you learn when you die. Speaking off: Turns out Constantine is a VERY unreliable translator. Spooky here is actually pretty chill! He used you as an example to make sure we knew what he wanted, not to demand you as a sacrifice. He is in fact pretty ticked that you guys tried to feed B to him. Speaking of: Batman? Put a shirt on, for fucks sake. You look like you’re going to freeze your tits off.”

This earned a round of giggles from Green Lantern & Green Arrow. Now that the tension had left the room, other Leaguers also smiled in relief. Besides, it’s always fun to see Batman being the butt of a joke. Sure enough, Batman let out a frustrated sound, that got the rest of the Bats to join in on the fun. They understood that their dad in fact felt rather silly right now, which meant that they had more to gossip about soon. Constantine now was wondering what Hood was up to:

“Mate, I did my best! Sorry for not being fluent in every language in existence. What the hell did you send the Flash to get? The bloke is a scientist and denies magic when it’s right in front of ‘im! What could they possibly get that I couldn’t-”

At that moment, the Flashes zoom out of the Zeta tubes and zoom across the observation deck. After a few moments of red and yellow blurs, the deck is covered with tables filled front to back with food! Picking up a receipt that fell to the floor, Batman realizes this is take-out from all over the world. Seeing a puddle of Lazarus water grow on the floor, he looks up. The Ghost King is actually drooling! Red Hood steps aside and gestures to the feast:

“Welp! There is your sacrifice! One. And I also quote: “regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like “that guy” would eat!” Well, more of a feast then a meal, but I’m sure a big guy like you can finish it, and you can always take home the rest I guess. Bon Appetit!”

Opening his giant maw, the Ghost King digs in. Well, as much as he can. He actually looks kind of silly eating everything with a tiny fork. Still, judging from the purring sound emanating through the Watchtower it’s to the Kings liking.

"DUDE, THIS IS SO GOOD? I need to know these restaurants! You want a bite for helping me out? You saved me SOOO much annoying paperwork, I was about to bail!”

Picking up a plate of karaage, Red Hood took of his helmet revealing a second mask underneath and dug in as well:

“Don’t mind if I do, this smells fantastic! Oh shit, you should try this stuff, it’s great!”

Red Hood being allowed to partake in the offering so casually caused Constantine to do a double take. He realizes he seriously misjudged this entity. Still, that didn’t explain the horrific stories about him. He would need to do some digging into that, maybe with Hood as a translator. For now he takes a swig of his drink. The world was saved, no one died or lost their Soul and he didn’t make any new enemies he thinks. Plus, Batman felt like an idiot, and that always made the Brit smile.

All in all a good day!

[rafecameronssl4t]

Reminder || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: It was just harmless banter between you and another socialite, but rafe reminds again you what the diamond ring meant on your finger.

Warnings: angst, jealous/possesive rafe hehehehe

Word count: 2,160

A/n: guys guys guys it's getting hot in here.

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The gala is in full swing, the grand ballroom echoing with the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of champagne glasses. You stand next to Rafe, dressed to perfection in an elegant gown that draws more than a few eyes in your direction. Rafe's hand rests lightly on your waist, his touch possessive but distant—as it usually is during events like this—as you mingle with other high-society figures.

The night feels long, your polished smile tiring as you listen to half-hearted pleasantries from the guests surrounding you. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Alexander Hawthorne making his way over, his smile wide and confident, his eyes locked on you. He’s known for his silver tongue and effortless charm, especially with married women. Tonight, his gaze feels particularly intent.

"Well, well, if it isn't the most beautiful woman in the room," Alexander says smoothly, his eyes lingering on you just a little too long. "You always manage to outshine everyone, don’t you?" You offer a playful smile, aware of Rafe's tightening grip on your waist. "Oh, you flatter me, Alexander," you reply lightly, not fully dismissing the compliment. "But I’m sure there are plenty of others here more deserving of your attention." Alexander chuckles, clearly pleased that you're playing along.

"I highly doubt that. No one else in this room could possibly compare." His eyes flicker briefly to Rafe, but he seems unfazed by his presence. "I was actually hoping to steal you away for a dance, if I may be so bold." You glance at Rafe from the corner of your eye. His jaw is clenched, his posture rigid, but he says nothing. The tension between you and him has been building over the past few weeks, and part of you enjoys testing his limits.

"A dance?" you echo, your tone teasing. "That sounds tempting." Rafe’s hand tightens even more on your waist, his irritation palpable. "I don’t think that’s a good idea," Rafe’s voice cuts through the playful banter, his tone sharp and controlled, though you can feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. His grip on your waist has gone from possessive to borderline painful, but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you tilt your head and glance up at him, your expression sweet yet defiant. "Oh? Why not, darling?" you ask, your voice dripping with mock innocence. "It’s just a harmless dance." Alexander, sensing the tension but relishing the drama, grins wider. "Come on, Rafe, it’s just a dance. Surely you trust your wife enough to let her have a bit of fun tonight?"

You notice Rafe’s jaw clench even tighter. He glares at Alexander, but the challenge is unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. You can feel Rafe’s jealousy in the way his body stiffens beside you, and for some reason, the idea of provoking him further feels oddly satisfying. "I don’t mind," you continue, turning your gaze back to Alexander.

"After all, it’s not every day a charming man asks me to dance." Rafe’s fingers dig into your side, and you suppress a wince, though your heart flutters at the possessiveness. "You’re not going anywhere," Rafe says, his voice dangerously low. His eyes lock on Alexander, who merely raises his brow in amusement.

"Rafe," you start, keeping your tone light though there’s an edge to it, "you’re being dramatic. It’s just one dance." But you know you’ve pushed him too far. The moment the words leave your lips, you feel Rafe's grip on your waist disappear, replaced by an icy tension that makes your breath catch. In one swift motion, Rafe steps forward, his broad shoulders blocking Alexander from your view entirely.

His stance is commanding, exuding an unmistakable fury, though his face remains composed—a deadly calm that’s somehow more terrifying than if he had exploded. "Back off, Hawthorne," Rafe snaps, his voice a cold, simmering threat. Each word is sharp, delivered with a quiet intensity that sends a chill through the air. "You don’t want to test me right now." If it wasn't Rafe height that loomed over him that intimidated him, it was the icy look in Rafe's eyes that did.

Alexander’s usual bravado falters, and though he holds up his hands in a gesture of nonchalance, the gleam in his eyes fades. If it wasn’t Rafe’s towering height that made him take a step back, it was the icy, penetrating look in Rafe’s eyes. Alexander hesitates, his playful smirk faltering, eyes flickering between you and Rafe.

"Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to step on any toes." He glances at you with a wink before adding, "But you can’t blame a man for trying, right?" Rafe’s gaze doesn’t waver. His silence hangs heavy in the space between them, tension crackling like electricity. It’s clear that Alexander, for all his charm and wit, knows better than to push Rafe any further.

As soon as Alexander retreats, Rafe's shoulders remain stiff, his body radiating with tension. The darkness in his eyes lingers, the anger now fully redirected toward you. Without a word, his hand closes around your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make it clear that this conversation isn’t over. He pulls you with him, weaving through the crowd and out of the grand ballroom, into the quieter, more secluded hallways of the estate.

The moment you’re alone, Rafe spins around to face you, his body towering over yours as he leans down, his breath warm and rapid against your ear. The fury in his gaze makes your stomach twist with both dread and excitement. "What the hell was that?" Rafe growls, his voice barely above a whisper but thick with anger. His grip on your wrist tightens just slightly as he looks down at you, eyes wild with accusation.

"Flirting with him right in front of me?" You lift your chin, meeting his gaze with a calmness you don’t quite feel. "It was just harmless fun, Rafe," you reply, though your voice lacks its usual conviction, "you’re the one who overreacted." "Harmless?" Rafe repeats, his voice growing even lower, his face so close now you can feel the heat of his hander.

"He was crossing the line, and frankly, so were you" Rafe steps closer, his body looming over you, his hand gripping your waist. "You think I didn’t see the way he was looking at you? Or how you were playing along?" You swallow, your heart beating faster at the intensity in his eyes. "Maybe I was," you admit, your voice steady but challenging. "Maybe I wanted to see how far I could push you. Like I said, it was harmless."

Rafe's grip on your waist tightens even further, his fingers pressing firmly into your side, the pressure bordering on painful. You let out a small groan, a sound that escapes involuntarily from the mix of discomfort and the charged intensity of the moment. The pain is sharp, a physical reminder of his anger and possessiveness, and you can’t help but shiver at the heat of his touch.

"I don't care if it was harmless," Rafe growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You're not playing those fucking games with me." Each word is punctuated with a barely restrained fury, his breath hot against your skin. You want to speak, to push back, but the fire in Rafe's eyes freezes you in place. The fierce protectiveness radiating from him mixes with his jealousy, overwhelming and intoxicating.

His hand moves from your waist to your hand, fingers brushing over the large diamond on your wedding ring. "Did you forget what this ring meant?" Rafe's voice is low, almost a growl, as he taps the diamond, each tap a reminder of the vow that binds you both. The possessiveness in his touch sends a shudder through you, your breath catching as his lips graze your ear once more.

You can feel the tension thick in the air between you, the hallway around you fading into insignificance as his words cut deep. "You’re mine," he whispers, his tone raw, dangerous, and resolute. "And I don’t share." Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of thrill and fear coursing through you at the intensity of his words. You glance down at the ring he’s tapping, a tangible symbol of everything that’s between you—love, control, obligation, desire. It’s suffocating, yet addictive.

You shiver as Rafe’s words linger in the air, thick with possessiveness. His grip on your wrist tightens, but it’s the way he looks at you that keeps you frozen in place—intense, unrelenting, a silent challenge burning in his eyes. You try to keep your composure, to push back against the overwhelming force of his jealousy. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice barely steady. "It was just a dance. It wouldn’t have meant anything."

"That’s not the fucking point," he snaps, his tone sharper now. He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, almost forcing you to look up at him. "You knew exactly what you were doing. I saw the way you looked at him—like you wanted me to react." You swallow hard, but you refuse to break eye contact. "Maybe I did," you admit, your voice low but challenging. "Maybe I wanted to see if you even care."

The words hang between you, and for a moment, Rafe’s expression shifts—his anger momentarily flickering into something else, something raw and vulnerable. But just as quickly, his walls slam back up, his face hardening again. He releases your wrist, but not before pulling you closer, his lips inches from yours, the tension crackling between you.

"Care?" he growls. "You think I don’t care when I’m right here, watching you entertain someone else? You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone forget it." You feel the possessiveness in his words like a pulse between you, and despite the storm raging inside him, there’s something about it that draws you in. His jealousy, his frustration—it’s all because of you, because deep down, beneath the cold exterior, he does care. You can feel it, even if he won’t admit it out loud.

Your voice softens, just enough to break through the tension. "I wasn’t trying to make you angry, Rafe." "You know that’s a lie," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours. His voice drops lower, and you can feel the intensity in his words. "But you succeeded. And I don’t like being tested." You glance down for a moment, trying to gather yourself, but when you look back up at him, your heart beats faster.

