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chanfictions · 2 years

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Can I request a second part to that Orochimaru fic you recently wrote with Kabuto this time? Maybe he can see how often she’s needing some dick and decides to help her out too behind Orochimaru’s back?

Okay, don't be mad. I kinda went two feet to the left of this request because the plot-monster bit me and I liked this idea too much to leave it be. I was already toying with this concept before the request came in, but it kinda cemented itself as I was writing. It still involves Kabuto seeing the state dear Reader is in following Insatiable, but it's an eensie bit more complicated than just going behind Orochimaru’s back for a quick fix. I apologize that this doesn't contain the smut you were after, but my thumbs took me places as the story evolved.

Memento

Kabuto x Reader

Warnings: angst, references to tame medical procedures. Some mature themes and references to Insatiable, but no smut.

3.1k

What a mess.

Kabuto sighed deeply as he analyzed the state his master had left you in this time. With great amusement, Orochimaru informed him that he would have a bit of work to do, so the scene that greeted him upon his arrival to your cell came as little surprise. Awkwardly tangled in the sheets upon your bed, you tossed and turned in a feverish daze now that the sedation had nearly worn off. Half-conscious and mumbling nonsense to the ceiling, your clammy skin was slicked with a cold sweat. Your eyes rolled about in their sockets as they searched for relief, and you clawed at your face with a pained whine in a fit of desperation. Bruises wrapped around your neck and marred much of your skin from Orochimaru's distinct lack of care regarding what damage he inflicted upon you during his visit. A pair of puncture wounds dotting your neck left Kabuto furrowing his brows.

He used the venom again. Wonderful.

With a quick adjustment of his glasses, Kabuto made his way over to your bed, setting his bag of supplies on the table next to your head.

"That's enough," Kabuto spoke quietly, adopting the soothing tone that was appropriate for this particular situation. He gently peeled your hands away from your face before you succeeded in doing more than scratching up your eyelids.

"Burning, everything burning," you mumbled desperately, yanking at your arms and twisting your legs together.

"That's a side-effect of the venom," Kabuto explained calmly, easily overpowering you and buckling your wrists into the leather restraints Orochimaru should have put you in before leaving in the first place. "I need you to try to hold still for a few minutes," he began reasonably.

"Please," you begged, still breathing erratically and twisting the lower half of your body around as you met the silver-haired man's clinical gaze. It was intolerable. The nagging burn that pulsed through every nerve in your body left you restless and desperate to dull the sensation by any means necessary. Your still sticky thighs squeezed and shifted in an endless quest for relief. The insatiable ache pooling in your belly was the center of your existence.

"You know I have some data to collect before I can do anything about that," Kabuto said apologetically a soft twist of his mouth, donning a pair of gloves and readying a syringe.

"Where is Orochimaru-sama… I need--"

"You need to hold still," Kabuto interrupted, bracing your arm against the bed as he set you up to draw some blood with a tourniquet and a bit of alcohol soaked cotton swiping the inside of your elbow as you wriggled and struggled against your restraints. This was always the most complicated part of dealing with you after one of Orochimaru's visits. You were restless and unreasonable, singularly focused on the object of your obsession -- decidedly not an ideal patient. He had orders to collect data on the side effects the failed experimental serum had on your various systems, as it was unclear what other lasting complications the formula would cause. Orochimaru, of course, was curious, and Kabuto's job meant entertaining his master's whims, regardless of how distasteful he found the venture to be.

You whimpered when you felt Kabuto's thumb brush over the now raised blood vessel in your elbow, flexing your hand and pulling on the leather keeping you in place.

"I know you don't like needles," Kabuto hummed soothingly, still wearing a mask of caring in order to get you to stop squirming. In truth, he pitied you. If it were up to him, he would have sooner put you out of your misery than left you as the seemingly mindless thrall you were now. While he ordinarily had no qualms with Orochimaru's experiments, leaving you like this after seeing what a failure the serum had been just seemed cruel. He remembered who you were before your ill-fated selection for the project -- you were one of his favorites. One might have even said you were precious to him. That person was a far cry from what you had become. "I only need a couple of vials. Just don't look."

You took a series of shaky breaths as you struggled to follow his instruction through the delirium that still fogged your head. Amber eyes -- twin, beautiful suns hung in the forefront of your consciousness. They followed you. Called you. Mocked you. All while growing more and more dim. You bit your lip as Kabuto stuck you with the surgical precision years of experience doing this sort of thing granted him, but you still couldn't stay still. Orochimaru's pallid features haunted you when you closed your eyes. You were empty. And so very alone. Your mumbled pleas conveyed as much to the medic at your side as he placed his collected tubes into a container for later analysis. When he reached to place a hand over your bruised neck, you flinched, craving touch that wasn't his.

"Calm down," he crooned, a soft glow surrounding his outstretched hand as he began to undo the damage Orochimaru left behind. His eyes surveyed the expanse of scratches and abrasions littering the rest of your body as he erased the hand print around your throat. Your knees were scraped and bruised, still with a few pebbles nestled into your broken flesh from when Orochimaru had abruptly dropped you to the ground. As his gaze returned to your fever-flushed face, the remaining residue of what he could only assume was an assortment of sweat and bodily fluids were still slicked across your contorted features. After assessing the rest of the vital signs relevant to his task, he stepped away from the bed to retrieve a pan of water and a soft cloth, setting them down next to his bag of supplies. He wrung out the rag and brought it to your clammy face, gently wiping away the sticky substance still clinging to your skin as you uncooperatively tried to dodge his hand, mumbling about the whereabouts of the man who stole your soul. Kabuto hushed your fevered ramblings with a measured degree of gentle concern as he slowly cleaned the grime from your face, fighting to keep his own feelings in check. "Do you even remember who you were before all of this?" He inquired, not particularly expecting a response from you.

Your eyes flickered to him, seemingly bright with a bit of fleeting clarity as the cool fabric soothed the evidence of Orochimaru's visit. "Who… I was?"

With a quiet hum, Kabuto rinsed the rag, moving to clean what was left of the healed punctures on your neck. "You wanted nothing to do with Orochimaru-sama -- hated him, in fact. There was such a fire in your eyes. Such rage that your family betrayed you. So determined to get revenge. So defiant. That was why you were chosen for that ill-fated experiment. What a shame it backfired so spectacularly."

You gazed longingly up at the ashen-haired figure above you, grasping for the slipping threads of that life. Different memories of him flickered like dying candlelight in your mind. Staring back at you through the bars and offering little glimmers of solace when your resolve shattered and you broke down when you thought you were alone, Kabuto's face reminded you of your lost self, but the memory was only fleeting.

"Now look at you. Nothing but a mindless thrall," he lamented, knuckles delicately trailing across your cheek.

"Hurts," you murmured, clenching your eyes shut as the intolerable inferno raging beneath your skin drew you back to the present and away from thoughts of your past. You wound your legs together, shifting uncomfortably as the nauseating knot of need twisted itself around your insides and fresh beads of sweat prickled across your brow. "Please," you whimpered, "help."

Kabuto breathed ruefully, eyes scanning the pitiful mess Orochimaru had made of you. He knew what you were asking him for during this brief window of lucidity. Relief. An end to the insatiable hunger that left you clawing at the bars of your cage, longing for the monster who devoured you -- but Kabuto knew that no such mercy could ever be found. Despite his tenuously contained feelings and desire to answer your painful prayers, he knew nothing would sate that hunger. He caressed your cheek again with a touch engineered to be comforting, curious if you could even verbalize your request. "I can sedate you until the worst of the side effects pass, but I don't think that's what you're asking me for."

"You… I remember… you visited me," you mumbled in a dry rasp, eyes lulling to focus on him again through the flaming ache that pulsed through your body as you managed to defy the serpent's grip on your heart for a precious few minutes.

"Maybe there is something of you left in there after all," he said quietly as he rinsed the rag again. "What do you remember about when I visited you, hm?" With his inquiry, he drew the soothingly damp cloth over your forehead again. The question burned painfully on his own tongue, as he was reluctant to give himself the slim glimmer of hope that the person he remembered still existed.

"Hands… touch," you mumbled deliriously, tugging at your restraints as your brain waffled between two distinct worlds. "So… warm..."

"Quite different from his, I would imagine." Slowly swiping the cool rag down your neck and across your collar bones, he observed the way you now seemed to be keening into his touch rather than shying from it. "What else?"

"Hnnn," you groaned, closing your eyes and struggling to fill in the gaps. The chilly kiss of the damp cloth almost mimicked that which you so painfully desired. Those wicked yellow suns burned you through your closed lids, pulling your attention away from Kabuto's line of questioning along with the shallow mimicry of Orochimaru's wanted touch. You yanked harder against your restraints in protest. The cruel coil of loneliness and abandonment wrapped itself back around your chest, abruptly causing you to lurch away from Kabuto again.

"No, stay here with me," he murmured, curious to see if he could keep you focused on something other than his master with how cooked your brain was. "Keep talking. What else do you remember about when I used to visit you?"

"Games," you scrunched your face in an effort to concentrate, turning your cheek against the pillow beneath your head. "Hide and seek."

"I kept you out of the candidate pool for some of his more dangerous experiments," Kabuto elucidated. But I couldn't hide you forever.

"At night," you continued in a slow drawl. "Like this…" the tiniest hint of a smile curled your lips as his fingertips left the damp rag and trailed down your side, distracting you from the screaming chaos in your head and dulling the burn that raged under your skin.

Kabuto hummed in response, bringing his hand back up to the cloth to pick it up again as he studied your searching expression. You were still in there, somewhere, buried beneath the damage wrought by Orochimaru's experiment. A shard, a fragment, an ember of your former self still smoldered faintly under the crushing rubble. "It was something you looked forward to," he continued, wetting the fabric again before running it over the top of your sticky, restless thigh.

With a soft whine, you rattled your chains again as the sensation moved across your other leg and re-ignited the burning need that had been crackling quietly in the background of your being. Airy syllables of his master's name left your lips on a confused whisper as you struggled to discern whose hands exactly were on you. Something churning in your heart pulled you back toward Kabuto though, feverishly seeking to alleviate the empty ache. "N-need…"

Kabuto set the rag aside, now finally finished cleaning the sticky grime from your skin. His eyes traveled over your writhing body again as you pulled at your restraints with futility. You were quite a sight, looking as pathetic as you did. So desperate for meaningful contact, you seemed to be at war with the chemicals that had you craving a different touch. With a thoughtful expression, he peeled off his gloves, leaving them wadded on the table beside your bed. "What is it you need?" He carefully sat down beside you and leaned over you, bracing a hand on one side of your head as the other cradled your cheek, keeping your gaze pointed at him as he wrestled with the painful knot slowly tightening in his own chest.

Your eyes flickered again with fleeting clarity as you focused upon the kind eyes looking down at you. For a brief moment, you returned to the nights spent with them before your unfortunate selection for the experiment that decimated your sense of self. The sucking void seated firmly in your heart left you unsure of the answer to his question, pulling at the cuffs again with tears of frustration beading on your lashes as you turned your face into his palm.

Kabuto glanced at the leather keeping your arms locked down. He knew you hated it, but wasn't sure whether releasing you from them would lead to more self destructive behavior fueled by your need to alleviate the creeping force that pulled your thoughts back to his master. "I can't let you out if you're still going to go after your eyes," he said almost apologetically as a warm droplet fell from your hazy eye, landing upon his hand.

"So… empty," you whimpered, your lower half contorting again as your legs tangled in the sheets. Confusion washed your face as you searched Kabuto's features for the flecks of amber and streaks of lavender your broken mind twisted you into believing you needed. "Alone…"

"Can you tell me my name?" Kabuto brushed his thumb over your cheek through the fallen trail of tears that dampened your skin, hoping to direct your focus back again.

Glassy eyes shifted in your head, scanning the features of the face gazing down at you so sadly. A fragment of you knew the answer. The one who used to spend stolen nights in your cell, sharing brief moments of kindness with you cradled your cheek. There were no vicious slits slashing through uncaring irises, nor pointed fangs that gleamed at you through feigned smiles -- only gentle eyes that longed for purpose and belonging. Eyes that sought an identity reflected your lost expression back at you.

As he watched you flounder, the corners of his mouth slowly fell. Sickness twisted in his chest as he once again became unrecognizable to someone with whom he once shared a connection. Distant flashes of memories bubbled in the back of his mind as he trailed his fingers across your forehead, moving loose strands of hair out of your eyes in a soothing gesture while his own sense of self began to crack. "I can't… if you think I'm someone else."

Just when it seemed like the flicker of lucidity faded, your lips parted, and you spoke in a broken whisper. "Ka… buto…"

A soft smile came to form upon his face as he leaned down, gently resting his forehead against yours, still cradling your cheek in a warm palm. "That's right," he murmured in quiet relief, releasing your face and reaching above your head to deftly unfasten the buckles keeping you in place. Kabuto's arm curled around your back as he shifted down beside you, allowing your freed arms to coil around his neck as you buried your face against his shoulder. "You remember this," he pressed a soft kiss against your hair, speaking in a hushed tone. You remember us.

Your hands tangled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on desperately now that you were finally allowed the human contact you had been so starved for by Orochimaru's rules. "Y-yes," you whispered shakily, almost sounding unsure of yourself as conflicting thoughts buzzed in your mind.

"I knew you were still in there," he breathed against your cheek, trailing a hand softly over your spine.

Keening into his touch, you pressed yourself against the warmth of his chest, sinking into the comfortable feeling that distracted you from the nagging pulse tugging at your insides. Kabuto felt so inviting, so familiar, so different from the serpent coiled about your heart, but those wicked, leering eyes hissed and tore you away from that wrap of comfort after only a few blissful seconds, leading another quiet whimper to escape your lips as your legs shifted uncomfortably and you began to crumble. "Oro--"

"No," Kabuto whispered with a sorrowful desperation, hoping to catch you before the moment was lost as he tightened his grip on your body. "It's me. It's Kabuto."

But it was no use. The strangling hold the alabaster snake had on your soul locked your brief glimpse of clarity away again behind thick iron bars. Your face contorted as you slipped back into the depths of longing madness, mumbling the incantation of your master's name into Kabuto's shirt in hopes of summoning him to your side once more.

With a lump swelling in his throat, Kabuto cradled you there, swallowed by a sickening sense of loss. Soothing sounds hummed in his chest as he stroked your hair for a few bittersweet breaths until he gently untangled himself from your twisted form. Digging through his bag for the sedative he prepared ahead of time, he stuffed back growing feelings of resentment toward his master as you curled in on yourself, pleading mournfully for the keeper of your soul. Syringe now in hand, he sat beside your broken spirit, offering you one last gesture of comfort in the form of blissful unconsciousness with a needle in your neck. "Shh, it's alright. You'll feel better in a little while. Just go back to sleep."

You protested with a pained sound before the tension slowly melted from your body. As you slipped into the embrace of the dark, Kabuto leaned down to press one last, gentle kiss against your temple, cupping your face as he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes with a regretful sigh.

