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yoongsisbae · 3 years ago

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Caught! House of Cards - Chapter 3

You joined a website to make some quick and easy cash. Men paying to look at you, harmless fun, right? Little did you know how dangerous the members of House of Cards were. Watch out! Houses built with cards come tumbling down…

OT7 yandere!BTS x reader / Namjoon x Taehyung x reader this chapter

Oh, I was dying writing this chapter so I think I wrote it well? Heh there’s a lot going on, so you have been warned lol. Also hope to post HOAL soon, that is if BTS would stop attacking me with all these sexy bad boy photoshoots that scream C!HOC mens. Sorry, but can you really blame me? :(

Warnings: 18+ dark themes, reader manipulation, scary yandere behavior, voyeur, masturbation, lots of drinking and drunkenness, dubcon, dry humping on the dance floor lol, this is pretty filthy, all of them are horny, dom!Namjoon, dom!Taehyung, Tae’s a lot, shibari, bondage, blindfold, rough sex, edging, multiple orgasms, threesome, degradation, Yoongi continues to be a meanie, slut shaming, extreme regret for reader that could be triggering I think, tell me if I need to tag anything else

PSA: to reiterate, this is a yandere fic, this is all fantasy, this is scary, no one actually wants this to happen to them irl. But I’m also here for you if you wanna enjoy some hot fictional villains, alright? I got u boo.

Word Count: 8.7k

Playlist: Rotimi - Push Button Start // Shenseea - Blessed (with Tyga) // ROSALIA - Con Altura // Sean Paul - Go Down Deh // Afro B - Drogba // Aya Nakamura - Pookie // DJ Nelson - PAPI //J Balvin - Amarillo // SUPA NYTRO - Tik Pon Cock // Paris Lain - Way (links here)

---

“P-please...”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, Daddy.”

He groans in your ear. “Hmm no.” He pulls his fingers out of you, you hold onto the banister as your orgasm escapes you. Your body shakes with need.

“You’ll come find me later tonight, won’t you, baby girl?” His warmth leaves your body, when you turn around no one is there.

---

Your legs are still shaking as you make your way downstairs. You tried not to think about the slick between your thighs as you descended each step, or think about RM’s warm breath against your ear. No, you won’t think about his deep voice that makes you shiver still, or the way he massaged your neck like he had done it a hundred times before...out of all the weird fucked up things you thought could happen tonight, never ever did you expect to meet RM again.

He reminded you of all the reasons why you allowed yourself to fall deeper into that kind of exhibitionistic lifestyle as a carded member. The money was good, but the sweetest rewards were corporal. The saccharine praise your admirers would give you became addicting. You even became close to some of them, for an extra fee.

What was it your old school counselor would say? It wasn’t about the destination, the real reward was the friends you made along the way. Except your new friends told you all their dirty filthy desires and watched as you would get off for them. You learned quickly your sexual appetite was ravenous, the more you indulged the worse it got. You had been starved for attention for so long, quarantine only amplifying your loneliness, and the dark site fed you well.

RM also reminded you of all the reasons why you left. You still don’t understand how you fell so deep so fast, let digital become physical when you promised yourself you wouldn’t. The House Rules made the descent into filth almost inevitable. During your only experience inside The House, you had been shown truths you didn’t want to face, depravities you enjoyed. After that night you went home, showered away your sins until your skin burned, logged out and never logged back in. It was the best way to end your addiction to House of Cards, end it cold turkey.

You were not prepared for this again. You were not prepared for how much you craved it.

---

The party became wild. Your body now hyper aware of everything after RM worked you up so skillfully and denied you any release. The music reverberates throughout the halls, the beats of the bass clashes with the pounding in your head. The smell of drugs and sex assaults your nostrils, and every time a dancer bumps into you, your body remembers RM’s touch.

So many bodies around you and you feel all alone like an outcast. Where’s Yoongi? You're beginning to miss that annoying smirk and the overconfident man attached to it, you could use some of that confidence right now.

As the room spins around you, your eyes find the place where you had been standing. You’re disappointed it’s empty. Not that you knew what RM looked like, but you feel like you’d recognize him as soon as you saw him, a man like that would look like walking sin.

You shift your upward gaze to the gold ropes hanging from the ceiling, eyes traveling down until you meet the glistening body of a woman. She’s so beautiful it makes you ache, arms secured behind her back, her leg extended and tied high, her other leg bent and pressed to her side and her spread open for everyone to see.

You play with the pendant around your neck, and you can’t help but imagine yourself in her position, tied up for everyone to see, for Yoongi to watch. You’re soaking. You need a drink.

---

“Hey,” you bump into Yoongi’s side as you sit down, grabbing his whisky glass and downing what’s left. The burning liquid makes you grimace, face scrunching up in distaste.

He pulls the glass from your grip, looking you up and down, sharp eyes narrowing, “Where have you been?”

“I got lost.” His arm snakes around your waist. His touch feels good, you don’t want to admit how much your body yearns for more, wants to be wanted. “Where are Jimin and Hobi?”

“Dancing,” Taehyung interjects as he gets closer to you, offering you another glass of champagne. You take it gratefully, sipping on the sweet liquid, anything to numb the ache you feel inside.

His eyes sparkle as he scrutinizes you up close, examining your dark makeup and tight dress. He wants to smear the red lipstick on your lips with his fingers, and his mouth, and his cock. He wants to stain your pretty black dress with his cum, let the milky white fluid drip all over the black silky fabric, between your breasts-

“I’m sorry, what is your name again?”

You ask him so innocently, Taehyung can forgive you for forgetting. Jungkook on the other hand, silently simmers with rage, especially when Yoongi smirks at him, sitting pressed to your side like a lover would.

“Taehyung,” The man gives you a big wide smile, “that's Seokjin,” he points to the tall man who keeps his distance, “and this,” he hits Jungkook’s chest and pulls him into a headlock, “is Jungkook!” Taehyung leans in to whisper in your ear, “a big fan.”

Your eyes go wide, did you hear him correctly? You watch the two play fight. Jungkook punches his older friend in the side a bit harder than he was expecting, earning a yell from Taehyung. They act cute, you think, Jungkook looks too innocent, you can’t believe he had watched you in his free time.

Hoseok and Jimin find their way back into the group. “Y/n, you’re back! Yoongi was about to send out a search party for you.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, and you lean your chin onto your palm, raising your eyebrows at him, trying to hide your smile at the way they tease him.

“Is that so?” His fingers pinch the flesh of your back at your retort, making you squirm at the ticklish sensation. When you try to pull his hand away, he takes the opportunity to intertwine your fingers together, pulling you firmly to his side.

You look down at Yoongi’s hand in yours, resting on your hip. Without the alcohol cursing through your veins you might have pushed him off you, but instead you sit buzzed and docile. He acts so possessive of you in front of the others, it makes your heart race. “Well I’m here now.”

“I’ll cheers to that!” Jimin fills everyone’s drinks. 7 glasses clang together and they cheer, making you giggle as you down the glass. One cheers becomes two, and then another bottle comes, until you're welcoming back that hazed state of mind that feels so freeing. The background fades away and the booming music around you becomes muffled as you try your best to focus on the conversation, until you realize you’re in Yoongi’s lap, his veiny hands dancing around your exposed thigh. He says something you can’t hear, so you tilt your head back, resting on his shoulder, whining out a slurred, “what!”

“You’re having too much fun.” He suppresses the urge to move his fingers higher, instead tracing lazy circles into your leg, making you twist in his lap, lips parting as you enjoy the sensation. Your body feels heavy from inebriation, so you lean your weight onto him more, focused on his cold rings against your warm skin.

You move your head closer to his. “You wanted to bring me here, right?” you laugh, and you swivel your body against him, grinding into his lap to the tempo of the music. Yoongi notices the others' heated stares, so he shifts his leg, pressing his hands into your thighs, opening your legs wider, and you’re too drunk to notice or care.

Yoongi tries to hold onto his thinning composure, how many times had he thought of you like this? So receptive and needy in his arms. He enjoys your torturous hip rolls, reveling in the fact that the sight tortures his audience even more. But you’re not really paying attention to that, your body only responding to how the music beat hits so well, his growing erection encouraging you to keep rubbing up against him like a cat in heat.

“Y/n, let's go dance!” Hoseok calls out to you over the music. His request pulls you from your trance. You sit up, shaking the clouded haze from your mind.

“Dance? Okay!” You let Hoseok pull you to your feet, stumbling slightly into him.

You turn to Yoongi, “You don’t mind, do you?” you ask, ready to start a fight. He glares at you. You sway on your feet and glare back. Such a brat, he thinks, you’ll just have to be taught a lesson later. Yoongi picks up his whisky and waves you off.

---

The dance floor is hot and alive with writhing bodies. You let Hoseok roll his hips into you from behind, your own hips following his movements. His toned arms lock around you, holding you, as he pulls your body lower and lower, until you’re crouched to the floor, your bodies connecting again and again as he rubs his hardening bulge into your ass to the beat.

It feels so so good, his warm body on you, seeking pleasure from one another. Every roll and buck helps to release the frustration RM did to you.

Hoseok’s hands pull your dress higher so you can spread your knees wider. He holds the bunched up fabric to your core to keep what’s left of your modesty, and your arms reach behind you to hook around his neck to keep yourself steady.

Hoseok is such a good dancer, masterfully guiding your loose body. You pull and push each other along to the sensual music, shifting your weight against your combined center of gravity as your bodies heat up in each other’s embrace.

Hoseok moves the hair from your neck away, blowing air on the back of your neck. His hand cups your breast, fondling you out in the open, “You like when I do this to you, don’t you Dahlia?” You’re too drunk to catch the pseudonym he uses.

You close your eyes focusing on his hands groping your body, your fingers fisting into his hair, pulling him closer, and his tongue licks off the sweat on your neck. Hoseok knows all the ways to leave you delirious with lust, hands running up and down your body, massaging your curves and leading your hips to meet his. If he’s making you feel this good with your clothes on, you can only imagine how amazing he’d be in bed, hips rolling against you as he fills you up with his stiff cock...

You’re so focused on Hoseok you don’t realize another body moving closer to you, another pair of hands on you, until Taehyung presses himself into your front.

The music fills your head, the dirty words being sung encouraging you to release all your inhibitions. Your arms reach out to run up Taehyung’s abdomen, up and up his chest, loving the feel of his muscles under your fingers.

He places your arms around his neck as he moves forward, his leg slotting between yours. With Hoseok grinding against your back and Taehyung rubbing against your front, you feel like you’re going to combust. The crowd around you is a blur, but everything about them feels so solid, so hard against you. Caged between them, you submit to every caress, every touch from both men.

Taehyung holds the back of your head to keep your eyes on him as Hoseok leaves open mouth kisses on your shoulder. Taehyung’s thumb caresses your cheek, “You’re so beautiful.” his mouth slides across your jaw, under your ear, licking and nibbling at your lobe, giving you goosebumps, “You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

You place your finger over his mouth pushing him away, too embarrassed to hear more, but your hips can’t help but push into him at the praise.

“Come with me,” he pulls you away from Hoseok, his friend winking at him behind your back, and you foolishly follow him through the sea of dancing bodies.

---

Pulling you into a dark corner, he cages you in before you can protest. Lips finding your neck, hooking a finger under your choker, pulling up, forcing your neck to tilt so he can reach more skin. Even if you want more, you still have some sense left in you to know letting Yoongi’s friend do this to you in front of everyone is a bad idea. “W-wait. Yoongi will-”

Taehyung’s arm slams into the wall. The noise startles you into silence. It’s Yoongi, always Yoongi. What about him? He steadies his breathing after noticing your wide eyes.

“Y/n, do you know who I am?” He leans onto the wall hovering over you, dark eyes peering down at you as he waits for your answer.

You feel your stomach drop under his intimidating gaze. “Should I know who you are?”

He answers your question with another question, “Do you know who Yoongi is? Do you really have no idea?” His interrogation takes you aback.

“He’s one of my...v-viewers...”

“Yes, who? You never thought to ask, baby?” Taehyung looks at you so accusingly, you feel ashamed that you can’t answer him.

“Who is he?” You ask.

He smiles, a twisted grin that makes you feel uneasy. Eyes lighting up darkly once his suspicions were proved right.

“How about this, since we both have so many unanswered questions, why don’t we play a game? I’ll answer one of your questions and then you answer one of mine. I’ll even let you go first.” His playful demeanor is back, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

“Who are you?”

Taehyung smiles wide. You asked the right question. “I go by V.”

What? “You’re V?”

---

You log into the House of Cards website, open your account to a litany of unread messages. Your eyes skim through them, and one catches your eye. It’s V, the second highest donator from the other night’s stream.

V: you looked so beautiful the other night. I hope to see another broadcast soon...for next time?

V sent you an eighty dollar donation and a link to a lingerie set: pink lace, a sheer see-through pattern on the cups with a matching lace thong and garter belt.

You’ve bought lingerie for men before, for then boyfriends on your anniversaries or Valentine’s day dates, but you’ve never had a man buy you lingerie before. With shipping you’ll still have money left over, so you decide to add some more things in your basket to surprise him for being such a generous donor. It’s not because you had enjoyed his compliments the most during your stream, no. You found a cute pair of thigh high socks and some stick on rhinestones, coming up with a plan to get V’s attention. You squeal once the order goes through, ‘time to arts and craft in this bitch.’

You open his message again, fingers hovering over the keyboard, what should you say? Should you make it sound sexy or cute? ‘C’mon y/n, just flirt.’

Dahlia: Thank you, V. I will wear it for my next broadcast. Just for you sexy <3

Ew ew. No. Before pressing enter you delete the last sentence.

Dahlia: Thank you, V. I will wear it for my next broadcast. See you soon ;)

You go through all your messages, in a much better mood than you’ve been in a long time. You bop your head to the music that flows through your speakers in your living room while coming up with different replies to each new viewer.

It feels good to be stress free, you think, while sipping on cup ramen because you’re still waiting until your earnings clear your account to buy groceries. You’ve managed to answer every message when a new notification dings. V attached a picture.

V: I can’t wait.

Holy... A picture of a shirtless man from the neck down pops up. He’s not overly muscular, but he’s lean and toned, with defined pecs and v-line. Mmm. ‘V’ indeed. His jeans are unbuttoned. His legs spread wide, as if he were inviting you to sit on his lap.

You’re being catfished, you surmise. This man has to be using someone else’s pictures. Or he has a face only a mother could love. Either way, you’ll play with this fantasy. it’s not like you’ll actually ever meet in real life.

So you decide to play along, it’s not like you had work to go to, or anything to do really. Locked up in your tiny home alone and slowly going stir crazy would lead to some unfortunate decisions for you. One of the worst, allowing V to get so close to you.

Abandoning your snacks, you grab your laptop and run to the bedroom, jumping on your bed. Your laptop opens to another risque photo, his jeans zipped even lower. Hand grabbing a very defined bulge resting inside his pants leg. Well fuck.

Dahlia: is that really you?

V: yes baby

V: I wish you were here with me right now. I would make you feel so good, just like you deserve.

V: How about you, am I turning you on?

You clench your legs together instinctively.

Dahlia: you are.

V: are you touching yourself?

Should you lie? You could. But the pictures and his words are doing something to you, you feel jitters and a quick pace and a throbbing core. Suddenly you have an idea.

Dahlia: why don’t you see for yourself?

You create a private room, aim your camera down, mirroring the same angle in V’s picture and send the link to him. You pull the front of your sundress down to show more cleavage and the hem up to show more leg, and you wait.

There’s a notification: ‘1 new viewer.’

V: you look so pretty, you look like a doll

V: I wish I was there.

“Yeah? What would you do to me?”

V: I would spread your legs

You spread your legs at his words. Your stream plays in Taehyung's bedroom, he watches intently, and when your panties come into view he pulls his jeans down to his thighs freeing his hard erection, slowly stroking himself to the sight of your body.

V: fuck, so good baby. being so good for me.

V: I would take off your panties. slowly

You follow his commands and slowly remove your underwear. You like being told what to do, you imagine he’s on the bed with you, telling you everything, guiding your pleasure.

V: touch yourself for me

V: you’re wet already? how cute

V: that’s a good girl, just like that

V: imagine it’s me. my fingers stuffed inside of you, giving you everything you want

V: you’re mine and mine only

V: you’re going to be mine to kiss and fuck. I’ll take care of you baby doll, make you cum all over my fingers. You want that too?

V: you're so pretty baby, you like putting on a filthy show for me? desperate little girl

V: open your legs wider

V: doing so well for me, stay just like that. you’re driving me crazy

V: cum for me

You pulse, moaning out loud, reaching your high. When your lust filled haze clears you don’t feel dirty like before, you feel good. Even better when V sends you another eighty dollar donation.

Taehyung played sweet and affectionate very well. When talking to other House members you’d try your best to keep things as vague as possible, but sometimes you’d let certain things slip with V, and he always listened so well. Shit, he treated you better than your ex. He’d send you sweet messages, gifts, and the hottest body shots. He would do that often, it made you needy for more affection. He was a part of a small group of viewers that you’d offer special private streams to. Little did you know your carefree playdates were Taehyung’s obsessions.

---

Taehyung feels a special kind of gratification at the way you gawk at him, stunned into silence. “Now my turn,” Taehyung’s expression goes from playful to serious in an instant, “Why are you here with Yoongi?”

You swallow, this was V all along. You teetered between happiness and unease, you remembered all the sweet memories you had with him, but this man was still a stranger to you. He keeps staring at you, is this how he looked watching you through the computer screen? Fuck, your imagination could not have dreamed up a sexier man. Oh right, he is waiting for your answer.

You explain to him what happened, Yoongi recognizing you at your job, the agreement you made with him afterwards. Taehyung moves from hovering over you to standing by your side. He listens intently as his eyes scan the crowd. You watch the dancers as you sober up, observing the debauchery you had just been a part of. Taehyung hums as you finish your story.

“Who is-” Taehyung doesn’t let you finish, his eyes staring at the second floor’s balcony. “You looked like you enjoyed yourself. You looked so pretty up there, with my friend’s fingers inside you. You were being such a cute little slut.” His eyes roll back inside his head and he opens his mouth sighing.

He saw you. Did the others- “Did Yoongi see?!” you pull on his arm to get him to focus on you.

“No, he didn’t, just me. My turn!”

You felt tricked, using your question up already.

He turns to face you, leaning his side against the wall. You can't help but notice how he stares at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes, gaze traveling down your body and pausing at every place your skin shows, your cleavage and your thighs. “He really worked you up, you looked so guilty when you came back,” Taehyung’s teasing tone back again, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Yoongi suspected something.”

Your eyes go wide with worry. “I’m willing to keep that secret for you if...” he bites his lip and leans in whispering, “I bet you’re still wet too. Can I have a taste?”

“R-right now?”

“Yes. That’s my turn again! And I’m waiting for my answer.” He gets closer to you, pressing up against you again, his hands brushing against your thigh. You look around, how far away are you from the crowd? How far away are you from Yoongi?

His lips brush against your temple as he leans his jaw against your forehead. “No one will see. Put your hands back on my shoulder, c’mon baby, be good for me.” His body blocks you from everyone’s view.

His head in your hair, taking a long inhale, breathing in your scent, Taehyung can’t get enough of you. Your shaky arms obey him, laying loosely on top of his broad shoulders. You lay your head on his chest, even if his words come out smooth, his heart is racing as he moves quickly between your bodies, dipping his long fingers inside you. You try to bite back a moan, but it feels too good.

Taehyung feels like he’s going to burst. You’re so wet, dripping all over his hand. He tries to fight his urges, there’s so many things he wants to do to you. Your soft whimpers sound so beautiful, so much better in person. You’re his to play with, all his.

He groans, pushing you hard against the wall. He looks like he’s going to devour you, your body tenses and you clench around his fingers. It only encourages him on. You grip his shoulders as he drives his hand upward, fingers pushing into you deeply as you fight against gravity, forced to stand on your tiptoes, struggling against him as his mouth attacks your neck, biting down hard. It’s too rough, too fast. “Tae-V-stop!”

His entire body stills against you, except for his fingers, teasing you still as they steadily press around inside your walls. You try to come to your senses, but everything about him unravels you.

He whispers against your forehead. “Last round, baby doll.” His voice raspy and breathing heavy as he holds himself back from tearing the clothes off your body. “One more question for each of us. I know where RM is, do you want to know?”

'RM,' who told you to find him, and V, who knows where. You gasp and nod your head, waiting but Taehyung smiles down at you in silence, fingers sliding out of you, making you whimper and grip the wall for support when he finally gives you space. He stays quiet as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking the wetness off his palm.

Your legs feel like jello, your body buzzes with each shameless lick as you watch him. You swallow the saliva accumulating in your mouth, pushing the lump in your throat down. You know what he wants. You played right into his trap, and the worst part is you want it too.

“Where is he?”

---

“If you think you’re going to keep her all to yourself you’re in for a rude awakening!” Jungkook grits out.

Yoongi sits quietly with his arms folded as Jungkook starts hurling accusations at him. Jin and Hoseok try to calm the youngest down, but it’s no use.

He grabs Yoongi’s collar, the action making Yoongi finally snap, and without warning Yoongi punches him squarely in the face. Yoongi had taken advantage of his friends holding Jungkook back and distracting him, satisfied when the young man recoils, stumbling back.

Before he can really lose it, Hoseok and Jimin drag Jungkook away, as the youngest screams all the ways he’s going to make Yoongi pay, not even aware of the blood leaking from his nose. Jin pulls Yoongi away in the opposite direction, “We need to talk.”

Jin walks Yoongi outside so they can both get some fresh air and clear their heads.

“He needs to learn not to disrespect his elders,” Yoongi mutters, wiping the blood off his knuckles.

“You know how he gets,” Jin counters, “Don’t act like you didn’t want that exact reaction from him. You were egging him on all night with y/n.”

Yoongi scoffs. He can’t stand how Jungkook acts like you belong with him. Jungkook is crazy. He’s too hot-headed and oversensitive, the complete opposite of Yoongi. The youngest suffers from inexperience and naivety. All that bark, and he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to you. No, Jungkook doesn’t deserve you, Yoongi thinks, he could never take care of you like Yoongi could.

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish? You brought y/n back and we’re all happy for that, but if Jungkook is right, then I’m going to have to agree with him, brother.” Jin squeezes his friend’s shoulder and Yoongi shakes him off.

“I wasn’t going to keep her locked away.” Yoongi says dismissively. Not that he didn't think once or twice about it.

“How gracious of you.”

“Listen, I found her. She chose me before and she’ll choose me again. The last time you were with her, what happened, Brother? Hobi and Jimin, Jungkook and even you can fight over her all you want. In the end, she will come back to me.”

Jin smiles, he will let Yoongi think that. “And where is your y/n now?”

“I’ll go find her,” Yoongi goes to leave, itching to get you by his side again.

Jin’s hand on his chest stops him. Jin can’t help but smile at his poor friend’s situation, he had been tricked by the two youngest, a plan they orchestrated themselves and everyone else went along with. But Jin couldn’t keep his friend in the dark any longer, especially when revealing the truth would make the aftermath that much more entertaining for Jin.

“I have to tell you something.”

---

You stand in front of the door Taehyung had led you to, your nerves on high alert. Taehyung stands behind you, humming to himself. His arm reaches over your shoulder to rapt three knocks on the door.

As the door knob turns, Taehyung exclaims behind you, “Oh! I forgot.” His long fingers cover your eyes, as he pulls your head back, your body stumbling and crashing against him.

“Taehyung!”

“Shh. Calm down, it’s more fun this way,” he whispers in your ear as you hear the door creak open.

“What do we have here?”

“I brought her for you,” Taehyung purrs. You can feel his chest puff up behind you, he’s ecstatic, you played his game so perfectly, he was so proud of you.

“Good boy.”