"Maybe I wanted to see if you still care. Lately… it feels like you’ve been distant." His jaw clenches at your confession, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a brief second, something softer flickers across his features—a trace of regret. But Rafe doesn’t back down, his hand still resting on your lower back, firm and possessive. "I’ve been busy," he mutters, but you know it’s not the full truth. You’re about to push him on it when he pulls you closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

"But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You should know that by now." You let the silence stretch between you, your body pressed against his as you absorb his words. His anger, his frustration, all boil down to the same thing—he doesn’t want to lose you, not to someone like Alexander or anyone else. "You don’t have to act so cold all the time, you know," you whisper, your voice soft but daring.

Rafe’s lips curl slightly into a smirk, though his eyes remain serious. "You think I’m cold?" "Most of the time." You challenge him, your tone laced with honesty. His hand moves from your back to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Then I’ll remind you," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "how I feel about you."

Before you can respond, Rafe leans in and captures your lips with his, the kiss fierce and possessive, like he’s trying to prove something—to himself, to you. His hand tightens around you, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you, every inch of his body pressing against yours. The kiss is raw, full of unspoken frustration, but also something deeper—something neither of you are ready to name.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing heavy, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. "Don’t ever doubt that you’re mine," he whispers, his voice ragged but full of conviction. Your breath comes in shallow, your heart racing from the intensity of it all. "And you’re mine," you murmur back, your fingers curling into his jacket, holding him close.

Rafe pulls you back into him, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Let’s get out of here. I’m done with this place." Without waiting for your response, he takes your hand and leads you out of the manor, his grip possessive, his pace quick. You follow silently, your heart racing, knowing that tonight’s encounter has stirred something deeper between you both—something raw and dangerous that neither of you can ignore any longer.

[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

[foolinafable]

thanks to tuffnut

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader Synopsis: four of the many times hiccup was oblivious to the fact he was in love with you and the time he finally realised.  Word Count: 1.5K Tags: 4+1 fic, Fluff, Hiccups pov Note: started this ages ago and only just got inspired enough to finish it.

1. Searching for you in a crowd 

Hiccup would never admit it, even now that he is respected as the heir to the hairy hooligan tribe and his father is proud of him. That he still feels like an outsider. 

Maybe it’s because they see him as this dragon master and while he might be if he’s to listen to anything Fishlegs says- he feels like they don’t see anything else- he is still just the chief’s son, the future of the tribe or their saviour if any of his work on the edge was talked about. He was never just Hiccup to them, even to his friends they see him as this omnipotent being rather than just a teen like them- capable of making mistakes.

He suggests that this is why he prefers to have time alone- just him, toothless the ocean beneath them and the wind carrying them elsewhere, where he can be anything. 

Annoyingly, this is not something he can do now: walking into the great hall at dinner time. He can already feel the beginnings of a headache wracking his brain as he imagines the awkward conversations he is going to have with villagers about his work on the edge as of late or the nagging of his father and Gobber to come back to Berk so he can learn the ways of chiefdom- something he is unsure that he even wants.

Entering the great hall after a large exhale, Hiccup looks around, searching for something lips pursing when he can’t find it immediately. It is only when he walks closer to where his father is sat, calling out pleasantries to those who greet him on the way that his eyes lock onto your figure, listening intently to what Ruffnut and Tuffnut are saying. Following the movements of their arms with your eyes as they spoke animatedly about who knows what. Hiccup finds a small smile appear on his face at the sight of you, only looking away when his father claps a hand behind his back making him aware of his surroundings, turning towards his father struggling to listen to whatever issue his father needs resolving around Berk this time, his thoughts still surrounding his best friend, knowing that as long as you are here he can be himself, just Hiccup. As that was always more than enough for you and that idea alone makes him feel less like an outsider.

2. Missing you when apart

He was starting to regret saying you couldn’t come with him. Not that he doesn’t enjoy Astrid and (sometimes) Snotlout’s company, but it clearly isn’t the same. While he usually enjoys scouting missions as they are a peaceful opposition to the dangerous missions they have had as of late, you typically come with him. 

But he knows that you cannot leave the edge defenceless and Astrid was complaining about not getting out with Stormfly enough- so it all made sense logically for Astrid to come instead and for you to stay on land, protecting the dragon eye lenses the group had hidden.

He couldn’t trust anyone more which is why he was confused as to why he felt so anxious. Even Toothless could notice the angst radiating off his rider, making a noise of questioning at Hiccup when he was quieter than normal, not even going over the route the group were scouting- something he usually did a hundred times until the group got annoyed at him. Not even playfully joking with Snotlout about who was the better cousin until Astrid would make a comment that would set Snotlout off arguing with her.

Instead, the three riders sat in somewhat awkward silence with Astrid and Snotlout starting at each other trying to gauge if the other knew what was wrong with the boy and who was going to ask him as seemingly neither wanted to as usually you would look after Hiccup when he got like this but you were back on the edge and honestly Astrid was wishing she didn’t kick up such a fuss about her and Stormfly’s lack of action as even being bored back on the edge was better than being sat in this haunting silence.

It was only upon returning to the edge that the two saw his mood pick up, he nearly crashed Toothless into the ground at the speed he dismounted causing the other two to look around in panic until they saw him running towards you and then it all made sense. The two snickering slightly as they realised that he was only in a foul mood because you weren't around.  

3. You looking after him when he gets sick

“It was only a matter of time” you muttered to him as you bundled him up in his blankets and he knew that you were right, you had been telling him for weeks to wear some warmer clothes during his flights with Toothless and his lack of listening has left him bedridden with a horrible cold, head pounding, nose blocked and red cheeks. He could only imagine the state of him somehow shaking and sweating all at the same time. He would’ve replied with something teasing if his throat didn’t feel so scratchy so he simply settled for a huff which made you laugh quietly in return. 

“Okay, I will stop being mean, but only if you get some sleep” you reasoned with the boy as he whined at the idea thinking of everything he had to today 

“I will get Astrid and Fishlegs to take your jobs for the day- can't have you getting any sicker what would your Father say?” you continued and at these words, the boy stopped fussing, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. 

“Have a good sleep Hiccup, I will be here when you wake up,” you muttered as he dozed off.

 For some reason, Hiccup couldn’t understand those words made him feel so much better.  

4. When his dad mentions you

Small talk with his father even after all this time was still somewhat awkward, like the feeling of your skin being too big for your bones. But, it was much better than it used to be or at least Hiccup usually believed it was. Still, today he would give anything to be anywhere but sit with his dad in their family home as he couldn’t stop going on about you and possibly betrothals something Hiccup knew would annoy you.

“I heard a lot of the boys around here want to ask for her hand, so maybe you should get a move on” Stoick spoke trying to hint at the boy's clear feelings for you

“I- what?” Hiccup asked confused, when had he ever shown interest in that?

“Oh it's nothing” Stoick tried to cover his tracks feeling Hiccups in annoyance at his words ‘you two just remind me of myself and a special someone when I was younger” 

“What are you and Gobber? I’m sure she will be very flattered by those words Dad” Hiccup laughed before quickly taking his leave before his father could sprout out any more nonsense. 

“Me and your mother” Stoick muttered but Hiccup was already gone, probably halfway back to the edge due to how fast he bolted out the door.  

5. The realisation

Watching you interact with Toothless was one of Hiccup's favourite things to do. Seeing his dragon take a shine to you just as much as he does makes a warmth spread all over his body in a comforting way. 

“Hiccup, my brother! What’s happening?” Tuffnut called out as he made his way towards the boy Hiccup quickly looked away from you for some reason embarrassed to be nearly caught by the boy, his cheeks red and hot

“Not- not a lot” Hiccup tried to smile but it came off uneasy much like his words. To his luck, Tuffnut didn't seem to notice instead looking at where Hiccup had his eyes trained just moments before before looking back at the boy 

“Don’t worry I see” Tuffnut nodded in understanding causing Hiccup to become confused 

“See what?” he questioned the peculiar boy 

“You were finally building up the courage to ask her out!” Tuffnut declared “I mean it’s about time everyone knows you have the biggest crush on her! Don’t let me stop you, in fact, I wasn't even here!” the boy quickly ran off as Hiccup's thoughts whirled around his brain about what on earth was Tuffnut on about he didn’t have a crush on you. No way. I mean sure you are the first person he looks for in a crowd of people, he gets irritable when you aren't with him on missions, you are the only one he would want looking after him and his father loves you but that doesn't mean he likes you right- your his best friend he couldn't possibly- could he? 

Then it hit Hiccup, he did have the biggest crush on his best friend, more than a crush really. He was irrevocably in love with you and to make matters worse Tuffnut knew before he did.  

[deadsetobsessions]

Gotham rained a lot more than Amity ever did.

Danny could not help but appreciate the differences. From the way the city itself curled around her inhabitants to the weather, Gotham was far darker than Amity ever managed to be.

Still, there were similarities. The screams, for one. In Amity, it was ghosts, their victims, and whichever ghostbuster of the day rocking up to rock each other’s shit. Another similarity? Danny’s inability to not get himself into troublesome shit, because he could never ignore a cry for help.

That scream was a cry for help if he’s ever heard one.

Danny cursed himself as he slipped through the alleyways, strides becoming smoother and agile than he normally walked like. He stuck to the shadows, the prickling of ghostly senses and honed vigilante instincts guiding him towards the scream. It was a man, getting stabbed by a guy in a red helmet.

Danny maintained that he was new here.

Which is why his foot connected solidly with Red Helmet's... red helmet.

"Motherfuc-" Red Helmet shouted as he was punted several feet away.

"Holy shit dude, are you good?"

Danny helped the guy up.

"Thank fuck! Back up! What took you so long?! Boss is gunna be so pissed if we're late!"

Hold up. Boss?

"Boss?"

“Black Mask, asshole! We gotta go before he decides to cut off our limbs!”

Danny yanked the guy to the side just as a bullet ricocheted off the rusted fire escape.

“Ope!”

“You’re not going anywhere.” A mechanical voice growled behind them.

“Oh fuck, Red Helmet guy.” Danny muttered.

“Shit, ya gotta run, tell boss I got caught.” The injured goon- because it was now apparent to Danny that the guy was working for someone dangerous- said. Danny appreciated the thought, but he only intervened because the guy was getting stabbed.

“Uh,” Danny hesitated. Clearly the guy had the wrong idea.

“Don’t make a move, unless you want your fucking heads blown off,” Red Helmet guy- wait, why does he feel liminal?- raised his guns. “Why don-”

Red Helmet guy was cut off by the thud of the now unconscious goon.

His helmet tilted down and then back up at Danny.

“Guess it’s just you and me,” Helmet guy sneered out. “Better tell me everything you know about Black Mask, or else you’ll get a taste of what he had.”

Danny held up his hands even though he knew he could just let the bullets phase through him. The smart thing would be to absolve himself and not get in the middle of two criminal’s beef as a civilian.

Danny’s full name, however, could have been Danny ‘Dumb Decisions’ Fenton. So, Danny practically interjected himself like an overexcited puppy at a doggy daycare.

“Okay, no need to get bloody. But uh, I have a question.”

Red Helmet cocked his head and mockingly gestured with his gun. “Sure, why not.”

Danny let as much of his midwestern accent into his voice as possible. “Who’s, uh, Black Mask?”

Red Helmet paused. Then he sighed. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“No…? I’m, uh, new in town.”

Red Helmet lowered his guns, and for some reason, Danny could tell that he was exasperated.

“Why would you even get in between a fight, dumbass? I have a gun! I coulda killed ya! He’s a criminal’”

Danny protested. Rude! “In my defense, you were stabbing him! You’re a criminal too, you know!”