Gathering his bitter resolve and the supplies he left upon the table beside your bed, Kabuto pulled the sheet over your body and tucked it carefully around your shoulders. He lingered to brush back your hair in a soothing gesture, if only as a comfort to himself before having to leave you locked in your lonely cage with only your fading warmth on his skin and a quiet promise as a memento.

I'll find you again, no matter the cost. And when I do, I'm going to free you from this hell.

#kabuto x reader #naruto x reader #kabuto yakushi #kabuto fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #naruto imagines #chanfictions #chanswers #kabuto imagines #kabuto x you #kabuto yakushi x reader

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bibbykins · 4 years

Text

Heliophilic Rain and His Pluviophile (M)

Yikes, it’s been a hot minute. That’s my bad. I have been having it a little rough with my job and so I’m in the process of finding another one and that among a billion other things is slowing me down. Which makes me wonder if I were to open commissions if anyone would be interested? I also would like to add there is a scene that could be triggering so proceed with caution, please. Either way, thank you for your patience as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: (Soft) Yandere! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: possessiveness, yandere tendencies, anxiety, unspoken threat of sexual assault, slight violence, oral, penetrative sex, cock warming, toxic relationship (he's yandere ya kno)

Summary: He was the rain just as you were the sun, both too transfixed with watching each other to get any closer. Few things feel more refreshing than drops of fresh rain on heated skin or the warmth of the sun on a gloomy day. It would be a shame to not indulge in the natural wonders of the world before you.

“Her voice was like the wind. I could listen until it was all that filled me. I could listen until she swept me away into the vast ocean of her presence. I would drown if it meant I would drift back to her. Her voice was like the wind. No matter how much I tried to catch it, I would get carried away. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Suddenly, home was wherever she said it was, so long as she did so with that voice of hers.”

“His voice was like the tap of rain against a window. He was asking me to go out to see him, but there was something beautiful about the way I knew he wasn’t referring to me specifically. I was a mere onlooker to his presence. Even so, I would catch a cold if it meant I could reach him, even for a moment. I thought this, knowing I would never have the guts to go outside. I made peace with this until the taps on my window turned into knocks on my door.”

——-

The office had an industrial-chic style about it, filled with neutral tones and the clanging of chains for no other purpose except fashion donned upon its employees. The color palette was gloomy and soothing, just how Yoongi liked it, an aesthetic that his employees gleefully shared with him as well. Each morning, Yoongi would look out his office and admire his growing business, eyes never lingering on one place too long, he loved all of the office equally. This much rang true until he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your form.

“She’s like a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Hoseok placed his hand on Yoongi’s soldier as he watched you through the glass doors of the conference room you were currently introducing yourself in, “Don’t be too hard on her, she’s competent and hardworking, okay?”

Yoongi could barely hear his friend as he lost himself in the way your eyes crinkled from a genuine smile adorning your face. You were his new host to one of the podcasts his company picked up. From the merger with Hoseok’s company full of his college friends, Yoongi went from popular podcast host and semi-popular producer to a CEO of Min Productions, famous music artists in production and performance, who oversaw the production of music and several podcasts on several topics, and you were what he had initially dreaded.

From the merger, came money, but what also came with it was Namjoon, the PR head of the company Hoseok was a part of, being able to choose one of every five talents for Yoongi to build up, hopefully into fame. Yoongi had just reached his fifth host, the podcasts he chose mostly consisting of music commentary or general life talks from people with aesthetics aligned with his own. However, from the sea of neutral colors and low voices partaking in casual conversation came you.

You were a perky college senior with some light in your eyes still. You were a rare find and had no set style ranging anywhere from pastels to the grunge he was used to seeing, but what never changed was your smile. Your teeth made an appearance at least 10 times a day, judging by the third smile you had just flashed the crew in a two-minute time frame.

Your podcast, however, oddly betrayed your attitude. You ran a sex and lifestyle podcast where you asked questions most people were too shy to throw out into the world pertaining to the unspoken social rules of casual dating and sex. It was interesting, yes, but it didn’t align with the brand Yoongi had been building judging by the synopsis.

The fuss he made to Namjoon ended as soon as he sat down and listened to a podcast of yours.

—–

“I have a formal complaint I would like to file!” You proclaimed as Yoongi found himself listening to your most recent podcast, “Why the fuck can’t I get a sugar daddy my age? It’s almost like… like my age demographic consists mostly of broke-ass college kids living with their parents, in a dorm, or like ya girl, an overpriced apartment and not rich as fuck for no reason. Fucking whack, I’ll say it.” He unwittingly cracked a smile at your charm and sarcasm, “I spent one day on sugarbaby.com and had to watch vanilla straight porn at the number of wrinkly dicks I saw instead of profile pictures. That’s like the most boring porn. So here comes a Patreon plug for the brainwashing I will conduct on myself in case I saw anyone’s grandfather’s penis.” You had an unabashed charm about you that urged him to listen more, maybe just one more episode.

Yoongi found himself listening to your entire discography, even the less promoted music you released once every blue moon, which wasn’t half-bad. However, he couldn’t find a picture of you, most likely because you posted under the alias Sugar Sun. The only pictures of yourself being from behind.

“On this episode of men are trash: men are fucking trash. Hello all, Sugar Sun here, and let’s talk about my day,” Yoongi could feel his intrigue grow, as you kept releasing, your delivery became less forced and more natural, “I don’t talk much in class, believe it or not. I’m a stuttering mess and like two people know my name at my big ass university, so when I do talk and my shit hole of a lab partner yells at me in the middle of a presentation to speak up, I cry, in front of the class. But do I stop the presentation? No, I’m fucking frozen with fear, so I just continue with my tears and the presentation. Bitch, what the fuck I looked like a middle school drama kid doing a monologue in front of her math class for no fucking reason.” You took a deep breath, “In conclusion, I’m sensitive and men are trash. Now, to the podcast.”

You had gained more traction with your commentary on romantic life and general comedy, catching Namjoon’s attention, “Hello again, double S here, with a special announcement. I got like, an actual company to sign me! Wild, I know! I’ll get paid and have meet-ups and stuff, which means you lovely listeners will get to soak in my face and talk to me in person and really experience why the only orgasms I’ve had are self-made!”

—–

“Yoongi!” Hoseok tapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance you put him in.

“Sorry, she’s just-”

“Be nice,” Hoseok warned.

“Like sunshine.” Yoongi could feel the air enter his lungs as you sat down with a smile, “Like, what the fuck, Hobi?”

His friend blinked, “Woah, shit, what?” He stifled a laugh, “You know, there isn’t a no-dating policy, right?”

“I’m well aware.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “But there will be if anyone tries anything.” He spoke nonchalantly and Hoseok choked on air at his friend’s obliviousness while the glass doors of the conference rooms were opened, you pouring out from it, waltzing to Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Hello, Mr. Min and Ho-Mr. Jung, I’m Y/n, or Sugar Sun, thank you for this amazing opportunity.” You bowed as Hoseok shook off his bewilderment for just a moment to give you a small bow with Yoongi.

“I look forward to spending more time with you.” Yoongi spoke in his regular gruff voice, the same one that proclaimed to have your hand in marriage just moments before, “I find you’ll be a breath of fresh air to the company.”

“I also look forward to seeing how your podcasts go, you have a photoshoot in a couple weeks, right?” Hoseok smiled warmly at you as you beamed back to him. Yoongi swore the whole exchange was blinding.

“I do! I’m a little nervous, since it’ll be my big face reveal, and I don’t know how well I model.” You giggled and Yoongi found his new favorite song the moment you did.

Yoongi had a tendency to do this, whether or not he wanted to. He was a passionate man. He craved love and could see it coming from a mile away. Despite being one of the seven main heartthrobs of his college campus, he almost exclusively stuck to serious relationships, and he meant it when he said serious. Yoongi was a little, to put it lightly, obsessive. He was a jealous boyfriend, but he did his best to try not to be too overbearing. He was also excessively protective, and the women he dated were grungy free spirits who enjoyed the chase when all Yoongi wanted was to catch them then hold them for the rest of his life. Despite being blinded by his own passion, he could still see when it wasn’t going to last, having accepted to never find a girl to accommodate and sedate him when needed. However, when you looked his way, or he heard your voice, it was something more than a need being filled.

You felt your heart leap out of his chest, trying not to fall into Yoongi’s hands when you first saw him, and here he was, nonchalantly giving you an inkling of a smile. Maybe it was the lack of a solid fuck or a relationship, but you were definitely breaking some HR rules in your mind.

Suddenly, you became aware of the content you dished out. You talked about your sex life often, and he knows you’re inexperienced and terribly horny. You internally punched yourself in the face. He probably thinks you’re so weird. Yet, here you were, a huge fan of Agust D and now Min Yoongi was staring at you.

Yoongi smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my experience with a face reveal or two.”

You returned his smile, remembering the day Agust D revealed his face. The whole world stopped, and you only fell deeper when you looked at his eyes, “I-I remember, I’m a fan.” You looked down shyly before facing him again.

“Funny, I am a fan of yours.” He spoke lowly as Hoseok had long walked away unnoticed.

You giggled stupidly, “A fan?” Your sunny smile beamed at him. He had always preferred rainy days, but if this was what the sun looked like, he could get used to being a little warm here and there, “I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m gone a lot and yet, your voice has a certain factor to it that draws people in. ” He mused as his eyes trapped you, “I wonder where you’ve been all my life.”

Just like that, the bubble popped. The chimes came to a screeching halt. The rose-tinted glasses were abruptly ripped off of your face. The magic cleared, and you were left with the realization that while you had damn near counted every interaction, no matter how minuscule, and he hadn’t cared to remember you until now.

“Here’s my personal cell,” He hands you a pristine card with silver numbers, “Call me if you need anything, and I mean it.” You take the card with a quaint smile that deflates

He’s never noticed you until now, of course. The answer to his thoughts was that you’ve been right here.

Before Yoongi could register the chill in the air without your smile, Hoseok came back, “Hey Yoongs, let’s go, we got a flight in a few hours.“

“Right.” Yoongi breaks eye contact with you.

“Have a good flight!” You smile, not as wide as before, and Yoongi sees it.

“See you Tuesday, y/n!” Hoseok waves.

“Don’t be late!” You giggle and as soon as they both are out of earshot, Yoongi grills him.

“You know her?!” Yoongi snaps as he enters the town car.

Hoseok blinks at him, confused, “Duh? I thought that was a given.” Upon seeing his friend’s puzzled face remain, Hoseok’s eyes went wide, “Holy shit, you don’t remember her?!”

The older male blinked in confusion, “I’ve never met her before?”

The younger businessman threw his head back as he placed his hands over his face in frustration, “She was in our forensics class and our history class last year’s fall semester and the year before!” He was exasperated, “Remember the super genius sophomore?”

Yoongi racked his brain. Last year? He had been dating some angsty theology major. How could he have let himself be blinded by a temporary fling when the love of his life was right there? He could kick himself at this moment. No wonder your smile faltered, you had remembered him, “Liar, you can’t be serious.”

“Dude, she tutors me to this day in history.” Hoseok deadpanned, “All she requires is I buy her meals that day.”

“How often do you guys have study dates?” Yoongi grits out as his friend snorts at the notion of it being a date.

“Your possessive is showing,” He snickered, “My girl is all I can see these days, no matter how cute y/n is.”

“I will end you if you touch her,” Yoongi doesn’t hesitate, “Especially with the way you treat girls,” His face scrunches in disgust before he grumbled, “But how often?”

“Every other Tuesday.” Hoseok smirked, “And you mean used to treat girls.”

Yoongi huffed in agreeance.

—-

“Hello, party people.” Your voice entered Yoongi’s headphones as he leaned back on his hotel bed, “Sugar Sun here, in my bedroom. We’re calm, we’re casual, it is a Friday night and this one goes out to my fellow homebodies.” You switched off to play a song. Part of the contract you signed was that you are allowed to go live whenever you liked to encourage and tend to fans. You explained it was almost a tradition for you to set aside a Friday night in once a month for your fans and Yoongi found in comforting as he lay alone.

Your taste in music was so unbelievably cute, he couldn’t help but smile at the lo-fi song, “And we’re back, hello all here and all who are joining as I speak. Today I took a tour of the studio my actual podcasts will be recorded in and holy shit, they seem to actually take me seriously as a personality and even artist, so expect some tunes soon.” Yoongi smiled at this, you don’t even know your potential, “I’m looking at the chat now to see if there are any questions, and- oh, yes, I did meet my boss. Yes, the iconic Min Yoongi. He is as dreamy as they say, but I have actually met him before.” Yoongi sunk a little further in shame, “Did he remember me?” You read from the chat, “No, of course not. I’m a voice, but no one will know me if I don’t use it.” You sighed out and he felt his heart clench. He was such a fucking idiot. “Which I don’t much beyond this mic. Am I scared to say this now that he’s my boss?” He held his breath a bit, “No, I doubt he’s listening. He said he was my fan, but he could just have said that to be a nice guy.” You laughed, a hint of sadness evident, “What a fucking disaster I must seem like if he were to, huh?” The sadness in your voice more prominent, “If he is, hi Mr. Min, please erase this from your memory, as well as my sophomore haircut.”

The live went on as normal and Yoongi drifted to sleep to the melodious sound of your voice for the remainder of the flight. However, even in his dreams, you were just out of reach, and he couldn’t begin to put into words how much it killed him.

—-

You don’t know how you got here. You looked around at the shabby setup. This "photography studio” looked a lot, and you mean a lot, like it was a half-assed school set not long ago. You scoffed, throwing your hands up incredulously when you caught sight of a black couch. You really hated your manager.

The jackass was assigned to you and you were too scared to say how uncomfortable he made you. He treated you like a child, but the way he looked at you was too adult for your taste. He was constantly texting you and asking for photos of your face, which you were constantly rejecting. To top it all off, he wants you to call him Big Brother, not Oppa, Big Brother. You opted for Big Bro instead, since he won’t give you his name. No, to top it all off, he booked your photo shoot with a “friend” of his to “save the company money”. He asked you to show up in a dress no longer than your knees and you felt dumber and dumber as time went on for doing so.

You stood in the middle of this studio-warehouse apartment waiting for this great photographer to show up. As you stood here, your initial thought was “how fucking ridiculous is that” but the longer you were there and the more you studied the ropes that were no longer as well hid, something in your stomach began to turn.

You were in actual fucking danger. This situation could not be a funny story if you didn’t live to tell it. Your eyes darted from different red flags in the room. A spot of dried blood scratches on the cheap wallpaper, bare plaster marks against the beige wall, a poorly-concealed camera you hadn’t noticed until now. Your chest squeezed when your phone vibrated.

You could get out of here! All you had to do was send an SOS.

Hoseok: Good luck in the photoshoot from my other half and I!

You smiled lovingly at the snapchat from the male, the more permanent girl in his life with a smile on her face and an encouraging thumbs-up. They were evidently on a date, finally, so there was no way you could call them to come get you. You would hate to bother them.

Mr. Min: Let me know how the shoot goes.

You faltered over the message. He was professional as ever. Would he think less of you if you abandoned a shoot like this?