You feel fingers wrap around yours as Namjoon brings your hands to his lips, caressing your knuckles. “And what about you? Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

---

Jimin tends to Jungkook’s bleeding nose as Hoseok pours himself a drink. “Thanks for taking one for the team, Kookie.”

Jungkook keeps his head tilted back to stop the blood, glancing over to Hoseok, lips curving in a smile, he’s happy that he accomplished his part of the plan successfully, “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

Jimin flicks him in the forehead. “No you’re not, unless you want y/n to never forgive you.”

“She won’t,” he pouts, “she acts like she hates him. I’ll be doing her a favor.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

---

The room is quiet, too quiet compared to the raucous party outside. So when Taehyung drags a chair from the corner of the room, the wood scraping against the floor sounds all the more foreboding. Goosebumps bloom on your body as if Taehyung dragged his fingernails along your skin instead.

You sit kneeling on the floor waiting, knees tucked underneath you. RM sits on the bed behind you, legs outstretched and you between them. You stare down at his shoes, shiny black loafers, and glance at his pants legs on either side of you. It's the first time you’ve ever seen a part of him. You want to look up so badly, the idea sits heavy on you, tensing every muscle in your body as you fight your curiosity. The only thing you want more is to find out what will happen if you obey them.

Taehyung pulls the chair right in front of you, facing the bed, you and RM. Another pair of shoes brush against your knees as Taehyung takes a seat.

RM’s fingers rest atop your head and keep your head tilted down while he waits for his friend to situate himself. Until eventually RM moves behind you, fingers fisting your hair and pulling you to your feet. “Go sit on his lap.”

Taehyung sits looking at you like he's just been given first place prize, smirking pridefully as you walk towards him on shaky legs. His shirt is already unbuttoned, tan skin and taunt muscles in full view. That's V, all right. Your insides ache for him, his seduction luring you in like a firefly to light.

Your dress stretches around your thighs as you straddle him, his hands grabbing at your ass and pulling your body into his.

You hear RM’s low voice growl behind you, “Kiss him.”

For a moment you think about the intense quiet man who brought you to this island, his piercing eyes flashing through your mind until Taehyung’s lips crash into yours and you can only think about how sweet the man devouring you tastes, and you kiss him back, exploring his mouth with your tongue.

His hands grope your body, pull your face closer, force away the fabric of your clothes. His touch is everywhere, keeping you distracted only on him as RM sets things up behind you.

RM pulls off his tie as Taehyung’s hands move to either side of your face, and he pulls you away from him, leaving one last peck on your lips, “You’re doing so well, baby doll. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

“V...Taehyung, I-I’ve wanted this too.”

“Will you do what I say?” You feel RM’s hands unzip the back of your dress, the fabric lowers and exposes your chest. Taehyung’s grip on your face tightens as you’re momentarily distracted, bringing your attention back to him.

“Yes.”

“I want you to fuck RM while I watch.”

He what who?

Taehyung brings his hips up causing you to lose your balance when he senses your hesitation, his hard length rubs against your aching core, “Don’t you want to? You wanted so badly for me to take you to him, didn’t you? All you have to do is say yes.”

His thumb traces your jaw as RM lowers his black tie across your eyes. Your heartbeat races, your thighs clench around Taehyung’s legs making him moan and buck into your heat. You shudder and RM secures his tie behind your head with a tight knot.

“Tae...” your fingers tighten into the loose fabric of his shirt at your sudden loss in vision.

Taehyung clasps his hands around yours, holding your wrists together as RM presses himself against your back, and you feel ropes being wrapped around your wrists. “You’re so pretty like this, remember last time?”

You do remember. Fuck, how did you end up like this again? This is all Yoongi’s fault.

RM’s hand wraps around your neck and his deep voice speaks in your ear, “Answer him, baby girl.”

“I-I remember.” You want to cry, you want to cum, you want them to stop this torture.

“Let us make you feel good again,” Taehyung’s voice lowers even deeper than RM’s.

“I...okay.”

“You’ll let RM use you?” You nod your head, grateful you can’t see them. You let yourself hide behind the makeshift blindfold.

“Use your words, I want to hear you say it,” RM demands.

“I want you to use me,” you sit and wait, embarrassed the words left your mouth so easily. The lack of response makes your insides churn, you can’t see the way they smile at each other. If Yoongi wants to make you only his, they are just going to have to destroy you for any other man.

RM’s grip around your neck tightens, arm wrapping around your body as he lifts you off your feet. You land on the soft covers of the bed, you have no time to adjust to the drastic change of orientation before you feel harsh tugs as RM works to undress you, throwing the clothes over to Taehyung who takes his time breathing in your scent, licking the moistness from the fabric.

Namjoon pulls on the rope wrapped around your wrists placing them high above your head, his weight bears down on top of your leg as he grabs your other leg and spreads you wide. The way Taehyung moans reach your ears you suspect he has full view of your naked body. You wiggle against RM’s hold as best you can.

“Mmmm so needy and I’m not even doing anything yet.” RM’s hand leaves your wrists as he moves lower, resting his upper body on top of yours, effectively pinning your lower body down. Having full reign to play with you in this position, you feel his fingers teasing at your entrance. Your tied hands explore the expanse of his back, his shoulders so wide you can’t reach around to end his teasing, you can only moan and whimper at his slow ministrations.

“Ahh so wet,” RM massages everywhere except the place you want him most.

This is mean, this is tortuous, you’ve obeyed them and they still tease you. You cry out in frustration, clenching every time his fingers poke at your hole, RM’s grip on your thigh is too tight to move even an inch. You shove his back with your tied hands and RM laughs.

“Tae, help me out.” You feel fingers finally pressing into your aching clit, rubbing slow circles, making you cry out. RM’s fingers continue to drag across your lips, gathering the wetness that drips from your core. They slowly and steadily work the tension out of you until you’re numb with pleasure.

You let out a scream when your orgasm finally hits you. After being tortured all night, teased until you were delirious, the release becomes so intense you black out, and when you come to RM is pumping his fingers into you roughly. Your body seizes up again, racing into another orgasm. He rocks his hand into you, thumb rubbing your sensitive hood, and you release again. But RM doesn’t stop. He takes and takes, leaving you breathless. The sounds of your wetness fills the room, mixing with Taehyung’s grunts and moans at your helpless state.

“I c-can’t...too sensitive!”

“This is what you wanted, for Daddy to use you. Take it.”

Your tied hands try to move RM’s body off of you, but he is like a boulder on top of your body, unaffected by your hits. You struggle until his pleasure overtakes the pain, and you fall back, losing yourself in the way his fingers fill you up, hitting the deepest parts of you so skillfully. You stop fighting and accept the power he holds over you, he is making you feel so good you want him to take it, the thought sends you hurtling into another orgasm, tightening again around his fingers.

He can feel how close you are. “Be a good girl and give me one more,” RM groans, “that’s it.”

You’re wailing in pleasure now, unable to stop your cries. Your weak body shaking in his grasp. You feel something wet hit your outstretched thigh. Taehyung’s deep grunts of release finally undoing the coil inside you, and you orgasm for a third time around RM’s fingers.

RM lets go of you finally and you lie boneless, breathing ragged, blind and numb to the world. The air feels cool on your sweaty body as you come down from your high. You feel the bed dip as RM joins you again. Before he had been fully dressed, now you can feel his warm skin against your slippery body.

He lays himself between your legs. His lips finally meet yours, they feel full. You moan into his mouth as his tongue plays with yours. You want to touch his face but your arms are still tied together, so you caress his hair instead, the back of his neck, his muscular shoulders, trying to feel as much as you can.

His hard length brushes against your oversensitive core, his mouth swallowing your whimpers as he pushes himself in. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, but the stretch still leaves you gasping. His thrusts are hard and deep, you focus on how the weight of his body feels on top of yours as he uses you to reach his high. “You’re taking Daddy so well, baby.”

“T-Thank you, Daddy,” you stutter out between moans.

RM holds your wrists down as he finishes, releasing deep inside you. You feel every pulse from his cock, the pressure almost becoming too much as he fills you up.

You hear the familiar scrape of the chair again as Taehyung comes closer, fingers wiping away the tears on your face making you feel cared for. You don’t see how he licks your salty tears off his hand.

RM lifts your tired body in his arms, cradling you to his chest. He puts you in his lap as he takes a seat in the vacant chair.

“Tae has been such a patient boy, I think it’s time for his reward.”

RM moves your body so your back is flush against his, pulling the rope on your hands around his head, locking your arms. His hand massages up and down your legs, putting his knees in between yours.

“Kneel.” You realize RM is addressing Taehyung. He spreads his legs to make room for Taehyung, forcing your legs open in the process.

“RM-” Namjoon places his hand over your mouth, the same way he did at the party, stifling your scream as Taehyung buries his face into your pussy.

Taehyung eats you out while RM keeps you open, until you’re shaking in his lap, until you can’t form anything coherent anymore, until you’re so sensitive Taehyung’s lips around your clit is the only thought in your head, the drag of his tongue pulling away from you the last thing you feel before exhaustion sends you into the deepest sleep of your life.

---

You wake up alone.

You pull the sheets closer to your naked body as you look around the vacant room. Everything is moved back to its place, floor empty. You search the ground for your clothes but there’s nothing there. You pull yourself out of bed, trying to ignore your aching joints and pounding head. You look for your clothes but there’s nothing. You search the entire room, the closet is empty, the dresser is empty, there’s not even a towel in the bathroom. Where the hell are your clothes?!

You make your way back into bed, pulling the covers over your body.

Oh fuck, what are you going to do?

What time is it? They just left you and took your clothes. What kind of sick game is Taehyung playing now? Tears well up in your eyes.

You feel more confused than ever, Taehyung had been so sweet to you before, you had often fantasized meeting him, but he was so different in person. You hadn’t expected this. He’s going to come back, right? Right?!

You are pulled away from your thoughts at the sound of the door creaking open.

“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.” Your eyes widen as Yoongi makes his way into the room, closing the door behind him. He looks as smug as ever, holding a hanger over his shoulder.

“A-Are those my clothes?”

“Are these the clothes I gave you last night? No, looks like you fucked yourself out of those.” You pull the bedsheet closer to you, gritting your teeth, blinking away your tears.

“Yoongi...”

“Hmm?” He leans against the bedpost, the clothes hanger hanging off one finger. You want to punch him, but you know you're walking on thin ice already.

“P-please help me.”

“You lost the clothes I got you. Why should I give you more?” You can tell he’s itching to humiliate you.

“So you’re just going to leave me here naked?!” you yell at him.

His eyes narrow. He grabs the bedsheet and pulls, dragging it off your body before you can stop him. You wrap your arms around your chest and pull your legs together.

“I should, after what you did!” Yoongi screams, “Whoring yourself out to my friends. Two at the same time, enjoy yourself? Fucking slut.” His words sting you. How could you fuck up so badly, you just let yourself become overtaken by lust.

“Now look at you. You let them take advantage of you. They used you and they left you with nothing. What would you have done if I didn’t find you?” He crosses his arms, his cold eyes glaring at you.

You burst into tears. Is he right? Is that what they did to you? “I’m-s-so-sorry,” you manage to say between sobs.

He sighs, “I’m here now.” You need him, he’s going to make you see that. He moves closer, lifting your chin to look at him. “If they had taken this,” his hand brushes your choker, “I would have killed them.”

You look at him pleadingly, trying to silence your sniffles. He offers you the clothes hanger, “Change into this.”

---

You unzip the clothes bag and pull out a dress with a light flowery pattern. The fabric is sheer and flowy. The matching lingerie set is pastel pink and strappy. Well, even if he is an asshole at least you can count on Yoongi to make you look good. You clean up your makeup and style your hair as best you can in the empty bathroom, removing what's left of the smudged dark eyeshadow, pushing thoughts from last night away. The more you try to make sense of what transpired, the more confused you become, and remembering just makes you feel hot all over.

Yoongi pushes himself off the wall when you open the door.

There is still music playing, still people dancing, a lot less than the night before, but you’re amazed there are any at all.

“Does the party ever end?” you think out loud.

“Only if you want it to.”

Yoongi leads you outside. When you reach the backyard you realize the party truly never really ended, only moved. Partygoers lounge by the pool, drinking and eating.

“Is that a fucking mermaid?” Girls dressed up in tails lay about the pool, you're about to run towards them when Yoongi pulls you away from the pool. “Let’s eat before you decide to go make friends.”

You walk in step. He looks put together as always, wearing simple light clothes, a white shirt tucked into tan pants, an unbuttoned collared shirt on top.

“Is everyone here a House member?” You ask, finally sober enough to start learning some things.

“Yes, I thought it was obvious. It’s nothing official. Just a get-together after our quarterly meeting, something for our investors.”

Right, never did you just have a ‘get-together’ like this. It's annoying how out of touch they are.

You see the familiar faces of his friends sitting in a secluded area. Before you and Yoongi get within earshot he grabs your arm.

“If Taehyung and Jungkook try to touch you again, let me know, will you?”

Wait, Jungkook is RM? What? No way, that doesn’t make any sense. He can’t be, he was downstairs when you first met RM. But why does Yoongi think you fucked him? Jungkook is not RM. Though, you remember how he never spoke to you.

His grip on you tightens when you don’t answer, “Y/n…”

“Okay, okay.”

---

Jungkook watches you and Yoongi whispering to one another. You look flustered when Yoongi places a soft kiss on your cheek before breaking away.

He takes a deep breath, rubbing his temples to take the tension away. When he looks up again, Yoongi and you are walking towards the group, your eyes fixated on...him? Jungkook breaks eye contact and looks back at you...and you’re still staring at him. He keeps eye contact with you, face going redder and redder.

He watches as you greet his friends, eyes glancing his way too frequently to call it a coincidence. What the fuck did Yoongi tell you to make you look at him like he grew three heads?

---

“I’ll be right back.” Yoongi makes his way to the far end of the party where Seokjin is talking to another man. You watch as Yoongi embraces the stranger, it’s one of the few times you’ve seen Yoongi smile, not a self satisfied smirk or a threatening grin, but a genuine smile showing off his gums that make the intimidating man look actually cute. The stranger gives him a dimpled smile in return.

“Who’s that with Seokjin?” you ask Jimin.

He looks over to where you're pointing, Jimin's expression full of mirth, “That’s Namjoon, looks like he made it to the party after all.”

“Oh.”

Jimin pulls on your arm, turning you to him, “Let’s go swimming!”

“Oh, but I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“That’s okay, you can go in your underwear,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you, making you giggle.

“I’ll, um, be right back,” Jimin whines as you get up, and you promise him it will only take a minute. You know you’d never get a chance to talk to Jungkook with Yoongi by your side, the two of them seem to have an odd tension between them. But now that Yoongi is distracted with Seokjin and Namjoon, it’s the perfect opportunity.

“Er hello?”

Jungkook’s wide doe eyes looks up at you. “Hello...”

Okay, he definitely doesn’t sound like RM. “Hi, I didn’t get to talk to you last night. I just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh, hi.”

“...hi.”

This is painfully awkward. You study his frame...he is built. The tank top he’s wearing shows off his broad shoulders and muscular tattooed arms, he looks strong like how you imagine RM. Maybe if you kiss him...

Jungkook watches as you peer over his back. “Dahlia…”

“Hmm? Oh, just call me y/n.” you insist, the alias making you feel self-conscious.

“I missed talking to you...so much.”

“We talked?” Is he really RM? No, it doesn’t feel like him at all.

Jungkook bites his lower lip. His front teeth pressing into his round lips makes him look cute, you think, like a scared rabbit.

“Yes, we used to talk a lot, before...” he bites back the words so he doesn’t make you uncomfortable. “My username is..” Ugh, Jungkook can’t believe he’s saying this to you out loud, why did he have to choose such a dumb username? “PlayboyJK.”

“Oh, oh! I remember you!” You remember your conversations with him. He was a good tipper, a bit unconventional in his requests, but he was always one of the first viewers to your stream.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you would watch me.”

“Why?”

“You’re just so...handsome? I’m just surprised, I guess!”

Jungkook’s ears go red at the compliment. You’re so perfect, you’re a goddess. He’d watch you all day every day, he’d watch you sleep. How could you think he wouldn’t want to watch you?

“I think you’re so beautiful, I like you a lot.”

“T-Thank you,”

“Are you going to start streaming again?

“Ha no no. I put all that behind me. Well, I thought I did,” you say after noticing Jungkook’s confused expression. “Um, it’s a long story.”

“Oh, you don’t have to join again. I could, um, pay you directly.”

“You’d pay me? For what?” you laugh, but you're curious to hear his answer.

“For anything, I’d pay you...just be with me.” you look into Jungkook’s wide eyes, so determined. Maybe if Yoongi had asked you this way, you would have considered it.

“I-HEY!” You squeal as Hoseok lifts you out of your seat. Jungkook gives Jimin a look of dismay as he pulls the younger man to his feet too.

Somehow you ended up in the pool with your dress still on. The sheer fabric doing little to hide the lingerie underneath for all the men to see.

---

The sun has already left the horizon while you sit on the deck of Yoongi’s yacht, drying off your body from the day's watery fun. You listen to the waves hit the walls of his boat as it sloshes around in the water, the rhythm like a whispering melody. The twilight casts everything in blue, the smell of salt and fresh air along with sound of the sea's waves is just so relaxing. What you wouldn't give to experience this all the time.

“Come back with me.” Yoongi's hushed voice breaks your trance.

“And be what, your personal servant?" you scoff, "I don’t think so.”

"What about those girls at the party? You could be like them, always having fun, the center of attention."

You bite your lip. "I don't want that." You wonder if Yoongi will believe you when you don't even believe yourself.

"Or I could just give you all my attention." He gets closer to you. "All this could be your life."

"Maybe I like my life-"

Yoongi laughs at you, earning himself a glare.

"Or I could just keep you here." He smirks down at you.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t dare me.”

You stop glaring at him, turning your head away. You watch the lights on the mansion turn on as the night settles in.

“Do you really want to go back to that boring job?” You roll your eyes at his words. “Don’t you want more? To have fun? I’ll give you everything you want."

"I don’t think you could give me everything."

"Just try. You can always go back, I’m sure that manager friend of yours would rehire you."

You sigh, breathing in deep the salty air.

“I would have to put in my two weeks...”

---

Hobi’s scene was fun to write, I haven’t been to parties or dancing in so long I was like what the hell happens again? Now I wanna dance! Reader who said Yoongi will throw her into the sea last chapter you made me laugh so hard I almost considered making him do that lol. I guess there’s still some time to piss him off enough! Do you believe Yoongi? What do you think (or want) to happen next? <3

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cerastes · 3 years ago

Note

What do you make of Specter's operator record? Personally I liked it, but that's with the knowledge we're getting more Specter backstory soon.

Ok, so! Just as you pointed out, I went into it with the knowledge that:

We're getting Under TIDES soon.

Specter gets a second Operator Record later, some time after Under TIDES.

And with that in mind, I'm fine with it, but if I was a CN player and all we got was Specter's first Operator Record without any knowledge of the future, I would be pretty pissed, lmao. In fact, CN players were pretty pissed, the reception to her Operator Record was pretty bad. Specter is a popular character both in terms of gameplay and character (the latter more so in China, she gets a steady influx of cosplayers, fanart and fanfic in Weibo, Lofter, and such). It's believed that Hypergryph announced her second Operator Record because of this backlash.

Now, with the context and preamble on the table, I want to say: Great idea, not so great execution. Overall, I enjoyed it, but again, that's only with knowledge of the future. Despite that, I sincerely praise Hypergryph for actually having the balls to try a narrative approach like this one on a mobile game. The thing is, just because an idea is interesting doesn't mean it's good, and I think a lot of aspiring writers and designers need to hammer that in their head, especially armchair game designers that like to theorize oh so much about how cool it would be to have a game that did this or that. I don't care if it's cool or not, is it enjoyable to experience?

And that's just the thing with Specter's Operator Record: It felt lackluster in many regards. The approach was definitely interesting, bold, I'd even say, but that doesn't really matter too much if the result isn't a success, now, does it? Let's immediately address the Originium Slug in the room: Specter doesn't even appear in it. Now, is that an interesting approach to an Operator Record? Sure! Is it good? I don't really think so, especially with a character that fans really have been clamoring to see more of in actual cutscenes, given the wealth of clues they've put regarding Specter in other places:

Blue Poison' Files -> We learn that Blue Poison knew Specter personally before her descent to madness, addressing her with her real name.

Skadi's Dialogue -> Skadi implies that Specter was on a very important mission, and more or less confirms she knew her before she went crazy.

Several pieces of official art -> Specter is associated with the phrase "All seas are singing your name".

Ceobe's Fungimist -> It's implied the cursed painting depicting the end times is the same confusing painting Specter painted in her Token.

Rosmontis' Files -> It's confirmed that Specter's spinal cord is filed to the brim with originium fluid, and the Medical Team theorizes that, just like Rosmontis, her infection was artificially induced. It also confirms that they have no idea how Specter is able to fight such an insanely high level of infection.

So, see, this has been a character that fans have really been clamoring to see again. The only cutscene Specter's ever been is the secret cutscene of Grani and the Knight's Treasure AKA the very first event in the game. Understandably, after two years of the game existing, people were a bit miffed that once again we just get breadcrumbs and a non-participation 'appearance', to say the least, in what's supposed to be her day in the limelight.

Now, personally, I kind of get how they are handling her, and the Operator Records are a very faithful reflection of this: Specter is meant to be this mysterious force that we don't have clearance to know about, as Kal'tsit herself is the only one authorized to treat her or even enter her containment quarters. And, in this regard, I think the Records succeed:

It all starts innocently with Suzuran drawing Specter in a Secret Santa and then having to start deep diving to find out who the hell even IS Specter, because absolutely no one knows of her. Eventually, Suzuran lucks out by asking Meteorite, who did participate in a mission with Specter once, to which Suzuran immediately reacts: "Hey hold on, don't they send you on pretty dangerous missions all the time?", and Meteorite's answer is, "Yeah, and she's right at home there."

Now, this is really interesting because we, as Doctor, have some level of clearance: We know things about Specter and can even converse with her to a certain degree, because Doctor is a high authority in Rhodes Island, but the average Operator, like Suzuran, Aosta and Chiave, doesn't even know of her existence. She's one of Rhodes Island's well kept secrets, even within Rhodes Island. Even Meteorite, a veteran Sarkaz mercenary and a bombardment expert, only knows about Specter in a need-to-know basis (because they deployed once together). More telling is the fact that Meteorite doesn't think she'd get along with Specter, simply based on the fact that, just on that one operation, the level of violence and carnage brought upon by Specter unnerved even her, a Kazdel Sarkaz veteran. Well, to be precise, it's not the sheer level of destruction that Specter is capable of that unnerved Meteorite, it's the fact that she does it all seemingly without a care in the world, expressionless, soundless, simply following orders to the letter without showing or taking in a single emotion. To paraphrase Meteorite, "someone that can unleash such destruction and violence upon others so easily, and that can then just not mind it in the slightest, has something wrong and concerning going on with them, no doubt".

Next up, we also learn that Folinic has very restricted, also on a need-to-know basis access to Specter. Keep in mind that Folinic is extremely competent and not at all a stranger to danger: She handles Phantom. So this is a huge hint: There's perhaps more to the secrecy regarding Specter than just her being a dangerous, unstable element. Folinic could reasonably handle Specter professionally, but it's not about whether she can or not, it's about information, and this brings us back to Grani and the Knight's Treasure: Kal'tsit makes it clear to Skadi that Specter is, as a whole, inaccessible to everyone but her, that only she has clearance to access Specter's quarters. Keep in mind that Skadi does not operate in the same conditions, despite also being an Abyssal Hunter. In fact, it's well known that Skadi is infamous among other Operators for being unreasonable and obstructive in operations, as well as unapproachable outside of them (unless you are Grani, who managed to successfully befriend Skadi and vouches for her). There's things about Specter that are so sensitive, so important, that Kal'tsit can't risk them getting out, and even using her as an Operator is something reserved for very dangerous operations. Not even Warfarin, senior staff and Operator that's been with Rhodes Island for a very long time, has full access to Specter, but she clearly knows the importance of keeping her under curtains, given she immediately diffused the Folinic-Suzuran situation by coming up with a compromise on the spot.