“That makes it worse! You-!” Red Helmet paused. “Wait, do you even know who I am?”

Danny let his gaze wander down to the red bat-shaped logo on the guy’s chest. “Uh… Red Helmet… bat-guy?” He hazarded a guess.

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

Danny gaped. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” Red Helmet put his gun back and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re an idiot. Who gets in between a vigilante and the goon of a crime lord.”

Danny crossed his arms, leveling an unimpressed look at Red Helmet. “I’ve never heard of a vigilante killing someone, Red Helmet Bat-Guy.”

“It’s Red Hood.” Red Helmet sighed, walking closer. “And I wasn’t going to kill him.” Danny scoffed.

Danny relaxed, sensing the truth coming from Red Helmet guy’s liminal aspects.

“He’ll die looking at your ugly mug,” Danny sassed. “You’re gonna get him to a hospital, right? I’ll go with you.”

“Are you midwesterners all this trusting? What if I was the goon and this guy was the vigilante?”

Red Hood hiked the goon over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Danny followed after him.

“He’s the one that told me to go running back to his boss, Red Helmet.”

“It’s Red Hood.”

“That doesn’t look like a hood.”

Danny grinned as Red Helmet grumbled. How interesting! Maybe he won’t miss Amity as much as he thought he would!

“Ugh, fine, I guess someone’s gotta watch your dumb ass so you don’t get mugged.”

“I can take care of myself!”

Hood grunted. “I guess that kick wasn’t half bad.”

Danny beamed at him. “Thanks!”

——

Danny chucked a chimichanga at Red Hood.

“Wait a minute, you’re a crime lord! Being a goon was way less illegal than being a vigilante crime lord!”

Red Hood cackled at him.

[lady-of-endless]

Front Man/Hwang In-ho (player 001) x player!reader headcanons (season 2)

Author's Note: This season cured my writer's block. I'm sorry but I'm down bad for this red flag. I hope you'll enjoy it! Click here for a masterlist because there's more to come.

- He infiltrated the game either to make sure everything goes accordingly, either for a sick wish to mess with the players because he's empty inside (but not for long), or both.

- Unfortunately for "player 001", his charm and manipulation are obvious to you and you're not that pleased to see him getting close to the team you're in. Gi-hun (player 456) team. What could you do? Manipulate the manipulator.

- A game within a game, a calculated and dangerous play. In-ho senses and accepts this indirect challenge from you. He's interested, he feels excitement once again after such a long time.

- However, that's not his priority. He will push away his aroused interest to keep his duties as the Frontman and keep the game going despite Gi-hun's tries to end it.

- But one day, he noticed your mask falling for a moment, a crack in the role you played with him and that got him hooked again. He wondered what it took to break through that facade of yours and see the real you.

- There's a thrilling dance of fake smiles and fascination between you two that no one else sees. Just two capable, trustworthy, charming players.

- In-ho has a very cold but intense gaze, especially when he's shamelessly admiring you. However, you can't tell if he's admiring you or scheming against you.

- When your glass is full, you come up with a plan to corner him and confront him about his intentions with the team, without alarming the others. The plan was flawless in theory. In-ho sensed that something was up from the moment you asked him to join you under the bed bunks for better safety during the night. He complied out of curiosity, with a smirk on his lips. Every plan that's perfect in theory, it's never perfect in practice. The closeness, the intimacy, the tension, and the pent-up frustration all lead to something else entirely. Your planned interrogation switched to pure instincts and denied feelings.

(If you like this idea, let me know, I'll write a one shot)

- Since that night, something has shifted in your dynamic. During the games, it seems that he's trying to... protect you? It was clear to you during the mingle game when he was dragging you forcefully with him no matter the number the speakers announced. You didn't question it, you just followed him. You didn't have a choice; his grip and determination were too strong. God have mercy on those who try to attack you to get inside the room with him. You already saw his impeccable fighting skills so it doesn't surprise you when you see him in action. However, it's shocking when he gets to even drastic measures for you (like eliminating other players, we've seen it).

- In-ho is guilty of many things and one of them is also jealousy. He's subtle with it though.

- There's something unsaid between you two. He doesn't know if it's attachment or not, thinking that he might not be able to feel that again. Especially for you. But he's wrong, and he sees that clearly when, during a risky game, you almost got eliminated. He was about to lose it; his fingers were digging into your skin when he embraced you to "congratulate you." It was more than that. There was something desperate in the way he held him against you and you could feel that.

- At night, after that incident, he tells you his reason for participating in the game. Even though you can't decide if he tells the truth or not, you can see his expression getting vulnerable and his eyes watery nonetheless.

- Since then, whenever he stares at you, he's thinking of a way to take you away from this mess, next to him. He also thinks of ordering the guards secretly, to make some circumstances in your favor during the next games.

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Jazzprowl mecha! >:D

Previous chapter

Under the cut⤵️

Jazz thinks Prowl is fucking weird.

With space around him and aliens and fucking teleportation and all that crazy shit...Prowl's weirdness isn't too obvious at first. But once Jazz stops marveling at the view outside the window, his attention shifts completely to his new companion.

And. Well.

"'Your plates are so squarish.'"

Prowl takes a break from reading something on his tablet and raises his eyebrows in surprise

"They are."

Jazz moves closer curiously

"No offense okay but isn't it... Hmm. Stupid?"

He raises one hand and lightly slaps the edge of his palm against the center of Prowl's chest.

"What's the point of making armor this shape? And with so many wide gaps? All the strikes will go straight through. It's kinda dangerous. "

Prowl purses his lips in confusion.

"Excuse me? As if your armor makes more sense."

"It does."

"You...wha...you know what. Humor me, explain what you mean."

Jazz shrugs.

"It's round. And the gaps are...uh. What's the right word. They're thin? It's very hard to grab with your teeth or get under with your tentacles. See? You are. Dude, no offense, but you're like, really grabbable."

Prowl just silently opens and closes his mouth for a couple seconds, trying to think of what to say in response. Finally he decides to focus, but not on the part Jazz might have been expecting

" You... were built to fight the Quintessons?"

Jazz nods

"Course I was. Why else?"

Prowl looks....Very worried and somehow sorry for Jazz.

That's weird.

Jazz lets this detail just linger in his mind. He's not sure what conclusion to draw from it yet. And it's very likely that his poor knowledge of the unfamiliar language is setting him up. He's not sure.

------

Prowl has wheels. Jazz gives himself a mental smack for not paying attention to them in the first three seconds, but it doesn't matter now.

Because Prowl has freaking wheels in his shoulders and Jazz has a bunch of questions in his head.

Why the fuck does he have wheels??? In a place like this??

Prowl looks up at him.

"Something wrong?"

Jazz reaches out his hand mesmerized and spins one of the wheels.

The wheel spins.

What an amazing world.

Prowl looks confused again

"Jazz?"

"What are they for?"

Prowl faintly twitches one of his weird little wings.

"To drive."

Jazz spins the wheel again

"But you can't drive them! I mean, they're...uh."

He tries to find the right words in his head to say "inside your shoulders" but. Shit. He doesn't know how to say it so he accepts his linguistic defeat and helplessly twitches his horns.

"...They're on top."

Prowl tilts his head, clearly missing the point, and turns one of his legs around

"I've got another ones here...?"

Jazz instantly squats down and. Yep. There are wheels in the legs too.

Prowl moves his foot away before Jazz can spin that wheel too.

"I can just show you if you want."

That's a great idea. A fantastic one. Jazz is hellbent on seeing how it would actually work, because all his brain offers him is "fall on your back and awkwardly drag yourself along the ground?"

Prowl doesn't fall anywhere.

Instead, he suddenly ALL starts moving and freaking folds into himself? Jazz isn't sure what exactly he was expecting to see, but watching another mech fall apart like lego sure as hell wasn't that????

Not falling apart, he realizes a moment later.

Is it reassembling? Into something else???

A second ago, Prowl was standing next to him, and now there is a

Is that a fucking car???

Jazz can't say anything more clever than a loud "HAH???"

It is indeed a car. The design is very odd and Jazz can't recognize the model, but it looks like something vaguely race-y?

He pats the roof of it.

"That's so cool!!!"

The car somehow manages to look awkward and moves away from him sideways like some weird metal crab.

What the- what the hell-

------————————-

Prowl's mech has an amazing face.

Not that Jazz is staring, but he can appreciate the amazing attention to details. The eyes, the nose, even the lips. Who and why would make a mech with such lifelike face? That ..would make sense if Prowl had to appear in front of a camera, wouldn't it? Maybe he's some kind of celebrity like Blurr?

Jazz doubts it. Prowl doesn't strike him as someone who's used to attention.

But it's a good face, yeah.

Prowl valiantly ignores his staring, but after ten minutes gives up

“What?”

Jazz shrugs. He's been doing that a lot lately.

"You have a really cool face."

Prowl chokes on air and looks confused again. If you look closer. What is this face even made of? It looks metallic but it bends??? Literally...how?? How does it work?

Jazz is taller than Prowl, so he has to bend down to get a closer look. He wants to ask if the mech's face was modeled after the pilot's, but. Shit. How do you put it into simple words ?

Man. Okay. Uh. Appearance. How do you say "real?" True-positive? Wait, no, true and false are from English, this new language must contain one state word for true and false at the same time.

Prowl watches Jazz's struggle with the patience of a true buddhist monk.

What word even summarizes the state of being true or false? Hot and cold is "temperature", heavy and light is "weight" and then..

Jazz fumbles his fingers helplessly.

"What's the word for. You know how."

He claps his hands hard, and then again, barely audible.

Loud and quiet.

"Sound-positive, sound-negative, right?"

Prowl nods.

"But if I speak. I-mouth-positive."

He claps once more, quietly, barely audible

"I-mouth-positive. Sound-positive. Word-question?

If I do “quiet” but say “loud”. If I do one thing and say another, that's called-?

Prowl twitches his little wings.

"Ah. That would be veracity-negative."

Jazz makes happy finger guns.

"Yes! This..."

He points to Prowl's face

"Appearance-veracity-positive?"

He could probably phrase it more...accurately. Jazz chews his lips in concentration and tries to elaborate

"Appearance-veracity-positive-you?"

Prowl tilts his head

" Uh. Yeah? That's what I look like. I didn't change anything. It's..."

He pauses uncertainly

"Why are you asking me that?"

Jazz gives a thumbs up

"How do you say 'impressive'? Something like "eyes-positive-emotions-positive." Or it would be "good." Good sounds kind of cheap.

Jazz decides to add a couple more positive modifiers on top just in case. He's always been generous with compliments.

Prowl's wings bounce up funny.

One of the passing lilac aliens whistles.

_______________________________

Prowl thinks Jazz is fragging weird.

Okay, to be fair. Prowl has never had to be anyone's guide to interplanetary interactions.

He'd heard that races making contact with the rest of the galaxy for the first time tended to be weird. It's alright. He can understand that. Which of course doesn't mean it's any easier for him to be at the center of it all...everything.

Jazz is clingy. Friendly. He's definitely never been off his planet before, so everything around him surprises him.

Prowl's obviously “surprising” too, but there's this weird familiarity in Jazz's attitude towards him.

Prowl thinks it's because they're both mechanical life forms. It's the only guess he has that makes sense. But Prowl realizes pretty quickly that Jazz only looks like a Cybertronian at first glance. It's the details. Small and disturbing details.