Yoongi agonized over the three dots that stared him down. He had to remind himself to blink as he watched the minutes tick by that felt like hours. What the hell were you typing?

It had been about a couple of weeks since you’ve been under Yoongi’s company and all had been normal. Your routine was the same, and so was his. Except for this time, you two would exchange polite texts on what the other would do.

Sugar Sun: Great song as always!

You would always send exclamation points or some sparkle emojis, even a sun here and there. Yoongi found himself unable to shield his cheesy grin at the texts you sent him. You were always the first person to praise his new work. He found himself craving your praise more and more, but he forced himself to remain professional.

Mr. Min: Loved your live.

He always used punctuation despite using fragments which somehow added an aura of professionalism that he effortlessly radiated in person. Nevertheless, you would always send back a sparkly thank you which made Yoongi melt. He prided himself on not overstepping boundaries by attempting to control your professional life. His self-restraint proved quite strong as he held himself back from taking you out to lunch or giving you special treatment. This restraint was put to the ultimate test when he found out you were assigned Hyungin as your manager. He was an unfortunate employee with constant reports that would ultimately be rescinded by the female employees.

He was a disgusting piece of shit, Yoongi deduced. Hyungin was the brother of the management agency contracted by his company, per Namjoon’s damn insistence, and he was itching for that contract to end, and soon. Yoongi had to physically hold himself back when he found this information out, trying to respect you by not meddling or keeping tabs on you.

His resolve was a very thin string that was tugged and tugged as the days went on with Hyungin having total control over your schedule and an excuse to contact you 24/7. You were a strong girl and had not made a report. He had to respect that.

Your lip began to twitch, a movement you quickly halted as you shook the fear off. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were being stuck up. You weren’t like Yoongi, maybe you had to photoshoot in shabby places.

You: I’m kind of scared…

You shook your head, erasing the message and locking your phone. You huffed, it was 30 minutes past the scheduled time. Surely you had the right to leave? You heard the back door open and could feel the bile lurch in your throat.

Something was very wrong. You were not overreacting. There were several heavy footsteps and as they thudded through the warehouse, nearing your reaching form, you could not deny the quaking fear that traveled through your veins like electricity.

One? Two? No, four sets of steps. The uneven rhythm proved as much, too many for a measly photoshoot. Too many for you to take on all at once. The correct amount to hold you down. The correct amount to-

“Little sis, are you here?” A sickening voice called out and you realized the steps stopped with only his continuing.

He was trying to surprise you.

“Come on, dear, let’s get to know each other.” You could hear the predatory smirk on his face and you choked on a horrified breath as the fear pricked your skin and pierced your lungs.

You were choking on your own horror.

“Come out, come out,” He called and you were frozen, absolutely fucking frozen.

Run.

You stood up, breaking into a sprint that was a hair too slow. You felt a calloused, obscenely rough handgrip your forearm with a vigorous force and you screamed. He was squeezing, and at this rate, your bones would surely snap, “Not so fast, little girl.” He stood next to you, breath pungent with halitosis. From peripheral vision, you could see his five o'clock shadow and you realized the size difference and the lack of camera. You couldn’t stop screaming, mimicking every cell in your body that seemed to yell,

RUN.

Just like lightning, you struck him with your head, harder than you knew you could stand. His nose gave you an all too satisfying crack and his grip loosened enough for you sprint again, this time more than quick enough to keep going. You heard the clamoring of footsteps and eventually, all you could hear was the sound of the wind as you turned corners you had no familiarity with, running until your legs could no longer carry you.

Your legs finally shook you down to your knees in a part of town you barely recognized. You had passed through here once before as a freshman in college sight-seeing. It was a tourist spot and you exhaled on the sidewall as people stepped around you.

You heaved a breath that you swore you had been holding for hours with a small victorious smile. Your eyes scanned the area of regular people and your hands shaking brought attention to the purse you thankfully still had.

Without thought, you ripped it open, using your phone to call the first person you could.

“Y/n?” His voice was gruff, as if he was whispering whilst trying to talk normally, “Is everything okay?” He seemed confused, you had never called him before.

“Can you… uh…” You faltered after realizing the strangled sound you made, voice raw from the screams you let out, “…please come get me.” You nearly whispered.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Yoongi didn’t miss a beat before adding, “Stay where you are, don’t go near anyone.” He ended the phone call and you followed his directions, dropping your pin. You sighed in relief as you took refuge on the sidewalk, draping the cardigan in your bag over your shoulder, securing it around yourself.

Yoongi shot up from his office chair, looking at his employees mid-powerpoint. His marketing team turned into ice at his gaze. His eyes were much darker than a moment ago, and his jaw was like stone, “I have an emergency to attend to, we will proceed at a later date.” The room nodded stiffly as their boss walked out, all of them unaware why, having been too scared to even try to listen to his phone call.

Never in Yoongi’s life had he sped so recklessly. You were 10 minutes away and something was wrong. Your voice had never sounded so vulnerable. He had never heard it that quiet before. You were in a plaza of popular building, and if you had a photo shoot today, this would not be near any studio at all. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone taking away your light.

He slammed on the brakes when he caught sight of your shrunken form on the sidewalk, your head jerked up at the sound as your entire body jumped. Why were you so scared? Your face had a small streak of makeup on the side of your face and his skin only flared as you scurried into the car and Yoongi began driving to a more familiar side of town.

“Please don’t take me home.” You pleaded, unable to face him due to the shame.

Yoongi chose not to prod, for the time being, only nodding in response as he drove. He could see you stare out the window at the passing building and he watched your shaking for curl into the car seat. He settled on this resolve of leaving you alone all the way up to the inside of his apartment until your lip quivered as you plopped down on the couch, eyes unwavering from its spot at your feet. Then, you began to cry. No, not cry, sob, sob your hardest and just like that, a single tear snapped the ever-thinning string of restraint he had left.

You were pulled into Yoongi’s chest as sobs racked through your body, you clutched his shirt as you soaked it with tears of fear, relief, joy, and you couldn’t stop. Hell, you could barely breathe. Even so, Yoongi held you as his expensive dress shirt crumbled under your grip and stained with your mascara and eyeliner proving not to be as water-resistant as you hoped. His grip was unwavering and when a hand went to stroke your hair, you could feel oxygen reach your lungs again.

“It’s okay.” He breathed, “You’re safe now.” He fought the urge to clench his jaw again as you gripped his shirt harder.

Your breathing began to even as he whispered soft words into your ear until your eyes couldn’t cry anymore. The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, clinging onto one another as he felt the softness of your cardigan against his hands. You eventually broke the silence with a meek, “I’m so sorry."

"Why is that?” He spoke softly, his last intent was to scare you.

“I ran away from the shoot, and I know it’s not professional but…” You shivered, “ He didn’t have a camera.” Yoongi could kill somebody, “He had three other guys with him.” Someone, no, all of them are going to have to pay, he concluded. Nobody involved would leave the ordeal with their lives intact. They would lose everything for trying to take his sunshine away, for making your light falter, for even a moment.

He ripped himself from you, to sternly meet your eyes, “Do not apologize for the swine you encountered.” Your eyes only reflected sorrow, “You’re alive, and that is what matters most, okay?” You nodded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Your voice cracked against your will as you looked up at Yoongi, eyes glassy and begging for reassurance.

He visibly softened, “No, Sunshine, I could never be mad at you.” You nodded in understanding, “But will you let me fix this for you?”

Maybe you should have known from the beginning. You looked at Yoongi, so eager to be your saving grace, eyes intense with intent, and yet his touch was so soft. A man in love was a dangerous man, you once read in a book. Yet, never in your life have you craved such a man before, and if Yoongi’s rage mixed with infatuation could measure close to love, you would take it. He was powerful, he was kind, and he was pleasing to the eye. He was offering you the world in that one question.

“Please.” You cast your pride aside, “They don’t deserve mercy.” An angry tear went down your cheek, “I’m so tired of trying to brave it, doubting myself, denying myself any chance of help.” You could feel the tear trickle with hot fury, “I’m so fucking sick of relying on myself.”

Yoongi was quick to catch the tear with the softest hand you’ve ever felt, “I’m here now.” He spoke with the utmost confidence.

Your relationship with Yoongi from that point for the next couple of months was interesting, to say the least. You had somehow moved in upon his request, him rationalizing it by saying they knew where you lived. Granted, he wasn’t wrong. Hyungin knew where you lived, but within two weeks he and the monsters you encountered were promptly locked in a very dangerous maximum-security prison. You decided not to dwell on how they took such a shitty deal with a well-deserved long sentence.

Some things were above your pay grade, and you made peace with it.

Even so, he didn’t stop there. He could no longer stand on the sidelines anymore. That line blurred beyond recognition the moment he held you in his arms. He was essentially your new manager, stating he owed you at least that much after letting you fall into the hands of such a monster. Thankfully, the releasing of official statements and press conferences were received well. The victim-blaming for the nature of your podcast kept to an obsolete minimum. Your face still had not been released upon your request and you were able to move on, the media no longer covering the story as the sentencing was sealed.

The months passed in a flurry of Yoongi being awfully vague each time you asked about his personal life. He was constantly home outside of work, which you didn’t mind, but you didn’t want him to put his social life on your accord. You also had much less confidence in his infatuation for you then you did a couple months ago. Every time you tried to make a move, which meant a small brush of physical contact, he was not responding. The last time he gave you affection was the hug during your breakdown. The most you got out of him were a couple of head pats.

Like that did anything for you.

For crying out loud, you ran a sex and lifestyle podcast with no sex from the hot man you lived in the same home as.

Hell, the most emotion you see from him is the purest politeness you have ever encountered.

“Hello my listeners, welcome to the obligatory virginity talk.” Your voice was crisp in the mic as Yoongi laid in his bed, headphones in, listening to the newly released podcast. He was still a loyal listener, despite you living in his guest bedroom. He still could not get enough of your voice. If anything, he craved you more and desperately held himself back. He loved having you with him, but never did he think he would have to turn to rubbing one out during your more racy episodes or when he heard you pleasuring yourself in the dead of night.

Not even his thoughts could satiate him with you right there, and yet, out of reach.

“It has come to my attention that many of you think I’m a virgin, not that it’s an insult..” He could hear the smile in your voice, “Alas, I am not, but that doesn’t change my hand being the most impressive thing my pussy has seen, I’ll tell you what.” You giggled at this, “No, I take that back, my magic wand is my BFF.” Yoongi shifted, wondering if you had your toys in your room. He had sent for all of your things after all. God, he could already feel his dick hardening. How pathetic you make him at the very thought of you fucking yourself silly, eyes rolled back, vibrator against your clit. He huffed, shaking away the thoughts, “ Anyhow, let’s talk trends I am late to, rare, I know, but what’s this whole spelling coconut with your hips riding someone business?” You pondered, “I haven’t ridden someone in a good while, and my dildo can’t tell me if it feels good, so I’m at a loss here.” You sighed almost longingly, “God, I miss getting fucked, but also romanced,” You groaned, “It’s been a rough as fuck dry couple of months, which didn’t bother me for a while considering… you know, but the world keeps turning and I stay alone but moving on…” You droned and Yoongi went into overdrive.

Did you seriously want to fuck someone? Like someone else? You were living with him now, why would you feel the need to have relations with anyone else? His fists clenched at the very concept. You couldn’t be talking for show, you were say too genuine. Before he could even stop himself, he marched over to his bedroom door, ripping it open.

Only when he did had did he realize that you were in front of him, hand raised to knock on the door, “Oh, hey.” You gave him a smile as you slowly retreated your raised arm, “I was just gonna see if you wanted to watch a movie with me?” Every so often you both would have a movie night in which you would try to understand his feelings with small touches and ultimately fail. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company. Today, you were buying into an article’s advice and watching a scary one. Not that you were terrified, but you were a jumpy person.

At this rate, you couldn’t tell if you were horny or just wanted affection.

Both, probably.

Your crush on Yoongi had only worsened throughout this whole experience to top it off. He was hot and kind who could blame you? And yet, he never made a single move as if he had no interest. God, what if he didn’t have any interest?

Your heart sank for a moment, “If not, I think I was gonna try to go out-”

“No!” Your eyes widened at Yoongi’s panicked tone when he cleared his throat, “I mean, I want to watch a movie, so you don’t have to go out.” He muttered and you nodded slowly. He could not have you going out, not after what he heard. You were craving other people. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“O…kay…” You smiled a bit, “Well, I picked a scary one if you think you can hang.” You gave him a sly smile before going to make popcorn.

He smiled as he watched you prance to the kitchen. You were so beautiful and fun and everything he’s ever needed. All that was left was for you to be his, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He had to be a gentleman. He had to wait for the right time. That’s what Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung said. The only issue was that he had no idea what the hell that meant.

“You know, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi.” He was quick as ever to correct you, “Please.” He sounded more desperate than usual and you nodded.

“Right, well I was just going to say that you have absurd taste in snacks.” You said with a chuckle, “All I ever see in you cupboards are coffee.” You wistfully sigh, “I need to go grocery shopping.”

The sound of you being so domestic-made Yoongi break into an ill-concealed smile as he settled onto the sofa, setting the oddly scary movie you chose up, “I can take you on Saturday.” You nodded when you finally found a bag of chips and sat next to the man of your affection with a cushion between the two of you.

You really couldn’t say what the movie was about, you had only seen it between the gaps in your fingers all while Yoongi watched it with a straight face. When it ended he said a short goodnight as always, except something in you, lurched out.

“Actually, I think I may go out after all.” You swore you followed your mouth’s lead as opposed to the opposite. You just said shit and had to go along with it. Fuck, you didn’t want to go out. You wanted to stay home and be scared that there was a ghost in the closet, but now you had to get ready and shit.

“Why?” Yoongi stopped, hand gripping his door handle much harder than usual.

You were taken aback by the question. It was valid, you supposed. But was it? How do you even answer that question? “Well, it’s been a while since I've… ya know…” You clicked your tongue, suddenly too shy to say,

“Had sex?” It was so blunt, and his eyes pierced through you and yet, you could feel your core tingle.

You were nothing but a sputtering mess, “W-W, I-I, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi, y/n.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he stalked over to you. Despite the unconscious steps back you were taking, the couch brought you to an abrupt stop.

“R-Right, anyways, I-” You shut your mouth when Yoongi hovered over you with his presence alone.

“Say it,” He glared daggers into your form, “Say my name.” Before you could even open your mouth Yoongi groaned, slamming his hands on the couch on either side of you in frustration, “God, why do you want other people when I’m right fucking here?” Your mouth was agape at this, “I’m so sick of holding myself back.” He cursed, body pressing against yours.

“What do you mean? Other people?” You mustered and Yoongi let out a chuckle void of humor.