There's another interesting contrast between Files and the Operator Record: Meteorite describes Specter as "dead silent". Mind you, we knew from before, thanks to Specter's Files, that the shark is completely silent in battle, but we also do know that she incoherently rambles quite a lot. Folinic sheds some light onto this, explaining that Specter intentionally stays silent most of the time so as to not say anything that could be misunderstood when around others. When she's in a more private setting, however, she does let loose with the insane talk. This is confirmation of something that had been hinted at before: Even though she's insane, there's a fervent part of her clinging onto sanity for dear life with bloodied, splintered fingers, and it manifests itself in how she'll never harm an ally, and how Specter is, to a certain degree, aware of how far gone she is, and thus keeps her mouth shut around others that aren't Doctor or Kal'tsit, so as to not spook them out or accidentally threaten them with her insane rambling.

Then, at the very end, after Suzuran managed to get her present to her, Specter does in fact deliver a thank you present back to Suzuran: A music box, consistent with Specter's love for the arts. Of course, the gift might have been chosen by a proxy of hers (Skadi or Blue Poison, both known to also enjoy music), but the message is all the same: Specter clearly appreciated the gift, and was mentioned to see an improvement in her condition after receiving the doll Suzuran gave her.

So, in paper? All of this? I love it. Of course I do, she's my favorite character, and it was such a bold way to present her Record, too, I respect them trying out new things, it managed to capture the essence of "the mysterious, terrifying fighting machine Operator they don't want us to know about that's actually a pretty sweet and decent person, just going through some really hard stuff" that they've been going for with Specter, it's just, I can also understand (and agree with) fans because... It's been two years, bwahaha, let us see her again, you know? It's her Operator Record, we've gotten some VERY good insights into the lives and days of other Operators through those, like with Angelina's or Kroos'! Of course we also wanted something like that, bwahaha.

What I would've loved, and what I think would've made it all better with fans, is if the final scene had Specter actually show up in Suzuran's room like the cryptid she is, with Suzuran noting the security door had just sort of been casually pried open, Specter's perpetual smile on her face as she's holding her thank you gift before Warfarin and Folinic just sort of storm into the room like "DUDE, WE SAID YOU CAN'T--", she thanks Suzuran wordlessly, gently hands her the music box, and then she calmly turns back and walks back to her confinement quarters.

But, yeah, I've gone on for long enough. I appreciate it overall, knowing what's coming, and I appreciate the idea, I just think they could've handled it better, but the whole essence and message of it, I think lands pretty nicely.

#beta elekid #long post #arknights #specter

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rogue-durin-16 · 4 years ago

Text

MISS SLYTHERIN

Summary: Fred meets the perfect girl at the beginning of his seventh year; although he is reluctant to ask her out, the universe keeps throwing her into every place Fred finds himself in, even in the most unexpected one; the Quidditch pitch.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: mostly fluff

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: language and a little tiny bit of slut shaming (?) and making out

A/N: I was on the subway listening to Sweet Dreams and my brain went 'hOLd oN— bEAteR ReAdER 👁️👄👁️!' so here we are. Kinda long but worth it. Enjoy this <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

It was the first Saturday of the scholar year, and the first ten days tended to be the definition of chaos, so I had volunteered to help my House's prefects with the first years; I was in sixth year, so my first two weeks were mostly free anyway.

I was on my way to the dungeons to pick up the group of kids the prefects had assigned me when I bumped into my Ravenclaw friends, and I decided to chat a bit with them to catch up.

I had my back against one of the hallway's walls, therefore I saw the pair of towering, lean, redheaded figures jogging towards my friends to give them a jump scare.

"That's about it real— AAH!" My friend jolted at the infamous' twins, bumping them for scaring her. "Idiots!"

"Sorry, love." One of them passed his arms over two of my friends' shoulders, while his twin brother's eyes roamed over the circle, tilting his head in confusion when he reached me. "Hello?"

"Hey." I gave them a subtle wave and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Oh, right!" My friend turned to me and pointed at the boy whose arm rested on her. "This is George and that's—"

"Fred Weasley." He introduced himself, offering me his hand to shake with a half smile that promised everything but boredom.

Giving his hand a firm shake, I responded, "Y/n Y/l/n." Our eyes locked; we didn't even attempt to hide the fact that we were measuring one another, and I knew I would have to endure the teasing on my friends' behalf later, but there was something in Fred's gaze that made me extremely curious about his intentions.

I let go of his hand, only for him to take a couple of steps in my direction to stand closer. "And how is it that I've never seen you before, Y/n Y/l/n?" He inquired, leaning on his shoulder against the wall.

"I reckon you don't look much at the Slytherin table?"

His body tensed. "Oh?"

"Oh." I chuckled at his shock. "Scared much?"

The corner of his lips twitched up again. "Should I?"

"Guess that's on you to decide." We lingered on each other's gaze for a bit too long. "I think I'll get going." I was the one to avert my eyes in order to talk to my friends, who were already giving me that look. "See you lat— Oi!" Fred swooped the bag I was carrying off my shoulder and hung it on his.

"I'll carry this for you."

"I'm heading to my House."

"Where else would you be heading?" I turned to my friends in confusion, but they only shrugged; I didn't even have time to ask them what was he up to. "C'mon, Miss Slytherin!"

My eyes got big at the name and I spun around, rushing to catch up with him. "I can carry my own bag, you know that right?"

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to walk with you." I quirked a brow at him when the ginger winked. "Tell me something."

"Like what?" I questioned, a confused yet amused grin dancing on my lips.

He shrugged, averting his gaze to nonchalantly look to the front "Dunno," He changed my bag to his other arm so it wouldn't be between us. "What do you think about Umbridge?"

"Well, she's got terrible taste in clothing." He laughed, and so did I. Just like that, we fell in a quite fluid and enjoyable conversation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRED'S P. O. V.

"—And not only that, she's so smart—" I groaned burying my face in my bed's pillow, very aware that I had been talking about Y/n to George and Lee for at least fifteen minutes. "Yesterday she held my hand and I think my face turned red."

Lee's snort was followed by George's words. "So are you gonna ask her out or...?"

I grimaced. The last couple of weeks, somehow I had managed to bump into Y/n everywhere. It was as if the universe was throwing me towards her, but there was a voice in the back of my head that stopped me from making a move. "What if she says no?"

"Freddie, she blantantly flirts with you every time you see her." George stated with his eyebrows raised. "Just ask her out, mate."

"Aight," I nodded. "I'll do it next time I see her."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

When Adrian Pucey informed me that Crabbe wouldn't be able to play in the upcoming Quidditch match, I instantly regretted accepting my friends' dare of showing up at Quidditch tryouts.

Though I didn't put much effort on it, I got in the team as a reserve, and the moment had come for me to shine. How lovely.

I couldn't really back out of that one, so that's how I ended up in the Slytherin changing room before a match that would be played in the worst conditions. Since I was in deep already, I thought I might as well go for the win with everything I had.

"Oi, Malfoy!" I gestured the kid to come closer, which he did with reluctancy. "Don't give me that look— I don't like you either."

"What."

"You're not half as good as Potter—" Before he started the rant of insults, I spoke again. "Shut it. You're not half as good but you're faster." My words were clear and slow, making sure he would understand. "Keep your eyes on Potter— if he moves, you move."

He seemed to hesitate, weary of my advice, but then he gave me a subtle nod and walked away.

"C'mon, on your feet everyone!" Our captain called us and we obeyed; as we approached our entrance to the pitch, thunders could be heard louder and louder. "We're not only for the win, we're gonna crush them." He shouted, partially so we could hear him over the racket of the storm and the muffled hubbub of the crowd, but also because he wanted us to know how serious he was about it. "Glasses!" I took a deep breath, grasping the bat "Broomsticks!" The gate opened as I mounted my broomstick. "UP!"

"AND HERE COMES SLYTHERIN!!" We heard Lee Jordan's voice as we took off to go around the pitch in formation.

Even before we flew over the Ravenclaw stands, obnoxiously loud cheers of my friends could be heard, and I couldn't help but laugh.

FRED'S P. O. V.

"The hell are they cheering on?" I frowned at the Ravenclaw stands going nuts when our rivals passed over them. "It's bloody Slytherin!"

My brother, who was waiting besides me for the match to start, scanned the stands, and then the opposite team; in an instant, he stood upright and nudged me with his bat. "Oi, look!" George called my attention over the roaring crowd after the Slytherin team had passed over our heads. "The beater! Number 6!"

I looked for their number 6 in the pitch, only finding what George was talking about when they stopped at their starting points. Squinting my eyes, I managed to read through the rain the back of the robe. "Y/l/n— Y/n?!" George laughed loudly, following Angelina's cue and flying to his respective mark in the circle.

"Move!" Katie yelled, flying past me and snapping me out of my awe. Had she always been a beater?

When I reached them, I saw Y/n meticulously making sure she had everything secured.

Our eyes, despite the glasses and the pouring rain, managed to meet seconds before Madam Hooch's blowed her whistle, and I would have sworn she gave me a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"FRED PAY ATTENTION!" Not even Angelina's yells were enough to bring my mind back to the match, something I regretted instantly; a bludger had been beaten in her direction and nearly knocked her out of the broom. "FUCK!" The quaffle fell from her arm, only to be picked up by one of the Slytherin chasers. "I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!"

"Sorry!"

"Freddie what the hell!" George had flown to us, probably in hopes to stop the bludger from clocking Angelina. "Will you focus?!"

"Yeah— Sorry!" I apologised again— well, it was more like a grunt rather than an apology. "Go back to Harry!"

"Defend our bloody chasers!" He scolded me before heading off.

I forced myself to keep my eyes on the bludgers and not on Y/n.

The rain kept getting heavier; not even the Impervious charm seemed to work repelling the water from the glasses anymore.

I was cold, drenched, tired and befuddled; my legs were stiff and my arms numb, so I definitely did not see it coming; for that matter, I thought it was a strong blow of wind at first, so the shock that struck me when I was knocked off my broom was a big one.

I heard loud gasps and a scream or two coming from the stands, followed by Lee commenting something about the beater being beaten; in another situation —one where it wouldn't be fucking pouring and I could climb back up to my broom—, I would probably have laughed at it.

But right now, with the hand I held my bat in slipping off the broomstick, the last thing I wanted to do was laugh.

READER'S P. O. V.

Once I had dodged the bludger away from Pucey, my eyes roamed around looking for the other one. which had just been beaten away by Goyle and, intentionally or not, the bludger went straight to Fred.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw his broom flip due to the hit, leaving him clinging onto it.

My eyes went straight to his brother, who was way to far to help, and then to their captain, who was adamant to score points.

"Fuck." I groaned through gritted teeth as I turned my broomstick and flew towards the Gryffindor beater in distress.

"Y/L/N STRAYS FROM HER POSITION AND— FLIES TO WEASLEY?" Jordan's commentaries reached my ears right when I got to Fred. I stretched my arm and grabbed his hand just in time for him not to slip off the broom. He gripped onto my hold for dear life as I used my broom as a leverage to pull him back up, a groan escaping my lips. "LOOKS LIKE NOT ALL SLYTHERINS ARE ARSES!"

I waited until he was steadily secured to let go of his hand. "Next time let go of the bat!" I advised with a teasing grin before flying off to my previous position.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, Y/L/N" I knew I was going to get shit for what I had just done, but I was expecting my captain to wait until the match had ended.

"HE WAS GONNA FALL OFF!" I yelled, louder than necessary.

"WELL LET HIM FALL THE FUCK OFF!" The captain retorted, venom dripping off his tongue. "WITH ANY LUCK HE'LL KILL HIMSELF OFF!" I didn't expect those words to come out, not even from that mouth.

"YOU KNOW WHAT?" I beat an incoming bludger away from us before shouting, "SUCK MY METAPHORICAL DICK, YEAH?!" And with that, I flew off to defend Malfoy, who was rushing to Potter. Surprisingly enough, he had followed my advice. I flew on Malfoy's track, dodging a bludger away twice until he gave a final sprint and caught the snitch.

"SLYTHERIN WINS!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The team started to celebrate as soon as we landed, and I thought I would take advantage of that and change into dry clothes, but I didn't have the chance before someone called my name from the entrance.

"Psst— Y/n." I turned around to see Fred standing there.

"Do you have a death wish?" I spoke quietly, though a smile appeared on my gaze as soon as I saw him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to thank you for helping me out there." His cold fingertips brushed my wet cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and he leaned on to place a kiss there. "Aw you're blushing!"

"I'm not blushing, I'm cold," I excused myself, averting my eyes from him.

Maybe it was his loud snort, or maybe the fact that I was missing, but the changing room fell silent as my team's attention was directed to us.

"Oi!" My captain looked Fred up and down, stepping to where we stood. "You're not welcome here."

"Chill," Fred shrugged, his hand lingering on my forearm. "I was congratulating her on her victory." His tone foreshadowed chaos. "Since, you know, it's obviously her doing." I glared at the ginger my hand going to his forearm, silently warning him to stop. "Can't command your own team, can you?"

his arm folded so his palm would be on my forearm too, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

"She should've let you fall off that hand-me-down broom of yours." Fred's grip on my forearm tightened; by the look on his face and the way his jaw clenched, I could tell my teammate had successfully hit a nerve.

"Shut the hell up, will you?" I snapped. "Can't you enjoy the victory without being an arse?"

"You fucking slut—"

"Imaginative." I cut him off, unbothered. "Want a cookie for the effort?"

"Listen now—" Just as he went to grab my bicep, a large hand pushed my captain away, making him stumble back.

"C'mon, mate, give me a reason to beat the shit out of you." Fred said, pulling me to stand besides him instead of between them. Fred's switch was about to flip, and I was desperate for a professor to step in.

As if I had summoned them, i caught a glimpse of Snape and McGonagall walking in my direction from the stairs of the teachers's tower.

"I'd love to see you try." The boy in front of us scoffed. "There's already too much ginger scum besmearing the pure blood, I'll be glad to send you straight to the hosp—"

It was far from expected it would be me punching that asshole strong enough to make him trip and fall.

"Miss Y/l/n!" Oh, right. McGonagall. "Ten points from Slytherin!"

"And fifty points for Slytherin." Snape added in his usual unimpressed tone. "Due to the comradeship you've shown during the match." I widened my eyes at the statement. "Though I can't ignore this, so Y/l/n, turn up in my class tomorrow morning for your punishment. Now, shall we, Minerva?"

"We're leaving too." I informed Fred in low voice, grabbing my bag before pulling him out of the Slytherin changing room.

"That was one hell of a punch." He observed with a chuckle once we were out. "Remind me not to mess with you."

I breathed out a laugh and we fell silent as we walked under the stands towards the exit, the only noise being the rain ricocheting on its structure.

"Thank you." He whispered, his fingers brushing against mines and consequently sending shivers down my spine. "For sticking up for me."

"I expect a reward at the least." I replied, playfully bumping his shoulder before letting my fingers intertwine with his.

"What would that be?" He inquired, that half smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

I shrugged, looking ahead of us with a grin of my own. "That's up to you."

"Will a kiss do?" He mused.

"Depends on how good the kiss is." I begged for my cheeks not yo turn bright red.

In a swift movement he spun me around and his lips landed on mines. His free hand, initially on my cheek, travelled down to my hips, pulling my flush against him while my own hands tangled on his damp hair.

Probably it wasn't a short kiss, but it felt like it when his mouth left mine, and I couldn't help the sight of displeasure that escaped my vocal cords.

He chuckled, our eyes fluttering open at the same time. "Was it good enough?" He teased with a quirked brow.

"Dunno." I muttered, my eyes falling on his lips again. "I think you'll need to try again—"

"To be sure." He finished, and I could only nod; I wouldn't mind the teasing as long as his lips came back to mines.

This time the kiss was deeper, my hands roaming over his wet robes and his over mines; it was only when my back was met with a post that I realized he was backing me into the darker part of the framework, which I did not oppose to.

Quiet moans began to be breathed into the kiss when he nibbled on my lower lip or my hands tugged on his locks.

We had to pull away when steps and voices where heard coming from both changing rooms.

"I think we should kiss more often." He suggested breathless against my lips.

"Agreed."

"I think you should go out with me too."

I had to bite back a laugh. "Agreed again."

"Well, that was easy." The surprised on his gaze was way too amusing.

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"Duh!"

"You're an idiot, Fred Weasley."

"Aw but you love it." He wiggled his brows at me and I smacked his chest.

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cheeriecherry · 4 years ago

Note

Hi there! I wanted to request Bakugou, Deku. And Todoroki, how they react to their fem!S/O Being sick. Like they're delirious with a fever near hospitalization( but not quite that level), body aches, wet cough. boys get worried when they don't come into work/school/text back. So they come see, and find her as well previously stated. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and answer this!

Ofc! Stay safe everyone and make sure to wear your masks :O

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

-He’s not a clingy guy, so he doesn’t expect you to answer his texts right away or always tell him where you are or what you’re doing.

-That being said, he knows your routine. If something is off a little bit, he’ll be mildly concerned, but will ultimately chalk it up to you being forgetful or spontaneous.

-But after you don’t show up in class, he starts to get worried.

-He tries to think of whether or not you had any injuries during training that might have excused you from lessons, but he can’t think of any beyond a couple minor scrapes and bruises.

-He sends you a text in between classes, and when you still don’t reply he makes a trip back to the dorms at lunch to check on you.

-He doesn’t expect to find you like...this.

-Curled up on your bed under nearly a hundred blankets, shivering. Your lips are dry and chapped, and he can hear your laboured breathing from the doorway.

-Now, he doesn’t wanna get sick, but that’s the last thing on his mind as he walks over to you and sits on the side of your bed.

-You don’t even seem to be aware of him as he presses a hand to your forehead, wincing at how hot you are.

-He doesn’t want to leave you, but he knows you’re probably sick enough to warrant a visit from Recovery Girl. Pus you’re his girlfriend, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.

-But like I said, he doesn’t want to leave you alone, in case you start choking or something, so he sends Kirishima a cryptic text telling him to bring recovery girl to the dorms.

-Ngl the bakusquad probably tags along with her when she comes to visit, but she ultimately commends Bakugou for calling her because are, in fact, very ill.

-She considers calling the hospital to have them bring you in, but she wants to try helping you in the comfort of your own room before resorting to extreme measures.

-You’re stuck with an IV in your arm for a couple days, and receive a kiss from the old woman on the forehead every morning, and soon enough you start perking up a little. Your breathing improves, and you start to sweat off the fever.

-Bakugou barely leaves your side during the whole ordeal. He goes to classes, but every morning, lunch, and evening he’s in your room. Sometimes he just sits and works on homework, sometimes he falls asleep.

-He’s been warned not to be near you while your still contagious, but he says fuck authority and does what he wants. You’re more important anyways.

-Still, it’s a relief once you start to feel better, and eventually open your eyes. You don’t remember most of what happened the past few days, but you do recall hearing your boyfriend’s voice a couple times.

-He might not know how to take care of you but he’s good at finding people who do, and he’ll always try and do what’s best for you.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

-one hella worried boy.

-Usually you guys hang out before class starts, but he figures that you maybe slept in today or something. So he sends you a text telling you good morning and heads off to class.

-When he gets there and find you’re not there, he starts to feel bad for not going in to check on you, or at least wake you up. Like, what if something bad happened to you and he just ignored it?

-He doesn’t want to be pushy or overly anxious, but he’s also a worrier by nature so...

-He can’t concentrate during class, thinking to hard about all the things that could have happened to you. He really really hopes you just missed your alarm, but a little niggle in the back of his head tells him that’s not the case.

-He excuses himself to ‘the bathroom’ during second period, and runs as fast and as stealthily as he can back to the dorms, where he then finds you.

-You’re practically gasping for air, laying on your bed. You’ve thrown your covers off because you’re too hot, but you’re also shivering so hard you’re shaking the mattress. He knows as soon as he lays a hand on your forehead that you’re not okay.

-So he does what anyone would do and calls one of his friends...who are in class. He’s somehow surprised when Mr. Aizawa picks up and starts scolding him about his students being in class, but he quickly babbles out that he’s ‘not actually in the bathroom and that he went to check on you because you weren’t in class and you’re really sick and please sir could you get recovery girl’

-There’s a sigh right before the line goes dead, and ten minutes later the tired man himself shows up with the school nurse.

-Once they actually see the state you’re in, and hear your horrible congested coughs, they both start to get worried.

-Again, recovery girl will want to try and avoid any media hubbub involving the school, so she’ll try to treat your symptoms in your room. It works pretty well considering her quirk, but you’re still on thin ice. Your fever is dangerously high, and even with an oxygen mask on you’re still having trouble breathing.

-Not to mention your mumbling...you’re not really aware of what’s going on, but it sounds like you’re trying to have conversations. Everyone worries that you’re hallucinating from the fever.

-Midoriya tries to convince your teacher to let him stay with you, but both Aizawa and recovery girl tell him there’s not anything he can do. It’s best he go back to class...which he reluctantly does. And only because recovery girl is going to stay with you until the end of the day.

-Once classes are over he makes a beeline for your room. His hands are full of little things the rest of the class had given him to give to you, as get-well presents. He sets them on your desk and sits beside you on the bed.

-Recovery girl’s quirk seems to be working, you’re a little more restful and still, though your lungs still sound horrible. He talks to you a little bit, wondering how you got this sick with no one noticing, but how he knows you’ll scold him if he blames himself for it.

-He falls asleep beside you on your bed that night, and the next morning he wakes up to a gentle trembling hand in his hair.

-He opens his eyes to find you’ve turn onto your side, and are looking at his with a tired gaze. Your eyes are still a little glazed over, and he can tell you’re not really all there yet, but he still smiles at the improvement, as well as that the first thing you thought to do when you woke up was to touch him.

-He makes sure to keep up with his studies over the next few days, and makes lots of notes for you to go over later when you feel better. All his free time is spent in your room, despite the fact that he might catch what you have. He at least wears a mask at recovery girl’s request.

-It’s a major relief when he sees you sitting up and walking slowly around a few days later, though no matter how much you ask he’s not gonna let you try and do schoolwork until you’re at 100%.

-It’s a miracle this guy doesn’t get sick, though everyone kind of keeps a few feet away from him for a while.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

-Doesn’t think anything of it at first. He notices you’re not texting him back, but your phone might be off or dead, or you might be busy.

-He starts to wonder when you don’t show up in class. If you’d been planning to take a day off, you would have told him. Right? He sends you another text, asking if you’re okay, and promptly gets his phone confiscated.

-He gets it back at the end of the day no problem, but when he sees you still haven’t replied, he knows something is up.

-He ignores everyone on the way to the dorms, ducking in between people to try and get there faster.

-When he finds you in a pathetic wheezing ball under a heap of blankets, he instantly feels a pang of guilt. Maybe if he’d been more diligent, he would have learned that you were sick sooner...

-But it’s hard to beat himself up while he’s still got you to worry about.

-He finds a couple towels and old shirts around your room, and wraps them around some ice blocks he made, then sets them all over your body to help bring your temperature down.

-There’s no one in his phone contacts that he could really call in this situation, so he reluctantly settles for the class president. He’s always wanting to look out for fellow students, after all.

-So Iida shows up, takes on look at you, and sprints away to get recovery girl. Todo didn’t think it was that bad, but he mostly trusts Iida’s judgement, so...

-And then recovery girl comes in and confirms that yes, you are very sick. Very sick indeed.