Jazz was built to fight the Quintessons. His entire body, his entire design was made for it.

Now that Prowl knows that, he's starting to see it. Now that he knows where to look, he can't stop noticing.

All the plates are either round or streamlined and sharp.

He has no face, but his head is shaped in such a way that it would be very hard to grab onto. Or to hit it.

Prowl's processor involuntarily tosses him numbers.

Every bend and edge. Every detail. The visor isn't just curved, it's arched at the most perfectly calculated angle to take hits. His chest plates have the perfect ratio of thickness and curvature so that any direct hit ricochets or slips without going through the plate directly.

And Prowl is scared to even begin to analyze the structure of those legs. He originally saw their design as something similar to Empurata's. But no. The Empurata had always made it their goal to humiliate and diminish their victims. The limbs that the Empurata created were simple and often horribly, impractically awkward.

Jazz's legs are an engineering marvel and Prowl honestly almost wants to take a closer look. They bend at...how many? Five? Six places?

He leans forward quietly, pretending to want to change his posture, trying to get a better angle. There's at least one more joint under the front plates. Seven then?

Huh.

Jazz snorts

"Like what you see?"

Prowl flinches and quickly looks away. Idiot. Just because Jazz’s head is pointed in the other direction doesn't necessarily mean that's where his gaze was pointed as well.

"I apologize."

Jazz chuckles

"Hey, don't be sorry. You're giving me a reason to show off~"

Prowl gives up. Okay. Maybe it's just that Jazz's weird openness is contagious.

"Your legs are pretty..."

"Cool," Jazz offers

Prowl nods diplomatically.

"Unusual. I think cool too."

Would it be too weird to ask exactly how many joints are in them? Perhaps yes, that's personal medical information after all.

Jazz takes a few joyful little leaps

"They let me walk on walls."

"I have to admit that's impressive."

______________

"Can I join you?"

The little furry alien folds their arms across their chest and says something that...sounds disgruntled. Jazz honestly can't understand a word of it. He just saw the aliens playing something remotely resembling cards and he got curious. He doesn't remember having a fight with any of them yet.

The alien stares at him expectantly for a couple seconds and then waves one of their limbs and switches to a language familiar to Jazz

"No. Go back where you came from."

Uhm. Rude.

One of the lilac creatures smiles guiltily

"We don't play with robots."

Jazz stiffens

"But I don't..."

His attempt to explain is interrupted by the furry alien

"I don't care what you say. Whatever's underneath the metal, whatever scientific nonsense you come up with. This..."

He gestures toward the entire Jazz’s mech.

"...it's a machine. We don't play with machines. It's an unspoken rule. So go back to your corner and stay out of our way."

The lilac alien folds his limbs in embarrassment

"Hey, there's no need to be so rude."

"I'm just stating facts!"

"You could have done it politely..."

Prowl raises his eyebrows and moves away, making more room for Jazz on the bench.

"Kicked you out?"

Jazz sits down next to him and confusedly begins to play with his own fingers

"They wouldn't even let me explain."

Prowl taps him on the shoulder.

"It's hard to explain anything to them. They think you're a soulless machine just because you look like one."

Jazz snorts

"Well, that's just stupid."

Prowl shrugs

"They think you don't have a soul, so you shouldn't participate in their social interactions."

Jazz twitches his horns angrily

"That's..fucking idiotic."

"Well yeah" Prowl picks up "how can they judge whether we're sapient or not?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Where's the evidence that they themselves have more 'soul' than mold?"

"Ye..Wait what?"

(..What the hell??)

Prowl frowns.

"I should probably be more...sorry. You're new to this topic and...I'll try to explain in an unbiased manner."

Jazz nods awkwardly

Prowl pinches the bridge of his nose

"In general. We don't really meet their standards of ''alive and sapient being'' and they don't meet ours. Because of that, we...don't get along."

Jazz senses that something doesn't add up. Something dramatically big and obvious. But Prowl already looks annoyed, and Jazz is uncomfortable stressing him out with another game of charades. Probably should hold off on discussing such complicated topics until he's talking better.

____________

Prowl finds himself mentally reevaluating Jazz.

He no longer thinks Jazz is just weird.

Jazz is terrifying.

When their transport is attacked by a bunch of Quintessons, Prowl's processor tells him they're totally screwed.

The monsters have the numerical advantage, the ship is full of tiny, fragile organics, and Prowl only has one random tourist on his side who's in space for the first time.

When Jazz excitedly jumps up and asks to be let "outside to have some fun" Prowl's processor says it's suicide. If you squint and tilt your head, the stats numbers add up into a neat little ship that goes down swiftly and surely.

Then he has no time for statistics. Because one of the organics opens the airlock for Jazz and before Prowl can say anything his space tourist is already out the window.

Frag.

Frag, frag frag frag frag frag frg

"Jazz wait!"

Prowl climbs out onto the roof of the transport just in time to see Jazz tear a limb off one of the Quintesson monsters.

The sight is...creepy.

Jazz obviously doesn't have enough strength to just yank it off, so he sort of grabs the tentacle with his hand and then very quickly rotates his forearm a bunch of times literally twisting it off. The monster screams and wriggles and tries to rip Jazz's arm off, but he just lets it clench its teeth on his plates.

Prowl is in pain from just looking at this.

The monster clenches its jaws.

Its teeth cut furrows in the armor.

Jazz doesn't even twitch.

Things only get more interesting from here on out.

Earlier, all Prowl had was Jazz's word. Jazz said his job was to fight the Quintessons. Prowl automatically assumed that to have a job like that, Jazz had to be at least somewhat good at it.

This? It's not "good". It's a killing machine.

And Prowl is, just a little bit, fascinated.

Jazz tears through monsters with more than skill. No.

Prowl's processor is speeding up, analyzing the data.

These moves aren't just devastatingly efficient. They're habitual.

Jazz rips off limbs and locks jaws. Jazz knows exactly where to strike and for how long that strike will knock the creature down.

At one point, he just takes a moment to jump on top of one of the monsters and Prowl can have the pleasure of watching the sheer panic and confusion on the face of the usually inexpressively furious creature.

Quintesson twists and twitches and struggles to throw Jazz off, but he doesn't seem at all bothered by the constantly moving and shifting surface. He's clinging on tight as a damn insecticon. In a way that Prowl himself, with his angular legs, probably never could.

He also doesn't seem to react to pain whatsoever.

Either so used to it or unable to feel it at all? Prowl's not sure.

Jazz takes dozens of hits. He's been dropped, scratched and bitten. His plates are full of fresh grooves intersecting older ones, but they go completely unrecognized.

It's creepy. It's unnatural.

Three monsters at once try to squeeze Jazz into a circle, and Prowl curses himself for not thinking to ask for Jazz's comm. There's no sound in space, making screaming impossible, so Prowl just pulls out his rifle and shoots one of the Quintessons.

The creature twitches in agony and loses all interest in the battle struggling to shake off the sudden source of pain.

Jazz smacks one of the remaining monsters in the face and quickly bounces back to a more comfortable distance from the huge teeth and looks toward Prowl. Spotting a rifle and happily making finger guns again.

Prowl looks at the fresh teeth marks on Jazz's hands and thinks...wow...that's some wild dangerous alien slag.

Then he looks at the angular visor and the little moving horns and bouncy movements and corrects himself. Not slag. And not that weird. Probably.

The weirdest thing he's seen was organic life and he highly doubts that anyone or anything can overtake it.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Where the boys get jealous... (Feat. Barty, Regulus, Sirius, Remus, and James)

WC: ~3.5k

CW: Fem!Reader, a few cusses, obsessive and possessive boys, Remus and Moony are written as different characters.

Barty gets asked if you're single…

Barty leaned against the stone wall of the corridor, arms crossed and a lazy smirk playing on his lips as the boy in front of him tried to find his footing in the conversation. It was late enough in the evening that most of the students had cleared out, leaving the space quiet except for the faint echo of distant footsteps. The boy- what was his name? Probably irrelevant- was shifting his weight nervously, though he tried to mask it with a forced bravado.

“So,” The boy began again, licking his lips as though trying to sound casual. “You’re close with her, right? I mean, you two are always together.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening just a touch as he tilted his head- pulling the smoke from between his lips. “We’re friends,” Barty replied easily, though the word friends came out slow and deliberate, almost like a challenge.

The boy took a deep breath, seemingly bolstered by Barty’s nonchalant tone. “Right, yeah. I figured.” He hesitated, then plunged forward, clearly emboldened by the silence. “I was just wondering, you know… do you think she’d go for someone like me?”

Barty blinked. For the briefest moment, his expression was unreadable- like he hadn’t quite heard the question correctly. Then, like a switch being flipped, he grinned widely, his whole face lighting up as though the very idea had amused him to no end.

“You?” He repeated, laughter edging his voice as he uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. He took a deep breath of his smoke and let the ash slip onto the boy's shoe, who quickly shook it off. Barty gestured at the boy vaguely, as though considering his entire existence. “You’re asking if you would have a shot?”

The boy’s bravado faltered slightly at Barty’s tone, but he straightened his shoulders, forcing a confident nod. “Yeah. I mean, she’s nice to everyone, right? So I thought- ”

“Oh, that’s precious,” Barty interrupted smoothly, his voice warm but condescending. He stepped closer, his free hand sliding into his pocket, his green eyes glinting as he looked the boy over. “She is nice to everyone, isn’t she? That’s what makes her so…” He paused, pretending to search for the right word. “Enchanting, I suppose.”

The boy relaxed just a fraction at Barty’s seemingly complimentary tone, but Barty’s smile sharpened as he took another step forward.

“Here’s the thing,” Barty continued, his voice softening into something dangerously close to friendly. “You’re not a bad bloke, are you?” He flicked his robes, letting the smoke from his cigarette fill the boys senses. “Clean enough robes, decent enough grades- probably someone your mum’s very proud of. Real cookie cutter, yeah?”

The boy blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I guess?”

Barty grinned wider. “See? Nothing wrong with you at all. And yet…” He trailed off, taking another hit before he blatantly blew the smoke into his face. Even then he still found himself leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “She’s not for you.”

The boy coughed, shooing away the smoke, confused. “What do you mean? She’s not- ”

“Let me save you some time, mate,” Barty cut in smoothly, stepping around him as though they were taking a casual stroll together. “Do you know what she wants to be after she graduates? How she wrinkles her nose when she laughs too hard- how much she hates when someone brings it up? Or how she’ll hum to herself when she thinks no one’s listening? How to make her smile on her worst days?” He glanced back over his shoulder, his smile full of sharp teeth. “You don’t, do you?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Barty’s words. “No, but- ”

Barty whirled back to face him, the sudden movement causing the boy to flinch. “That’s the problem though, innit?” He said softly, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You don’t know her. Not really. And she deserves someone who does.”

The boy looked frustrated now, his confidence cracking under Barty’s pointed gaze. “You’re just saying that because you think you’re better for her!”

Barty’s smirk vanished. The shift was subtle but immediate, the playfulness draining from his face as his eyes turned icy, pinning the boy where he stood. “Better for her?” Barty echoed softly, his tone devoid of its earlier amusement. “I’d destroy myself for her. I’d burn the whole bloody world down if it so much as thought about hurting her. I've spent years of my life making sure she'd never know fear when I'm around.”

The boy opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Barty stepped closer, forcing him to back up until his shoulders hit the cold stone wall. Flicking out his cig and tossing it at his chest.