“I listened to your podcast about wanting to be with someone and getting romance and…” Yoongi seriously thought you had been referring to anyone but him? Him? Seriously? The hot man in the place you live? You couldn’t stifle your laugh which caused his rant to falter, “How is this a laughing matter I am-”

“So fucking dense.” You giggled, “I’ve wanted you to at least look my way for the past three years, and you seriously think I want to be with other people?!” You sighed, “I live with you for fuck’s sake, and you won’t touch me!” Now, you were letting your frustrations out, “I brush your hand, I touch thighs with you, I-I scare the shit out of myself hoping you’ll at least hold me!” You heaved a breath, “And all you do is stay still!” You let out a frustrated yell, “The most attention I got from you was when I was almost attacked, is that what I need to do to draw sap from a fucking rock?!”

Yoongi flared at this, “Don’t ever think about putting yourself in danger.” He pointed at you, “I couldn’t take it, and I can’t take you not being honest with me, I thought you never noticed-” He was being a hypocrite, but he didn’t care.

“How could you say I don’t notice you when you straight up forgot I existed until this year?!” Yoongi was the one dumbfounded this time, and you took your chance to push past him, “I will go out tonight because I deserve-”

You couldn’t even breathe the next syllable before your back hit Yoongi’s bedroom door, his hands pinning your wrists above your own, the man breathing heavy. The air was thick with frustration as he gave you a stern look, “You deserve the world, I know,” The anger in you began to dissipate at his sincerity in his words, “And I am so in love with you, that I don’t think I’m worthy of giving it to you,” Your breath hitched at this, “But I don’t care anymore, because I would sooner kill someone before they put their hands on you, I’m sure you know I mean business, Sunshine?” You nodded, every cell in your body springing to life as Yoongi drew his lips closer to you, “So?”

You blew out a shaky breath with an equally shaky smile, “L-Love me? I-"

"Say you love me, and I’ll do it.” He was more rushed this time, urgent almost, “I’ll stop holding back, and I will give you all that you deserve and so, so much more.” He was almost pleading.

What the fuck do you know about love? What does it look like? Sound like? Is it the way Yoongi smiles at your dumb jokes in the morning? Is it the way his voice sounds through the walls as he practices newly-written lyrics? He was a good man to you. He was an attractive man. He could give you the world, and all he wanted in return was your love. Could all of this be love? Could it be the way he’s made you feel the past couple of years, especially the last couple of months?

Well, why the hell wouldn’t it be?

“I love you, Yoongi.” You breathed against his lips and he didn’t miss a beat in closing the gap so not even air could come between the two of you.

Electrifying all over again, but so, so different. This wasn’t fear. This was lust lighting a fire within you that Yoongi only stoked further as his silky tongue tangled with yours in a flurry of repressed emotions and endless unspoken confessions. His mouth attached to your neck and you let out a moan, quickly going to cover your mouth.

He ripped your hand away almost instantly, “You’re rarely this shy when you’re in your room, why deny me your sounds now?” He growled against your ear and the pure sex in his voice only made you moan louder. He was the rain you had admired from afar, but now he was pressed against you, and holy shit, were you getting wet.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can wait, I want to cum so fucking ba-ah!” You yelped when his hand went to cup your sex under the long shirt you always wore. You were on your tippy-toes, too sensitive to press your full weight onto him.

“Such an innocent-looking girl with such a nasty mouth.” He squeezed you in his hand and watched in glory as your eyes rolled back, “Since you’re a fan, I’ll be nice.” He teased as he got onto his knees, dragging your panties down with him to the floor.

“Oh shit.” You let out a breath that was quickly stolen when his tongue pressed against your entry. He lifted your leg, placing it over his shoulder as his mouth lapped at your clit and you lost yourself in the feeling, moaning mindlessly.

“You taste like deliverance.” He mumbled against your pussy and this only made your eyes roll back at the eroticism in his words. You couldn’t even keep track of what he was doing anymore.

All you could do was feel. His tongue fucked you into oblivion as he held your hips still, determined to make you come with his mouth, and his mouth alone. He let out a lewd suck and you quivered at the sensation and action. He knew how to play you and please you that you did. His tongue entered you again and he let out a delicious moan which vibrated against your folds, “Fuck, you sound and feel so fucking good!” You cried out as his tongue made thick strokes against you that only sped up expertly as he moaned into you, “Can I cum, Yoongi?” You asked, a smart girl, he concluded. He smirked against you, full intention to deny your request until, “Please, my love, I want to cum in your mouth like a good girl.” You begged pathetically and he couldn’t refuse you. You had him wrapped around your finger and hardly knew it. He got to work quickly, tongue entering you again only to flick upwards and you groaned at this. Groans were quickly replaced by increased screaming as he stiffened his tongue and licked all around your sex. You began to scream his name like a mantra as you tighten around the muscle and came the hardest you ever had.

You slumped against the door, chest heaving, “You okay, baby?” The nickname from him elicited a tired smile. You looked down at the man, lips glossy as he licked them. He sat back on his calves and you wasted no time in diving at him on the floor.

Before he could react, you gripped him through his sweatpants and smiled when you realized he was rock hard, “Can I please ride you?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no.

“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” He growled when you straddle him as he sat, legs spread and back against the back of the couch now. You gave a less than innocent smile as you reached for his member, delicate hands wrapping around him, only to pull it free and closer to your entrance, “Condom?” He questioned.

“Pill, I need to feel you, fuck.” You panted, against logical judgment, but it was lost when you pressed the head against your own entrance, “Shit.” You ground against Yoongi as his head lolled back.

He could hardly handle it as your hips twirled, the tip just outside your entrance. Finally, he had enough, and with strong hands pulled your hips to fill you to the hilt. Your mouth popped open in shock and pure masochistic delight as the pain only added to the high of lust Yoongi gave you, “Sorry, baby girl, I knew you would feel so fucking good.” He emphasized this with a thrust up, “Plus, I could hardly resist being deep inside you immediately.” He growled in sadistic pride as your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Hurts so good.” Your hips moved spastically, chasing another high with Yoongi deep inside you. Not once did you lift your hips. You wanted to stay full, and Yoongi was more than happy to oblige, “So good, I wanna stay like this.” You moaned out as he sucked on your neck, hands going under your shirt to grip your breasts with a fevor you craved.

“You feel like heaven.” He grunted against your neck as he littered it with hickey after hickey. You were his and the way you squeezed around him and clawed at his shoulder only spurred him further.

Yoongi could feel himself twitching inside you and this only made you gasp as you gleefully squeezed around him, “Yes, yes,” You sounded like a prayer to him, “Cum inside me, I need it.” You were nearly screaming as he began to thrust into you at a rapid pace.

“Yeah? You want me to paint those pretty walls white, hm?” He teased you despite the strain in his voice, “Fuck it right into that pretty pussy of yours, no mine.” He grabbed your hips, working your body for his own high, “This is my pussy, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it’s all yours, Yoongi!” You yelled and with that, he groaned as he came, ropes of cum that you could feel as his hips made good of his promise to fuck it into you. You milked him as you squeezed tighter before coming undone as you came with a scream that sounded like the next symphonic masterpiece to the fucked out man inside you.

You huffed a small chuckle against his neck as your curled your form around his, “So needy.” He teased as he went to remove himself inside of you only to be met with a squeeze from you that made him curse, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You giggled, “I like how you feel inside of me.” You shrugged before shivering at the empty feeling only to gasp when three fingers were shoved into you. You wiggled in glee, “Fuck.” Your breath hot against his neck.

"You just like to be full, huh baby?“ You nodded shyly, "You’re perfect.” He chuckled as he used his other hand to stroke your back.

—-

“Announcement time, my dear listeners” You spoke in the studio, trying not to sound like it was through gritted teeth. You counted your blessings that you were alone, “As you know, your dear old Sugar Sun has promised a face reveal and I-Min Yoongi!” Well, mostly alone. You heaved a breath as you came against his mouth for the third time.

The man between your legs looked up at you, eyes way too innocent, “What? I’m waiting for my part.” He spoke nonchalantly despite the wetness on his lips.

“I’ll never get there if you keep making me cum and start over.” You glared and the man shrugged, “I got far enough, right, babe?” You pouted and watched his resolve crack, “Honeypie?” You pleaded and he faltered, “Love of my life?” He grumbled as he sat up next to you in front of the mic.

“Fine, go ahead.” He licked his lips.

“…and I decided to go a step further.” You smiled as the man next to you held your hand, “I will be doing a photoshoot to reveal my face and my collab partner to an upcoming song and my boyfriend…”

You looked to him, eyes twinkling, “That would be my cue.” He placed a quiet kiss on your head, “My name is Min Yoongi or Agust D as some of you may know, and I look forward to my career and life with this little piece of sunshine.” You giggled at this.

“So cheesy.” You gave him a bright smile nonetheless, “Crazy news, I know, but I secured the fucking bag, my dear listeners, he’s never getting rid of me."

You were joking for the most part, but you didn’t know how right you were. You would not be away from him any longer. You were his sunshine, his little songbird, and his world all at the same time. He needed you like he needed to breathe. Now, you were his. You were his sunshine despite the rain he embodied. The rainbow between the two of you was too intoxicating to even bear the idea of giving it up. Even for a fraction of second. You were his. Every moment, minute, second, everything would be together. He was yours now and forever just as you were his. Blissfully and eternally in love.

"I’m too crazy to let go now.” You laughed as he kissed your temple affectionately.

So was he.

Buy me a ko-fi (it would make my day)

Masterlist

#yandere bts #yandere yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts oneshot #bts yandere au #yandere bts smut #bts #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi

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shaywhedon · 3 years

Text

[zoe kravitz, 29, she/they] SHAY WHEDON showed up right on time for the end of the world. Even now, word is that they are PERCEPTIVE, but still get IMPULSIVE at the mention of how things used to be. They have been living in SALUS for SIXTEEN YEARS. If you go looking for them, you can usually find 1 LAST CIGARETTE by THE BAND CAMINO playing or use THE SMELL OF BLACK COFFEE AND A DISHEVELED APPEARANCE to narrow it down.

Biography

To say that sixteen years ago the reasoning for leaving Soteria was because of the stench of the over privileged was an understatement. Everywhere she looked people were obsessively trying to get their hands on the latest tech and were willing to do just about anything for it. Risk their entire life savings for a chance to use an illegal outdated piece of Meridian technology just to find out the truth behind their spouses lies. That was the case in the Whedon household and the exact reason that a girl born in Soteria was now living a life away from that very city. Her mother and father were not natives to the city but met and fell in love with the fast paced life a tech hungry city provided. Creating a family in that very space and reaping the benefits of a futuristic life compared to the ones they previously knew.

It was that same tech and need for more that ruined their relationship. Mr. Whedon had a fancy job as one of the engineers for Meridian. Software updates had his name all over them and that left very little time for family matters. Work always came first and solely because it sustained their status and life in the city. Though with long hours and little time at home breeds suspicion in spouses who are left alone with their thoughts for too long. Overthinking leads to causing scenarios that aren’t there and creating arguments at every turn. This was the childhood that Shay remembered. Her father rarely at home except for the late night entry only to stumble into bed to repeat the process. Her mother obsessing over her fathers whereabouts and the newest Projector tech that was supposed to be able to reveal the truth behind someones actions. Get down to the core of a person and have them admit to whatever awful wrong doings they were being accused of. Except what happens when a person really doesn’t have anything to hide?

Shay’s mother was accused and found guilty by her peers of abusing the technology on her husband because she thought he was cheating on her. That the long nights and repeated absences could be explained away by faults of his own. She was wrong and justly banished to the slums, bringing her own ten year old daughter with her. There hadn’t been much a choice for Shay or her father because he wanted to keep his job and to do so meant cutting ties with his family. Shay didn’t blame him then and she certainly didn’t blame him now. Living without the umbrella of Meridian technology wasn’t ideal to someone who had spent their lives work helping maintain it. Turns out it wasn’t ideal to the woman who raised her either. The slums of Soteria really bring out the worst in people and crushes them into a million pieces if you let them.

Most teenagers are defiant against their parents, it’s got to be the changing hormones, and Shay was no different. While her mother took to being exiled as a form of punishment the teen thought of it as a breath of fresh air. The people she met and the things she saw proved that relying on anyone but yourself only caused disappointment later on. One night she had decided she’d had enough. Her mother turned to sedating herself with whatever she could and had all but forgotten about taking care of her only child. If Shay was going to survive she had to get out of the city, out of the place that she was no longer welcome and the only other option was Salus. No mans land that was full of bones of broken down cities but also freedom from the tech that eventually made everyone crazy for it.

Her formative years were spent trying to keep herself alive and in the wasteland of Salus that could be hard for a young girl. She learned very quickly that people are always looking for something and are willing to pay well enough given that you provide. Many people would have called her a thief but Shay liked to think of it differently, she merely took from people what they wouldn’t miss. She was small and ratty looking from years on her own and never really had anyone look twice at her. Working her way up from scrap metal to venturing into the city of Soteria and nabbing whatever discarded tech she could find. That part killed her the most, going back to the city to steal outdated systems, but it paid the most. Even in Salus technology was still highly valued and people would do a lot to get their hands on it.

The division between the people on the outskirts of the world was clear and while Shay didn’t care for the politics of it all, she did care about being protected. Which in the interest of self preservation she aligned herself more with the Scrappers and Junkers. As she aged she was still small and scrawny and while that aided her in going unnoticed it also was her downfall when things went south. “Always carry a knife with you!” and “You’re fast so use that to your advantage.” Or “If you get into a sticky situation just go for the throat.” Words of advice from these friends she made along the way, if you could call them that. By having some sort of an alliance it provided a means of a safety net later on. It also meant more opportunities for jobs and thus far it’s worked up until now.

Shay would say she’s more of a freelancer rather than a thief. A dealer even, because she gives people what they want for a price. Make no mistake just because she herself hates Meridian tech and everything Soteria stands for doesn’t mean she won’t exploit their failures for the right price. Everything has its price these days, even Shay.

Headcanons

Shay dresses extremely androgynous and likes to cover up as much as possible. She views life as one big game of survival and has never needed to show off her assets as others might. This is especially important because since she is quite literally putting herself in dangerous situations and passing off as a different gender could be useful if anyone was trying to come after her.

Vices aren’t hard to come by in Salus and she is no exception to the rule. It would be a cold day in hell if you didn’t find the woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips or the smell of smoke not emanating from her clothes. The woman smokes almost a pack a day. She claims it’s so she doesn’t kill anyone but it’s really because she’s addicted.

It is no secret that Shay has a deep seated hatred for Soteria and she isn’t afraid to voice those opinions. When she’s in the city she constantly mutters about the extravagance of all the fancy tech that isn’t contributing anything to society. Don’t get her started on one of her rants unless you’re ready for a lot of bullshit with only the tiniest bits of fact thrown in, girl is biased.

The oculus tech was never implanted into her as a kid so she’s never experienced that but has seen firsthand what it can do if misused. She has a weird affinity for knowing how the tech works but also hating it at the same time.

Connections

TBD but honestly I’m game for anything!

#bio #whs.intro

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bitch-i-migth-be · 4 years

Text

Crash Course | Chapter 06: That one weird uncle-godfather-almost-parent-figure-thingy that refuses to go away because you're a walking disaster and they love you to pieces (sometimes literally)

Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman,

Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton & Vlad Masters,

Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton, Random ghosties mentions *boo*, Vlad Fucking Masters Everyone, OC.