-And the worry flares up in him again. He watches as she fixes you with IV fluids and antibiotics, and sets an oxygen mask across your face. He can’t help but notice how small and vulnerable you look in this state, and how he wants nothing more than for you to get better.

-He wonders if you should go to the hospital, if it would be better for you there, but recovery girl wants to keep you comfortable. She has most of what she needs at the school, but should your condition not improve in the next day then she’ll definitely arrange for an ambulance.

-Todoroki wonders how he’ll be able to visit you and make sure you’re doing okay if you’re off campus, but ultimately he wants what’s best for you.

-He wears a mask while he’s in your room to try and deter himself from getting sick as well, but he spends most of his time in there. He sometimes does homework, but mostly he’s just laying beside you on your bed thinking (or napping).

-He goes back to his own room to sleep during the night, but the first thing he does when he wakes up is come check on you.

-Your condition steadily improves, but you don’t regain consciousness until the third day, and when you do, the first thing you see if your boyfriend.

-He’s sitting in one of your chairs a little ways away reading, and he doesn’t notice you’re awake at first. When he does see that your eyes are open, he comes to sit on the edge of your bed.

-The first thing he does is give you a lil kiss on the forehead, and then he goes on to explain how you’ve been bedridden for days because of an illness, but how your condition has been getting better over time.

-V grateful that you’re awake now, so much so that he barely even feels the guilt from before. He’s just glad you’re doing okay.

-Gonna wait on you hand and foot for the next week or so, and nothing is too expensive. You want a square watermelon? He’ll get you a square watermelon, whatever you want. He might even try a hand at cooking meals for you, though they’re slightly burnt and overseasoned.

-He tries though, and it’s the thought that counts. He bars most of your classmates from visiting you while you’re recovering, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but after some finagling he agrees to let two in at a time...but only for a couple minutes.

-He wishes he’d paid more attention in the beginning, but he makes up for it by doting on you afterwards.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #deku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #Anonymous

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wendimydarling · 4 years ago

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

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#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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mxgilray · 3 years ago

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Loki Season 1 Thoughts

Overall, I really liked this series. It has some issues without question, but I sincerely don't think it's the dumpster fire so many viewers on this site treat it as. Did it go how I expected? Not at all? Did I enjoy the heck out of it and look forward to it every Wednesday? Hell yeah!

Loki's Good Guy Personality

A big complaint many have had with it is how much Loki's demeanor has changed and how his emotional growth feels rushed or his personality is ooc. Truth is, he saw his entire future, saw what his angry, power hungry, I-work-alone persona would get him in the end, and it snapped him back to reality. He has always been shown to be quite emotional and craving attention and lacking in self assurance, it's just in the past movies he's masked it with violence and fake narcissism, and he's always been a secondary character so his perspective is rarely shown. But if you really pay attention it's obvious he isn't truly villainous; we all know that, it's largely why he has such a huge fan base.

Right after meeting Mobius, Loki got an infodump of his future, saw his parents both die, found out that free will means jack shit, and learned he's absolutely powerless in this realm. On top of that, this is 2012 Loki, fresh off of being under Thanos' control, suddenly being shown that the guy who controlled him is going to end up killing him. Frankly,, I think it all broke Loki. He was too shook up by it all and by the sheer helplessness he found himself in at the TVA that he let all his barriers down momentarily. Just long enough for him to open up to Mobius about his motivation and his lack of self confidence. And you know what I bet? Loki felt relieved after talking to Mobius. A weight was lifted, because he bore his heart to someone and wasn't rejected or laughed at or treated like a psycho. And after letting his walls down fully, Loki didn't feel the need to put all of them back up. He stayed guarded around other people, but he didn't need to pretend around Mobius. Mobius has seen under the mask, so Loki doesn't feel pressure to perform as an all knowing, all powerful God around Mobius. That freedom is life changing.

People who gravitate towards broken, pseudo-villain characters do so because we relate to their internal conflict, their mental illness, their need to fake it around everyone close to them. Their turmoil and depression and self destructive behavior are familiar and we see ourselves reflected in their actions. Now, when a person really truly let's their guard down, drops all their layers of facade, and embraces themself, they tend to change demeanor and even personality pretty drastically. It's jarring in real life, so of course when it happens to a fictional character who you usually relate to it is going to be jarring, maybe even more so because it feels like a change you yourself would never go through. I know this sounds bad and people might get at me for it, but...

I believe the issue here is that a large part of Loki's fan base doesn't want him to get better. They don't want him to move past his mental illness, to learn how to cope with anger and disappointment in healthier ways, to be happy. They like his damaged persona, they like the internal conflict. Maybe it's because they're still at that low place themself and feel like a relatable character is getting taken away from them, maybe it's because they don't understand how much being at peace with yourself can alter a person and to them it feels like he's been changed too much. To those of us mostly on the up and up from battling depression and mental illness, it's comforting to see Loki getting a chance to be genuinely happy and accepting of himself.

Sylki and Lokius

First things first, I'm not anti anything. Ship what you want, idc. Personally, I do not see the Sylki dynamic as romantic, but I get why people read it that way. I thought the series did a good job of showing unrequited love, namely Loki falling for Sylvie and Sylvie feeling zero romance towards him. This was aware of his attraction and in the end used it as a distraction so she could get the upper hand. The show played up the potential romance because we are viewing things from Loki's perspective and he's become smitten as a kitten. I do think in the long run they'll have a more sibling-like dynamic, one Loki realizes that you can feel extreme love and care for a person without it being romantic. I enjoyed how the show explored their relationship, though I do wish they hadn't had every character under the sun mention their moment on Lamentis-1 like it was some big deal to bond with someone you're about to die with.

I'm bitter towards the development of Lokius. It had a strong start in the beginning, and in ep 5 had some potential reignited, but then they had Mobius not know who Loki is at the end. I'm still hoping they're playing the long game with this ship and that it'll come to fruition partway through season 2. The chemistry is there, and Mobius knows Loki very intimately and isn't put off by his past. Loki also feels much more at ease around Mobius than he does around Sylvie. It's the comfort of a deep loving bond with Mobius verses the nervousness of a new crush that he feels for Sylvie.

I don't think Loki is quite aware of his feelings for Mobius, simply because it's based in friendship and mutual respect and isn't a hot and heavy lust. Plus, as soon as he was away from Mobius he was thrown into a near death experience with Sylvie and developed a surface crush during their heart to heart. Since Loki's still figuring out what genuine feelings are beyond anger and sadness, he sees the simplistic crush he has on Sylvie as love and the intimate bond he's been forming with Mobius as friendship. He doesn't understand his own feelings yet, but I think he'll figure it out next season. I mean, he was probably already rethinking his feelings for her after she kissed and betrayed him, mentally kicking himself for expecting her to not pull a Loki betrayal like he would've in the past.

The Time Variance Authority

I really like the concept of the TVA, the structure of it, the methods they use, the deeply fucked way they recruit employees, the cult like motto, shady Miss Minutes who is definitely playing her own long game, and the blind acceptance TVA agents have of the Time Keepers' will. It's all very well done... until your dig into the core, aka He Who Remains. They built up the idea that the Time Keepers created the TVA to prevent a multiverse war and that they created agents to enforce their will. Then the creating agents turned out to be fake, the Time Keepers were fake, I expected the reason for the TVA's existence to be fake to. It felt too simple to have it genuinely exist just to keep the multiverse in check. Why the anonymity, unless it's to keep from having agents target and prune versions of himself which.. songs like a decent solution. HWR made it sound as though the multiverse war was just a bunch of versions of himself screwing shit up, so why isn't the TVA's focus on eradicating every other variant of this guy? Sounds a lot easier and nicer than fucking with the free will of every other living being. So either Marvel made a bad call when choosing what HWR's motive was for creating the TVA, or he was lying about it all to cover up something sinister.

Overall Storyline

I'm fairly happy with the plot as a whole. There were some pacing issues and I think a few missed chances for deeper conversations between various characters. While I enjoyed the Loki variants, I honestly would've been happier seeing Tom playing most the variants (except Kid Loki and Classic Loki since they are clearly different age ranges). If there is supposed to be one sacred timeline, it seems off to me that Lokis would be allowed to vary so extremely without it causing a nexus event(an alligator, whose nexus wasn't that he's an animal who obviously can't do any magic much less command Thanos' army, but that he ate someone's cat) and not just in appearance but in life path (ie boastful Loki collected all the infinity stones but it wasn't till he had 6 that he caused a nexus event even though him gaining control of the Soul, Power, and Time stones should've each caused nexus events since on the sacred timeline he never interacts with those 3 and taking any one of them would've fucked up a lot of other timeline parts)

I love the display of Lokis raw power, and 2012 Loki coming to the realization that he's way more powerful than he ever thought. And it wasn't just Classic Loki who spent thousands of years alone honing his skills, 2012 Loki reversed time on a goddamn falling building! I also liked the small magic, the fireworks, the tablecloth blanket, Loki yanking Sylvie away from HWR with just magic.

As someone who is both bisexual and genderfluid, I would've really loved more concrete representation. The comment about there never being another female Loki hit me in the gut; it undermined the Easter egg "Sex: Fluid" on Loki's TVA file. With how big a deal Sylvie being female was made out to be throughout the season, I expected her gender to play a key role in taking down the head of the TVA, like it was foretold that only a female Loki could end it all or some shit.

I don't mind the idea of Loki finding love in a straight passing relationship. I don't even mind the selfcest all that much. It just feels so obvious to me that Sylvie is written as not having any romantic inclination towards Loki, while Mobius is clearly written as falling in love with someone he shouldn't and trying to maintain an heir of professionalism to keep from wrecking his bond with Loki. I really really hope they come through on season 2 and give Lokius the canon relationship and proper representation they deserve.

Mmkay I thinks that's all the thoughts I've got right now. If you've been feeling cheated or clowned by how things went this season, maybe my perspective of things can help ease your pain.

#loki spoilers #loki series #loki #mobius m mobius #sylvie laufeydottir #lokius #sylki #tva loki #time variance authority #marvel #mcu

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sirowsky · 4 years ago

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The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Warnings: Language, little angst.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: A lot happens in this chapter, and we finally get some real sparks going. Also, Máma Moreno starts butting in.

Chapter 5

Three months later, you were not only back on your feet, but running. You’d never really been a runner before, but now it seemed like such a freedom, you could barely get enough of it. You’d lost a lot of weight during your coma, and you were scrawny to begin with, so the nutritionist had not been happy when you’d started requesting more physical activity. But after making a solemn vow to eat as much as he asked, he’d finally agreed. And you had both been surprised to discover that you had gained weight even quicker as your body converted the fuel into muscles. You were actually heavier now than you ever had been, and you were genuinely proud of that, because you knew it meant that you were not only strong again, but stronger than before. It felt like a visible testament to your victory over evil. Plus – you looked good. You’d even gotten the colour and natural volume back in your hair.

You were still living at the Heroics HQ medical facility, and you were still being tested to the nines every single day, but you didn’t mind. Everyone here were nice to you, and it wasn’t like you were in a cage, you went outside every day. They just didn’t like you to wander off too far, since you hadn’t been discharged yet, which meant you were still their responsibility. You’d been pleasantly surprised to find out that they had taken care of all your bills and payments while you were in a coma and the subsequent rehabilitation, so your house was still very much in order for whenever you’d be heading back there.

Marcus had been instrumental in your recovery. As soon as they discovered that his electromagnetic currents helped you, the science-department had temporarily melded with the medical department to figure out why that was, and what was the optimal way of utilising this fortuitus abnormality. Luckily for you, that had meant many long hours spent with Marcus by your side as he carefully experimented with stimulating your muscles into cooperating with you. It hadn’t been nearly as sexy as it sounded, but it did offer you plenty of time to talk to each other, and you knew a lot more about him now. Or, at least a lot more about Missy. The proud dad had quickly emerged once he got more comfortable with you. Curiously, though, no one had been able to work out just how his current had such a positive influence on your body. They thought that it might have to do with some sort of harmonisation between the tiny electrical impulses in your nerves and the frequency of his current, but they couldn’t say for sure, because so far, all of their tests had been inconclusive.

Today was going to be a special day for you, in terms of the testing, because they wanted to do a full-scale physical exam, complete with endurance- and strength-tests, something you’d actually been looking forward to. You were excited to find out if you were getting close to getting that clean-bill-of-health stamp any time soon. The tests themselves were gruelling. They involved running pretty much as fast as you could, in short intervals, but in the break between each interval you had to do a strength exercise. Weight-lifting, or working with kettle-bells, or just regular push-ups, there were lots of different ones. After that, you were given an hour to rest, before you were going to be put through an obstacle course to check your agility and reflexes, and it was at this point that Marcus joined the small crowd of maybe thirty people, that had gathered to find out how you’d do. And you were slightly concerned to see him exchange a look with his mother, the almighty Anita Moreno, at the back of that crowd. What could she possibly want to see this for? He was in his uniform again, and looked winded, as though he’d hurried to get there in time to see this. He met your eyes and gave you an encouraging nod. You’d been told that this course was one that the Heroics regularly used for training, and that they’d scaled it down a bit for you, but that the aim was still to test your physique quite rigorously, so it wouldn’t be easy. You took your place on the start-line, and waited for the whistle. It really was a tough course. You had to use your whole body to get past practically every single obstacle, and by the end, you were so tired that you collapsed the moment you crossed the finish-line, to the enthusiastic applause of the little crowd. The twins were by your side immediately, taking your vitals to make sure that you were only normally tired, not dangerous-tired. They’d been with you the whole day, and this was the final hurdle before you’d all get to rest. They’d both been sweating almost as much as you, just from worrying about you.

“All good. She’s okay.”

Amaire declared to the supervising physician. He, in turn, looked at his digital pad and tapped a few times, then a smile crept into his features.

“Well, it’s not a course-record, but considering the fact that most humans don’t even finish this course on their first try, I think we can give you your stamp now.”

You sat up and stared wide-eyed at him, while Amaire shoved a water-bottle into your hand and all but pushed it into your mouth.

“I’m officially declaring you completely recovered, and no longer in need of our medical assistance. Congratulations, miss. You really are a miracle.”

Joy bubbled up inside you as you took in his words. You’d made it. You’d actually made it. There was a light-hearted laughter in your throat as you worked on getting your pulse under control.

“Don’t let Miracle Guy hear you say that, Doc, whatever you do.”

“Hah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then Marcus was suddenly right in front of you, pulling you to your feet and into a tight hug in one fluid movement. He’d never hugged you before, and you wished that he hadn’t done it now when you were soaking his uniform in your sweat. But, holy crap, his arms felt good around you.

“Felicidades, preciosa! I knew you’d be ready. How do you feel?”

“Thank you, Marcus, I feel amazing. Like I wanna sleep for a week, but still amazing.”

Reluctantly, you pulled back to look at him. As wonderful as it was to be encircled by those arms, you wanted him to see your eyes when you spoke again.

“Really, thank you. I don’t know if I could have recovered this well without you, or if I would’ve even been able to wake my body up, ever again. I was trapped in the most impossible position imaginable, and you set me free. I’ve never thanked you for that. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

He seemed slightly embarrassed by your gratitude, and his eyes seemed a bit glossier as he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter.

“You have no idea what it means to me to see you like this. Strong and healthy and happy. I’ll never forget those eyes that stared up at me that day in the hospital, and I spent every day after that feeling helpless and useless every time I walked into your med-chamber. You don’t owe me a damned thing, hermosa. The fact that I get to see those eyes smile again, is more than I could ever ask for.”

Someone clearing their throat very loudly and deliberately, made you automatically pull away from one another. And then you nearly choked on your own saliva when you realised that it was his mother.

“Hey, mom. I was wondering what brought you here today.”

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me, hijo? Didn’t I raise you to be polite?”

“It’s polite not to sneak up on people, deliberately trying to make them uncomfortable, máma. She doesn’t need your dramatics today.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. You were never close with your own family, so it always warmed your heart to see people who were. And he’d spoken about his mother during your long conversations in the med-chamber, so you knew that they were extremely close, which was why they could argue quite heatedly without ever getting truly angry with one another.

“That’s okay. A little drama can be very entertaining.”

You looked from Marcus to his mother, and then introduced yourself, with a respectful nod, rather than offering your still sweat-soaked hand. She gave her son a sideways glance.

“Don’t you have some work to attend to, boy?”

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Do I look like I’m about to leave you alone with a woman that has no idea just how horrid you can be?”

“When have I ever been horrid?!”

“Oh, would you like me the count it out for you? Or would the word ‘ambassador’ suffice?”

“That was just a misunderstanding, and that boy was beyond over-sensitive.”

“He was a war-veteran and you deliberately pushed all of those buttons, until he crashed, just to make a fucking point.”

“Hey, mind your language.”

“Not even a little bit. Now, whatever you want with my friend, you can either start talking, or you can go away.”

You didn’t miss the slightly possessive edge to the way he said ‘my friend’, and you were a tad concerned at just how much you liked it. His mother scoffed and then turned on her heels and walked away.

“Sorry about that. She’s… tricky.”

“I wouldn’t have minded speaking with her, you know.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but you don’t know her. She’s never once asked about you, even with all the time I’ve spent in the med-section. Never wanted to know how you were doing or even anything about you. So, the fact that she’s approaching you now, when you’ve just been cleared, means she’s up to something.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t touched by your willingness to protect me from monster Máma.”

He got a sheepish expression on his face and bowed his head to look at his own shoes.

“I’d happily protect you from anyone.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that if I’m ever in trouble again.”

He looked up at you, and for a moment his face was pained, before he quickly tried to adapt a more neutral expression. It didn’t quite work.

“So… you’re leaving then?”

“Well… I doubt they’ll just let me stay, rent free. Not to mention take up a med-chamber that someone else will undoubtedly need at some point. And I do miss my house, not to mention the cleaning I’m in for. God, I wonder if any of my plants made it? Is it weird that I’m looking forward to cleaning? And cooking, holy crap, do I miss cooking, and sun-bathing in the garden with my favourite music, and curling up on the sofa…”

He smiled a kind of knowing smile, though, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, I’m rambling now, aren’t I?”

“A bit. But I get it. Home is… home. I’m glad you get to go back to yours.”

“Me too. Um… so, I’m sure there’s a bunch of paper-work I’ll have to sign and I most definitely need a long shower and a lot of soap before I go anywhere. But I’d love to see you before I leave.”

“Sure. I’ll most likely be in the control room, or my office. Just ask around.”

“Okay.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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comrade-meow · 3 years ago

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Bad data generates bad research; bad research generates bad treatments; bad treatments generate bad outcomes. The physiological differences between males and females are vast, and stamp their mark on every organ of the human body, not just the genitals and gonads. Ignoring these differences will muddle our data, blur our understanding of physiology, and hinder the discovery of new treatments for diseases. Females are much more likely than males to have autoimmune disorders. Males are more likely than females to develop Parkinson’s disease. Males and females may present with different symptoms preceding a heart attack. Males and females metabolize drugs differently. Blatantly ignoring sex as a variable hobbles the process of scientific inquiry and limits the types of questions that researchers will ask, thereby limiting the answers they get.

About this story: last November I came across some anonymous tweets from a person claiming to be a medical student at an American university where professors were teaching that sex is a social construct. I decided to try to find out if these claims were real, and I contacted the Twitter user, striking up a conversation with “C”. We agreed to meet on a Zoom call, and that C would show me C’s student ID, with their name and the name of the school covered, and that we would then do a written interview. C’s desire for strict anonymity is well founded in my eyes, due to the damage that could be inflicted on C’s career prospects if they were caught speaking to a publication about the ideological lies being peddled and the culture of fear at their institution.

On our thirty minute Zoom call, I met a highly intelligent, critical-minded, and determined young person who was expressing deep concern over the ways that gender identity ideology is distorting the teaching of medicine and the repercussions this may lead to in our next generation of doctors.

C held up their ID so I could see their picture on what was clearly a medical school ID. C told me their school can be categorized as “top tier.”

The irony of using “they/them” pronouns for a single person is not lost on me. I find it interesting that due to the tyranny of gender ideology, I must adhere to one of their tenets and accept the use of the plural pronoun for a single person whose sex I know. But the fact that I have to do this is because any information about C could potentially be enough to raise suspicion (just read their words to understand the climate of intimidation they witness in class everyday), and the knowledge of an individual’s sex is still a crucial identifying feature, no matter what the gender ideologues want us to believe.

C and I agreed that I would offer people on Twitter an opportunity to pose their questions directly and that C would respond in written form. Out of the many responses, the medical student chose what they considered some of the most representative and important of the questions. These are their answers below, beginning with a short message they wanted me to share.

-Sasha White

Thank you, Sasha, for having offered me this valuable opportunity to answer these questions. Before we start, I would like to clarify my stance on basic issues regarding sex and gender identity, so that people can keep these in mind while reading.

Biological sex is not a social construct – male and female are distinct material realities which have significant implications for medical and surgical treatment of many different conditions. These physiological differences are relevant on the levels of clinical practice, research, and policy, and absolutely must be acknowledged in order for physicians to best treat their patients. All patients should be treated with compassion, respect, and high-quality medical care, regardless of their professed gender identity. I remain agnostic as to what it truly means to have a “gender identity”, but will respect the wishes of my future patients in regards to their social presentation and pronouns. I believe that dysphoric adults should be able to pursue transition. Physicians should be aware of relevant aspects of trans healthcare, including hormone therapy and surgery, so that they can better advise trans patients on how medical treatments may impact their gender-related care, or vice versa. It is possible and desirable for us to have a healthcare system which is inclusive and respectful of transgender patients, in a way which does not pretend that biology is arbitrary or merely a social construct. Despite my liberal beliefs, the loudest voices at my institution would falsely accuse me of blowing transphobic dog-whistles, hence my anonymity. This hostile climate is corrosive to an inquiry mindset and critical thinking, and will ultimately be a disservice to the scientific community and to future patients, trans and otherwise.

IDD64 @IDD64 asks: “What happened to “nobody’s saying sex isn’t real”?”

This is actually what compelled me to speak out about this practice in the first place. Well-intentioned non-medical people often assume that medical schools are teaching something like, “Gender identity can be fluid and varied, but biological sex is real, binary, and relevant in medical contexts.” This idea is around five years out of date in the most progressive of institutions. I have been told multiple times in several classes that biological sex is a social construct – not just gender. Granted, I can speak only for my institution, but this change has been frustrating and disturbing to witness.

Robert Woolley @RandomlyBob asks: “Do any of the required textbooks also avoid using those words? If not, might you ask those professors if they think the books are either inaccurate or offensive?”

Our curriculum is constantly subject to revision. Around two-thirds of our written materials have been updated with this new language. For the one-third that has remained out-of-date, our class has received multiple apologetic, itemized emails from course instructors in which they provide corrections, beg for forgiveness and patience, and avow to “do better”. In class, we have been given multiple histories in which the patient’s sex has been deleted, even for cases involving disorders which can manifest differently between the sexes. The words “female” and “male” are being erased and replaced.

Born a space baby @ggynoid asks: “What’s the dynamic like for class participation? Do people start with pronouns? Do people tend to agree, disagree? What’s the female-male ratio in the class typically on these sort[s] of classes?”

When school first began, we were heavily encouraged to include pronouns in our Zoom names and email signatures; around 70-80% of the class did so. Most students and professors would start off verbal introductions with their name and pronouns, though that has subsided since we all have grown to know each other.

A vocal minority of students are loudly in favor of the most extreme aspects of gender ideology, while the majority seem to be vaguely supportive in a nonspecific way. I think that this comes from a mixture of naive goodwill and fear – they are trying to be good allies, and this is the only way they know how. Additionally, it is heavily implied that to ask critical questions, even in a way which is ultimately patient-centered and supportive, is perpetuating bigotry, so they just nod along. A silent minority seems to be secretly skeptical. I have met four or five students who have disclosed to me in private conversation that they disagree with one or more aspects of this dogma but they are hesitant to come forward in group settings. I am sure that more exist, but they are hard to find. None of these people have been transphobic.