“You don’t understand devotion, mate,” Barty continued, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Not the kind that keeps you awake at night, wondering if she’s happy. Not the kind that has you ready to rip apart anyone who so much as looks at her the wrong way. That kind of love… it’s not for people like you.”

The boy swallowed hard, his eyes darting away as though trying to escape Barty’s unrelenting stare.

Barty tilted his head, the hint of a smile returning to his lips, though it held none of its earlier warmth. “But don’t worry,” he said lightly, taking a small step back. “I’m not angry. You’re harmless, really. Like a moth buzzing too close to something far too bright for you to touch. Happens to everyone who meets her.”

The boy shifted uneasily, his face pale as he tried to muster some shred of dignity. “You’re crazy,” He muttered under his breath.

Barty grinned at that, his eyes glinting with something almost feral. “Probably,” He admitted cheerfully, shrugging. “Just trust me mate. You wouldn't survive the competition.”

~~~

Regulus sees a guy trying to ask you out…

You were standing just outside the courtyard, the stone archways sheltering you and a nervous-looking Gryffindor boy from the cool autumn breeze. He’d stopped you after class, clearly trying to build up the courage to ask something. You were being polite, as always, listening with a soft smile while he stumbled over his words.

Regulus hadn’t been far, of course. He never was, though you hadn’t noticed him watching you from across the courtyard, his keen gray eyes narrowing slightly at the boy’s sudden presence.

“So, um,” the Gryffindor started, shifting on his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I was wondering if- uh- well, maybe you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Just us?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Oh- ”

Before you could finish, Regulus moved in like a shadow, silent and swift. Without a word, he appeared at your side and leaned down, resting his chin casually on your shoulder. The gesture startled you, your breath hitching as his weight settled comfortably there, familiar but intrusive all the same.

“Are you busy, ma moitié?” Regulus asked smoothly, his tone soft, casual, and laced with just a hint of amusement. He ignored the Gryffindor completely, acting as if he didn’t exist.

Your face turned slightly to the side, startled by his sudden proximity. “Regulus? What are you- ”

“We have that thing to do, remember?” Regulus murmured, his voice low but perfectly clear. He tilted his head, the movement brushing his hair softly against your cheek.

The Gryffindor frowned, his nerves quickly shifting to irritation. “What thing? I was just asking her something- ”

Regulus finally glanced at him, his gaze lazy and unbothered but chilling nonetheless. “How generous of you to interrupt,” he said coolly, his chin still perched on your shoulder as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

The boy bristled. “I didn’t interrupt- ”

Regulus cut him off with a small, sardonic smile, as though he were correcting a child. “You didn’t mean to, I’m sure,” he drawled. “But, you see, we have plans. So unless you’re particularly fond of wasting her time…”

You frowned slightly, your hand moving to nudge Regulus’s shoulder as if to make him move. “Reg, that’s not- ”

“Isn’t it?” Regulus replied smoothly, tilting his head ever so slightly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

The Gryffindor’s face flushed, clearly caught off guard by Regulus’s presence and tone. He looked at you, frustration in his voice. “Look, I just wanted to- ”

“I think you should go,” Regulus said, his voice as light and polite as ever, though there was no mistaking the ice beneath it.

The Gryffindor hesitated, but Regulus’s unwavering stare pinned him in place. It wasn’t a glare- Regulus didn’t need to glare to be intimidating. His calm, unwavering confidence was sharp enough. After another awkward pause, the boy muttered, “Maybe another time.”

He turned and walked off, shoulders tense and ears red.

Regulus finally lifted his chin from your shoulder, straightening up with a look of faint satisfaction. You turned on him immediately, pouting a bit with your bottom lip jotted out- eyebrows furrowing and your arms crossed. “That wasn't very nice, Black.”

Regulus shrugged and wrapped his arm around your waist as he turned you away from the courtyard. “He’ll live.”

~~~

Sirius seeing someone flirt with you…

It was a lovely spring afternoon by the Black Lake. The sunlight filtered through the branches of the nearby trees, dancing over the rippling water. A cool breeze swept through the air, ruffling your hair as you sat cross-legged on a blanket, deep in conversation with a Slytherin boy.

The boy- someone vaguely familiar, you thought his name was Marcus- had approached you earlier in the day, something about needing help with Potions. He was pleasant enough, a bit shy, though you couldn’t help but notice how often he looked away or scratched the back of his neck when you smiled.

“…and, you know, it’s just the stirring,” Marcus was saying, his voice faltering slightly as his eyes darted to yours. “I keep- well, messing it up. Slughorn says I’m overthinking it.”

You offered a gentle smile, always patient. “It’s probably just nerves,” you reassured him kindly. “You’re better at it than you think, I’m sure. Do you want me to walk you through it?”

Marcus blinked, visibly perking up. “Oh- yeah, that’d be great, I mean- ”

“Ah, there you are,” Sirius Black’s unmistakable drawl cut through the serene afternoon like a thunderclap.

Both of you turned toward the voice, and there he was. Sirius stood at the edge of the blanket with his hands shoved lazily in the pockets of his trousers, the sunlight making his dark hair shine like ink. There was an unmistakable mischief in his gray eyes as he looked from you to Marcus and back again.

“Sirius,” You said with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance, straightening where you sat. “What are you doing here?”

“What, can’t a man visit his favorite girl?” He replied with a grin, though his gaze sharpened ever so slightly as it flicked toward Marcus. “You know, it’s dangerous out here by the lake. Giant squids, rouge bludgers, snakes- all that. Best you’re not left alone with someone… inexperienced.”

Marcus’s face flushed, clearly thrown off. “I think she’s doing fine, thanks,” he muttered, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

Sirius smirked, as though that was the response he’d been hoping for. Without any preamble, he dropped onto the blanket beside you- practically on top of you- his long legs stretching out as he sprawled back against the grass like he owned the entire lakeshore.

“Merlin’s beard, it’s exhausting being me,” he said dramatically, folding his arms behind his head. “You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart? Just needed to rest my bones for a bit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sirius, I’m kind of busy- ”

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” he said innocently, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was anything but. “Go on, Marcus. You were talking about… stirring, was it?”

Marcus shot Sirius a pointed glare. “We were in the middle of something.”

“Were you?” Sirius replied, eyes gleaming with barely contained amusement. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You frowned, nudging him with your elbow. “Sirius, stop being difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult.” He purred smoothly, shifting just enough to rest his head against your shoulder, his hair brushing your neck as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Just keeping an eye on you. Someone has to.”

Your face burned at the unexpected affection, though you tried your best to seem unbothered. Marcus, however, looked positively livid, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Marcus accused, glaring at Sirius.

Sirius blinked up at him, all mock innocence. “Me? What on earth would I be doing on purpose?”

“You know what- ”

“Marcus,” you interrupted, sighing as you tried to salvage the conversation. “Maybe we can pick this up later. It’s… getting a bit distracting.”

Marcus glanced at you, frustrated but resigned, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he nodded stiffly. “Sure. Later.”

He stalked off without another word, leaving you alone with Sirius, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re an ass.” You huffed, finally shoving him off your shoulder.

Sirius sat up with a dramatic groan, smirking as he stretched out his arms. “Merlin, that was exhausting.”

You glared at him, exasperated. “What was that?”

“That, my dear,” Sirius said, grinning cheekily, “was me doing you a favor. You don’t honestly want to spend your afternoon discussing stirring, do you?”

“That’s not the point!” You argued, narrowing your eyes. “He was just being nice, and you scared him off!”

“Good,” Sirius replied smugly, lying back down with his hands behind his head. “Couldn’t risk losing you to someone boring.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I could be practical- real practical. We can talk about stirring.”

You huffed, trying to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Sirius turned his head to look at you, his grin softening ever so slightly as his stormy eyes held yours. “Besides,” he added, voice quieter now, “it’s much better when it’s just us, don’t you think?”

~~~

Remus finds you asleep on someone he doesn't know…

The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, the fire burning low, its golden light casting lazy shadows across the walls. Most students had gone to bed, and silence blanketed the space, save for the occasional pop of burning wood.

Remus hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d lain awake for what felt like hours, restlessness gnawing at him as Moony clawed at the edges of his mind, pacing.

She’s not where she's supposed to be, Moony murmured, insistent and low, like a growl rumbling through his chest. Go to her. Find her.

It was nonsense, of course. You were probably curled up in your dormitory, safe and warm, and yet Moony’s unease bled into Remus, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and padding barefoot to the staircase. Just to be sure. Just to calm Moony.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the fire caught his eye first. Then he saw you.

You were curled up in a worn armchair by the fire, your head tilted to rest softly against the shoulder of a fifth-year boy Remus barely recognized. The boy sat stiffly, afraid to move, his expression somewhere between frozen panic and misplaced pride.

Moony stilled.

And then he snarled.

Get her up. She’s vulnerable.

Remus stopped in place, his breath catching as an instinct he couldn’t quite name surged through him. Moony’s anger wasn’t a loud roar this time- it was quiet, simmering like an ember. What’s he doing there? She’s asleep. He shouldn’t be near her. She's vulnerable.

Remus swallowed hard, his fingers twitching as he tried to steady himself. He didn’t want to startle you, and he didn’t want to scare the boy. He wasn’t angry- not really. But Moony… Moony didn’t understand manners.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, Remus moved forward. Quiet as a shadow, he stopped in front of the chair, his amber-tinged eyes fixed on the boy.

The younger Gryffindor glanced up nervously. “Oh. Uh- Lupin- she fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.”

Remus didn’t say anything at first, his gaze shifting to you. Your breathing was soft and steady, one arm curled loosely under your head. Moony quieted just a little at the sight, though the wolf’s presence still pressed against Remus’s ribs, heavy and protective.

“She’ll be more comfortable in her own bed,” Remus said finally, his voice low and calm. “I’ll take her.”

The boy blinked, confused. “I- what?”

Remus lifted his chin slightly, his tone firm despite the gentleness in it. “You can go. I’ll make sure she gets to her dorm.”

The boy hesitated, but something in Remus’s steady gaze seemed to settle the matter. “Right. Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled awkwardly, carefully shifting out from under you. He moved to stand, glancing one last time at you before hurrying up the stairs, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

Remus let out a slow breath, crouching down next to you. Moony settled just a little further, content now that the boy was gone, but still restless, still protective.

She’s too exposed, Moony murmured. Wake her. Take her where she’s safe.

Remus hesitated, watching the way your lashes fluttered faintly against your cheeks as you stirred, your lips parting slightly as though searching for the warmth that had left. His heart tugged in his chest, guilt biting at him.

“Dovie,” He called softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, his hand hovering over your arm for just a moment before gently brushing against your shoulder. “Up you get, lovely girl.”

You shifted with a quiet murmur, blinking blearily as your eyes fluttered open. “Mmm… Remus?”

“Hey.” He cooed, his lips curving into a small, careful smile. “You fell asleep down here.”

“Oh.” You blinked again, sitting up slowly and rubbing at your eyes. You looked around in confusion before your gaze landed back on him. “What time is it?”

“Late,” He chuckled, standing to his full height as he offered you a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

You frowned sleepily, tilting your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Remus’s jaw tightened faintly, and for a moment, he swore he could feel Moony’s growl rumbling deep inside him. She needs protecting. Don’t leave her here.

“I insist,” He said gently, his voice soft but brooking no argument. “You’ll sleep better in your own bed.”

You yawned, smiling at him as you took his hand. “If you say so.”