Words: 5′195

Tags: Sibling bonding, Shenanigans, Swearing, Quasi Family dinners, cuddling, ghost core shenanigans, OC, Ghost King Danny, Vlad being vlad

Chapter Summary: Vlad.exe has started ‘the scheming’. These kids are tired. And another agent of Chaos is here.

A/N: I can’t believe I can get away with using that title.

Why is no one stopping me?

As the writer, I reserve the right to withhold information for now. Remember what I said about taking liberties?? Yeah, still doing that. Roll with me, pls-

Good news! This and another chapter more before Gotham! Fucking finally.

-.-.-.-

THIS IS ON AO3, IF ANYONE WOULD PREFER TO READ THERE. LOVE COMmENTs so if u have anything to say IwillBeReallyHappyYesThankU

CHAPTERS: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7

-.-.-.-

Vlad considered himself a man of simple pleasures.

If something caught his attention and would make him happy then he went and got it.

Not caring about what other people might think about his choices. If his happiness was on the line what other people had to say was irrelevant. Unless said people were influential enough to affect his future, in which case he had to tread carefully. But he never gave up on what he had put his sights on.

This way of thinking had accompanied him since he was a young lad and It didn’t seem like it was going to change anytime soon. If his experience with Jack and Maddie hadn’t made the trick he didn’t know what possibly could.

At the time, meeting Jack Fenton at the University of Wisconsin had opened the door to new possibilities. The man got so pumped up that he seemed to exude cheer all over the place, it was a sharp contrast to the dull family Vlad had left behind in his search for higher education, for something better than the leftovers they hoped would make him happy.

What Jack brought to the table was new. A field of study no one had ever researched before, not like this, not with proper scientific evidence.

So he had let himself get dragged along. Just to see what it was like. A shot in the dark, so to speak.

It was enough to intrigue him.

To the point that Vlad, who until that point was gunning for a major in business, had upgraded to a double major to include engineering, with a personal-extra-side of whatever the hell he needed to know to make sense of the things Jack kept spouting around like a complete madman.

With the proper knowledge, and even more intrigued, Vlad had come to realize that while Jack seemed like a goofball at first sight, there was some backbone to his theories. That had just sealed the deal.

And then Maddie came along. crashing into them with all the brilliance of a shooting star.

Madeline, who had been the cherry on top. Beautiful, passionate, and headstrong. Well on her way to becoming an amazing engineer with the meanest right hook Vlad had ever seen.

He had become infatuated. It was almost laughable how hard he had hit the ground running with that one.

It went downhill from there with him none the wiser.

They had shared hopes and dreams with Vlad in a way not even his blood family had. Become his best and only friends. And he was sure that with time and careful planning Madeline could become more.

Could anyone blame him for thinking this could be what a true family was like? For thinking that this was it.

They had been his everything, and as such he would have done anything within his power to lay the world before them.

Which made their betrayal hurt deeper.

He had failed to see, as submerged as he was in his little happy bubble and the research, the growing distance between them and him, the sneaking around, the way they had started to look at each other. The distraction that had lead to mistakes

Irreversible mistakes.

Ones they hadn’t stuck around for.

He had been a complete mess after that.

He had carried on. Once out of the hospital he has persevered and achieved everything that got on his way, and if he used a little bit of ghostly help that was no one’s business but his. And maybe he would have been happy with that, but there was always that little thorn that seemed to be stuck to his core. He had tried to play the fool. It hadn’t worked. And it wasn’t even his style, to begin with.

So when the opportunity presented itself to try and fix some of what he had lost in the past, he took it.

He had planned to barge in guns blazing. And he did. But he hadn’t been expecting the pair of scrawny teens he had been presented with. Much less for one of them to have been subjected to the same affliction that haunted his days. Just that the brat had it worse because it had been his parents who had half-killed him and not his best friends.

Vlad would find out later about what exactly happened in the Fenton’s basement and laugh bitterly while sipping cognac because that made it even more ironic.

He had thought about it long and hard. And decided to accept the child as his apprentice and honorary son. The kid was in urgent need of some proper training. A pair of meals for him and his sister wouldn’t hurt either — as blind as he had been back then, he was coherent enough to still recognize the mistake that was letting either of his ‘friends’ in the kitchen. — He was deliberately choosing to disregard their parent’s crime in order to help them.

He was amicable like that. Kind, even.

If only the ungrateful little badger cooperated.

jasmine, who had eventually realized what exactly was going on — The man had seen it coming from miles away, the girl was smart and her disaster of a brother kept stumbling around town as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It was distressing to witness. — and not just the surface passive-aggressive way they sniped at each other in public, would help him realize that he had been going all wrong about approaching Daniel.

He had been treating him like he used to treat the boy’s parents

The older Fentons had never treated him seriously, so he always had to find dramatic ways to make them go along with what he wanted. Come to think of it, he had done that with a lot of people…

So, he had unconsciously regressed to his college years. Never a good stage to revive. It had obviously led straight to disaster, and he might or might not have neglected his business in the meantime. Thankfully, Jasmine had taken it upon herself to snap him out of it. Trying to run for mayor in a town in the middle of nowhere. Him. A goddamned Billionaire. What was he even thinking?

Obsessions were a dangerous thing. He would need to be more careful in the future.

To summarize, Jasmine had been, as much as it pained him to accept it, most helpful in their little chats on how to deal with teenagers.

Now, he realized, the desire to keep striving for his beloved Madeline’s hand was putting a dent in his interactions with the little badger, and even his sister would show reluctance if he went a little too far. And if he wanted to educate this childr- child, educate this child properly, that was not going to help him to accomplish his goals.

He was a businessman. He knew when risks were acceptable. Knew what investments would not be profitable.

There was a reason he had managed to convince the University of Wisconsin to finance their research when there wasn’t any concrete proof of ghosts, a reason he had managed to become a millionaire. Other than sleight of hand. That is.

In the end, the final choice was pretty obvious.

Having his obsession slowly shift targets after meeting the kids had been quite the experience.

Especially because he, self-made billionaire, the man on top of everything, who had fingers in all of the biggest pies out there, The Vlad Masters Himself, had not seen it coming.

-.-.-.-

Vlad would love to say he exhorted the best place to eat out of the boy. But really. Once Vlad said he was paying Daniel was more than happy to shoot for the tastiest and expensive things the siblings normally couldn’t afford. Jasmine was not openly contributing to her brother’s effort to suck him dry of money, but she was not stopping him either.

He didn’t have any proof those two could communicate telepathically but by this point, he felt he didn’t need any. They probably had some sort of silent signals. The sneaky little shits.

The man didn’t mind. Not really. He got the brats all for himself, after all. It was a win-win situation.

“So,” he started with a hum “What happened with the box ghost?” Vlad inquired

The boy glared at him. Vlad smirked. Jasmine was making a great job at feigning deafness while looking completely done with them.

“I dealt with him accordingly.”Danny glowered, stabbing his burger with a fork. The billionaire wasn’t sure if that was meant to make a point or the teen went feral on automatic these days even with his food. “The fuck, Vlad. I thought we were in peace mode.”

“Excuse you, child. I didn’t have anything to do with that. It was just making a simple question.” Which was mostly true, Vlad wouldn’t lower himself to the point of using such an annoying ghost as a lackey. He just liked to poke fun at little badger “And even if I had, that was before I called a truce. It would have been completely valid.”

Daniel just grumbled, conceding the point, and continued mangling the food on his plate. The little heathen.

Having lost the attention of the boy, he took a sip of his drink and turned to look at the other sibling.

“You convinced them to do your research in ghosts, hm?”

“Not like it was hard.” she was eating at a more sedate pace than her brother, but still a little faster than would be considered appropriate in polite company. “Thanks to a pair of someones.” she sniffed at them. Danny smiled at her but kept his mouth closed and otherwise occupied with food. Vlad just hummed in quiet approval.

“Good job.” then he frowned. “But also, why?”

“Why what?”

“Not the best place you could have chosen to do that, is it now?”

“Maybe not the most agreeable, no.” She conceded, reaching over to take a napkin. “But it is the best place for my purposes.”

“Why though?” He insisted, hoping for a proper explanation.

“Why not?” she retorted, the picture of innocence taking another bite. Vlad sighed and rolled his eyes, he kept forgetting she could be as bad as her brother sometimes.

“Does it matter, old man? We are going anyway.” Daniel finally joined the conversation again, waving one of his french fries in an extremely judgy manner in Vlad’s direction “I didn’t pull all those strings in the zone for you to come complaining and think we are backing down just because you don’t like it.“

“Oh ho, strings, you say?” Vlad mocked, “Would that have anything to do with the reason why Skulker came to me seeking refuge with his tail between his legs?”

Daniel almost choked on his next bite. Enough that Jasmine started looking worried, most likely about whether or not she would have to use the Heimlich on him. She relaxed when her brother finally sucked some air into his lungs just to immediately start laughing.

“It does have some relation, yes” Jasmine took over for her brother, seeing as he was too busy making an impression of the lion king’s hyenas. It was a good thing they were in the more private part of the restaurant. “We, um, had to get creative.”

Vlad just raised both his eyebrows at her, and with a background of her brother’s cackles, she finally acceded to give in some ground.

“I have a theory, and frankly, it would be faster if I do this in Arkham. For a bunch of reasons I don’t feel comfortable discussing at the moment.” Jasmine offered, “Plus, seeing as Danny is insisting on tagging along and at the moment he can’t really afford to leave Amity for longer than necessary-” Hearing that made Daniel come back from his endless snickering.

“Hey! don’t try to pin this on me. This was all you-!”

After that, a free for all started between the siblings and Vlad stopped listening, feeling honest to the ancients offended. Couldn’t afford to leave longer? Please, Vlad could fix that in a jiffy, they just needed to ask- but nooo, the brats always had to go to the extremes for everything.

Although Vlad had to admit that Jasmine most likely had good reasons — If Daniel had said it, he wouldn’t even contemplate the validity of such a loose statement — for saying it would be faster doing it in Gotham- ugh, he had to stop himself from sneering just at the mention of the place.

He had decided to open a branch office for one of his companies in the damned city and it had been nothing more than a headache in the last years. He had opted to send people over from the other branches to take care of everything rather than hiring people from Gotham to fill the spots available.

After a pair of months of operations, it had become obvious that the place wasn’t working as smoothly as any of his other offices all over the world.

It seemed like his employees didn’t have the spine to deal with the city’s threats properly. And hiring more Gothamites, who were guaranteed to have a spine on behalf of being raised in the place, would just make the mess bigger without him there to supervise.

Which he hadn’t had the time to do.

Come to think of it, the only reason he hadn’t taken it into his own hands was because-

His train of thought stopped right in its tracks, eyes snapping open as he took a long look at the kids in front of him.

They seemed to have stopped discussing at some point, but the teenaged halfa was currently trying to steal some food from the plate of the young lady at his side. His sister, on retaliation, was moving her fork in an exaggerated stab motion to discourage her thieving little brother.

“Oh,” he uttered under his breath, as good as speechless and unable to take his eyes off them.

I didn’t take matters of Gotham into my own hands because of them.

The thought, and the implications that came along with it, struck him so suddenly that they left him startled enough to start laughing without care for present company.

Oh, this was too good!

Daniel was watching him warily. As if Vlad showing any kind of amusement was a sign of danger. Which, considering, was fair enough.

Jasmine just took the opportunity the distraction lent her to keep eating peacefully before her brother got any other funny ideas about food-thievery.

Vlad put his elbow on the table, interlacing his fingers so he could rest his chin on the joined hands, smirking and allowing himself to let out some random chuckles from time to time. Seeing the boy get all ruffled up was fun. Especially when he hadn’t done anything yet.

‘Yet’ being the keyword.

Oh, this was going to work perfectly after all.

-.-.-.-

After eating their fill and doing some more quasi civilized talking they finally got some dessert and the siblings took the opportunity to order some take-out to have for breakfast. It was never a bad thing to secure food beforehand, and Vlad had seemed agreeable enough.

Way too agreeable if you asked Danny. But food was food, and there wouldn’t be no looking at horses’ mouths in this household, no sir.

Vlad said his goodbyes claiming to have urgent business to attend to, and vanished into the night like the dramatic pseudo-vampire-ghost he had always aspired to be.

Why the man had bothered to come all the way to Amity Park if he had work to do was beyond Danny, but good riddance. His random giggles were starting to creep him out.

Once he was sure the fruit loop was not coming back and they were truly alone on the sidewalk, the teen turned around to his sister and found her stifling a yawn on her hand. A quick look at his phone confirmed that it was already pretty late, and having a full stomach always made Jazz get all lethargic on him. He would too, but that was why he consumed coffee religiously, unlike his sister who preferred the occasional vitamin drink.

So he resigned himself to playing pack mule yet again and let her lean on him so they could start their trek back home. A trek that would be slow as fuck, because Jazz kept insisting on using him as a pillow while they walked rather than focusing on using her feet properly.

She was lucky he loved her and had ghost cheat codes to support her weight, otherwise the night would have ended very differently.

Danny huffed and let her snug closer to him.

Now they just needed to sneak into the house without alerting their parents.

Yey.

-.-.-.-

Jazz had to give it to Danny, he was the best cuddle partner she could have asked for in a brother.

Though she could admit that her brother’s temperature could fluctuate wildly sometimes while sleeping because of his ghost-core-thingy or other random ghost power, whichever it was at the time had made it a little awkward for them to share sleeping quarters when one of them needed the comfort.

Luckily, they had found ways to deal with the temperature clashes. In summer it was easier to deal with them because in that season her brother’s often chilly nature was a complete godsend. Winter was trickier but there was nothing a pair of isolation blankets couldn’t manage, and when Danny’s powers decided to be contrary and transform him into a living heater, Jazz was more than happy to take advantage of it.

They had a few space blankets too, Jazz was pretty sure Vlad had gotten those just for Danny, but her brother had been rather tight-lipped about them, even if he clearly loved them.

So here they were, sprawled on the bed with Jazz’s arms firmly around her brother’s waist and half her face buried against his upper chest, rejoicing in the coolness emanating from the spot.

She had been awake for a little while but couldn’t make herself let go of her little bro. After they had sneaked in — after Danny had half-dragged her in — they had ended up crashing in her room. This for two important reasons, first because Danny’s room was still a mess after their parents threw all the equipment they could their way, and second because she had refused to let go of her newly acquired pillow. So her bedroom it was.

Ugh, she would get hungry eventually and would have to go downstairs for their breakfast effectively separating her from the cuddles. Jazz released a little grumble and buried herself deeper into the embrace.

The only up-side was that she would only have to heat their food and not make it from scratch. As long as she managed to avoid their parents and make it back upstairs she could rejoin her brother without interruptions and-

“Good morning, Princess Jasmine! ”

Wha-?

Jazz lifted herself and turned her head towards the voice so fast she immediately regretted it. There went her neck. she winced and raised a hand to carefully massage her nape. It would never work the same way again. At least she could see the source of the unfamiliar voice now and it left her perplexed.