The female-male ratio is approximately equal, with slightly more females than males in my class.

David Poole @MrDPoole asks: “Do you think the people telling you these things actually believe it or are they being forced to do it?”

I think that a very small minority of our professors actually believe that male and female bodies are interchangeable with the exception of genitalia and gonads. There are definitely more woke students than woke professors, and the most radical of students are far more radical than the wokest professor. Most of these professors are very fearful of saying the wrong thing, so they delicately couch their language by referring to “XX and XY people” or other such euphemisms, even though that can lead to inaccuracies.

The social consequences for misspeaking are highly magnified, especially when most classes are delivered online (due to the pandemic). Our class has been quietly accused of having a mean streak in regards to social justice. We have had petitions circulated (drafted by few, signed by many) to name, shame, and “hold accountable” various lecturers who used the “wrong” language, to the point of humiliation. One professor broke down crying after a genetics lecture which relied heavily on the use of “male” and “female” by necessity. (Though the lecture also made ample space to talk about transgender and non-binary individuals, this was not enough to appease the critics.) Another professor referred to “pregnant women” rather than “pregnant people” and spent a very uncomfortable few minutes after class abjectly apologizing for having caused offense “by implying that only women can get pregnant”. It was incredibly disturbing to see, for multiple reasons. One, this is based on bad science and zealotry that has the potential to harm patients. Two, the magnitude of the “crime” pales in comparison to the magnitude of the outcry. Three, it is a total inversion of the expected social order to see these physicians —some of whom are literally leading scholars in their field— be reduced to fearful puddles if a student so much as looks at them askance. Keep in mind that these professors are extremely liberal, compassionate, and well-meaning, yet they are turned upon with such venom and verve by the people who they are trying to please.

Chopper @RodeoChopper asks: How are cases presented? Normally the first line is “This is a such and such year old (male/female) with a past medical history significant for…”

Here are some examples of formats I have seen in our coursework:

“This is a 43-year-old woman with ovaries, presenting with …”

“A 3-year-old child, assigned male at birth, not assigned gender as of yet by parents, presenting with …”

“This patient is a 7-year-old child, gendered as a boy by his parents, who …”

“57-year-old woman with testes, here with …”

“A 16-year-old patient (gender non-binary, pronouns they/them) …”

“A 32-year-old woman (she/her/hers) …”

“A 16-year-old patient presents with complaints of …”

Of the myriad problems with this structure, the most concerning is that most of these cases do not accurately identify the sex of the patient, which is crucial in being able to weigh the likelihood of potential diagnoses and treatments. A person’s pronouns are not relevant when deciding to prescribe a particular antibiotic, and at which dose. Additionally, I find it somewhat irritating to be expected to state the obvious for things that are the default of the human experience. We do not say, “This is a 42-year-old woman with both her arms and legs”, although there are certainly women in this world who are missing one or more of their limbs.

MaryWrath @WrathMary asks: “So how are reproductively different bodies described then? How are cardiac arrest and stroke symptoms described, explained and taught as we know now they present differently across the two sexes? There are clearly two bodies in our species so how are the professors acknowledging?”

Organs are referred to by their actual names – penis, testes, vagina, ovaries, breasts. However, referring to patients as male or female is strictly taboo. If there are relevant but subtle sex-specific differences, then they will often be downplayed or ignored altogether. As an example, we were told that the higher risk of heart attacks in men was due only to the presence of testosterone, and not for any other reason, which is patently false. When the differences are utterly impossible to ignore, “male” and “female” will simply be rebranded as “people with testes/ovaries”, “AMAB/AFAB”, or “people with/without Y chromosomes”. My personal favorite is “persons with [testosterone/estrogen] as their primary sex hormone.” Oddly, “man” and “woman” are still used, often with redundant qualifiers (“56-year-old man with testes”).

thames pilgrim @thames_pilgrim asks: “What are the most dangerous medical implications for turning a blind eye to someone’s sex due to a belief that talking about “male” and “female” might offend?”

This is a very important question which should be addressed at the following interrelated levels: clinical practice, research, and public policy.

Clinical practice: Transgender patients who do not disclose their birth sex might be at risk for improper medical treatment. (I have seen a natal female person who identified as a nonbinary man, be suspected of having testicular torsion; this person did not disclose their sex to the physician, which resulted in a delay in their care). Out of fear of being branded transphobic, physicians may not accurately and completely inform trans patients about their sex-specific risk for certain medical conditions. And for all patients, if a poorly-educated doctor is unaware as to how disorders manifest differently between the sexes, then patients can be harmed through the failure to rapidly and accurately diagnose and treat their medical conditions.

Research: Bad data generates bad research; bad research generates bad treatments; bad treatments generate bad outcomes. The physiological differences between males and females are vast, and stamp their mark on every organ of the human body, not just the genitals and gonads. Ignoring these differences will muddle our data, blur our understanding of physiology, and hinder the discovery of new treatments for diseases. Females are much more likely than males to have autoimmune disorders. Males are more likely than females to develop Parkinson’s disease. Males and females may present with different symptoms preceding a heart attack. Males and females metabolize drugs differently. Blatantly ignoring sex as a variable hobbles the process of scientific inquiry and limits the types of questions that researchers will ask, thereby limiting the answers they get.

Policy: Patients who are not transgender may be misled by “inclusive” educational materials and miss out on crucial preventative care. This is especially impactful in women’s health; whether due to language barrier, subpar sex education, or cultural taboo, not every woman will even know that she has a cervix, but she will know that she is female. Additionally, recommendations made by professional medical associations are widely used in clinical practice; if these guidelines are generated based on faulty data, this could negatively impact patients on a wider scale.

However, the most pernicious of possible harms is not the denial of sex; rather, the denial of sex is just one manifestation of a greater problem, which is the corrosion of critical thinking itself. Whatever you call it – this postmodern poison, the triumph of dogma over data – it is fundamentally incompatible with critical thinking, the most powerful all-purpose tool a physician has at his or her disposal. Starting with a conclusion and working backwards, all while twisting the data to fit a narrative, strikes me as more religious than scientific.

Marjorie Hutchins @leakylike asks: “Part of being a doctor is taking on ethical & safeguarding responsibilities[.] Why aren’t medical students challenging something which [could] have health implications for patients?”

Our positions as students are precarious, especially if one is labeled as being on the wrong side of history. Consequences for speaking out can include shunning, being anonymously reported to the school for “remediation”, being informally blacklisted from research and leadership opportunities, and potentially expulsion. Until I have earned my degree and have completed residency, I need to remain anonymous. To do otherwise would be to kill my career before it has even begun, which would also limit my ability to help many more patients in the future.

Although I am very biased, I think it should be on the onus of administration and our tenured professors to stand up against this madness, rather than on lone students to publicly put themselves at risk of debt and ruin. For now, I resist in the small ways that I can; I wish to do so more publicly when I am more secure.

#Anglo.txt

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courtlyharlequin · 4 years ago

Note

May I request headcannons for Kalim, Jamil, Leona, Vil, and Ruggie with a s/o whose blind or mute? Thank you! You may ignore this if you’d like. Have a good day!

When Words Fail

Warning(s): minor spoilers, trauma mention (though it’s not in depth but just in case)

A/N: I choose a mute reader! Please note that I mean to don’t offend anyone who is mute and/or knows someone mute.

Kalim Al-Asim:

He thinks being mute is an adorable trait that drew him to you in the first place. You were so mysterious!

But... Kalim doesn't quite understand.. which might make things more hurtful if you’re mute due to a traumatic experience.

Sunshine boy assumes you’re just shy as in you can speak but you don’t want to because of some type of anxiety.

Kalim desperately tries to get you to talk. It feels like he’s having a conversation with himself and that’s not really fun.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s in love with you for sure, but he’s just not sure right now. Communicating with you is harder now since you’re in a romantic relationship. You used to communicate through notes, as he doesn’t know sign language, but that proves to be a hassle.

How Kalim goes about things are just so sporadic and spontaneous that you can’t keep up with him sometimes. He sometimes speaks too fast for you to jot down your response. By the time you finish, he would be already talking about something else.

It takes some interference from external forces e.g. Jamil for Kalim to understand that that’s just how you are.

Of course, he apologizes to you if he ever made you insecure about your voice or for pushing you out of your comfort zone. He’ll get super sappy and reassures you that you’re not a hinderance to him.

He makes an effort to try to learn sign language for your sake. He fails miserably, but he eventually is able to sign basic words like “hello” or “I’m sorry”.

Kalim really surprised you one day when he signed: “I love you.”

Students often whisper about your odd dynamics as a coups as you’re the quiet one and he’s the social butterfly. He doesn’t mind and neither do you.

Jamil Viper:

He’s always attentive especially when it comes to you.

Jamil makes sure that he doesn’t talk too much and gives you time to convey your own thoughts.Then, again he is not a man of many words himself.

Scarabia’s vice prefect doesn’t treat you differently. You’re just another person to him albeit his significant other.

He’ll talk on your behalf and make an effort to be at least conversational at sign language.

Jamil might also pass notes to you too so you don’t feel like anxious or embarrassed for being the only person doing this.

It’s not out of pity, it’s out of a sense to make you feel like you’re not alone– that he’s with you on this.

Everything Jamil does for you is because he genuinely cares for you.

He’s very patient. This is probably from his experience with biting his tongue and serving Kalim and pretending to be someone he’s not.

But for you, he’s not biting his tongue at all! Jamil admires your earnest efforts of living life without a voice. He can’t imagine if he lost his.

He thinks you’re strong for dealing with dozens of overblots without a voice. You’re a hard worker.

Honestly, he prefers the quiet even if it wasn’t intentional on your part. Again, probably too much time around Kalim.

Cooking with you is his self care. It’s just you two working together in a serene silence. Not awkward at all.

Of course, he would give anything to hear your voice as he’s curious, but he won’t push you especially if you became mute through trauma or you were born like this.

All in all, he’s extremely respectful towards you.

Leona Kingscholar:

Oh boy...

He’s going to be impatient with you. He’s going to be harsh on you. Even if you’re a girl and especially if you’re a guy.

Like Kalim, Leona doesn’t understand at first and he’ll need a long time to understand you.

Now if you become mute while you’re in a relationship with him already, then he’ll be more reluctant to stay with you. However, you are mute prior to courting him, the task might be more challenging than expected.

It’s a lot of work to be looking out for you, to actually give you his attention. He actually has to open his eyes to see you sign or read your little notes. This is not exactly good for napping.

Leona can be a jerk. He is a jerk.

The catch is worth the chase though. If you manage to win him over, he’ll acknowledge your tough skin. Will he read every single note? No, but yo know he’s there for you when you need him most.

He’ll care for you in the most discreet ways like speaking on your behalf even though you haven’t told him what you wanted him to say yet.

Leona is more perceptive and observant than he lets on. He’s also smarter than he looks.

This lion managed to pick up sign language just by watching you sign to others. Now, he’s not fluent, but he’s conversational.

He’ll rarely sign with you, but Leona can understand you. You figured that out when you two were arguing and, since you figured he couldn’t understand sign language, you signed a rather colorful insult at him only to be exposed.

After that event, your communication as a couple became more fluid. you’ll sign something and he’ll just reply back to you.

Remember, Leona conversational at sing language so some phrases might need some more processing or he’ll straight up asking you to write down what you just signed because this lion doesn’t know what it means.

Vil Schoenheit:

Being a public figure on social media, Vil is familiar with all sorts of people.

But did he expect to end up with a significant other that is mute? Not quite. Does he mind? Not at all.

He’s surprisingly considerate and patient with you. One would think he’d be strict just like with any other person.

Let’s be real here– Vil adores you.

You put so much effort in making the most of your situation that he can’t help but admire you.

Hard working is a trait that instantly turns Pomefiore’s dorm leader on. How can he turn away from someone so diligent, so alluring? You caught his eye the moment you stood your ground against an impediment that required your voice and prevailed.

He’s terribly infatuated with you– from your looks to your personality.

This beauty king relies on social media for tips with a partner with disability.

He takes it upon himself to learn sign language in order to meet you half way since he doesn’t think it’s fair for you to just keep passing him notes. It’s a waste of paper and you’ll end up forming callouses on your fingers if your keep holding your pen like that. Stop!

Even if Vil goes out of his way to educate himself about people who are mute and sign language, he never makes you feel anyone less of a person.

If anything, he makes you feel more confident about yourself.

He doesn’t even wish to hear your voice since it doesn't follow the ten second rule.

Note: the ten second rule is a rule found on social media where it urges others to be mindful of their words. For example, you can tell someone that their makeup is smudged. Said subject adjusts and solves that problem in a short amount of time e.g. “ten seconds”. However, if you tell someone that they’re “fat” then obviously they cannot fix that problem in “ten seconds”. They probably feel insecure about it as it’s something they can’t fix.

“A voice isn’t everything, you potato,” he chides as he applies his hourly chapstick touch up.

Ruggie Bucchi:

As unpleasant and unfortunate as it sounds, Ruggie’s entire childhood has been surrounded by disabled folks, ranging from blind to crippled with missing limbs.

His significant other being mute isn’t a huge surprise as he’s familiar with all sorts of people kind of like Vil except his experience is more hands-on per se.

The only surprise is that his partner is mute which sounds contradicting, but at least hear him out! Ruggie never imagined being with someone with a disability. He doesn’t ever look down on people, but he never imagined being so smitten with someone with no voice.

Ruggie always imagined a mature lover who was willing to

Listen, listen! He loves you! It was just unexpected and he surely isn’t complaining. He’s still is in shock, that’s all!Please don’t take that the wrong way.

He isn’t good with words; Ruggie doesn't want to offend you. Sometimes, the little hyena feels like he’s overstepping boundaries.

This idiot overthinks things way into the future? Can he afford health care? If you became mute through trauma, then will he be able to afford therapy?

What’s it like caring for someone in a condition like this? He’s only given them food from NRC’s cafeteria during the winter break; he doesn’t know much aside from that.

Ruggie tries his best nevertheless. He’s extremely understanding and cares for you in his own way.

He isn’t one to be all sappy or speak on your behalf but he’ll definitely keep in mind that he speaks faster than you can write.

He suggests for you to write in shorthand which is basically a method of writing that matches the speed of someone’s speech. At first, it was difficult, but now you two have your own secret language of sorts.

Now, learning sign language isn’t hard for Ruggie since being brought up in a poorer area taught him a thing or two about being a quick learner, but his hands are always full thanks to a certain prince so it’s hard for him to respond back via signs.

Plus, he prefers shorthand messages. They’re just as quick as signs except they’re more discreet and they’re chaotic enough to confuse the staff whenever they catch you two passing notes in class. What’s all these random scribbles for, hm?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader

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p-artsypants · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Handle This (8)

I’ve always wanted to write a sleepover/truth or dare fic, but I never could come up with a plot. This is my wish fulfillment.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

In Which Nino is Sus

“So what does one do at the beginning of a sleepover?” Asked Plagg. “Is it like it is in the movies?”

“Some things are similar,” Alya provided, digging through her duffel. “First, one must change into their pajamas.” She held up an oversized t-shirt and red flannel pants.

“Oh! I get it!” Plagg undid his button.

“What are you doing?” Asked Nino, looking meaningfully to the girls in the room.

“Changing?” And Plagg dropped his pants in one fluid motion.

Alya saw it coming and turned away with a laugh.

But Marinette caught an eyeful (as much as Adrien in boxer briefs could be considered an eyeful) before she too turned away with an ‘eep!’

“I change in front of people all the time,” Plagg explained. “As a model that is. Not my fault you’re all shy. I’ve got underwear on.”

“Well if Sunshine isn’t ashamed, then I’m not going to make a big deal out of it.” Alya stopped shielding her face, though she didn’t look directly at him.

Plagg peeled his shirts off next, eliciting another squeal from Marinette.

“I, for one, will be changing in the bathroom,” said Alya, PJs in hand.

Plagg bent over and ruffled through his bag, derrière within smacking distance to Marinette.

“I-I-I’ll join you,” said Marinette, scrambling to get her PJs.

Alya was already halfway out the door. “Wait your turn, M.”

And Marinette was forced to wait as Adrien stepped those long, beautifully toned legs into a pair of...oh, Ladybug spot patterned pants. Then he slipped on a shirt covering those perfect, sculpted abs.

The shirt was red, and had words sharpied onto it, but it wasn’t until he got it on and smoothed it out that she could read what it said.

“Ladybug’s sexiest fan.”

She laughed. Not a laugh of, ‘oh, that’s funny’ but a laugh of ‘why me God?’

“Your turn, M!” Alya sang, coming into the room. Her eyes landed on Adrien. “Where did you get that shirt?? I need one!”

Plagg puffed out his chest. “Sorry Alya, this is a one of a kind piece! I made it myself!”

“It’s really good for being hand drawn!”

“Thanks!” He beamed.

From his bag, Adrien had to wonder when Plagg had the time to make such a thing.

Marinette excused herself to change, and immediately Alya and Nino whirled on him. “What was that??”

“What was what?”

“That strip tease! What the heck?!”

“Oh that? Well, when you have a bod like mine, you gotta flaunt it on occasion.”

“Sure Dude,” Nino raised a brow. “But like, we just talked last week about how you were having self confidence issues. Why the change?”

Plagg had forgotten about that conversation. Granted, he had tried not to listen to it, since it wasn’t a conversation for him...

“Well, you know how it is when you’re around people you trust.”

“You’ve got the hots for Marinette!” Alya blurted.

Plagg played bashful. “Well...maybe a little...”

She squealed in excitement, clapping her hands together. “Oh em gee! I’ve been waiting for this day for forever! You have to ask her out! She’ll say yes, I promise!”

“Oh, I know about her crush.” Plagg explained, “I just wanted to...encourage her to confess herself.”

Alya and Nino both went wide-eyed. “You knew? Since when?”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Nino asked, slightly hurt. “I thought I was your wingman.”

“It’s a recent thing.” At least for Adrien it was. “I haven’t really had to think things through. I’m just...having fun and flirting.” He quirked a smile. “I am flirting, right? I’m not coming off like a creep, right?”

“Oh no no,” Alya insisted. “You’re a natural! How did you find out?”

Plagg twirled a lock of hair close to his scalp. “I have my ways.”

Nino narrowed his eyes, the action going unnoticed by Plagg.

Marinette returned, wearing pink shorts and an oversized sweatshirt.

From Adrien’s point of view, she looked adorable, and he wished he could just pull her into a hug and snuggle up with her...maybe press a kiss to her temple.

“There you are, Princess. We missed you!” Plagg chirped.

Marinette blushed. “I was gone for like a minute.”

“Oh but it felt so much longer! Nino and Alya were making out the whole time! It was torture!”

“We did not!” Alya barked. “Don’t you lie to my girl!”

“Don’t listen to her,” Plagg insisted. “She was sucking the soul out of him.”

Alya gasped in mock horror. “You keep your vulgar rebellion away from my innocent baby!”

Plagg wrapped his arms around Marinette, pulling her towards him. “On the contrary, I think I’ll pull Marinette with me into the depths of my depravity!”

“Nooo!” Alya cried. “What horrors do you plan to subject her to?”

“Well, I know I can’t convince her to dress like me.”

“Over my dead body,” Marinette agreed, her face red hot.

“But perhaps she will sneak out of her house like me?” He leaned in closer to her ear and purred. “We can stay out all night doing who knows what?”

Marinette gave a full body shiver, wriggling away from him. “Uh, you don’t—I’m not very good at—surely they’ll notice—“

Plagg smiled to himself. God it was so funny seeing her so flustered.

“Alright,” said Alya, pulling him away. “Give her a break before she combusts.”

Nino watched with narrowed eyes, but they softened before Plagg could notice.

“So? What’s next on the agenda?” Asked Plagg, still in great spirits.

“Since this is a first sleepover for Adrien,” began Alya, with bravado, “I have an assemblage of traditional sleepover games. Including,” she slammed down a box. “Truth or dare.”

Nino and Marinette both moaned.

Plagg sat a little straighter at the reaction. “Oh, a game that causes suffering. Do tell!”

“You’ve never heard of truth or dare?” Asked Nino.

Plagg shook his head. “Never been to a sleepover, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’ve at least had to hear about it in movies or books, right?”

Plagg shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t remember. What are the rules?”

“Simple,” explained Alya. “On your turn, you get to pick between truth or dare. Dare is an action you must do, and truth is a confession you have to make. Once you do it, you get to come up with the next person’s truth or dare.”

“Oh yes, this sounds familiar now. What is the box for?”

“Suggestions.” She opened the lid to reveal two sets of cards. “I’m sure we can all come up with two or three really good truths or dares, but these are in case we run out.”

“Passes?” Asked Marinette.

“Everyone gets one pass.”

Plagg had to keep that in mind. While this game could be really fun and he could lie his way through most of it, he had the potential of ruining his master plan.

But these kids wouldn’t try to oust Adrien’s brand new crush on the same night they learned about it.

Right?

Alya set a bottle sideways on the floor.

“What’s that?” Plagg asked.

“Since we can’t play ‘Spin the Bottle’, we’ll use it as a player picker.”

“What’s ‘Spin the Bottle’?”

“A kissing game.” Marinette provided. “You spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on, you kiss.”

“Sounds spicy, but not a good game for just the four of us if you two are dating...” Plagg gestured between Alya and Nino.

“Now you get it!”

“So who goes first?”

“I’ll go, because I suggested the game.” Alya sang, spinning the bottle.

Plagg glanced at Marinette, who had her fingers crossed. Obviously hoping that she wouldn’t face Alya’s wrath.

The bottle slowed to a stop pointing at Nino.

“Narts…”

“Alright babe, Truth…or Dare?”

“Dare I guess.”

“Perfect! I dare you to shave your legs.”

“What!” Nino cried.

Plagg barked out a laugh. “Oh she got you good!”

“I’m not going to shave my legs!”

“You have to, it’s a dare.” Alya protested.

“Fine, I’ll do it later.”

“Nope. Right now, Mister. Hop to it!”

Nino groaned in defeat before rising to his feet. “Fine, I’m going.”

“Do you need help?”

“I know how to shave!” And Nino stormed off to the bathroom.

“That was a pretty extreme dare for our first round.” Said Marinette. “How are we going to beat it?”

“Oh the hair will grow back, and he never wears shorts. I could have dared him to shave his head. I’m sure there will be more amazing opportunities!” Alya sang.

“So, are we waiting for him before we keep going?” Asked Plagg.

“Might as well, don’t want him to feel left out.”

“So these dares...how extreme is extreme?” Plagg asked, curling his legs up underneath him.

Alya and Marinette shared a look, entertained on Alya’s end, and fear on Marinette’s.

“Well, we all have one pass...” mused Alya.

“Nothing physically detrimental or permanent!” Marinette objected. “Like a tattoo or piercing or something!”

“Pft, that leaves a whole lot of open space.”

“And nothing traumatic or emotionally detrimental.”

Plagg flapped his lips like a horse. “Now you’re being a party pooper.”

“Oh!” Said Alya with a snap. “Lila said you guys had a photoshoot yesterday, but she didn’t tell me anything else. She usually tells me all about it! What happened?”

Plagg chuckled. “Oh nothing in particular. I was just telling her about Magic.”

Alya groaned. “Oh don’t even get started on it. Ever since Nath introduced it to you guys, Nino won’t shut up about it! It’s ‘Blue Black’ this, and ‘tarmogoyf’ that. I’m glad you guys are all bonding, I am, I’m just so lost!”

“So you talked to Lila about that card game?” Marinette probed.

“Yeah, basically the whole time.” He sent her a wink on the sly. “I can’t imagine that would have given her a bad experience. I thought she was my friend...” he played sad.

Thankfully, Alya bought it. “Aww, Sunshine, maybe something else happened when you weren’t there. Don’t take it too harshly.”