~~~

James steals the show from your newest admirer…

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual evening bustle- cards flying in midair from a game of Exploding Snap, the fire crackling merrily, and the low hum of chatter filling every corner. You were perched on the arm of one of the chairs, laughing softly as a chaser- Finn regaled you with a story from practice, his easy-going charm and dramatic hand gestures keeping you engaged.

Finn’s voice was lively, something about a Bludger mishap and the newest Beater, and you couldn’t help the bright smile it pulled from you.

James, sitting across the room with Sirius and Remus, had been halfway through a halfhearted game of Wizard’s Chess when he noticed.

“Prongs,” Sirius said, nudging him when his knight didn’t move. “Your move, mate.”

James didn’t hear him. His hazel eyes were fixed on the sight of you leaning just a little closer to Finn, laughing at something he’d said.

James sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“Earth to Prongs?” Sirius waved a hand in front of James’s face, earning himself a scowl.

“Do you lot know,” James said suddenly, his voice pitched loud enough to carry across the room, “about the time I stole Filch’s keys and locked him in his own office? Poor guy thought Peeves was after him.”

All at once, a ripple of laughter swept through the room. Students turned toward James with wide smiles and bright eyes, a chorus of, “No way!” and “You’ve got to tell us!” filling the air.

Finn faltered mid-sentence, glancing toward the growing crowd around James.

You shot Finn an apologetic smile, clearly torn between listening to the end of his story and the infectious energy that always followed your best friend. James’s grin was wide and charming as ever, his eyes twinkling mischievously- but when his gaze flicked to yours, something sharper lingered beneath the warmth.

He hadn’t stopped looking at Finn once.

“What happened?” One of the younger students urged eagerly, completely captivated by James’s easy charisma.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe it,” James replied, leaning back in his seat as though he had all the time in the world. His voice was smooth, his confidence magnetic. “I’d hidden behind that big grandfather clock, you know the one? Filch swore up and down he’d heard a ghost- but he couldn’t figure out how the door locked from the outside. Poor bloke works at Hogwarts and still doesn't grasp magic!”

More laughter erupted, and James winked at you as if to say, See? Isn’t this better?

Finn glanced at you, clearly realizing he’d lost your attention entirely. “I, um… I guess I’ll finish the story later,” He muttered sheepishly.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You said, genuinely apologetic, but Finn was already waving you off.

“It’s fine. James has a habit of stealing the spotlight anyway,” he joked, though his tone wasn’t without a hint of frustration. He wandered off toward his dorm room, leaving you to turn toward James and his growing group of admirers.

Later, Sirius confronted James about his little stunt. Calling him jealous, James scoffs dramatically. “Jealous? Me? Please. I’m just looking out for her.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Looking out for her, or making sure no one else looks at her?”

James shrugs, a smug little grin tugging at his lips. “Same thing, really.”

[microclown]

I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

[moontopuff]

YOU'VE CHOSEN: GEORGE WEASLEY

WHEN HE REALIZED HE LIKES YOU

I think he realized it on a normal evening, you were sitting in Gryffindor common room with twins; you on the couch, Fred on the armchair of course, and George sitting on a carpet in front of you. They were talking about their new invention; Fred mostly talked about the outcome of said thing and how testing was going, meanwhile, George was talking about how he came up with the idea. It wasn't much known in the Hogwart, but George was better at potions; better at making them and changing proportions to make something new.

you, of course, knew that, but you couldn't help but see that sometimes George was a little bit shy about his knowledge, as if it would make him a not good enough Weasley twin or something. Honestly, you couldn't know.

but, u didn't want him to feel any less because of this, so, you were listening intently to the origin story of making up this new thing, and when he ended you complimented him:

“Honestly, it’s all in the potion proportions!” George declared, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. You leaned closer, captivated, sensing the flicker of uncertainty in his voice. He always seemed to second-guess his brilliance, as if it might be too much for the room. “That’s so cool, George! You really know your stuff,” you said, breaking in as Fred rambled on about the grand plans for their next prank. “What if you added more of the—what was it—Gillyweed? Would it be more dangerous, or would it just go kaboom?” George blinked, taken aback by your enthusiasm, a shy smile creeping onto his face. His cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not expecting your genuine interest. “Maybe both!” he replied, a hint of excitement in his voice. It was a quick reaction, and to mask the sudden warmth in his cheeks, he slid back into his usual, mischievous teasing self. “Ohh, should I expect you to get a crush on me now, for my incredible potion skills?” You rolled your eyes, laughter bubbling up. “Shut up, George!” you shot back, a playful smile on your lips. With a grin, you turned to Fred. “Now we know who the smarter twin is~” George’s laughter mingled with yours, as Fred pouted. As 'smarter' twin met your gaze and saw your smile, something shifted in him—a spark of something deeper, something new, and he wasn't just sure if he liked it or not

CRUSHING ON YOU:

he gives you sweet but joking-sounding compliments, wanting to make you smile/blush but not being obvious with it

started seeking your presence in every room; the great hall, classes, outside, or quidditch playground. He just wanted to see you, hoped to see you, and was over the moon when he actually saw you

after that one time you complimented his potion skills; every time twins show you their new invention he unconsciously seeks your compliment. He may not know this himself, but you realized it, after one time you didn't say anything about his role in the thing, and he looked like a pouting, sad puppy...

him actually beaming after you compliment him

sometimes, his eyes subconsciously drop to your lips when talking to you

George would start helping you carry your books to classes. He would reason it, that he's doing it for something else you did (u never have idea what he's talking about), but he just doesn't want to admit it yet.

his heartbeat faster every time you suddenly touch him or show him any affection. Of course, he hides it with his usual playful expression, but he leans in your touch, and just hopes you're obvious to that

when it's crowded in the hall, he likes to put his hand on the small of your back to make sure you don’t get separated. First time he did it, you were flustered as crazy, and he didn't even realize what he did until you were already in the class! When he realized, he just joked that it's because you're getting lost too easily, but do you really believe in that...?

Him getting flustered yet excited to see you cheering over him (and Fred) during Quidditch matches. When it's a hot moment you even call his twins names, and it helps his determination (he has to win for you)

teacher catching him gazing lovingly at you. Sometimes they just let it slide because *young love*, but sometimes they ask him what he's doing and he comes up with an excuse or just shrugs

He’d find himself staring at you even in the Great Hall, as everyone is eating, and isn't it quite something for one of the Gryffindors to stare lovingly at Hufflepuff table?

unconsciously starts talking and thinking more about you when you aren't around. Like, the classes you don't share together, and something happens and he's like "Y/N would scrunch her nose and giggle at that, I can just see it" or while you eat at your house table, and George casually starts talking about you to Fred and Jordan "Isn't she clumsy, lately? Nearly fall on her face while going today to the library!" not realizing his obvious puppy eyes.

George, being the more emotional twin, enjoys just being his calm, sometimes worried or serious self with you. He's happy that you don't only like him (and Fred) for being funny guys, but also like him when he's too tired or too worried of being a fun guy. He likes having emotional and serious conversations with you.

CONFESSING TO YOU

He didn't want to confess to you for the longest time, not because he's shy, but because he's insecure. He loves Fred more than anything, but he can't help but sometimes feel that people prefer him. And so, he was bloody terrified, that you would be just another person who would prefer his twin. And he couldn't hear you say it, because it would break him, he knew that.

so it wasn't until Fred finally decided to speak with him about matter. Encourage him, tell him that Geroge is your favourite twin and it's obvious to everyone. And after a few days of that, he finally confessed to you.

people would assume that being Weasley twin, George would be confident and confess with a boom, but no. At said time he felt like nervous wreck, feeling his palms sweating, and his tongue-tied as if hexed. Nonetheless, one evening, as you two were strolling through the school grounds, he finally confessed with a nervous smile.

And you? Well... You couldn't be happier.

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM

simp, soft bf, pouting when you're annoyed at him

loves you to the moon and back

compliments you everyday, from general to very specific things

"You're the most beautiful person in the Great Hall.""That mole you have on [place] suits you well. I love it. Can I kiss it?"

after you two started dating, he started doing unconscious things, like fixing your clothes after hugging you or having out session, and also fixing your hair when the wind makes it all in your face. It's like breathing for him

Forehead kisses. holding hands always. back hugs at random times.

You were already comfortable with him as friend, but now, as you are with him, you feel that you can turn off your brain, and be hundred percent sure that he will make sure you will not get hurt.

he’ll never ever cross your boundaries (unless you want him too?)

he’s in touch with his emotions, so you’ve probably seen him cry and be furious a few times.

somehow you made a habit of napping on each other's shoulders. Sometimes even on each other's thighs...

he always lean into your touch, even when he's with his brother or friends. he would never be embarrassed of loving you

normally isn't easy to be flustered, but when it comes to you... well, let me tell you, that you have your ways of making his cheeks pink

as your bf he will sometimes do silly, gentleman things like; holding an open door for you, trying to stall stairs for you so u can make it on time, or leave some cute paper charms on your table.

will treat you like royalty you are

when you're too tired to get back to your own common room, he would give you a piggy back ride

pretty sure, he would give you massages when you're tired (in exchange for a kiss ;))

he wants to know even more about you

wanting to - somehow - be part of your hobby. For example; if u like reading, he would ask you to read out loud for him, or ask to borrow your fav book, so you would have a new share topic to talk about. And if you like make-up, he will gladly let you use himself as your model (and will be pretty serious if you ask him which look you did, he prefers!). And if you like sports/quidditch, he will train with you or be your biggest cheerleader. He just wants to support you.

so he may, or may not, make this invention especially for you (not for the prank, but to brighten your day and make you smile)

tickle fights

you wearing his jumpers, obv

holds your hand when anxious

now that you're together, he doesn't only stare lovingly at you at classes, but also holds your hand under the desk

cheering for him in every Quidditch game and even wearing his shirt to show your support (unless it's against Hufflepuff... then you're supporting both teams)

him showing off on his broom, making sure you're looking at him

him flying straight to you, after the end of the game (includes sweaty kisses)

your outside make-out sessions are often interrupted by curious animals coming closer to you (he's used to it, he knows that animals just like you, but can't they be curious when he doesn't have his tongue in your mouth??)

you stealing some food from Kitchens and bring it to your bf, when you know he's working on their new intention (he often forgets about eating)

him being surprised seeing you as if it was the first time, but tiredly grinning at you, giving you a quick kiss, and a strong hug, to keep himself going through the night

him grinning at you lovingly, as he's observing you naming the plant he gave you

if u have an allergy to something or just don't like specific food, he makes sure Molly knows it before he invites you to burrow. He may be a tricker but he knows when to hold himself, because he never wants to seriously hurt you or upset you

as his partner, you're making it to the stadium of Molly's favourite in-laws, placing you next to Harry & Hermione

overall, he loves you like crazy, you understand each other and support each other, love full of cuddles and emotional support

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

If you would like to read again how you met twins and how friendship with them looked like: [Click]

If you decided to change the twin: [Fred Weasley route]

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

HAT-TRICK

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: a little bit suggestive at the end, and English not being my first language.

• summary: Jude Bellingham has been a bit distracted on the field. Maybe what he needs is a little motivation to get back on track, or so his girlfriend thinks...

a/n: make a request!