There was a ghost on the window sill.

Why was there a ghost on their windowsill?

As a general rule, most ghosts tended to stay the fuck away from the Fenton house once they got out of the zone, so this development was very strange. Then again, Jazz had never seen this ghost before.

It was a female ghost, that was clear, and her hair-

Jazz had to blink a few times, completely awestruck at the number of colors her brain was trying to process at the same time.

She really had rainbow hair. What the-?

The apparent twenty-somethings female ghost had her hair done on a perfect half-up ponytail and displaying all the colors in the visible spectrum, she was clad in a cute summer dress that seemed to be patched up with- were those postage stamps? and a pair of lace-up sandals. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, a giddy smile stamped on her face. She was glowing. literally.

Meanwhile, Jazz had not bothered to change clothes before going to sleep or even tied her hair up into a bun, and now it looked like she had gotten trapped in one of her parent’s ghost traps. She managed to stifle the urgent need of running to the nearest mirror to tame down her hair as much as she could. She was feeling tacky all of a sudden.

Ugh. She felt like a hobo just looking at her. she had patches on her dress and she was still pulling it off. Maybe that was the ghost’s thing? making other girls felt like vagabonds with just her presence. Jazz blinked a pair of times, brain finally processing the other girl’s words, and becoming even more baffled by the living — animated? embodiment? — rainbow’s presence.

Had she just called her ‘princess’?

“Um, hi?” Jazz finally greeted her, she sent a look to her still slumbering brother and debated on whether or not she should wake him. On one hand, he had been running himself ragged the last weeks getting everything in order so she was reluctant to do it. On the other hand, there was a ghost on the window. A rather cute one, but still.

Choices. choices.

The redhead turned her whole attention towards the ghost again. Well, she looks calm enough, and has not set anything on fire or attempted any kidnapping yet, so-

“Sorry, I’m still rebooting. Do I know you?” Jazz went on, trying to get some sort of grip on the situation.

“Not really, but I have heard plenty about you.” the ghost beamed, just to falter suddenly and offer a chagrined smile “I must have seemed very rude.”

“My name is Iris.” She finally presented herself and jabbered on while pointing at the little cloth string bag resting on her hip. “I’m the Infinity Realms’ Official Messenger. And I have a few packages for both of you, my lady.”

“The Zone’s messenger?” Jazz parroted back. She had never heard about a messenger in the zone, but it was a rather big place and there were things even Danny hadn’t heard about, so it was a possibility. “And just Jazz is fine, thank you.”

The skittle girl just smiled. “Yes, I made the rounds earlier and there were some packages for the crown prince,” she said, confirming the reason for her presence in the room.

Ok. She could deal with ghosts addressing her brother with titles. And messengers? messengers were fine in her book. She could deal. She got this. Still-

“Danny was in the zone yesterday, though? Why would they wait until now and not just take advantage of his visit?”

“There are some fragile things in here, and your brother seemed to be getting- uh, quite busy yesterday,” she replied, clearly amused. “The senders didn’t want to risk it. So here I am!”

With that declaration, she opened her little bag and started to unload a staggering amount of packages and even some mail into neat little piles. Great, more things to pack. How some of them could get into such a tiny bag was a mystery, but that was probably just ghost zone physics. Or magic. Maybe both.

“Oh, thank you.” Jazz just conceded. It was better to just go along. Iris hummed in acknowledgment, still organizing everything and explaining to Jazz where each pile had come from and some extra information that the messenger had found interesting on her rounds.

She was quite lively for a ghost.

“Pandora in particular was rather twitchy yesterday about not catching your brother for a chat. Did you know she is having a gathering next month?” Iris gushed at her in low whispers, with all the air of a gossipy neighbor that couldn’t separate himself from their windows. “It’s a shame you will not be accompanying them for the festivities.”

“But Isn’t that just for amazons..?” Jazz asked from her seat on the foot of the bed, where she had moved to have a better view of the things the other ghosts had sent to Danny and her.

“Yes.”

“…I think I missed something.”

“Haven’t you heard?”Iris giggled. Getting a pen and notepad out of her bag and starting to write something down, she presumably used that to keep inventory. “You are both part of Pandora’s honorary amazons.”

The redhead’s eyes widened. “She can do that-?”

“I mean she is the Queen of the Amazons on this side of the pond, so-” the messenger replied, tapping her pen against her chin and looking up in thought.

“Wait, does that mean Tucker and Sam are honorary amazons too?” Jazz startled at the sudden sound of her brother’s voice coming from behind her. He was practically on top of her now, still looking half asleep but definitely awake now. She hadn’t even felt him move.

“Good morning, Lord Phantom!” Iris beamed at him from her spot on the ground among the still growing piles. “For what its worth, I think so, yes.”

Danny couldn’t help himself. He started cackling.

“Seriously, Danny?” She pursed her lips at him in disapproval.

“You don’t understand. They are going to flip, Jazz. Pandora can count me in.” He gushed, finally getting a hold of himself.

“She already did. Weren’t you listening to me, My Crown Prince?” Danny sighed.

“I did bubblegums. Sounds amazing.” her brother had already given her a nickname, or many for what she knew, so he probably had met the messenger before this. “So you were talking about some go-away gifts” Jazz sighed and rolled her eyes.

“They are called farewell gifts, Danny” jazz corrected.

“Whatever. It’s almost the same.” he waved his hand dismissively and looked down at what Iris had just laid down. “You got way too many things there. You are almost done or..? “

“Yep! I was actually just making time until you woke up.” She admitted sheepishly, lifting the last package that had come out of the bag and had been all by its lonesome amid the others and passing it along to the halfa. “Your Order is ready, Majesty!”

Jazz watched her brother extend a hand to take the package but his face reflected puzzlement at her words rather than excitement at finally receiving something he ordered.

“Direct from the FarFrozen and the Acropolis, Sir Casper!”

With those words, Danny seemed to snap wide awake, “already?” He didn’t waste any time in seating properly and opening the package. Jazz took the opportunity to peer into it.

“Jewelry?”

Danny jus hummed back in response and started examining the little jewelry box inside

“you ordered jewelry?” Jazz asked again, a little confused because even if his brother didn’t mind using the occasional accessory it was not like him to own them. Her brother —as well as herself — was more of a borrowing person “Ghostzone’s jewelry?”

“Yep.”

“why?”

“why not?” Jazz debated tackling him to the ground and tickling him until he talked, but considering they had company the redhead didn’t know very well yet and thus was not completely comfortable around, forcing Danny to spill the tea would have to wait.

The little shit probably knew it too and was openly smirking at her.

“hey, colorfalls?” Danny called to Iris

“Yes, winter pools?”

“Am I imagining things or this is way more than what I asked for?”

“The crafters outdid themselves, didn’t they? The Pan Queen said it happened because you ‘didn’t specify for shit so you better suck it up, brat.’ The Yeti-man said something too, but it was long and boring, so I forgot~” She ended sheepishly.

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“wouldn’t they have explained it in the letters?” Jazz offered, bringing his attention to the pair of envelopes under the probably-handcrafted box.

Danny grabbed them and grumbled. “Probably. But, ugh, reading.”

Jazz tried to snatch the letters from his hand. Danny dodged her lunge and moved the letters out of her reach.

“Thought you didn’t want to read them.” Jazz sassed.

“That I don’t want to do it, doesn’t mean I won’t do it. There is a difference, carrot cakes.”

“Well, get on with it then, cakesicle.”

They could have continued sniping at each other, as they were fully prepared to do so until Iris talked again.

“I better get going and leave you to it. Places to be, gossip to spread. You understand.” She declared with a playful smile and hopped up from the ground and attached her cloth bag to her hip again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jasmine.”

She made her way to the window waving her goodbyes as she went, the siblings waved back a little entranced by the sway of her hair.

Danny looked thoughtful, he seemed unsure for a moment and ended up waiting until the last moment to call after her.

“Hey,” The girl turned around to raise an eyebrow at him in question. Danny smiled at her and pointed a finger towards her little cloth bag.

"Do you think I could get one of those?”

-.-.-.-

“Jazz”

“Yeah?”

“How long was she here for before I woke up?”

“She-” Jazz stopped herself and really thought about it. “I, I don’t actually now? I think she was already sitting on the window sill when I woke up”

Her brother had gone suddenly quiet, watching intently through the window Iris had just left.

“She has a- quite bubbly personality. Good to know there is someone like her around.” She offered, trying to break the tense silence that had enveloped them.

“I once saw her knock-out Walker from a single blow,” Danny replied, finally turning to look at his sister. Jazz’s eyes widened.

“She what?”

“He threatened the network.” Danny deadpanned. “One does not simply threaten the network, Jazz” he stressed, seemingly trying to make the importance of a network she didn’t know anything about very clear to Jazz.

“…That sounds really ominous.”

“She moves around human merchandise in the zone.” Danny explained, “She has- umm, I think you could say she has a thing for humans.”

“…”

“I’m not telling you this to make you wary of her.” Her brother said after the lack of a proper answer, carefully keeping eye contact with her. “Walker was being an ass, he deserved it. Jolly Beans is very helpful around the zone. Has even helped me with a pair of things. A real pal, she is. But-” Danny sighed and ran one of his hands through his hair in exasperation.

“Just- Just don’t mess with her gossip mags ”

-.-.-.-

“Hey, Danny?” She probed, going through one of the ‘care packages’ that had been sent to them, “Do you think the ghosts know humans don’t wear these types of clothing anymore? They are cute, but-”

“I’m going to tell them.”

“Don’t you dare.”

-.-.-.-

ENDNOTES:

Say hello to Iris, everyone :)

She is one of my agents of chaos. She got the Job 5 minutes ago when she bitch slapped me with her bag and the pOssIbiLItieS.

(Not to be confused with intrepid reporter, Iris West, that might or might not appear here. )

-.-.-.-

Me, writing about sciency stuff, major and double majors like I know what I’m talking about: seems legit.

-.-.-.-

It’s fucking sad when the reasons you used to love someone end up becoming the same reasons you end up hating them.

-.-.-.-

I don’t remember if Vlad used Boxy as a lackey? If he did, let’s pretend he didn’t.

-.-.-.-

Vlad to Danny and Jazz through all this fucking fanfic:

-.-.-.-

The moment when your weird-murderous-uncle is actually more responsive to your ‘How-To-Parent’ talks than your actual parents.

Press F to pay respects.

-.-.-.-

I just want to let you know that one of the reasons Danny curses like a sailor is because he has a great respect for Pandora and that woman puts sailors to SHAME.

-.-.-.-

Did the show care about historical accuracy? no. Do I? That’s also a no.

-.-.-.-

The ghost jewelry will come back later to bite all of us. Be patient.

-.-.-.-

Danny is the Elsa to Jazz’s Anna.

-.-.-.-

UPdate on the JJ Ship!

I just imagined Bruce looking at this tiny (but feral) red-head psychologist interning in Arkham and seeing how good she is for Jason and just pulling a Mulan’s Grandma when Jason asks her to have dinner with them, like:

“WoulD YouU like TO sTAy FOREVEr?!?”

And Dick with, like, a banner and streamers behind him, fully supporting the notion.

And-aND! then on the eventual-some-years-in-the-future-engagement party:

Jazz: “Jay? Seems your family invited someone to help us celebrate the engagement.” Jason: “Really? Who?” Jazz *Opening the door that leads to the Mansion’s garden that is currently full to the freakin’ brim and deadpanning*: “Gotham.”

{(And all the fucking league. Let’s be real people-)}

Can u Imagine the wedding? The absolute chaos?? If you think the ghosts aren’t crashing the party or even demanding to hold a ceremony in the zone u are a FOOL.

bECAUSE If DanNo is theIr HighKING, Guess who is their MoTHErFUCkING PRINCESS.

It’s what she deserves.

My god, Jazz would look so pretty in a wedding dress.

I’m crying.

Danny would definitely sob.

Send tissues.

-.-.-.-

Great.

Now I want to write about the wedding and they haven’t even met in here yet.

*wishful sighing*

The struggles of a shipper-

-.-.-.-

These goddamned endnotes are getting bigger and bigger.

-.-.-.-

I’m still thinking over Danny’s SO. Guess who. Yes. You are right. It’s the Demon Spawn. You KNOW who I mean. I didn’t make them be a year apart in age just for the giggles. Like, I was aiming for Bros Wreaking Havoc when I started this but then The Shipper Feels struck me dead plus-if-Jazz-is-getting-a-wedding-out-of-this-then-why-the-fuck-not and here we are. What do u think?? Because it’s most likely happening. Though, this one is going to burn slowly, because these boys.

And, wtf. Why didn’t anyone tell me Bruce and Selina almost got married?? I don’t know what happened to prevent it but I cAlL foUl.

Who wants a wedding. I want a wedding.

-.-.-.-

Me: Writes like 40 pages of this fic Also me: They are random scenes in different chapters and I’m still struggling to wrangle everyone into some sense of order and coherency.

The first twenty-something chapters already have titles and brief summaries so that’s something?? I can’t see the light at the end of this tunnel.

If you have ideas about things you would like to read about? Between the Bats and the DP Characters? Interactions and blabla? You can write them in the comments and I will see if I can fit some in :D

I have more or less decided where this is going, but I still need to enrich the chaps, SO, this might take a while. The good thing is that they will probably be way better now that I have Some Plot and I’m not just running blind all over the google doc.

-.-.-.-

Really, tho, if you have some headcanons about the characters? Bless. I need help with Steph and slightly less with Cass.

I have some plans for Cass. Steph is the one worrying me.

-.-.-.-

Chapter 9 will be their arrival to Gotham! I. am. happy.

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manythingsoflittlesignificance · 5 years

Text

the one where the pack is a #fail

Ok so AU where the pack is all alive, in their mid-20s, done with college. Scott, no longer wanting the responsibility of being Alpha, figured out with Stiles’ help how to magically transfer his status to Derek and joined his pack. Most of the group have moved back to Beacon Hills after graduating and have local jobs while the remaining members (Lydia, Danny, Kira, and Isaac) stay in contact and try to come home a couple of times a year. It’s during one of the super rare times everyone is home and they’re having a pack barbeque and movie night in the rebuilt Hale house and they’ve all been drinking a little so they’re loose and happy and having fun, when Danny innocently asks Stiles and Derek to stick out their hands because he wants to see something. The two, confused but unsuspecting of any mischief from Danny (maybe he’s taking a crack at palm-reading?), immediately put out their hands and before they know it, they’re shackled together with handcuffs. Danny crows in victory and Jackson is just sitting there grumbling “I can’t believe it was actually that easy what the hell.” Everyone is laughing and Stiles and Derek are just stunned and have no idea what’s happening.

Stiles is the first one to say something. “I don’t understand… was this some type of dare? Am I being punk’d?”

And Scott responds, “you two are going to stay like that until you get your shit together because We the Pack are collectively sick of you guys.”

Instead of looking surprised or annoyed, both Stiles and Derek just look even more confused.