“NINO MICHELE LAHIFFE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY RAZOR!?”

“IT'S FOR A DARE MOM! I’LL CLEAN UP AFTERWARDS!”

“THERE IS BLOOD ALL OVER THE TUB! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“I’M SHAVING MY LEGS! I HAVE HAIRY ANKLES!”

“GIVE ME THAT! I’LL SHOW YOU HOW TO DO IT!”

“MOOOOM I KNOW HOW TO SHAVE!!”

The three teens in the room sprawled on the floor, gasping for air and desperate not to laugh too loud.

Alya had tears in her eyes. “Oh my god he’s going to kill me.”

“We’ll plan a beautiful funeral for you.” Marinette teased.

Eventually, Nino rejoined the group, hiking his pants up so his legs were visible. “Ba-BAM!”

Alya dragged a hand up his calf. “Damn babe, you clean up nice!”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Now you know my struggle.” She sassed back.

“Al, I never gave you a hard time about unshaved legs. If you can put up with mine, I can certainly put up with yours.”

Plagg turned to Marinette. “It’s certainly fascinating what couples will argue about, Hmm?”

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s funny...”

“Alright Nino, your turn to spin the bottle.” Alya gestured.

Nino cracked his knuckles. “Don’t mind if I do!” And he gave it a whirl.

It landed on Marinette.

“Truth or Dare?”

“Umm...truth?”

Nino smiled fiendishly, a smile that was uncharacteristic for him. “Okay. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done to get your crush to notice you?”

Marinette gasped in horror. “NINO!”

“You could pass.”

“And then for the rest of the game I live in terror that I’m going to get something worse? No.”

Plagg leaned in closer, head in his hands, trying and failing not to look extremely curious. “Soo?”

“So what?”

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done to get your crush to notice you?”

Her face colored brightly, all the way up to the tips of her ears.

“We’re all friends here, M.” Assured Alya. “And you don’t have to say who it is.”

Finally, Marinette exhaled slowly and admitted, “there’s been a lot. And I’m not sure if I can pick just one above the others...but the least incriminating would be the voicemail.”

Alya chuckled. “Ah, the voicemail.”

Marinette covered her eyes with both hands, but continued. “It was normal at first. I rambled a little bit through it, stammered it out…just asked him if he wanted to go to the movies, and then…instead of hanging up like a normal, sane person. I threw my phone, while it was still recording. I then proceeded to say a bunch of stuff to Alya, like ‘I couldn’t have just said ‘blah blah blah’ and the phone recorded the whole thing.”

“And he didn’t say anything about it?” Asked Nino.

“It gets better,” Alya smirked.

“No…because he never heard it…I stole his phone and deleted it.”

“YOU STOLE HIS PHONE?!” Plagg shouted. He was 1) Shocked that such an occurrence happened around him. He was pretty diligent around Adrien’s belongings. God knows the amount of times Lila had tried to rifle through his bag. And 2) Shocked and delighted that Marinette had the guts to do something so radical. “That’s amazing, Marinette!”

“It’s not amazing!” Marinette lamented. “I’m a phone thief!”

“She stole mine too,” smiled Alya. “She’s a scoundrel.”

“I am! I am a scoundrel!”

“So what did the voicemail say?” Asked Plagg, much too invested in this story.

Marinette blushed even brighter, pulling her shoulders up to her ears. “You can’t ask that! You have to wait your turn!”

“Oh clever. I see. Well then, I’ll hold on to that for now.” He chuckled. “It’s your turn to spin the bottle.”

Marinette relaxed slightly, thrilled that she had made it through the question with minor embarrassment (and her secret crush unaware, as far as she knew.) She spun the bottle with gusto.

It landed on Plagg.

“Oh boy.” Plagg winced.

“Ha! Truth or dare?”

“Hmm…I’ll do a dare.”

“I dare you to call Principle Damocles, pretending to be your father.”

“Oh my god yes!” Cheered Alya. “Anyone have his number?”

“I do, for student council purposes. Best not use my phone then.”

Plagg took out Adrien’s phone, unlocking it, and handed it over to Marinette.

She dialed the number. “All you have to do is start the call.”

“What should I say?”

“Don’t get anyone in trouble.” Marinette warned.

“Oh, and don’t give him a reason to call back and follow up.”

“Okay…I got an idea.” He hit the call button.

After a few heart pounding seconds, he answered. “Hello, Principle Damocles here!”

“Yes, quite, this is Gabriel Agreste.” Plagg said, in his perfectly flawless impersonation.

The other three in the room had to hold their breath to avoid laughing out loud.

“Ah, Mr. Agreste! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I assure you, monsieur, this conversation will not be a pleasure. Do you think you’re a good administrator?”

“I uh…”

“No stammering, I hate stammering!”

“Yes! I think I’m very accomplished!”

“My son came home with a cold today.” Plagg narrowed his eyes, putting anger in his voice.

“Oh well…I’m very sorry to hear that, sir. But after all, this is a school with many children, they’re bound to pass colds along.”

“How is your sanitation? Do you regularly clean tables and desks?”

“I-well, not usually the desks. The floors, yes, and the bathrooms…”

“And the air system? Do you keep good air flow?”

“The courtyard is open air, so yes, there should be—“

“Is your heater running?”

“It should be! It’s March after all!”

“Well then, you better go catch it.” And he hung up.

As soon as he pulled the phone away, all three of his friends were on the floor, crying with laughter.

“OH MY GOD! THAT WAS THE BEST!”

“Flawless setup, flawless execution.” Alya giggled.

Marinette rubbed the tears from her cheeks. “Man, your impersonation of your dad is spot on.”

“I have a lot of practice.” Plagg shrugged. Plagg’s impression in his own body was pretty good, but combined with Adrien’s vocal chords, it was just too good. Almost too much power.

The game continued onward. With the dares becoming even more crazy. Nino ingested a random concoction of sauces Alya had brewed in the kitchen, while Alya displayed her acting prowess in pretending to be a baby being born. The truths were pretty good, as Nino had confessed to having a secret Gumby fetish, and Marinette had to admit that she had accidentally peed her pants at a water park last summer.

Then Alya spun the bottle, only for it to land on Plagg.

“Dare.”

Alya grinned manically, and Marinette felt a chill creep down her spine. Alya had a tendency to go too far, and this would be one of those times where she tried to help Marinette out.

“Adrien Agreste…I dare you…to kiss…Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Plagg had seen it coming a mile away. It was so predictable. And yet he had been considering what to do. He still had a pass. Kissing humans, while he was human or not, was not up there on his list of things he enjoyed.

Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t his body!

Marinette’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t make him do that! Adrien, you can pass! I won’t be offend—“

Then she was laying on her back, with Adrien’s wonderful, perfect frame pressing her against the floor. His lips were on hers, full, and absent of any hesitation.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Before she could even think of how to respond, he clamored off of her, and sat up. “That good enough for you?”

“Damn, I wish you had warned me so I could have got a picture!”

“No way! What happens at Nino’s stays at Nino’s!”

“You good down there, girl?”

Marinette let out a string of consonants.

“You broke her,” Nino mused.

“Worth it.” He slyly gazed back to his overnight bag, where Adrien was hiding for the evening. Only his eyes, glowing green slits, full of anger were visible.

Plagg just smirked, and then winked.

—

Marinette and Alya left at 9. Marinette because she had to ‘wake up early’ and Alya because she wanted to ‘get homework done’. Plagg saw it for what it really was. They were going to gossip about his little stunt for a while.

“Wanna play UMS?” Nino asked, once the girls had left.

“You know it!”

Nino gestured him forward, letting him lead the way to Nino’s bedroom.

But upon entering the bedroom, Plagg heard the door close, heard a bang, felt an extreme pain in his head, and then blacked out.

—

When he awoke, the room was dark.

He was sitting in a chair, Nino’s computer chair, with his hands and feet bound with duct tape.

The pain in his head swelled again, as a bright light was flashed in his face.

“Uh, what the hell?” He grouched.

“Are you okay dude?” Nino asked, with sympathy.

“Besides the concussion? Just peachy.”

Nino sighed in relief. “Oh good.” Then his voice took on an edge he had never heard before. “Now, who are you, and what have you done with the real Adrien?”

Plagg blinked once, twice. “Pardon?”

“You heard me. Where is my best friend?”

“I...don’t know what you mean? I’m just me, Nino?”

“Oh no no no,” anger creeped into his voice. “You may have everyone fooled, but I know better! Marinette thinks you’re having a crisis, Alya says the fame and fortune have gone to your head, but I know Adrien! And I know that you aren’t him!”

Still slightly shocked, Plagg had to ask, “what makes you say that?”

“Evidence A: you’ve been wearing sunglasses to hide your weird cat-pupils. And I know they aren’t colored contacts, because Adrien lamented to me that he couldn’t wear colored contacts with his astigmatism!”

Plagg blinked again. “Shit dude, got me there.”

“Evidence B: at dinner, Marinette offered an array of macrons, and instead of your hard and true first choice of passion fruit, you went with pumpkin spice! You never went for the passion fruit!”

“I just...wanted to be adventurous?”

“Evidence C: the kiss.”

“Of course.”

“Even if Adrien was head over heels madly in love with Marinette, he is far too meek to kiss her like you did tonight.”

“Facts.”

“So, I’ll ask you one more time. Who are you, and where’s the real Adrien?”

Plagg considered this for a moment, but only a moment before answering. “Yeah, you got me. I’m not Adrien.”

Nino pumped his fist in victory. “I knew it! I told the girls but they didn’t believe me!”

“Adrien’s in my overnight bag.”

Before Nino could check himself, Adrien came spiraling out to reprimand him. “Plagg! You can’t just give away our situation like that! What happened to secrecy? Secret identities?!”

Plagg shrugged. “He obviously had me figured out. Mortals are particularly stubborn when they know a truth.”

Adrien didn’t argue anymore as he was scooped out of the air and crushed to Nino’s chest. “Dude! I’ve been so worried!”

“I’m okay. A little traumatized, but okay.” Adrien squeaked out.

Nino held him in his hands. “What happened? Why are you—hey, you’re a Kwami!”

“The Black Cat Kwami,” Plagg clarified.

“So that means...you’re Chat Noir!”

“Yep. And now you’re the only other human that knows.”

“I figured Carapace could keep the secret.” Plagg hummed. “Wayzz certainly trusts him enough.”

“But Hawkmoth knows who Carapace is...or was...”

“And he hasn’t bothered me since,” Nino offered. “I don’t think he cares?”

“See? Everything is copacetic. Now unbind me mortal, or face the consequences.”

“What consequences?” Asked Adrien with a laugh. “You’re in my body. You can’t do anything!”

“I can still cast my lip chapping spell.”

There was a brief knock at the door before Mrs. Lahiffe entered. It was enough time for Nino to hide Adrien in his hands.

“Alright boys, dad has to wake up early tomorrow, so make sure to keep it down!”

“MOOOOM! I’m in the middle of an interrogation!”

“Well, interrogate quietly, honey.” And she closed the door.

“Okay, one of you, explain what the heck is going on?”

Adrien held his tail. “It’s my fault. I pissed Plagg off and he punished me.”

“Sounds an awful lot like his fault, dude.”

Plagg scoffed. “Fine, I’ll take responsibility for this amazing master plan! Adrien was complaining about his unrequited love life, his poor relationship with his father, and Lila’s constant sexual harassment. So I told him that could fix it all if he agreed to it.”

“And the solution was to...swap bodies?”

“I didn’t know!” Adrien defended. “I thought...well I don’t know what I thought. He just said he would fix it. I guess I didn’t imagine it would be this...”

“In my defense...” started Plagg, “it is really fun to mess with Adrien.”

Nino mostly ignored him. “So what has to happen to get you to switch back?”

“Well, we have to get Marinette to confess to me, making our crushes mutual.”

“Ah, I see.” Nino said sagely. “That makes sense. What else?”

“I have to get Lila to leave me alone. Like, permanently.”

“I guess I didn’t realize she was that much of a problem. I know you mentioned that she was harassing you...”

“That’s not even the half of it. Marinette told me, Chat Noir me, that Lila has been actively threatening her.”

Nino frowned. “Threatening her with what?”

“Taking all of her friends and me away from her. I got Lila to lay off by allowing her to model with me, but since Plagg and I swapped bodies, she’s threatened to go back on our deal. If Plagg can get her to drop the whole thing, that would be ideal. But to fulfill the contract, he has to get her to leave me alone.”

“And she’s been falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.” Said Plagg, with pride.

“What did you do?”

“I just explained Magic: The Gathering to her.”

“...and? I mean, I know it’s a game that’s pretty hard to visualize in your head.”

“I explained it badly, and gave her no chance to talk. For about four hours.”

“Oh! So you’re annoying her?”

“He’s annoying everyone.” Adrien clarified.

“That’s how I got to school today. Gabriel put the house on lockdown and I serenaded him until he let me out.”

“You were serious about that?” Nino chuckled.

“Naturally!”

“Wait, so the last thing is your dad?”

“Yeah, Plagg has to fix our relationship.”

“WOOF! That’s a tall order! Well, I better get used to having a Kwami as a best friend.”

“Oh come on, Nino!” Plagg groaned, “have some faith in me, dude.”

“Dude, I have all the faith in you. But I also know Adrien’s tyrant of a father. Unless you do brain surgery, you aren’t changing his mind.”

Plagg seemed to consider this. “Hmm, brain surgery...”

“No, NO!” Adrien reprimanded.

“I’m just kidding. I know it’s going to be tough, but I know a thing or two about manipulation and lust for control. Gabriel is cracking. It’s more and more evident every time I push him. And once he cracks, he’ll listen.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Asked Nino.

“Yes, but not right now. I have a great use for you soon, Nino Lahiffe.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Adrien reprimanded. “It’s freaky.”

“Oooo someone’s still bitter about not getting to kiss his crush~!”

“I’M NOT BITTER!” Adrien yowled.

“Bitter like an old grapefruit! I got to kiss pigtails and you’re grumpy!”

“SHUT UP!”

“Are you guys always like this?” Nino asked.

“Sometimes, when Plagg is being annoying.”

“Which is often. I am a creature of mischief and chaos.”

“Which explains a lot…” Nino murmured.

“Hey, are you going to teach me to play UMS or not?!”

#miraculous #ml #miraculous ladybug #plagg #adrien #adrien agreste #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #body swap #fanfiction #I'll handle this

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aliendes · 4 years ago

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Natural Borns - Chapter Five

Banner made by @thebannershop

Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, future smut - NSFW due to darker themes

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: mentions of sex in exchange for favors but it doesn’t actually happen, mentions of suicide, anxiety, and depression. Mentions of alcohol, tobacco, and drug use. Mentions of prescription drugs and medical stuff like blood. Insinuations of poly relationships, if this make you uncomfortable, this will be a reoccurring theme for the rest of the series. The boys love each other, that’s the point of this story. Mentions of skipping meals? If that’s a warning. Warnings will be different for each chapter from here on out.

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 4.2k ~

A/N: I’m really excited for this chapter! This is Yoongi’s backstory! Yay!! There is also some juicy info in this chapter that will be explored in the next one. Also, you guys voted for smut with romantic relationships, so please note that for the rest of the series, there will be smut, poly relationships, etc. If this makes you uncomfortable, I totally understand. If you want to be added/removed from the taglist please send me an ask! Enjoy!!

xx Des

Updated: 8/15/2020

As the day went on, and the sun started to set beyond the hills, your mind was plagued with the thoughts that this was all a horrible, horrible idea.

After you stormed out of the warehouse, the remaining four men in Yoongi’s room continued to argue about whether or not it would be a good idea to let you help with their plan. Seokjin and Jungkook were firmly against it. They felt enchanted by your personality and something about you was captivating to them. Hoseok and Yoongi were both incredibly unsure of your place in this family, not yet trusting of you. Yoongi obviously felt an attraction to you, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was anything beyond physical at this point. Though, he knew if he let it, it would fester into something much, much stronger. Whenever you were present he could feel himself start to slip. The cold exterior he always made a show of keeping up, crumbling to ash in his hands. He can’t deny the way his heart clenched in his chest when you ran out of the room. He wanted to run after you, tell you that he wouldn’t make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with. But he held himself back. He’s had plenty of practice holding himself back and not allowing his emotions to crack his icy walls.

Namjoon was Yoongi’s first friend in the facility. They were both ‘bought’ from their mothers when they were teenagers, and since they were similar in age, they roomed together at Big Hit. Namjoon had already been at the lab for a few months before Yoongi showed up, disheveled and scared. Unlike Namjoon, Yoongi had a very hard time coping with the fact that he now had to live in a cramped room with another boy, be poked and prodded and experimented on.

Namjoon had lived a pretty sheltered life, and didn’t have too many friends growing up. Yoongi was the complete opposite. He was seen as the ‘bad boy’ in his high school, always getting the girls because of his unusual good looks, smoking cigarettes behind the school, and causing trouble in his classes. He liked to think he had a lot of friends, but most of them were deadbeats who only hung around him because he stole cigarettes and alcohol from his mom’s boyfriends. Regardless, he enjoyed being out of the house and living his life the way he wanted to. When he was brought to Big Hit, all of that changed. His freedoms were stripped from him, even basic human needs were stripped from him. They would often go days without eating, only being given water, told that they had to ‘fast’ in order for certain experiments to work, or for certain blood work to be done. All of the torture they endured was ‘in the name of science’. Or so they were told.

Yoongi went through the stages of grief pretty quickly in the lab. When he first arrived, he was extremely upset, in denial that any of that was actually happening to him. He would tell Namjoon that his mom would come get him any minute now, and all of this would be some horrible joke she played on him to get him back on the straight and narrow, get him to stop skipping school and drinking. After a few days went by, he realized she wasn’t coming, and anger quickly took over him. Yoongi attempted to break down the door in his and Namjoon’s tiny room, to no avail. Eventually the guards sedated him and Namjoon had to look after him for two days while he sweated out the medication, shaking and dehydrated from lack of fluids. After that happened, he started to bargain with the guards or the doctors that would come take him into exam rooms, telling them he would do anything for them to release him, even resorting to offering favors in exchange for freedom. He never followed through with any of his offers, but he would later hate himself for stooping that low.

After a few weeks of this, Yoongi eventually developed severe depression, even being put on suicide watch at one point. After spending so much time together in their tiny dorm, Namjoon started to really care for the older boy and was extremely distraught over his behavior. He would tell Yoongi that everything would be ok, and one day they would get out of there. Some nights it got so bad Namjoon would slip into Yoongi’s bed and hold him close while he sobbed or when he woke up from nightmares.

Yoongi would sleep away days at a time, not eating or drinking water. Namjoon would have to force water down his throat when he was getting delirious and having horrible migraines that prevented him from moving around too much. Namjoon would lay with him while he shook from dehydration mixed with the meds they gave him. Yoongi lost his will to live, lost his will to do anything but accept what the lab was doing to him. There was nothing he could do about it, and while Namjoon had remained optimistic about their future, Yoongi accepted their fate and allowed the doctors and technicians to do whatever they wanted with him. He became a shell of his former self, not getting out of bed unless carried by Namjoon or the technicians, staring at the wall for hours on end, and only speaking when he was forced by the doctors. Namjoon cried for his friend, only wanting to help, wanting to get him out of there.

That was why Namjoon came up with the escape plan. One night, after Yoongi had been at the facility for nearly a year, Namjoon woke him up in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, the younger had been learning the rotations of the technicians and the guards when he was being moved from room to room. He would also listen in on their conversations while he was being given meds or having his blood drawn in the exam room, which was right next to the guard room. He didn’t tell Yoongi what he was doing because he didn’t want anyone to overhear them and ruin his plan, so Yoongi was completely shocked to learn he had all of this planned out.

Namjoon said that the guards would be on break in the guard room around 3:30 AM, and at 3:40 AM the technician on duty would rotate with the morning shift, who comes in at 3:45 AM and the guards would end their break around the same time, giving them a five minute window to get out of their rooms and down a hallway that led to the elevators. They both knew that this hallway led away from the exam rooms, and therefore, away from the guards. Yoongi was even more shocked when Namjoon pulled a keycard out of his back pocket that he took off one of the guards earlier when he was being given medication. That keycard would allow them to get onto the elevator and, hopefully, escape this place.

Given all the things that could’ve gone wrong, Namjoon and Yoongi’s escape went relatively seamlessly, and once they were out of that God forsaken place, they moved from place to place together, sleeping on the streets, abandoned houses, and homeless shelters, until they met Seokjin and Jungkook. Two men who were at one point, also housed at Big Hit, but released for different reasons. They would later meet the others and form the family they know and love today. Yoongi was thankful for the six men, living with them, and growing with them. They had a shared traumatic experience that they helped each other through, leaned on each other, and eventually developed a bond that they never expected.

Even after all these years, Yoongi still admired Namjoon and was beyond thankful for him for being there through his darkest times. Quite literally keeping him alive in the facility when he had given up trying. He owed Namjoon his life and respected him more than anyone on this planet. He never wanted to disappoint him and has been helping him find other natural borns to further his vision of equality, even if he didn’t always want to. Yoongi would much rather it just be the seven of them for the rest of their lives, but he understood why Namjoon pushed for this, why he stood up for others that couldn’t stand up for themselves. It was one of the many reasons he admired the man.

That is exactly why Yoongi is currently standing outside the warehouse, back against the large metal door you had run out of earlier today. The sun had set over an hour ago, meaning you had been gone most of the day. The others would have panicked by now, had it not been for Hoseok alerting them of your whereabouts. They were all shocked when Hobi had come into Yoongi’s room a few hours ago, letting them all know he had been watching you from the second floor, sitting on a rock down by the quarry. Jungkook and Seokjin had both wanted to go to you, but Namjoon talked them down, telling them you needed time to process everything that had happened to you. You were dealing with a lot, even now, and you didn’t even have the full story. They knew Namjoon’s words were true, having gone through something similar themselves. Though, they couldn’t imagine how you were feeling, having to suddenly leave your family with little explanation.

It was only after Namjoon pulled Yoongi aside in the hallway, telling him again he needed to fix this, apologize to you, even if he didn’t want to. He needed to make sure you stayed with them because if you didn’t, you’d be in more danger than you realized. Yoongi would never let Namjoon down, and so, he made his way down to the water to make good on his promise to fix this.

You were vaguely aware that the sun had set a while ago, sat on a rock, knees pulled to your chest, and face resting upon your crossed arms. You weren’t sobbing anymore, just a few stray tears falling every now and then. You were sure your face was red and swollen with how much crying you’ve done today.

The sound of the ripples on the water, the wind slowly blowing the trees around you, and the sound of chirping crickets was helping you relax, but with nightfall, brought cooler temperatures. Even though it was summer, it was still a bit chilly at night with how much humidity was in the air. Being right next to water wasn’t helping either. Just as a chill ran down your spine, causing you to shiver violently, you felt something warm being draped over your shoulder.

You startled, head snapping up at the new presence beside you, causing you to let out a curse as you nearly fell backwards. As you righted yourself, you were met with a pair of nearly black eyes that you least expected to see right now. “You’re shivering,” Yoongi coldly stated, face emotionless as he looked down at your pathetic state.

Way to state the obvious, you thought. But truthfully, you were thankful for the warmth of the leather jacket he had wrapped you in. You audibly gulped, looking up at him with eyes as wide as they could go, considering how puffy they were. “T- th- thanks…” you trailed off quietly, grabbing the sides of the jacket to pull it closer to you. You hadn’t realized just how cold you were.

“You coming back up?”

You mulled over his question for a moment. You were cold. And hungry. And completely and utterly exhausted and probably dehydrated with the river of tears you’ve cried today. Yet, you didn’t feel all that welcome in their ‘home’ and you were unsure if you really wanted to go back. Yoongi seemed to notice your hesitancy, taking the opportunity to say what he had practiced all the way down here. Talking wasn’t his strong suit. “They’re really worried about you, you know,” he uttered, softer than before, but still monotone.