Jude Bellingham has always been astute, focused, and relentless on the pitch. Since joining Real Madrid, his star had only risen further, making him one of the most talked-about young talents in football. But lately, something had been off. His last few matches were... well, soft by his standars. He hadn´t been himself—no hunger in his tackles, no fire in his eyes, and it didn´t go unnoticed. He sat in the living room, staring at the highlights of his recent match on his phone. His touches hadn´t been sharp, and his focus had wavered at crucial moments.

It wasn´t something massive, no one will call it a slump, not yet at least. However, he could do it better, he knew it, his team and coaches knew it, and of course, she knew it too.

His girlfriend was sharp. She knew him better than anyone, and while some fans and the media were baffled by his recent performances, she had a good guess. He was distracted. He wasn´t driven the way he used to be, and she had an idea why.

That evening, they were together sat in their apartment, the Madrid skyline glowing in the background. She was quiet, scrolling through social media mindlessly, occasionally glancing at him. She could see the frustration in his eyes—his confidence shaken, his usual swagger dimmed. He didn´t need a pep talk; that wasn´t his style. No, he needed something more direct, something to light a fire under him again. An idea had been dangerously lingering her mind, maybe it was a little bit cruel—for both of them, really, nevertheless, she had a good feeling and decided to test it.

She leaned into him on the couch, her hand touching his bare chest. Jude, sensing the shift in her energy, smirked and reached out to pull her closer. His hand slipped down to her ass, clearly intending for things to heat up.

But she had other plans.

She caught his hand and pushed it away gently but firmly.

Jude blinked, surprised, then chuckled softly. "What´s that about?" His fingers brushed her thigh, teasing.

She slid away, folding her arms over her chest. "If you want to touch me, you´ll have to score a hat-trick."

Said out loud, the idea sounded even more ridiculous, and for a moment, she feared it would sit poorly with him. However, she knew what her boyfriend was like when challenged: stubborn, enthusiastic, firm, and determined. There had been countless times when the two of them had competed or made bets over simple things in exchange for something silly. Neither of them backed down from a challenge, but maybe this was going too far. Anyway, her words had already reached Jude's ears, and it was clear she had caught his attention; his posture changed, and he appeared taken by surprise.

At first he laughed, but then seeing that she wasn´t, his smirk faltered. "A hat-trick? Are you joking? I´ve got more than enough goals to deserve touching you."

She smiled, and decided to continue with her idea. "No. I´m actually dead serious." she said changing turning on their TV as if nothing.

Jude leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "You know I could make you change your mind right now, don´t you?"

Her resolve didn´t waver. She pulled away just enough to lock eyes with him, a teasing smile on her round lips. "Try me. But I´m not budging."

He narrowed his eyes, frustration growing in him, still half-expecting her to crack a smile and let that ridiculous thing go. "So are you joking or not?"

She raised an eyebrow and started walking towards their bedroom. "You´ll see."

Jude sat there for a moment, stunned. He was used to her playing games like this, however, they weren´t about something that serious, but the idea... it stuck in his head. As the night wore on, he made a few more attempts to touch her, playfully teasing, expecting her to give in. But each time, she stood her ground, deflecting him with the same challenge: not until you score a hat-trick.

By the next morning, his frustration was palpable. He tried one last time before training, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pressing himself to her back, and his lips to her neck. "You sure about this, babe?"

She turned in his arms, still kind of sleepy, a knowing smile on her face. "Go score some goals, Jude."

Jude let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. He loved her playful side, but this was a new level of torment. She was using his natural competitiveness against him. What´s more, the game was seven days from today.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “You want a hat-trick? I’ll give you a bloody hat-trick.”

She just smiled against the pillow.

Sadly, she wasn´t able to attend the match that day. Work had gotten in the way, so she was stuck at home watching it on their TV. She had written to him, of course, as she always did when she couldn’t go to the Bernabéu to see the match, wishing him good luck with a couple of white heart emojis and a four-leaf clover. Then, taking advantage of the moment, she had half-joked about not being able to see his "attempt" at the hat-trick in person, but part of her wondered if her challenge would actually work. Not going to lie, she was kind of nervous. He could see him vibrating through the screen with tension every time the camera focused on him.

However, she probably was the most anxious since Jude was animatedly talking to his teammates, as he always did before a game. He wasn’t nervous at all, on the contrary, the memory of her challenge, the way she had teased him all week, stirred something deep inside him. It was no longer just a game; it became something more personal the moment he saw his girlfriend's messages. He hadn’t been bothered at all; on the contrary, he had put his phone away after glancing at the screen and smiling mockingly—surely the same smile she had worn when sending the message.

When the game started, it was clear something had changed. Jude was moving with an intensity that hadn´t been there in the past few matches. His touches were sharp, his passes precise, and he was pressing harder than ever. The commentators noticed it immediately and the crowd was roaring.

Jude left his girlfriend glued to the screen, watching in awe as he ran through the field. It didn´t take long before he found the back of the net, a clean strike from just outside the box that made her jump up from the couch.

But he wasn´t done.

By halftime, he had already scored two goals.

Jude´s third goal was pure instinct—a deft finish after weaving past two defenders and slotting the ball into the bottom corner. Hat-trick. The Bernabéu erupted, but Jude´s attention went to the nearest camera, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He couldn´t hold back his smirk, his chest heaving from the effort of the match, as he pointed directly at the lens and mouthed: "It´s your time to pay, gorgeous!"

She burst out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. He had done it. Her heart filled with pride and joy and she could not stop smiling.

Jude got home later that night, his energy still buzzing from the game, dropped his bag by the entrance and called out, "Babe?"

From the living room, he heard her voice, casual but with a teasing edge. "Hey Jude. Just finishing some work." That was an absolute lie, she had been ogling some clothes in a shopping web minutes before she heard the keys.

Jude smirked, knowing better. His footsteps echoed as he approached her, spotting her on the couch with her laptop open, her legs folded. She glanced up with a small smile, playing it cool.

"So... how was the match?" she asked innocently, her eyes flickering mischievously before she returned her gaze to her screen. “I got caught up with this and I couldn’t watch it.”

He chuckled, looking down at her. Of course she had been watching the game. She always did it. Always. “You know damn well how it went. Haven't you been teasing me enough this week?” His voice was low, his words dripping with confidence.

She shrugged, her fingers tapping the keys, but he could see the slight twitch of her lips, the subtle way her body tensed as he loomed over her. “What? Did you manage to finally score?” she asked playfully.

Jude moved around the couch, towering over her now, his hand gently closing her laptop. She looked up at him, her pulse quickening. There was a glint in his eyes that made her stomach flutter.

“I—,” she tried to say.

But tired of her never ending teases, Jude closed the distance, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was electric, igniting a fire that had been building all week. He slid his hands to her waist, letting himself finally feel her and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as their mouths moved in perfect harmony.

She responded eagerly, god how much she had missed his hands around her body. She let her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him nearer. As their passion escalated, he lifted her off the chair, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the nearest wall, their bodies melting together.

“I think we should celebrate properly” Jude murmured, his lips trailing along her neck, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

She moaned nodding and with a triumphant grin, Jude captured her lips once more. “You know,” he said catching his breath. “I bet I can make you cum three times.”

[moonselune]

Idea! Romanced Companions reacting to a shapeshifter attempting to seduce tav. Only when they transform to what tav is most attracted to, It's literally just an exact copy of whoever tav romanced

Something possessive jumped out of me when I was writing this so might be slightly different to what was expected hehe

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was engrossed in a lively conversation with Wyll, her laughter ringing through the campfire-lit clearing. Their discussion about battle tactics and recent victories was abruptly interrupted when Karlach noticed a stranger approaching you. Instinctively, her hand moved to the hilt of her axe, her keen eyes narrowing with suspicion as the figure drew closer.

To her astonishment, the stranger transformed right before her eyes, taking on Karlach's own form. Anger flared within her as she watched the audacious shapeshifter assume her likeness in an attempt to seduce you. With a growl of displeasure, Karlach stepped between you and the imposter, towering over them with her imposing presence.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she barked, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. She pointed a finger at the shapeshifter, her stance unyielding.

The shapeshifter stammered, clearly caught off guard by Karlach's fierce reaction. "I-I was just…"

"You were just making a big mistake," Karlach interjected, her tone low and dangerous. "There's only one Karlach, and you're looking at her, in all her glory. Get lost before I make you regret it."

With that, the shapeshifter wisely chose to retreat, disappearing into the shadows of the camp. Karlach turned to you, her expression softening as she approached, her arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders.

"You alright, babe?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. "Don't let these idiot cultists get to you."

You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude for Karlach's fierce loyalty. "I'm fine," you assured her, leaning into her comforting embrace.

She brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, her touch gentle yet reassuring. "Good," she murmured, her fiery eyes meeting yours. "You're mine, and no one's going to mess with that."

Despite the intensity of the moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Let's get back to Wyll," she suggested, her voice returning to its usual strength. "He's probably lost without my expert advice."

As you walked back together, her arm still securely around you, you couldn't help but marvel at Karlach's protective nature and the depth of her affection. It was moments like these that reminded you just how fortunate you were to have her by your side, fiercely guarding your heart against any who dared to challenge her claim.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart knelt by the campfire, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tended to her wounds from the day's battle. The air around her was tense with the aftermath of combat, yet she remained focused on her task. Her keen senses alerted her to movement, and she looked up sharply to see a figure approaching – a figure that soon transformed into an exact replica of herself.

Her eyes widened momentarily in surprise, then narrowed with suspicion and barely restrained fury. Shadowheart stood up swiftly, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her dagger, her grip tightening with resolve.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Shadowheart's form, approached you with a disarming smile. "I know what you truly desire," they whispered, their voice honeyed with deceit as they closed the distance between you.

Shadowheart's voice cut through the air like a blade of ice. "You think you can deceive me?" Her tone brooked no argument as she stepped decisively between you and the impostor, her posture defensive and protective.

The shapeshifter faltered, caught off guard by Shadowheart's unwavering composure. "I-I can be what they want," they stammered, attempting to maintain their facade.

"You are nothing but a cheap imitation," Shadowheart hissed, her dagger gleaming in the firelight as she held it steady, a silent threat. "Begone, before I decide to end you."

Realizing the danger, the shapeshifter hastily retreated, their illusion shattered by Shadowheart's unwavering determination. Once the threat had dissipated into the darkness of the camp, Shadowheart turned to you, her stance relaxing slightly though her guard remained.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice softer now, filled with genuine concern. She reached out tentatively, as if uncertain of your reaction, yet her touch conveyed reassurance. "I won't let anyone come between us."

You nodded, grateful for Shadowheart's swift protection and unwavering loyalty. "I'm fine," you replied, feeling a rush of relief at her comforting presence.

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Good," she murmured, her gaze meeting yours with a depth of emotion that spoke volumes. "You're safe now."

As you stood together in the quiet of the camp, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows around you, you couldn't help but admire Shadowheart's strength and resolve. Her fierce protectiveness, combined with her vulnerability in moments like these, made you realize just how deeply she cared. In her own quiet way, she had shown you once again that you were not alone in this journey – that she would always stand by your side, ready to defend you against any threat, real or illusionary.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion reclined near the crackling campfire, idly sharpening a dagger with precise strokes when his keen senses alerted him to an approaching figure. His sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion as he watched the stranger draw nearer, then gasped in disbelief as the figure transformed seamlessly into an exact replica of himself, down to the smug curve of his smirk.