“What do you mean? Stiles and I are fine, nothing’s wrong.” says Derek and now Erica has just about had it with this bullshit.

“GOOD LORD, just admit you’ve been pining for each other FOR YEARS and this will all finally be over and the rest of us can go back to watching Boyd and Jackson cry about Elle Woods while you two make out.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence. Derek and Stiles and exchange a brief look and then Stiles says “Erica… Derek and I are going to admit no such thing. Because it’s not true. I mean what we have is definitely one of the most important relationships in my life but—”

“—we’re pack. Of coursewe have love for each other. We work well together and we understand each other’s priorities. It’s significant, obviously, but we certainly have not been pininglike characters in some cheap harlequin novel.” Derek looks annoyed.

“You do spend an awful lot of time staring at each other when the other isn’t looking,” observes Boyd.

“I mean come on, you guys can’t really be this clueless!” Allison explodes. “You basically run this pack together. You go grocery shopping together, you cuddle.”

“Yeah, so? I cuddle with everyone! I’m a tactile guy, don’t judge me! If you’re going to follow that logic, the why doesn’t anyone think Scott and I have unresolved feelings?” He turns to Scott and waggles his eyebrows.

Scott is unperturbed. “Nothing unresolved about us, bro. But don’t deflect. I know you, ok? You haven’t dated or hooked up with anyone new in ages! You’ve been too busy obsessing over taking care of this pack and hanging out with Derek all. the. freaking. time!”

“Yeah and it’s been ages since Derek’s last been with someone, too, and you both always smell sickeningly happy around each other” Malia pitches in.

“Watch it, Malia, unless you want everyone to know how your last fling really ended,” Derek snaps back.

“Derek do NOT bring that shit up again, it’s been more than two years!”

“So you’ve been single for two years and yet nobody seems to think you’repining after another pack member?”

“Yeah! Malia and Isaac have been single even longer than us! So how come it isn’t Isaac who’s cuffed to Derek right now, huh?” Stiles tries. But at this, both Derek and Isaac experience a full-body shudder and Jackson grimaces. “That’s just wrong, Stilinski.”

“Yeah ok, bad example, I take it back.”

Kira pitches in more gently. “But Stiles, you spend 70% of your time here in this house. You make everyone food and you send us care packages with cute little notes. You made sure to schedule each of us individual training time with Derek. You made us follow a chore chartand you tell us to ‘be nice to Daddy’ whenever you leave for Emissarys-related business. I mean, to the rest of us it seems like you’ve been wife-ing Derek up pretty hard.”

“WIFE-ING? This is blatant pigeon-holing! I didn’t realize caringfor the packmeant I’d be strapped to this…this narrow-ass label. I may have mother-hen tendencies but I am nobody’s wifey.”

It’s at this point that the lupine members of the pack begin to realize that neither Derek nor Stiles have had a single errant heartbeat throughout the entire conversation. No elevated pulses, no betraying smells. They’ve just been calmly and comfortably sitting next to each other on the couch, like they always do. The pack starts feeling awkward and wrong-footed. Were they wrong, after all? Maybe Stiles and Derek really were just good friends. Really, weirdly close, platonic friends.

“Listen, everyone, I think you’ve just been reading this all wrong. Stiles and I are not mad, but can you please just uncuff us so we can forget about this and continue having a good night?” Derek tries again.

But Lydia doesn’t want to accept defeat so easily.

“There’s just one more thing we haven’t addressed. You guys are clearly attracted to one another. Stiles, you’ve even told me as much.”

“Well, sure. Derek is a handsome man, I think that’s just an objective fact.”

“You once told me you wanted to rip off his shirt and lick his nipples at least once before you died.”

“LYDIA oh my god! I was drunk! Ugh. Fine, ok, so I think Derek is sexy, what of it.”

“So? You’re best friends…” she ignores Scott’s indignant shout, “…you have domestic routines, you find each other sexually appealing, why not explore the potential? Give it an honest attempt, test the waters.”

“And how do you expect us to test it out, exactly? What, are we supposed to make out or something?” asks Derek.

“Hmm, or something,” Lydia murmurs.

She’s met with complete silence in the room. She tries to stare down Stiles, implicitly challenging him, and is surprised to see that he looks... smug? He has a faint glint in his eyes and she can’t quite place what it means. Something along the lines of “challenge fucking accepted.” She supposes that will work in her favor. The idiot wouldn’t understand romance if it bit him in the ass, and it was her job as his best friend to force him to view his relationship with Derek under a different light.

It’s Erica who breaks the silence. “I mean, it’s not a bad idea. I certainly wouldn’t mind watching,” she says, leering.

“This is not what I was expecting to happen, but I fully endorse the proceedings,” Danny chimes in.

“Are you telling me, if I make out with Derek right now, we can put an end to all this nonsense?”

The pack all seem to be convinced, all of them shrugging and nodding their heads as if this idea makes complete sense.

“You’re all fucking bonkers.” Having expressed his indignation, Stiles turns to face Derek. “Let’s get this over with?”

“You don’t have to act like it’s torture, Stiles, we’ve done scarier things.” Derek turns to the pack. “What, are you all just going to watch?”

He’s just met with impatient glares.

“I’m going to incrementally add 5 suicides to your workouts every day for the rest of the year.” And before anyone can respond he turns around—and carefully maneuvering their positions because of the handcuffs—he picks Stiles up, deposits him on his lap, and kisses him.

They kiss. And they keep kissing. After a few seconds, the pack realizes there hasn’t been any elevation in either of their heart rates, and neither of them seem particularly aroused. There’s no tell-tale blip of excitement. In fact, their pulses are weirdly sedate, almost calm. The two are somehow…completely unbothered.

The pack slowly feels awkwardness creep back in. Isaac looks away first. Lydia looks absolutely bewildered and defeated. Allison looks like someone kicked her puppy. Even Boyd looks somewhat disappointed. They’d all hoped…

Jackson’s the first one to break. “Ok! God, stop, you’ve proven your point. So you guys have not secretly been lusting after each other. We were wrong.”

Stiles turns back around to face the pack and he looks fucking victorious. Lydia was right, his wide-grinned expression is as smug as she’s ever seen it, like he just won some game. She just doesn’t understand, if this was all just a stupid misunderstanding, why was proving them wrong such a big deal to him? He’s practically vibrating with his success and frankly, it’s unfitting to the situation at hand. He climbs off Derek’s lap and looks expectantly at Danny. “Unlock us now, please?”

Danny quietly obliges, and Stiles and Derek breathe out simultaneous sighs of relief and go back to sitting with their arms around each other on the couch. Everyone else kind of lingers awkwardly for a few seconds, nobody making eye-contact until Derek says, “All right guys, sorry your little experiment didn’t work out but more importantly, we just missed the entire Bend-and-Snap routine.” And with that, everyone settles back into their positions and turns back to the movie.

A few minutes pass before Lydia hears Stiles stifling giggles behind her. She turns around to glare at him, only to see that now Derek is also straining to fight back his laughter. At seeing her bemused face, Derek loses it. His loud bark of laughter disrupts the just-settled atmosphere.

“What is so funny?” Erica seethes, “please share with the class.”

“I can’t! I just can’t—believe—” Stiles is gasping, struggling to get out words. “—I can’t believe you all honestly thought—we’ve been pining for years. To be honest, I am severely disappointed in your skills of observation and deduction.” He turns to Derek who is clutching his stomach and trying to calm himself down. “Derek, you really do have to up the game with their training. I mean, to have all the pieces and arrive at the completely wrong conclusion, I just don’t understand.”

Everyone is watching them, completely confused. Here it comes, Lydia thinks. She can’t believe that there was something she had missed. Derek, his laughter finally dying out, grins at his pack.

“I honestly don’t know how you all failed this badly. Guys, Stiles and I have been boning on the regular since he graduated.”

“Yeah and I especially don’t understand how you missed this fucking RING that I have been sporting for the last WEEK. complete failwolves, iswtg”

the pack’s reaction:

***If you liked this ficlet please go to my page and read the new Sterek story I wrote! And feel free to like, comment, reblog! Much love <3

#teen wolf #sterek fic #sterek au #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #hale pack #fluff #crack fic #good omens #ineffable #secret husbands

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tsthrace · 4 years

Text

What does a girl do when she realizes she needs to cut an entire chapter from her WIP because it doesn’t fit? She posts it to tumblr.

So yeah, this starts to build a scary world that might look a little too close to our world. It might introduce you to this badass trauma surgeon, Dr. Griffin, who needs to make a quick escape. And then it might leave you hanging. Forever.

Well, not exactly forever. This is now Clarke’s backstory for my WIP. She’ll resurface years later on a church-turned-farmstead. Guess who’s the priest of this church? So yeah...

Content warning: mention of rape (but no rape itself) and just general hits-too-close-to-home: you know—fascism, totalitarianism, misogyny, toxic masculinity. Oh, and Clarke swears a lot.

It’s angsty. That’s what I do.

3,260 words. No tagging for Clexa, because Lexa doesn’t come on the scene yet.

It’s also posted over on ao3 if you’d rather read it there.

---

We all thought it couldn’t happen here, even as it was happening here.

Clarke had been running for so long that she wasn’t sure if she was still being chased. She had spent the last six years wandering through parts of Washington she never knew existed. First to an abandoned sawmill a few miles east of Mansford in the mountains. It was a glorified barn, really, but a community of refugees from Seattle had been gathering there, doing their best to patch up the building’s roof and walls. Then, there was still enough gas to transport what they needed if they rationed properly. But they were all adjusting to life without electricity, without phones, without any sense of who they were without those things.

She was there only three months when word came that a militia had materialized in Darrington and was registering children and looking for doctors and healers. Healers. That’s what they called women with Clarke’s skills. People who had gone to school for 13 years, who had prioritized their craft over their health, their family, their relationships for a grueling residency followed by an only slightly less grueling fellowship. They called men doctors, even if they were less educated, less skilled, and less practiced.

Fuck them. Clarke’s response had become reflexive. It was her internal response when the police came that first night of what some called the Resistance but what the police called the Riots.

Unrest had been brewing for months, but It was when the President “temporarily” suspended the First Amendment right to assemble that all hell broke loose. Thousands of protestors became tens of thousands, even in small cities like Spokane and Tacoma. Police traded rubber bullets for real ones, patrol cars for tanks, pistols for AK-47s. Dozens of people landed in Clarke’s hospital, some gone before they were taken out of the ambulance, ripped apart by the people sworn to serve and protect them.

That was the night two officers were trawling the halls of her ward, looking for “resistors” to arrest.

“They’re unconscious,” Clark said slowly. “They’re sedated because they’re waiting to go into surgery.” She knew it was a bad idea to talk to them like they were kindergartners, but she couldn’t stop herself. What these men were doing was sick. Her patients were here because of them. Some of them filled with bullet holes, their lives barely clinging to them, others with collapsed lungs caused by broken ribs, others with simple fractures who would be out to fight another day. But Clarke wasn’t going to tell these guys that.

“Is there someone else we can talk to?” The officer said. His name badge said Blakely. “Maybe your boss?”

Clarke felt her fingernails digging into her palm. “Officer Blakely—”

“Corporal Blakely.”

Clarke went on as if she didn’t hear him. “I’m the person with the highest seniority here right now. If you’d like me to call the Chief of Surgery...”

Blakely pulled out a pad and pen. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Dr. Marris.”

Blakely scoffed but wrote down the name.

“Is there a problem?” Clarke bent a little to catch his eye with her glare.

“Not at all.”

After that night, everything changed. The President sent in federal troops. There were tanks outside police precincts, and men in uniform carrying AK-47s stood at every corner in downtown and Capitol Hill. They rode the light rail, searching for enemies and booting out anyone who fell asleep on the trains. Curfews were instituted. Clarke had to have her ID and a letter from the hospital ready after every shift. The same soldiers (or were they cops?) stopped her every night, even after the sixth time when everyone knew everyone’s names. She had written theirs down. Because fuck them.

Two months later, the Seattle PD renamed themselves Washington’s 1st Militia when the President had encouraged all “patriots and protectors of freedom to band together, arm, and fight for American values.” Police departments across the country took this as a rallying call. They traded their police uniforms for military fatigues. They tore off their city badges and replaced them with a thin blue line. Bros before everything else, even democracy.

They pulled her out of the OR as soon as she wrapped up a craniotomy. It was her third surgery of the day, and her hands were stiff, her scrubs covered in sweat. The two soldiers’ assault rifles startled her, but she’d seen enough gore in her time to know how to keep a straight face. Blakely was back, but this time he was dressed like he was serving in a desert war zone.

“Officer Blakely.” She remembered he was a corporal but fuck him.

The corner of Blakely’s mouth lifted in a sharp smirk. She watched as his eyes glided down her body. “Congratulations, Ms. Griffin, you’ve been recruited to Washington’s First. We are in need of fine healers like yourself.”

Fuck you. The words raced through her mind, but she kept her mouth shut. She understood by now that those words aloud could do nothing but put her in danger. “How can I be of service?” she asked evenly, looking him straight in the eye. She had heard rumors that the militias were taking medical workers from their hospitals and clinics to set up their own facilities, but she thought they’d only take men for their specialists and surgeons.

“You need to come with us,” Blakely looked down at the sweat stains under her arms.

Clarke didn’t move. “What kind of healers are you looking for?” she asked in her most neutral tone.

“A variety, ma’am.” Blakely’s jaw stiffened.

A small crowd of the floor’s staff had gathered at the nurses’ station, halfheartedly pretending to work while they watched the interaction.

“Like nurses? There are a lot of nurses here who are much better at their jobs than I would be.” Clarke laughed lightly and glanced at the nurses. “I’d make a terrible nurse.”

A few of the nurses nodded, their eyes smiling because smiling with their lips might bring trouble.

“We already have healers for that kind of work.” Blakely took in a breath and looked around the floor, frustrated. He knew he’d said too much. “Maybe we should go somewhere—”

“Then I can’t possibly think why you’d need me. I’m sure there are doctors who can meet your needs.”

“Ms. Griffin—”

“After all, there are two other trauma surgeons on staff here more suited to your, uh, preferences.” Clarke glanced down at Blakely’s groin.

“I was sent to find you, Ms. Griffin.”

The more he called her “Ms.,” the more her resolve solidified. “I just can’t imagine what anyone would want with little old me.” She covered her voice in maple syrup. “Dr. Lee and Dr. Bancroft are very fine surgeons, very respectable. Dr. Lee graduated top of his class from UW. I’m supervising his fellowship, and he’s very skilled.” Clarke let the words roll like waves along a beach on a calm day. “And Dr. Bancroft is who we call whenever we need a feeding tube done right the first time. His focus on fundamentals is exceptional—”

“They want you,” Blakely said more loudly than he intended.

Say it, she taunted him with a sharp look, though the words that came out were light. “I’ll call Dr. Lee. I’m sure he’d be more suitable to you—”

“Ms. Griffin—”

“You’d rather have Dr. Bancroft? Sorry. I thought you’d want the more skilled surgeon, but to be honest, we do perform a lot more feeding tube placements than major—”

“We know you’re the best.” Blakely growled, giving in.