Is that what he came all the way down here to tell you? You furrowed your brows at him, “They can come down here if they want,” you were pretty sure your brazen attitude was stemming from your emotional state and the chilly breeze, “they didn’t have to send you.”

Yoongi pursed his lips into a thin line, biting his tongue from saying what he really wanted to say, you think I want to be here? Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose and let out a long sigh. When he opened his eyes, he saw you still staring at him, daring him to say something. He liked it, the fire in you. You seemed like a shy girl, timid even. He hoped you still had that fire after you learned what a horrible, unjust world you all live in.

Yoongi sat down on the rock next to you, not asking first, just making room for himself. You quickly scooted over, not feeling incredibly comfortable with him yet. “I’m sorry,” he began, staring down at his lap, “I was being unfair.” It almost sounded like the words were forced, like he didn’t really mean them, or want to say them, but you still took some comfort in the fact he was at least apologizing to you. Not that you thought he owed you an apology, but it still felt nice.

“No, you aren’t being unfair,” you murmured, looking out at the now cerulean blue water, “I’m sorry. Sorry I’m here.”

You sounded so small, so defeated. You reminded Yoongi of how he felt when he was first taken from his family. Scared, alone. Something in him wanted to reach out to you, comfort you, and he almost did, stopping his hand midair before it could reach your arm. You noticed his movement out of the corner of your eye and before he could retract his hand, you flinched. Actually flinched away from him. It was slight, but it still took Yoongi by surprise, jaw hanging slack, eyes widening at your apparent fear. Of him. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever felt shittier in his life. Was he so cold someone was actually afraid he’d hurt them? He’s never hurt anyone in his life. Sure, he was a ‘bad boy’, broke his fair share of laws, but he has never, ever, hurt another person.

“YN -”, he retracted his hand immediately, bringing it behind his back, wanting to hide the offending appendage, “I - wh -” he wasn’t even sure how to finish his sentence. He watched you pull your knees closer to your chest and lay your forehead on them, letting out a breath you had been holding. You didn’t look scared, you looked exasperated, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better at all.

You didn’t actually think Yoongi would hurt you, you’ve just been so used to people treating you however they want, especially in high school. Boys would push you around in the hallways, girls would pull your hair in class and steal your backpack from under the lunch table. After high school, men would pull on your skirts or dresses at the market while you tried to sell flowers with a smile plastered on your face, which inevitably caused you to throw away any clothes that weren’t pants and baggy shirts. You were relatively afraid of people, and even though you trusted the men who took you in and have been helping you, you still didn’t know Yoongi, or the type of person he was. Now you felt remorse at the look on his face when you flinched away. He looks honestly heartbroken, regret written all over his features. You shook your head back and forth, forehead rubbing against your linen covered knees.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed quietly, not daring to look back at the blonde next to you.

Yoongi’s heart broke further at the sound, “Can I touch you?”

Though you were shocked at Yoongi’s sudden query, you didn’t lift your head. Slowly, you nodded up and down, hoping he could see it. Now that you were expecting the movement, you didn’t startle as Yoongi scooted closer to you on the rock and gently, softly, ran a large, warm hand up and down your spine. Yoongi inwardly noted that your bones were perhaps sticking out a little too far, that maybe you’ve skipped one too many meals lately. Or maybe, you didn’t have access to them. He wasn’t sure. He had no idea what kind of home you lived in. He had limited information, and most of it was about your father. That thought made him remember something, “Pearl?” Yoongi whispered cautiously, not sure how you would react to him having this knowledge. Hoping that you would find some sort of comfort in it, since your friends and mother called you that.

You immediately stopped sniffling, body going stiff as a board. You sat up abruptly and looked Yoongi dead in the eyes, “What did you call me?” He could see the red rims of your swollen eyes, dried tear tracks being covered by new ones and another piece of his heart cracked off, swallowed by the ocean of his chest.

“Pearl,” he uttered again, a little more confidently, “isn’t that your nickname?”

“H-how?” You stuttered, staring into his vast ocean eyes. They held more emotion than you were accustomed to, coming from him. You gently shook your head back and forth to dislodge the tears that were gathering at the corners.

Yoongi visibly blushed at your question, quickly avoiding your gaze and turning his head to the side and removing his hand from your back. You momentarily missed the warmth. He looked like he was gazing out at the water, but you could tell he was embarrassed. You narrowed your eyes at him. What was he hiding? “Yoongi?” You sniffled again, which caught his attention. He bit his cheek and looked at you through his lashes.

“I- I’m sorry.”

You were even more confused now. “For?”

“Everything,” he let out an exasperated sigh, “for yelling at you last night, for acting like sending you to Big Hit was a good idea, and…” he trailed off. You waited a moment, tears forgotten as you listened to the man be sincere for the first time since you met him, “for going through your phone.” His words were quiet, so quiet you almost asked him to repeat himself, but after a moment realization hit you.

“Y- you went through my phone?” Long gone was the remorse you felt for leaving your friends, the sorrow you felt at possibly losing your family. In its place, was anger. An ugly, red monster that was brewing in your chest. A part of you knew it was irrational, but the other part knew that he wouldn’t be ashamed if he didn’t feel like he did something wrong. This man, who yelled at you, made you feel small, made you think you didn’t matter… had invaded your privacy. Namjoon promised he would shut off service to your phone, making it untraceable. He promised it would be safe in their hands. You wouldn’t let your mind trace this back to Namjoon, no. He did nothing wrong. You were angry at the blonde sitting in front of you, wide-eyed with a mouth shaped like an “o”.

He shook himself out of the momentary shock at your reaction, “Y- yes,” he dragged out before quickly adding, “and I’m so sorry YN, really I am. It was wrong of me, and I know that. I know that! I just…”

You cut him off before he could finish that thought, “If you knew it was wrong, why did you do it?”

There was a deep ‘v’ forming on your forehead. The face you wore didn’t resemble someone who was angry, more concerned. Or disappointed. Yeah, that was the right word, Yoongi thought. He felt small in this moment, like he was a child being scolded for stealing cookies. He sighed and looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

“I was scared,” was all he could come up with at the moment, feeling so incredibly guilty and having no other way to express it to you.

“Scared?” You scoffed, he hasn’t been acting very scared. In fact, it seemed more like he was putting on a tough guy persona to try and scare you. “Of what, exactly?” You were feeling brazened now, these boys were really bringing out the sides of you, weren’t they?

A beat passed before Yoongi uttered, “Of losing my soulmates.”

The anger you were feeling just moments ago, dissipated in tiny fractures until all that was left in its wake was empathy for the man sitting across from you. For the first time since you met him, you felt like you saw Yoongi’s rock solid wall, crack slightly. His expression was still blank, like usual, but there was something in his eyes that was calling out to you, for help. He was just like the others. Scared, alone, worried. He found a home in these men, his best friends, maybe even his lovers. Something you were just starting to realize you might be finding in them, too. You were all alike, in some way or another. All felt like you didn’t belong, and here, with each other, you did belong. If you could feel that, you can’t imagine what Yoongi must feel for the others, having spent so much time with them.

You look away from Yoongi’s eyes, staring out at the water like he had been moments ago, cracking under the pressure of his intense gaze. Biting your lip to keep the dam from breaking again you whisper, “I shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he heard you correctly, but after a moment realized what you had meant by that. “That’s not what I meant, YN,” he sighed and ran a hand down his face, “really, it’s not.”

“No, I know, Yoongi,” you started, not turning to look at him just yet, “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I don’t want to walk in here and ruin what you guys have, get in the way of your friendships, or relationships,” you blushed at the insinuation, “I should go home. We don’t even know if my parents know anything, or if they even planned on giving me to Big Hit. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions, they know that.”

Yoongi started to panic, not just because he knew Seokjin and Jungkook would be crushed if you chose to leave, but because he knew you didn’t know the whole truth. Should he tell you? Namjoon would kill him. He didn’t want to disappoint his best friend, his savior, his love. But, he also didn’t want to possibly endanger you by allowing you to return home. He was already starting to care deeply for you and was terrified of the possibility of you getting hurt. “YN -” he started before sucking his lips between his teeth, contemplating his next words. At his silence, you removed your gaze from the quarry and turned towards the nervous looking man. He was wringing his wrist between the fingers of his other hand, a nervous tick.

You looked at him expectantly through long lashes, eyes still red rimmed from crying away most of the day. Yoongi still thought you looked ethereal, especially with the way the moon was reflecting in your eyes. It was like he could see the entire galaxy staring back at him, and it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel right now. Not when he was about to break your heart.

“YN I, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back. I know you don’t trust me,” he rushed out, making sure you weren’t going to cut him off again, “just let me explain why I’m saying this. I haven’t made the greatest impression on you, and for that I really am sorry. Like I said, I was scared. That’s not an excuse to treat someone poorly, but I hope you can understand that I love the others more than I love myself.”

Your eyes softened at his confession. You could see the love they shared for each other, but hearing him say it really solidified your observations. “Namjoon isn’t telling you the whole truth,” he noticed your eyes go wide, at mentally slapped himself for the poor choice of words before quickly saying, “it’s not what you think! You are like us. You are different. And you are in danger. But Namjoon knew if he told you just how much danger you were in, you probably wouldn’t trust him. He’s not a bad guy, in fact, he’s the exact opposite. He’s saved my life once before and I’m positive he’d do the same for you.”

If you weren’t confused before, you sure as hell are now. They were lying to you? “YN, your parents,” he let out another sigh hating the words he was about to say, “they are the ones lying to you. Hyunwoo and your father weren’t classmates. They worked together,” he felt like a traitor, like he was letting Namjoon down, “he’s a beneficiary of Big Hit. They’re already paying for you.”

To be continued...

taglist: @minifruity @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz @chim-possible @kooksremedy @irishhbamb @sugashaye @lovelyseomin

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a-singleboat · 4 years ago

Text

I Need A Hero

Word Count: 4.5k

Request: i am formally requesting an emily fic 😌 i dont want to be needy but em being lowkey but then super protective of you 🥵 angst with a happy ending would be amazing - anon

A/N: Let me know what you think! This is my first emily x reader so :D

Content Warnings: Blood, Reader getting hurt, Reader getting assaulted, kidnapping, swearing, alcohol, drugs

You should have listened to Emily. You really should have listened to her.

Emily was always just a tad bit overprotective of you, sometimes going as far as to asking you to wear a GPS device to clubs especially if she wasn’t going with you. You understood, of course. With her past and her current job, she had to make sure all her bases were covered. You were just one of them.

Though you rarely agreed to the GPS deceive, it was still flattering that she thought of you as important enough to keep track of. Usually, you’d just stick to texting her to let her know where you were. That was good enough for her.

But when she told you to stay home today, you thought that was her just being overly cautious, overly protective, as usual. You should have known better.

Turns out a serial killer with an affinity for women visibly similar to yourself was on the loose, details kept from the public due to the fact that the man was a flight risk. That being, it was painfully obvious why the “unsub,” to use Emily’s terminology, was a flight risk.

He flinched at every sound. At first, you tried to call out for someone--anyone. Well, that gained you a bloody gash on the side of your head. You didn’t make that mistake twice. Instead, you tried to remain calm and complacent--two things that Emily once said would ensure that you’d survive in a situation like this.

“Annie,” the man, Stephen, crooned. He picked up a doll from the table of toys and brought it over to you. From what you could tell, the doll was dirty and half-rotted away, as if it had been buried for a good while. He pressed it up to your face, the side coated in blood, and cooed at you. “Annie, I have Mrs. Buttercup here. Don’t cry, she’ll make it all better.”

You tried not to wince away as he rubbed the doll against your face. If Stephen wasn’t going to kill you, infection just might.

“Th-thank you, Mrs. Buttercup,” you whimpered, hands grasping the end of the armrests. The chair rocked backward as he put pressure on the doll, forcing you backward. You panicked as your feet left the ground, struggling to at least get a toe back on the solid concrete.

God, you should have listened to Emily. If you were going to die, you’d spend the rest of your immortal life regretting the choice you made to leave the house today.

Stephen looked into your eyes, searching for something. You knew all he’d find was fear so you tried your best to wrestle down your emotions. You held back the tears threatening to spill, holding your breath as he leaned in closer.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, the one not wet with your blood. You grimaced at the feeling of his chapped lips against your skin. “I-I didn’t mean to earlier, Annie. You were just being so loud and… you understand, right?”

You nodded, lip quivering as he brought the doll to your chin, tilting your head upward. He forced you to look at him, smearing blood along your jawline as he did.

After a few moments of deliberation, he let you go, the rocking chair swaying back and forth until it settled back into a resting position. “You must be hungry,” he decided, dropping Mrs. Buttercup back into the piles of toys. “I’ll go make you your favorite.”

He flinched as a loud sound came from outside--a car alarm going off. The sound made you relax, however. The sound of a car alarm meant you weren’t in an abandoned factory somewhere. You were most likely in this guy’s basement, or something similar.

Stephen gripped the sides of his head as the alarm continued, only letting go when the alarm finally shut off. He collected himself, fists clenching before relaxing at his sides. His smile returned though you can only really see his teeth in the low light.

“I’ll be back, Annie,” he said, waving at you. “Don’t move.”

The last two words were more threatening than anything he’d actually done, true menace seeping into his voice like a poison. You waited for him to disappear around the corner before allowing yourself to cry, a few tears rolling down your cheeks and mixing with the blood.

You gasped for air, struggling to keep your breathing steady. It wouldn’t do you any good to hyperventilate now. You looked around for something--anything--that could possibly be used to alert someone that you were down here.

God, how long had it been? You lost count after the first thirty minutes. There were no windows so you couldn’t even tell if it was still day. Emily was probably freaking out by now. No doubt she had somehow gotten the entire United States Military involved by now, your safety being the only thing on her mind.

Another ten or so minutes passed without Stephen. You wondered how the other victims had died. Blood loss seemed to be the only thing on your mind, unsure if your head wound had clotted yet. All you could feel was the wet of your own bodily fluid on the side of your face, which didn’t help much. Everything else just seemed numb.

Your head lolled to the side as you heard footsteps approach, unable to lift your head as flashlights combed the ground. You barely reacted as the door got kicked in, eyelids closing as two blurry figures approached you. One of the figures shouted something behind them while the other came to you, patting your face lightly in an attempt to get you to stay awake.

Unable to remain conscious, you allowed sleep to claim you as the person above you shouted more words, all unintelligible as your consciousness faded from reality.

_____

Emily never did like hospitals.

Ever since her “death,” she tried to avoid them as much as possible but now, for you, she would make an exception. She waited in the waiting room alongside her teammates. None of them knew you personally, but they all knew about you. From the stories Emily would tell to the snippets of various phone conversations they accidentally overheard, they could tell that you were something good for their Unit Chief.

She propped her elbows up on her legs, holding her head up as she struggled to stay away. You hadn’t needed surgery but had lost a lot of blood as well as suffered major trauma. The doctors weren’t allowing anyone in as they observed you for any possible signs of infection as well as any withdrawal symptoms from the drugs the unsub had used to knock you out. It was all very dramatic, the extent of your actual injuries being minimal compared to what could have happened.

“Stop worrying.” Morgan reached over, putting a hand on her knee. She hadn’t even realized she’d been bouncing it up and down, too worried about how you were doing. It had been a few hours at that point, nurses going in and out of your room but none of them saying anything about your state of being.

“She’s fine. You know this. Everything they’re doing is just precautionary,” Morgan continued. He patted her knee twice, lifting his hand to point at a white-coated doctor exiting your room. “Look, the doctor’s here now. He’ll tell you that everything’s okay.”

“Y/n Y/l/n?”

Emily stood, smoothing out her blazer. “That’s me. I’m Emily Prentiss, her fiancée.”

A little white lie wouldn’t hurt, especially not when it would get her the answers she needed.

“Well, Ms. Prentiss, Y/n is expected to make a full recovery. The trauma to her head won’t have any lasting effects. She has some bruising on her side, we think from being dropped. We want to keep her overnight to watch for infection and, of course, the withdrawal effects from the xylazine. You may see her now but you won’t be able to stay overnight with her.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Emily said, shaking the man’s hand before he departed. She turned around to face her friends. “You guys can go home, I’ll call a cab back home later. Thank you for being here for me.”

Morgan gave her an incredulous look, standing from his seat. “Emily, if you think we’re just going to leave you then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Yeah,” Garcia piped up. “We’ll be right here for you. None of us are leaving.”

“You would do the same for any of us,” Reid backed her up.

Now Emily wasn’t one for tears but upon hearing the support she got from her friends, she could feel herself starting to tear up. She took a stabilizing breath, thanking them before turning to head into your hospital room.

It was quiet. That was the first thing she noticed. Instead of your infectious laugh filling the void space, it was the steady beeping of the machine connected to your finger, ensuring that you still had a heartbeat. It broke Emily’s heart to see you like this, bloodied and bruised.

She dragged one of the hospital chairs over to your bedside, hesitating before taking your hand up in hers. It was all her fault that you were here. If her job was less dangerous, you’d have still been in your hometown rather than following her all the way to Quantico, Virginia. You probably would have already been married with five adoptive children like you always wanted.

Instead, you're here. In a hospital in Washington DC recovering from being kidnapped by a psycho that Emily most likely unknowingly brought back to your home. If you didn’t hate her after this, she’d consider it a miracle.

_____

The first thing you saw when you came to was Emily’s face full of worry, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration as she thought long and hard. Your hand was in hers, still limp as you slowly regained feeling in your extremities.

Very gently, you squeezed her hand, letting her know you were awake.

“Hi baby,” you whispered, your throat a bit scratchy from the lack of lubrication. As if reading your mind, she handed you a cup of water off the hospital bedside table. You took a few sips, keeping your eyes on your girlfriend as she looked deep in thought.

You set the water aside, groaning as you realized your entire side was sore. You couldn’t remember if you hit it against something. From what you knew, the only injury you suffered was your head wound, which was newly wrapped.

You looked her up and down, squeezing her hand slightly to gain her attention. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Emily bit her lip, carefully picking her next words. “Y/n… I think we should take a break.”

This came out of nowhere. Her words slammed into you harder than a football quarterback would have, stealing all the breath from your lungs as you processed her words.

“What?”

“We should take a break. It’s just--I put you in more danger than you asked for and you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve not knowing when or if I’ll come home. You don’t deserve me dropping plans for a case or forgetting your birthday because I’m working. You deserve someone who can be there and I’m sorry, but I’m not that. I-I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Emily, no. First off, you don’t get to decide what I do and don’t deserve. Second, none of this was any of your fault. I knew what your job was from the very beginning and I chose to stay because I wanted to. So what if you forget my birthday, there’s always next year and so what if you cancel plans, we’ll just make new ones. Emily, please don’t--” Tears pearled in the corners of your eyes as your voice caught in your throat. “Baby, where did this come from?”

She shrugged, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. She let go of your hand, pulling away even as you tried to keep her there. “I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

You couldn’t do anything as she walked out. You called for her, hands shaking as you tried to think of something--anything to say to her as she left your life. The worst part wasn’t even her leaving, you later decided. The worst part was that Emily Prentiss didn’t even bother turning around for one last look. She just left you with your broken heart scattered about the room, leaving you to pick up your own pieces.

_____

You wanted to hate Emily Prentiss. You really did.

The way she just left you leaving you numb until you were forced to feel everything as you underwent twenty-four hours of withdrawal. Xylazine wasn’t something to mess with, you knew that even before you have been drugged with it. But now, two months after you and Emily split paths, you stayed in Virginia.

Why would you move? You’d already built up a life in the state. All your friends were there and so was your job, which you had grown to love despite the overbearing mother that neighbored workspaces with you.

You knew Nancy meant well, that she just wanted to make sure you were adjusting to work well after you’d been kidnapped, but sometimes you just wanted the woman to take a long walk away from you and never return. Right now was one of those times.

“It’s been two months,” Nancy said, looking up from her computer screen. She had been finalizing her schedule for that week, boxing off the times she needed so she could go visit her son in college. “You need to move on with your life. Find yourself another girlfriend or at least go out with your friends. I hate seeing you all mopey like this.”

Nancy had a point. You did need to make an effort to go out, to go back to “normalcy” or whatever. Even your therapist was pushing you to socialize, saying that it could help you get over the recurring nightmares.

“I don’t want to go out tonight, Nancy,” you replied, trying to focus on the work in front of you. The numbers were starting to blur together but you persevered. You didn’t have much longer until the end of work. As soon as you finished the spreadsheet on the screen in front of you, you were home free.

“At least try, Y/n,” Nancy insisted. “Call up some of your friends, hit the club. Even if you don’t drink, at least try to have fun again.”

“But I have fun talking to you. Why do I need to go have more fun.”

Nancy wasn’t taking any of your shit. She packed away her things, powering down her computer. She lowered her standing desk and pulled her purse over her shoulder. “Hopefully you’ll be telling me all about your night out when I see you tomorrow morning. Good night, Y/n.”

Grumpily, you replied, “Good night, Nancy.”

You stayed at the office thirty minutes more and after a solid five-minute debate with yourself, you gave in and called up your friends. Lyndsey and Brenna both said they’d be down while Brent replied with utter regret, saying he had been roped into working the night shift.

And so you drove to Lyndsey’s to get ready, agreeing to be the DD seeing as you didn’t exactly want to get pissed drunk--especially not with Emily still on your mind.

You drove the three of you to the nearest club, showing your IDs to the bouncer and entering without a problem.

“I’m gonna get us shots,” Brenna shouted over the music, disappearing a moment later. You and Lyndsey stumbled over to a table, claiming it for the three of you as the music seemed to grow louder.

Brenna pushed through the crowd to get back to the two of you, two shots balanced in one hand with another in her other. “Y/n, I know you said you weren’t drinking but one drink can’t hurt.”

“Yeah, Y/n,” Lyndsey ganged up on you. She took the two shots from Brenna, holding the second one out to you. “Besides, Brenna already paid for it so you have to.”

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly, giving in to their peer pressure. You figured you were already out, what was one shot gonna do? You took up the little glass, counting down with your friends before knocking back the alcohol. You made a face at the taste, coughing a little as it burned a trail down past your lungs.

“Let’s dance!” Brenna cheered, pulling both of you out onto the dance floor. Laughing, you allowed her to drag you along. She pulled you both on either side of her, jumping up and down as the music pounded into your eardrums, the rhythmic beat coursing through your body.

I made a promise to you, to never let you go.

You swayed to the music, holding onto Lyndsey’s hands as she sang along. She twirled you around, causing you to giggle. Brenna serenaded you from behind, grabbing your hips and making you sway.

But now I see you're moving on and I'm still all alone, oh oh.

From across the club, your eyes connected with a familiar pair. Emily Prentiss stared you down. Around her were her work friends, all drinking their cares away. None of them realized that you were there.

Every time I say I'm happy for you I just lie, oh oh. I made a promise to you and I'm still holding on, oh oh.

You forced yourself to look away, suddenly not in the mood to be dancing. Still, you forced a smile, sticking it out for the rest of the song. As All Mine faded into the next song, you excused yourself for water. Not thinking much of it, they let you go, continuing to dance with each other.

You stumbled off the floor, accidentally bumping into a guy who looked like a frat boy from one of the colleges in the area.

“Sorry,” you apologized, stepping away. Instead of going back to clubbing on his own, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him.

“No need to be sorry, baby,” he drunkenly slurred, hands already moving down your body. “I’m Chad. What’s your name, princess?’

“None of your business,” you spat, trying to break free of his grip. Your attempts were futile, however, his grip tightening instead of loosening like you wanted it to. Memories of your abduction flashed through your mind as he placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, the feeling of Stephen’s chapped lips pressed against the same cheek causing you to freeze up.