The shapeshifter approached you with a confident stride, mirroring Astarion's sultry charm with unsettling accuracy. "Isn’t this what you desire?" they purred, their voice a distorted echo of Astarion's own, as they trailed a finger provocatively down your arm.

Astarion's amusement quickly turned to indignation. He sprang to his feet, dagger flashing in his hand as he closed the distance in an instant. "Flattery will get you nowhere, darling," he drawled, his tone laced with a dangerous sweetness that belied his lethal intent.

The shapeshifter blinked, clearly caught off guard by Astarion's swift reaction. "But I thought—"

"You thought wrong," Astarion interjected smoothly, pressing the dagger's tip against the shapeshifter's throat with a precise and threatening grace. "Leave now, before I make you regret ever coming here."

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the shapeshifter hastily retreated, their illusion shattered by Astarion's unwavering determination. Once the threat had evaporated into the shadows of the camp, Astarion turned to you, his expression softening as he approached with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Are you alright, my dear?" he asked softly, his usual teasing edge softened by genuine worry. "I can't have anyone thinking they can replace me."

You chuckled softly, reassured by his protective instincts and touched by his genuine concern. "I'm fine," you assured him, reaching out to squeeze his hand in gratitude for his swift defense.

Astarion smirked, the tension easing from his shoulders as he returned the squeeze. "Good," he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes returning. "After all, no one can match up to the original, can they?"

He leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Though I must admit, seeing someone try to mimic my irresistible charm is quite flattering."

You rolled your eyes fondly, unable to resist teasing him back. "Oh please, you love it when someone tries to be as devilishly handsome as you."

Astarion chuckled, the tension of the moment dissipating into playful banter between the two of you. With his arm now draped casually around your shoulders, you felt a rush of warmth and reassurance. Despite the danger that had briefly intruded upon your camp, you knew you were safe in Astarion's capable – and occasionally teasing – hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Gale sat cross-legged on a weathered log, deep in thought as he pored over the ancient tome spread out before him. The soft glow of arcane symbols illuminated his face, casting shadows that danced across the campsite. His scholarly reverie was abruptly shattered by the approach of an unfamiliar figure. His sharp intellect registered the anomaly before his eyes widened in disbelief as the figure transformed into an exact replica of himself, down to the intricate patterns of magical tattoos that adorned his skin.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Gale's form, exuded confidence as they strode towards you with a disarming smile. "I can be everything you need," they declared, their voice carrying the cadence of Gale's own scholarly certainty, reaching out as if to draw you closer.

Gale rose to his feet in one fluid motion, arcane energy crackling around his fingertips. His expression hardened with resolve as he stepped decisively between you and the impostor, his stance authoritative and protective. "This ends now," he stated firmly, his voice carrying the weight of command.

The shapeshifter blinked, momentarily taken aback by Gale's sudden assertiveness. "But I thought—"

"You thought wrong," Gale interrupted, his tone unwavering. "There is only one Gale, and you are not him."

With a flick of his wrist, Gale conjured a swirling vortex of arcane power that surged towards the shapeshifter, compelling them to retreat hastily, their illusion shattered. Once the threat had dissipated into the night, Gale turned to you, his features softening with genuine concern.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked tenderly, his scholarly demeanor momentarily replaced by a gentler expression. "I can't have anyone thinking they can replace me."

You nodded, touched by Gale's protective instincts and grateful for his swift defense. "I'm fine," you assured him, stepping closer and reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm.

Gale's gaze softened further, his lips curling into a small, relieved smile as he covered your hand with his own. "Good," he murmured, his voice a quiet reassurance. "After all, there's no duplicating true scholarly prowess."

He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced back towards where the shapeshifter had fled. "Though I must admit, seeing someone attempt to replicate my intricate tattoos is rather amusing."

You couldn't help but smile back, grateful for Gale's steadfast presence and the depth of his affection. As you stood together amidst the lingering traces of magical energy, you knew that no matter the challenges that lay ahead, Gale would always be there – both scholar and protector, steadfast in his love for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll sat cross-legged near the edge of the camp, his skilled hands methodically polishing the blade of his rapier. The glint of the campfire danced off the silvered steel, casting a flickering light over his focused expression. His senses on high alert, he noticed a figure approaching—a stranger whose form shifted before his eyes into an exact replica of himself, scar over the eye and all.

His grip tightened instinctively on the hilt of his rapier as he stood up, muscles tensing beneath his leather armor. His brows furrowed with suspicion as he took in the audacity of the shapeshifter's deception. "What kind of trickery is this?" Wyll demanded, his voice cutting through the quiet of the night like a blade of ice.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Wyll's form, smiled with an unsettling familiarity, attempting to mimic Wyll's charismatic charm. "I thought you might appreciate a familiar face," they said smoothly, extending a hand towards you in a gesture of false intimacy.

Wyll stepped forward, his posture protective and resolute as he positioned himself firmly between you and the doppelganger. "There is only one Blade of Frontiers," he declared sternly, his gaze unwavering. "And it’s certainly not you."

With a swift, practiced motion, Wyll unsheathed his rapier, the blade catching the firelight as he leveled it at the impostor with unwavering precision. "Leave now," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument, "or face the consequences."

Realizing their ruse was exposed, the shapeshifter hastily retreated into the darkness, their illusion shattered by Wyll's steadfast resolve. Once the threat had dissipated, Wyll turned to you, his demeanor softening as he sheathed his rapier and approached with gentle concern.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked tenderly, his usual confidence softened by genuine worry. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch warm and reassuring.

You nodded gratefully, comforted by Wyll's protective presence and touched by his unwavering loyalty. "I'm fine," you reassured him, offering a small smile to ease his concern.

Wyll returned the smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a mixture of relief and affection. "Good," he murmured softly, his hand lingering on yours as he squeezed it gently. "You know I'll always have your back."

As you stood together in the quiet of the camp, the crackling of the fire providing a backdrop to your shared moment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for Wyll's courage and dedication. His swift defense against the shapeshifter had not only protected you physically but reaffirmed the depth of his love and commitment. In his arms, you knew you were safe and cherished—a feeling that strengthened the bond between you, forged amidst the trials of your journey together.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae'zel's keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the camp with hawk-like intensity, her warrior's instincts finely attuned to any potential threat. When she spotted the approaching figure, her gaze narrowed with suspicion, and her grip tightened instinctively on the hilt of her sword. Her initial curiosity turned swiftly to ire as the figure transformed before her eyes into an exact replica of herself, mirroring her fierce demeanor and steely resolve.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Lae'zel's form, approached you with bold confidence, their voice echoing Lae'zel's commanding tone. "You know you can't resist me," they purred, their eyes fixed on you with unsettling intensity.

Lae'zel surged forward in an instant, her blade drawn and poised for battle. "You dare to mock me with this charade?" she spat, her voice laced with barely contained fury.

The impostor recoiled, caught off guard by Lae'zel's swift and ferocious response. They attempted to retreat, but Lae'zel pursued relentlessly, slashing at them with calculated precision. "There is only one Lae'zel," she declared fiercely, her strikes relentless and unforgiving. "And you are not worthy to even speak my name."

With a final swipe, the shapeshifter narrowly escaped, fleeing into the darkness with their illusion shattered by Lae'zel's unyielding determination. Once the threat had dissipated, Lae'zel turned to you, her expression softening marginally as she sheathed her sword and approached with a rare display of vulnerability.

"You are mine," she stated firmly, her voice holding a mixture of possessiveness and protectiveness. "Do not forget that."

You nodded, touched by the depth of Lae'zel's loyalty and the fierceness of her defense. Her unwavering commitment to your safety and her intense dedication resonated deeply, forging a bond between you that transcended words. As you stood together amidst the quiet of the camp, the tension of the encounter giving way to a sense of solidarity, you knew that with Lae'zel by your side, no challenge could threaten your connection or your shared journey ahead.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

Minthara's keen eyes swept the campsite with a vigilance honed by years of command, her gaze piercing through the shadows to spot the approaching figure long before they neared you. As the shapeshifter transformed into an exact replica of Minthara herself, duplicating her sharp features and the cold disdain in her eyes, Minthara's lip curled in unmistakable contempt.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Minthara's form, approached you with a calculated mimicry of her icy charm. "You know you desire me," they whispered seductively, their voice carrying the chilling allure that Minthara wielded like a weapon.

Minthara stepped forward with swift, purposeful strides, her presence imposing and her expression stone-cold. "You are a poor imitation," she hissed, her hand drifting to the hilt of her weapon. "And I do not tolerate pretenders."

The shapeshifter's facade wavered under the intensity of Minthara's glare, their confidence giving way to uncertainty. "I-I can be whatever they want," they stammered, attempting to salvage the illusion.

"You will never be me," Minthara snarled, her blade drawn now and pressed against the shapeshifter's throat with lethal intent. "Leave," she commanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "and pray I do not hunt you down."

With a final, chilling warning, the shapeshifter fled, their deception exposed and their retreat hastened by the threat of Minthara's wrath. As the tension of the encounter ebbed away, Minthara turned to you, her demeanor softening imperceptibly but significantly.

"You belong to me," she stated quietly, her voice a rare blend of possessiveness and vulnerability. "And no one else."

You nodded, feeling the weight of Minthara's protectiveness and the depth of her commitment. Her fierce defense of your bond left an indelible mark, solidifying the strength of your connection amidst the trials of your journey together. As you stood together in the aftermath, the firelight casting flickering shadows over the camp, you knew that Minthara's unwavering devotion would always be your steadfast anchor in the tumult of your shared adventures.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin knelt by a wounded animal, his hands tender and skilled as he tended to its injuries with the gentle touch of one intimately familiar with the ways of nature. His brow furrowed slightly as he sensed a disturbance, his keen senses detecting the subtle shift in the camp's atmosphere. Rising slowly, his movements deliberate yet fluid, he observed with a mixture of concern and determination as the figure in the distance transformed seamlessly into a perfect replica of himself.

The shapeshifter, now wearing Halsin's form, approached you with a disarming smile that attempted to mimic Halsin's warmth and wisdom. "I know what you like," they murmured softly, stepping closer with unsettling familiarity.

Halsin's voice resonated with quiet authority, his tone carrying the weight of years spent attuned to the natural rhythms of the world. "This deception will not stand," he declared firmly, his eyes unwavering as he moved closer to intercept the impostor.

Caught off guard by the real Halsin's presence, the shapeshifter faltered, their illusion cracking under the intensity of Halsin's gaze. As the druid's form shifted seamlessly into that of a bear, a low, menacing growl rumbled through the clearing, sending the impostor recoiling in fear.

The shapeshifter abandoned their facade in a panicked retreat, fleeing from the camp with the echo of Halsin's protective wrath still ringing in their ears. Returning to his elf form, Halsin approached you with a calm reassurance, his hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder.

"You are safe with me," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering unease of the encounter. "Do not let such trickery disturb you."

You nodded, grateful for Halsin's stalwart presence and the steadfast comfort he offered in the face of uncertainty. His unwavering commitment to your well-being and his innate understanding of the natural world were pillars of strength that grounded you amidst the shifting tides of adventure and intrigue that defined your journey together. As you stood together in the tranquil aftermath, the bond between you strengthened by each shared trial, you knew that with Halsin at your side, there was nothing you could not face with courage and resilience.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope y'all like it - Seluney xx