“Please let go,” you whimpered, though your pleas were drowned out by the music. Tears started to fall as he kissed down your neck, your body frozen as he took advantage of you.

It seemed you had an angel on your side that night because Chad was ripped off you not even a moment later, your savior having torn him off your body and thrown him back a good few inches.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Emily said, placing herself between you and your assailant.

Chad squared up to Emily, cocking his head sideways as if to intimidate her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Emily whipped out her badge, shoving it into the poor fool’s face. “FBI,” she said with authority. “Now scram.”

Chad paled at the badge, most likely never having had a run-in with law enforcement before. He scrambled backward, almost knocking over a dancing couple before disappearing back into the crowd.

Emily turned back around to face you, tucking her ID back in her pocket.

“Are you okay?” she asked you with a gentleness you could almost mistake with care. You scoffed. You weren’t going to fall for that again.

“What the fuck, Emily?” you raged. “You think you can just swoop in and save the day. Newsflash, I don’t need you. I don’t need your help and I most certainly don’t need your pity. You can take your false care and shove it.”

You stormed off, not even letting her respond. You went to find your friends, who had both migrated to the bar.

“We need to leave,” you said, your voice thick with tears. You probably looked like a mess, tears streaking down your face and your body still shaking. You didn’t know if it was anger or fear.

Lyndsey must have sensed something happened because she jumped to your side the second the words came out of your mouth, urging Brenna to finish her drink so that the three of you could leave. You made your way out of the club, collapsing into the side of the building as the tears started to pour.

“What happened?” Lyndsey demanded, yanking a pack of travel tissues from her clutch and handing you one. You dabbed under your eyes, trying to salvage whatever makeup you had put on that night.

“I saw Emily,” you blubbered, accepting another tissue from your friend. “And I said something terrible. Oh, my God. She probably hates me now!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Brenna comforted you, rubbing circles into your back. “But didn’t she break up with you? Baby girl, you don’t need her.”

You were quiet. You didn’t need Emily, but God did you want her. Not a moment went by that you didn’t miss her. She was everywhere. In the dress that you kept in the back of the closet to the little clay tray that the two of you bought together that held your keys. She was everywhere.

“I just miss her,” you muttered, sniffling a bit as you calmed down. You felt ridiculous crying over a woman who made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with you.

“Well, you could always talk to her,” Brenna suggested, her hand leaving your back. She pointed to the side where Emily was exiting the club, looking around for something… or rather, someone.

At that moment, she noticed the three of you crouched by the wall. She hurried over, Lyndsey and Brenna getting up to form a protective barrier in front of you.

“Lyndsey, Brenna,” she greeted your friends. “Can I please talk to Y/n?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now,” Lyndsey said, her voice stern. You almost laughed at the thought of Lyndsey using her teacher's voice on Emily. You crumbled the used napkins in your hand, shoving it into your pocket as you collected yourself off the ground.

You put your hand on Lyndsey’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “We can talk.”

“Are you sure?” Lyndsey’s brows knit together, concern showing quite obviously on her face. You nodded, handing her the car keys. “You guys can go wait in the car. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Lyndsey looked between you and Emily cautiously.

“Don’t worry,” Emily said, “I’ll make sure she gets back to you safely.”

With one last look, Lyndsey took the keys and disappeared off to the car with Brenna not too far behind. Brenna turned around last minute, doing the ‘I’m watching you’ movement in Emily’s direction.

The two of you stood together in silence, unsure of what the first move should be. You bit your lower lip, rocking back onto your heels nervously as Emily didn’t meet your eye.

“I’m sorry,” both of you said at the same time, awkwardly laughing as you realized what had just happened. You pulled at your fingers, a nervous tic you had developed after your abduction.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. You looked up at her. “I’m sorry I went off on you back there. You didn’t deserve any of that, you were just trying to help.”

Emily shook her head. “No, you don’t have to apologize for anything. If anyone owes an apology, it’s me. I shouldn’t have done anything. You don’t deserve that and you don’t deserve any of what I put you through.”

You swallowed harshly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Emily said, chuckling as a way to diffuse some of the tension. “I’m a terrible person for what I did to you. I knew exactly what you had just gone through and I still went through with it. I made the choice for you without you even having a say and I regret that.”

“No,” you shook your head. “You’re not a terrible person. Emily, for the past two months I have done nothing but miss you. My goddamn therapist even suggested I reach out to you despite what you did. Breaking up with me while I was in the hospital was a shitty move, I’ll agree, but it doesn’t make you a terrible person. I promise.”

“You miss me?” Emily asked, her voice small. It was a change from her normal confidence. Her vulnerability and insecurity showed through her normally strong front. You couldn’t help but smile at her, taking a step closer to her.

You hesitated before taking her hand in your own. You brought a hand to her face, caressing her smooth features.

“I did--do miss you,” you admitted. “And before you ask anything else, I forgave you a long time ago.”

Emily’s head dropped against your hand, her eyes closing in an attempt to block out the tears that threatened to fall.

“I don’t deserve you,” she muttered.

You ran a thumb over her cheekbone, memorizing her features. “Bullshit,” you said, your voice low. You pulled her closer, standing on your toes so that your lips could meet. It was slow and passionate as you tried to convey all the emotions you felt for her through that simple action. Your arms looped around her neck as she reacted, pulling you in closer by the waist.

The kiss turned desperate as Emily tried to make up for the last time, tears rolling down your face as you realized everything into the abyss. You felt yourself relax into Emily, pulling away as you sobbed.

She put her hand under your chin gently, lifting your face so that your eyes met hers.

“Why are you crying, baby?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She kissed underneath your eyes, most likely tasting the salt of your tears. You couldn’t help it, the tears weren’t stopping.

“I just really missed you,” you admitted, wiping the tears away with the heel of your hand. Emily took your hand in hers, bringing them up to her mouth so she could place a kiss on your knuckles. It was the same gesture she had made two months ago before she broke up with you but this time, the message that came with them was different.

“If you give me another chance, I promise I won’t screw it up,” she said, running her thumb over your knuckles.” I-I promise I’ll work harder on being the woman you deserve.”

You hummed, resting your head on her chest as she drew her arms around you, protecting you from the world and all the evils within it.

“You already are.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@beautiful-holland @toms-order @starlightfound @lemirabitur @grandmascottlang @positiveparker @bippity-boppity-boopa @caswinchester2000

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stevesharrlngtons · 4 years ago

Text

pin prick and needle sticks.

roman godfrey x reader

summary: your solution for roman’s feeding problem is met with some resistance.

word count: 3.9k

a/n: ya im having so much fun writing again so hopefully there will be more! i hope you enjoy and if you do, pls give me some feedback (-:

also this is a repost bc this wasn’t showing up in tags

When you strode into Dr. Pryce’s office, he didn’t try to hide his surprise at your uncharacteristic appearance.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)! This is surely an unexpected visit.” Pryce pushed out of his desk chair to meet you in the middle of the large glass room.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You say politely as Johann takes the coat that’s folded over your arm.

“No, not presently. I was just about to wrap up some paperwork and go to lunch.”

“Well, I won’t keep you long. I am hoping my question has a simple enough answer.” You say as you take a seat in one of the visitors chairs across from his desk.

“So, you are looking for my expertise on a matter?” Pryce asks, taking his own seat now.

“Yes, and maybe a small favor depending on your answer.” You smile, trying to seem as sweet as possible.

You knew Johann was asked for wild favors and cover ups where the Godfrey family was concerned constantly, almost on the daily. You wanted him to be receptive to your idea and not shoot you down before he heard your pitch.

Pryce was tolerant of your presence and occasionally even fond of your acquaintance when Roman needed him for something or another. You were very bright and amiable company.

He sighs deeply, already seeming resistant, “Is this a Roman related favor?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. It’s more like a gift I need your help in giving.”

Johann looked extremely perplexed as he placed his laced fingers on his desktop, “Now I am very intrigued. Please, proceed,”

“You are aware that Roman has been having some trouble sourcing food. Right?” You try to say everything as delicately as possible, even though you knew Pryce knew about Roman’s situation in full. Probably even more than you knew.

“Yes, I am. Unfortunately Olivia forbids me to speak with him on the matter before she does, and she refuses to do so until Roman goes to her for help.”

“Withholding access to food, sounds like an award winning mother if you ask me.”

Johann chuckles, “Yes, Olivia is nothing but selfless.”

“Selfless and maternal.”

Pryce laughs again before he asks you what is the nature of your visit in relation to Roman and his upirism.

“Like all things in Roman’s life that are broken, I have found the solution to fix them. In this case, I have decided that I will take my blood and give it to him. As much as I can give, so he will never have to worry about where to feed again.” You said this with a self assured expression, elated that you had come up with a way to help your love.

The true extent of Roman’s feeding problem had become apparent one night while you were making love.

Roman sat on his knees, your legs around his waist while he pressed his hips deliciously into yours. He had set a gentle rhythm of thrusts, ones that were illicting your mewls and calls of his name from your lips. While you were reveling in your pleasure, Roman was trembling. Desire filming his eyes as they transfixed on your jugular. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the faint thrum in your neck, your voice becoming hazy and distant as his mouth watered at the sight of your craned neck below him. It wasn’t until you grabbed his cheeks that he snapped from his thirsty stupor.

Roman tumbled off your naked form to the floor of the bedroom unceremoniously, skirting away from you until his back reached the wall, the farthest wall from the bed. You had sat up, not bothering to cover yourself as you stared at your crumpled boyfriend, who shook and stammered under his breath.

“I can’t, OK? We can’t! Not until I feed again. I don’t think I can control it- I can’t control myself.”

“Baby, it’s going to be fine. I know you would never hurt me,” You push away the remains of crumpled sheets and begin toward him, but Roman flinches aggressively.

“I can’t help it, no matter how much I don’t want too, I will. I would kill you just for a taste and I would hate myself forever.”

You wanted to offer yourself up on a silver platter then and there. Ask him to drink from you because even if he doubted his control, you knew he would stop feeding before you were in any semblance of danger. You just wanted to make him feel better, in any way you could. But, as Roman wove his hands into his hair and tugged ruthlessly at the roots, it was clear that this wasn’t going to become an argument, or even a conversation. Roman left the bedroom soon after, muttering something about the refrigerator and leeches, while you watched him leave with an ache in your chest.

You had been trying to figure out the best possible solution to Roman’s problem since. After contemplating many different avenues, you concluded that you weren’t a bank robber (even if it was just a blood bank) and hiring someone from Craigslist seemed too risky (and too weird). So, you had fallen back on your original idea from that night: Roman would drink from you.

“To be clear, you want to extract your own blood and stockpile it for Roman?”

“Exactly. I just need to know how to do it and how much I can give per week without dying of iron deficiency or something.” You nonchalantly reply.

“This is very noble of you to do, (Y/N).”

You wave a dismissive hand at his compliment, “I just want to help him in the best way I can. It’s what you do for the people you love.”

Pryce stares at you for a moment, and begins to wonder how Roman attracted you in the first place? He was sure it was the young man’s killer good looks and the charm he held with the opposite sex that first caught your attention, but you were a smart girl. You wouldn’t fall for him simply because he was a blueprint for a Greek statue or threw a few saccharine words your way. He wondered if Roman was warm and adoring? Sweet and loving and soft when he was only in your company? From what Pryce had seen first hand, Roman was kind and gentle when you were around, but only ever to you. The second Roman laid his eyes back on Pryce or anyone else for that matter, he was back to an angry frothing terror to anyone in his path.

“When giving blood for say, The Red Cross, they take about a liter of your blood which is around 15 fluid ounce. You shouldn’t give more than that a mouth, but I could give you a few supplements that could help replenish your red blood cells at a slightly quicker rate so you would be able to give blood once a week.

“You would likely need to take breaks, possibly a month on and a month off? To make sure that giving blood this frequently wouldn’t take any serious toll, or have any significant side effects on the body.” Pryce explains.

“And these supplements won’t do anything weird to me if I take them?” You trusted Pryce, but only minutely. While you felt cordial with him, you still knew to be weary of his experiments.

“No, of course not. They are all over the counter supplements and vitamins that you can buy on your own accord. I would just tell you how, when and the quantity to take.”

You sighed at his answer and laughed lightly, “So it’s all good? We could do it?”

“I don’t see why not. I could send a tech to your home to administer the IV, and possibly if this method of feeding works out for Roman long term, you could learn to insert it yourself.”

“Am I going to have like, crazy puncture marks? Am I gonna look like a junkie?” You asked, the vanity of this whole thing only now coming to your mind.

“Unfortunately, there will be noticeable marks and possible bruises from repeated insertions. I could work on something to heal your puncture marks, as I said, if this becomes a main source of Roman’s feeding.”

You nod, mulling over the information for a moment.

“When could we start?”

Telling Roman about the whole thing never even crossed your mind. To you, this was a gift that you were going to give to him, and you loved the element of surprise. It was strange, sure, but to you, this idea of yours felt totally romantic. Some women gave their boyfriends watches, or flat screen TV’s, or let them put in their ass on their birthdays; but for your boyfriend? The man who had every material object he desired and every sexual need quenched? Your blood was a perfect way to show him you cared.

You didn’t want Roman to get just one bag for the first time you presented him with the blood, so you waited four long weeks to create your mini arsenal for him. You just took to wearing long sleeves around the house and silk robes right before bed to hide the little marks on your arms. Roman, still not at his most observant from his lack of feedings, didn’t even bat an eye at your clothing choices.

After your final session with one of Pryce’s tech’s in your home, you felt giddy. You had been keeping the blood in the outside fridge until you had the stockpile you desired, knowing Roman never checked it’s contents. Tonight was the night you were finally going to give them to him.

After Pryce’s man left, you placed your newest bag in the refrigerator and went back inside to change into something far more alluring than the sweatpants you adorned currently. This was going to be a special night for your man and you wanted to pull out all the stops. You had already directed Conway and Anna to make a four course feast for the two of you before you would bring out Roman’s surprise.

After changing into the tightly fitted black dress you had picked out a few weeks ago, along with Roman’s favorite silk lingerie set, you went back downstairs to continue to set the scene for Roman when he returned from work. You scattered candles around the room and played an old jazz record to soothe any worry or anxiety from your boyfriend once he entered your shared home. You wanted everything to be perfect, he deserved it.

As you finished and Anna and Conway were wrapping up the meal, you heard someone placing a key in the front door. You turned to see Roman’s tall silhouette through the frosted glass and you couldn’t keep the smile off your lips.

When he walked through the door, he looked exhausted. His eyes were haloed in shadows and he was gaunt, his pale skin pasty and dull. He looked about ready to collapse.

Until he saw you.

“Welcome home.” You said, a wide grin on your features.

“What’s all this?” Roman asked as you met him by the door.

“I know how stressed you’ve been and I wanted to set up a nice evening for the two of us.” You replied as you pushed his coat off his shoulders and held out for Conway to take.

Roman glanced over your shoulder to see the extent of the fuss you had made for him and his shoulders visibly relaxed, “You’re amazing.”

You took both his hands and started to walk back toward the table, “That I am, and I have a little surprise for you after dinner.”

Roman tugs you to him suddenly, causing you to stumble a bit in your heels, but that only accomplished to bring you flush to him.

“Is my surprise under this sexy little get up of yours?” Roman’s eyes twinkle with lust as he moves his hands down to grip your ass.

You hum with delight, “I guess you have two surprises coming, then.”

You lean up to place a lingering kiss to his lips and Roman groans a curse as you step away from his hold.

“But for now, let’s eat and unwind. How was your day?” You ask, pulling out Roman’s chair for him.

“Better now.” He grinned, one that was without smare or ulterior motive. Just a pure smile radiating happiness.

After you chatted about your days and Roman having bitched about work to his heart’s content, you both finished the delicious dinner that was prepared for you. You had moved across the table to sit on his lap while you both shared a chocolate mousse, the gentle ping of the silver spoon against the serving glass lulling you both into calm relaxation and sloth as you ate the rich dessert.

Roman’s temple was pressed against your exposed cleavage, practically purring with the bliss he felt.

“Thank you for tonight, baby. I needed it.” He sighed, turning his head just enough to let you kiss his lips.

“Of course, my love.” You responded, stroking your hand through his hair, “I’d pluck the stars from the sky if it’d make you happy.”

“Hey,” Roman smiles, poking your side, “That’s my line.”

You giggle as Roman prodes you, “Well, while I’m taking your lines, let me take another. I got you something and I need to go and get it.”

“You know I don’t need anything.” Roman says, squeezing you once more before you got off his lap.

“This present is something you need, trust me.” You say over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen and enter the garage to get the gift box you had prepared.

Was this all very dramatic? Yes. Over the top? Of course.

But you loved pampering Roman, so you threw all cares to the wind.

As you entered the kitchen with the rectangular black gift box held together with a silk ribbon, Roman looked at you confused.

“Jeez, what is that? Is my mother’s head in there?” He asked as he watched you place the box on the dining table.

“I wish.” You chuckled, dusting your hands off on your dress as you looked into Roman’s puzzled expression, “Open it.”

Unable to even guess what could be in the box, Roman stood up and walked toward you and where it lay.

“It’s not gonna be anything that’s gonna pop out at me, right?”

“Oh my God, stop being such a bitch and open it already!” You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder as you quaked with excitement.

Roman finally pulled on the black ribbon and slowly untied it, causing the sides of the box to fall apart and reveal it’s contents.

“Surprise!” You said, jumping slightly in place, barely able to keep your excitement to yourself as Roman took in the gift.

He just looked at the blood blankly, all placed in a row before him. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing.

“How did you get this?”

“Well, that’s the extra special part. It’s mine,” You gestured to the blood, “It’s all from me.”

Roman looked up at you, and the appreciation you’d thought you’d see written all over his face wasn’t there. Instead his face was red with anger.

“How could you do this? How could you be so reckless!” Roman raged.

Your heart sank with embarrassment and grief.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Like it? Baby, why would I like you taking your blood to give to me? Do you know how dangerous this is? Do you!” You cowered under his voice, lip quivering.

“I thought you would be happy, I thought I was helping. Now you don’t have to worry about feeding or hurting anyone. I can just give blood every now and then and give it to you.” You responded, trying desperately to mend the evening.

“How did you even do this? How did you figure this out?” Roman picked up one of the bags and furiously tossed it back down.

You furrowed your brows and took a step toward your boyfriend, “OK, so don’t get mad- well, don’t get more mad I guess… but I asked Pryce-”

“You asked Pryce?” Roman shrieked, his eyes bulging from his head.

“Yes! But it wasn’t his idea, it was mine. The whole thing was my idea and all he did was help me and make sure I was safe.” You said quickly as Roman paced the length of the table in front of you.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill that stupid little prick and rip his cock off and shove it down his throat!” Roman bellowed.

“Ro, it’s not his fault,”

“It is! He let you do this! Indulged you! He fucking put a needle in your arm and touched you!” It was then that Roman finally zeroed in on the small circular band aid on the inner crook of your elbow and his face passed its red hue into bright crimson.

“Pryce never touched me! He had a lab tech help me.”

“Then I’m killing the tech, then Pryce, then everyone in that fucking nut house of a lab who knew this was happening and didn’t tell me!”

“Stop!” You shouted over Roman’s angry rant, “Enough! This wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own, apparently. I fucked up, I can see that now. But I honestly and truly thought you would love this. That you could be satiated from my blood and never worry about where the next source would come from. But hey? Guess I was wrong.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you turned on your heel to leave.

“(Y/N),” Roman called after you but you stuck up your hand to silence him.

“No, I just want to go to sleep. I’ll see you in bed.” And you walked up the stairs to leave your boyfriend stewing in his own ire.

Stripped from your dress and lingerie, you lay under the thick covers of the bed and mindlessly watch some old re-run of a sitcom. It had been well over an hour since you had left Roman in the kitchen and each second he stayed away was another second of heartbreak and humiliation. You still weren’t sure why Roman had blown up the way he did… sure it was risky, but nothing that you couldn’t handle. You were a grown fucking woman who knew her own limits. You had picked up the supplements Pryce had prescribed you and you had been feeling perfectly fine. If you ever started to feel any effects, you knew you would head straight to Pryce or your primary doctor.

As another commercial break washed over the screen, Roman opened the door to the bedroom and peeked his head inside.

“You OK?”

“No.”

Roman sighed as he came fully into the room and shut the door behind himself, leaning against it.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the scene down there…”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have asked you first if you would have been OK with me doing this for you.” You slumped your shoulder into the mattress.

Roman just watched you.

“I just… Roman, I really thought you would like it! I thought you might even be grateful. I really meant what I said downstairs, I would give you a star if that would make you happy, I really would. And I thought helping solve your feeding problem would make you happy, and it didn’t, so I’m sorry.”

Still Roman stayed silent, just studying you, wrapped in a coil of thick blankets. He soon walked toward the bed and sat on the corner, his back facing you. He hunched over and placed his head in his hands, gently shook it side to side.

“I was never really even that mad at you, baby. Just at Pryce, I guess. And scared…”

“Scared about what?”

“Seriously? You’re going to ask that?” Roman glowered.

You kicked your foot out to the edge he was sitting on to jostle him, “Don’t be an asshole.”

He grumbled something under his breath that you sure was unkind before he continued.

“I was obviously fucking scared because this could go wrong, alright? You could get sick or stop clotting or something! I don’t know. I don’t have to be rational when it comes to your safety and health.”

You rolled your eyes at that comment, “I thought I was being rational coming up with this idea, Roman. In my head, this would solve everything. No more leeches or starving or worrying that you’ll kill someone when it gets too much!”

Roman looked back at you, his eyes intense as your cheeks heated with your outburst.

“I just-! Fuck,” He turned back around, bouncing his knee, “I don’t want you to do this for me and something bad happening. That’s it, that’s all.”

You frown and whisper his name, just loud enough for him to hear.

“And because you went to Pryce and not me… and that no one at my own fucking company told me about this. Fucking traitors.”

You shuffled your way out from the blankets and crawled your way toward Roman, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder to gage his reaction before you moved to hug him.

“I’m not going to get hurt, I promise. Pryce told me where to buy some vitamins to keep me healthy and they have been working. I won’t continue if I start to feel sick. And if by some chance I do, you will be the first person I tell.”

Roman says nothing at first, but you knew he heard you. You placed a few simple kisses to his shoulder and wound your arms tighter around his waist, snuggling to him.

“I want to know the second you start to feel anything less than fantastic, OK? If you feel faint or nauseous or even if you have a fucking headache, alright? I’m not fucking around here.” He replied firmly.

A smile spread across your face and you pressed it to his skin, “Of course, baby. No more secrets ever again.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Roman trailed off with a sigh, but leaning into your touch.

“You know,” You started, moving around his neck to see his face, “I thought the idea of you drinking my blood was very romantic. Maybe even erotic.”

Roman moved to give you a quizzical look and you only grinned wider.

“Something about giving myself to you fully, running through your veins, letting you have all of me, you don’t think that’s romantic?”

Roman’s lips began to pull into his signature smirk, “I think I was little more taken by your erotic comment.”

You giggled and playfully bit his shoulder, “I don’t know, I think about watching you drink it… about you covered in it and knowing it’s from me,”

Roman was quick to grab you and manhandle you around him and into his lap.

“Yeah?” He asked, smirk persistent as his hands explored your body.

“Yeah… knowing you drink my blood, my cum, that you’re the only one who knows my taste… it got me all hot, baby.”

Roman groaned deep in his chest as he dug his fingers into your hips, twitching his hips up against you and making your eyes flutter.

“My baby, my girl,” He hummed, leaning forward to ghost his lips over your own, “You drive me absolutely wild.”

“All better now?”

Roman just chuckles, grinding you down onto him.

“And you’ll drink the blood?”

“Yeah, fine,” And he finally kisses you.

You knew that he was playing it off now like it was nothing, but the honesty you had shown him, and the utter devotion you had just pledged, meant something to him. It meant everything to him.

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