Clarke had won, but she still felt empty. “You can’t even call me a doctor.”

“Protocol.” Blakely refused to look at her. “Come with us, ma’am.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can appeal on grounds of pregnancy or motherhood.”

Clarke scoffed. “Of course.” She didn’t even try to hide her disdain, though she knew she had to play along. She looked down at her scrubs. “I need to change.”

“Of course,” Blakely said. His smile was sharp, an insult. “Though we’ll need to supervise.”

Clarke bit down hard. She had not joined the Resistance, but she’d been obsessively keeping track of their Instagram posts at @emeraldcityjustice. Militiamen never raped, she’d learned, especially if the woman was white and of marrying age. They didn’t call it rape, though, they called it “sexual theft.” They were not to spoil another man’s property (or potential property), and that meant no touching. This restriction forced men to get creative, find new ways of dominating without ruining the goods. Resisting, the posts said, meant speaking the militia’s language.

“But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.” Clarke had memorized some key verses, and she said this one loud enough for everyone around the nursing station to hear it. “Matthew 5:28. I think those are words in red. You know, Jesus. The son of God himself.” She would not let these fuckers anywhere near her.

Blakely squinted and his face turned to stone.

“The locker room is on the second floor,” she said. “You two are welcome to wait outside the door, if you like.” Clarke strode towards the elevator. Blakely glared at her a few moments before nodding at his partner. They followed her into the elevator. Clarke looked at her watch. 10:15 p.m. Shift change. The locker room would be packed.

“We need to sweep,” Blakely said as they stepped off the elevator and approached the locker room door.

Clarke sighed loudly. There was no use in arguing. Blakely nodded towards the key swipe. Clarke swiped her badge and a little red light on the handle turned green. Blakely opened the door then turned conspicuously so that his back was facing the opening.

“This is Corporal Blakely of Washington’s First Militia,” he shouted into the room. The volume of his voice made Clarke jump. “Private Cooks and I will be doing a sweep of this locker room in two minutes. Those who are not appropriately covered at that time will be taken into custody.” Blakely let the door close behind him and set a timer on his Apple watch.

Are you fucking kidding me? Clarke didn’t say out loud.

Five minutes later, Blakely and Cooks were back out in the hallway. Clarke knew they wouldn’t find anything. The locker room was a windowless space that was mostly concrete and tile. It had one exit, a fire hazard long ignored because that part of the hospital had been built 140 years ago. The only other door was a closet full of cleaning supplies.

Blakely nodded at Clarke to go inside.

“You have five minutes,” he said, fiddling with his watch again.

“I’d like to shower.”

“Four minutes and fifty-seven seconds. If you don’t come out on time, we will come in.”

Clarke swallowed and pushed through the door. Dozens of annoyed eyes lifted as she walked in. She just shook her head as she walked past them.

Because it was an old hospital, doctors—female doctors, even surgeons—shared the locker room with nurse supervisors, charge nurses and other medical staff who had seniority. (Male doctors, especially surgeons, did not share a locker room with anyone, of course.) It bothered Clarke on principle, but for the most part she liked being around the non-doctor staff, and it didn’t hurt to have a friendly relationship with the nurses when she was on the floors.

The women’s eyes quickly went back to their tasks of leaving. Between the unrest and a new virus no one seemed to know anything about, the hospital, which was already under-resourced, had been over capacity for weeks now. Everyone was tired, stressed, and getting more and more afraid. They just wanted to get home as soon as possible. The later at night, the more aggressive the patrols got.

Clarke walked to her locker and took a few deep breaths as she quickly spun the lock to its numbers and pulled it open. She took off her white coat and hung it on the hanger inside. She pulled out her backpack and checked that her phone charger was inside. She pulled her wallet out and stared at her driver’s license for a long moment, not sure if it would be a liability. She decided to bring it, along with her curfew papers, and a used copy of The Obelisk Gate she’d picked up from Horizon Books a few weeks ago but never opened. Next, she stuffed her street clothes inside along with two sets of clean scrubs (only later would she wonder why she took the scrubs). Finally, she grabbed the two boxes of protein bars and four bottles of Gatorade that she kept there to keep her energy up on long shifts.

Clarke almost laughed at how much could fit in her small backpack.

She looked at her watch. Three minutes left. Shit. She almost forgot to switch watches. She pulled off the little cheap thing she used at the hospital and replaced it with her dad’s chunky but sleek metal piece. It was heavy on her wrist, but that’s what she liked about it. Somehow she felt safer with it on.

She swallowed. She needed to move, but to move meant everything would be different. She threw her shoulders back, lifted her hands in front of her, palms up as if making an offering, and took in a deep breath. It’s what she did whenever she was about to make a first cut. She closed her eyes, felt the ground solid under her feet, felt her heart slow to steady saunter.

Clarke smiled to herself. It was a heavy smile, sad and defiant. Fuck them.

She grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked to the broom closet.

“You alright, Dr. Griffin?” A voice rang out. Veró, the charge nurse from the post-op wing, looked up as Clarke was about to go inside. Her eyes were nervous.

“I will be,” Clarke replied as she closed the door. “Take good care of yourself, Veró. Be safe. You didn’t see me, okay?”

Veró nodded. “You stay safe, Clarke.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. Her smile was heavy with concern. “I didn’t see nothing.”

Clarke held Veró’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded, stepped into the closet, and closed the door behind her. It was a small space, but large enough for two people to fit—a fact Clarke had exploited with Lu, a nurse from the Telemetry unit, several times. There was a small, dirty, pointless window at the top of the closet that she and Lu had covered with a tray from the cafeteria so that the janitors in their breakroom across the alley couldn’t watch them taking their break. During the day, thin streaks of light leaked in around the edges. Clarke was grateful it was so late and that the alley outside got so little light. The metal shelving served as the perfect ladder, sturdy and wide. She disrupted the toilet paper and big bottles of cleaner as she climbed, leaving hints of her escape, but there was nothing to be done about it. The top shelf was blessedly empty, too high up to be useful.

She pulled the tray out of the way to reveal a window that was smaller than she expected. She turned a small latch and pushed the window. It didn’t budge. She pushed it again, harder this time, though she didn’t have much leverage. Nothing happened. The shelf wobbled minutely under her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

It held steady as she gingerly pulled her full body onto the top shelf. She barely fit up there. She checked her watch. She maybe had a minute. Probably less. Clarke hit the base of the window with the flat of her palm. Nothing. She hit it again. Still nothing. She took a breath and closed her eyes.

Please.

She hit it again and heard a tiny scrape. One more push, and the window swung open with an achy shriek. It might have been shut for decades. Clarke was lucky. The drop from the second floor window to the sidewalk was short. The alley swept upwards from 9th Ave., ending at the top with the fifth floor’s windows being at street level.

She was out, and she had no idea what to do. By now, Blakely and Cooks would have noticed that she hadn’t come out. Maybe they’d give her another minute. She remembered the Apple watch.

Her mind churned and tumbled. She had opened holes in skulls with drills and saws. She had cracked ribs to expose hearts that stopped beating in front of her eyes. But now, on this warm summer night on an empty sidewalk, she didn’t know what to do. So she ran. The hospital was a mess of old buildings connected by narrow alleys—easy to get lost. But Clarke had done her residency and fellowship here—spent nearly a quarter of her life here—and while she didn’t know the alleys, she knew the buildings, recognized the skyways above linking everything together. She slid from shadow to shadow in the direction of the interstate. It was an intuitive decision, the way she knew exactly where to find the bleeding in surgery.

She kept moving, the rolling rumble of the highway getting closer. Finally, she found herself at the parking garage and knew exactly where to go. She walked calmly through the first level reserved for people going to the ED. She was careful to avoid the security booth where Mitch would be. He was a good guy, and Clarke didn’t want to bring him any trouble. She moved quickly towards an emergency exit which brought her to a fire escape facing the interstate. During her first year as resident, she and Dr. Salem used to meet there to smoke a joint after a 30-hour shift.

She paused. Think. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her breath caught when she came across her mom’s contact. You could have called, she could already hear her saying. We would have figured it out. Even if there was enough time for her mom to get from Whidbey Island to the city—and there wasn’t—it wouldn’t be safe. Anyone she called could be implicated and punished. Unless she chose to crawl back into the hospital, she was now an RRL, a Resistor of the Rule of Law.

This is moment everything changes. The thought cracked across her mind like lightning and disappeared just as fast. The thunder would roll on for years and years.

She closed her contacts and opened Instagram instead. She went to the @emeraldcityjustice profile. Her grin was grim as she hit the Message button. How ridiculous this world had become.

“Canada or the mountains?”

“What?” Clarke shook herself out of a haze. The driver hadn’t spoken since he picked her up from a dark corner under the interstate where @emeraldcityjustice had told her to go. They immediately turned east over the lake to Bellevue.

“You’ll have to decide at the drop point in Everett,” the driver went on. “They can either get you on a ferry to Canada or you can head to a refugee community in the mountains.” He glanced over his shoulder to the back seat where she was lying down to avoid facial recognition cameras on the interstate. “Do you want to escape or do you want to fight?”

THE END. THAT’S IT. I’M SORRY.

#the 100 fanfiction #clarke griffin #WIP backstory #clexa fic backstory #action

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takadasaiko · 4 years

Text

Love Me Twice: Chapter Two

FFN II AO3

Chapter Summary: Dr Lomay assesses the damage done by the failed memory manipulation and Tom Jacob Phelps is not thrilled that no one will give him a straight answer about what happened to him.

----

Chapter Two

It had been hours since Chen had arrived, Dembe not too far behind him. He'd left to check on Agnes who had been safely tucked away with his daughter and granddaughter. The little girl was fussy and agitated at being uprooted from her routine, but safe. It was more than could be said for her father. Dembe's silence said more than any vocalized judgement could have.

Or perhaps it was just the truth of the moment. Red had made a judgement call in which he didn't have expertise to make. "He's stubborn," Dembe said quietly, his first words in hours.

Reddington loosed a long breath. "I'm aware. That's how we landed in this mess."

"I mean that he will pull through. He's stubborn. He will not leave her."

Those dark eyes were fixed on him, wisdom beyond his years in them, and Red swallowed hard. "I hope you're right," he admitted very, very softly. "For her sake."

A knock came at the door and Dembe moved to open in. Dr Chen stood on the other side. The man looked tired. "We've stabilized him."

"Wonderful news. How soon can we -?"

Dembe swivelled, not bothering to hide his discomfort at the question. Chen was the one that answered. "I think you should see for yourself."

"He's awake then?"

Chen didn't answer, but motioned for Reddington to follow after him.

Lomay was still onsite and working with her patient. She had him following a light as Red and Dembe entered, his gaze struggling and his jaw tightly clenched. She looked over and frowned. "All the answers we promised," she said softly and started for the door, her voice quiet as she spoke to Reddington. "He's confused and agitated. Please don't make it worse."

"I'll do my best not to," Reddington promised and was left with a clear path to the bed.

Tom's dark blue eyes did their best to focus on him as he drew closer. There was something hard in them. Something he hadn't seen in many years now. Only the slightest bit of confusion managed to creep in just behind the walls. "You're Raymond Reddington."

The statement stopped Red in his tracks. "I am," he answered carefully. "Do you know where you are?"

The injured man was studying him intently as if he were looking for any sign of the answer that was expected. Anything to give him an edge.

He had no idea where he was, that much was clear.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Your doctor asked me the same thing."

"That's not an answer, Tom."

The confusion finally won out, breaking through that dangerous glare and Tom tilted his head slightly against his pillow, jaw setting in a small tell of irritation. Any other day Reddington would have been in his element with the balance of knowledge in his direction, but not now. There was something very wrong in what was unfolding, and Tom's slow, guarded response only made it worse.

"I don't know who that is."

"Tom Keen. That name doesn't ring any bells?"

"Should it?"

Reddington looked back to the door where the doctors lingered with Dembe, but his attention was pulled back around as Tom started trying to sit up in bed. He reached out, ready to guide him back down, and Tom's hand flashed out, catching him by the wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong for the obvious pain that he was in. "Where the hell am I?"

"Easy. It was the alias you gave when I hired you." A truth. And one that seemed to help ease some of the fight or flight instinct.

Tom eased back against the pillows again. "You hired me?"

"Yes."

"And then what? I can't remember."

"You were injured. My people are taking care of you."

The machine sounded an alert that the pain medication was being pushed. Tom was already fighting it. "McCready. Does he -?"

"Everything's been taken care of," Reddington assured him and he hated hearing the strain in his own voice. Tom didn't seem to notice, though. He was losing focus as the medication flooded his system. His eyelids drooped and the tenseness in his muscles eased as he was pulled back to sleep.

"He's lost time," Lomay said quietly from behind him, her voice tense. "How much, we can't be sure."

"Years." Before Elizabeth had met him. Before he'd become Tom Keen. This man - Jacob Phelps, he supposed - thought he belonged in a world where Bill McCready was still alive and hiring him out as his best operative. "Can it be reversed?"

"I don't know. This isn't my area." Lomay pulled in a breath. "We believe it's prudent to treat his injuries. Let him rebuild his strength. Eric and I will consult with Andrei and his people, but we don't believe it would be wise to allow them direct treatment at this time. They could easily do more harm than good."

"Understood," Reddington said quietly, his mind spinning. With effort, he shoved it down and turned a sharp look on Chen. "Fix this."

He didn't give the younger man a chance to respond before stalking out of the room.

---------

His world was in fragments. Pieces of memories that felt like they were just out of grasp. A voice. A name. A pair of blue eyes that reminded him of the sky and the retreating laugh that left him cold when it was gone.

Everything hurt. He was in a hospital of some form or fashion and every time he opened his eyes they asked him a million questions. What day was it? He didn't know. What was his name? He had no idea which one they wanted. Age? Twenty-four. That one he had. That one they could gauge for themselves.

Or not. The one answer he gave them seemed to be what caused them the most pause.

"Let's try this," the lady doctor said, her voice irritatingly gentle. "What year is it?"

He squeezed his eyes closed, the throbbing just behind them intensifying. "Two-thousand…. Eight." Right? That sounded right.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"A list of really pointless questions," he snapped.

She jotted down a note in a file. "Okay. I'm going to say a few names and I want you to tell me if you know them. Can you do that for me?"

The longer this went on, the more suspicious he became. He had the vaguest memory of someone coming in and telling him he'd been injured on a job, but he couldn't recall who it was or if he'd even said how he'd been injured. He certainly hadn't been given a chance to reach out to Bud or call in an extraction. This wasn't how St Regis operated. He should be in his own medical facilities in Upstate New York, not wherever the hell he'd been dropped. None of this made any sense and he was tired of playing this woman's game on her terms. "How about this? I give you an answer, you give me one."

She considered that a moment before giving a brief nod. "I think we can manage that. First name -" she looked down at her file - "Elizabeth Keen."

"I don't know who that is. My question: full list of my injuries."

To her credit, she didn't hesitate as she flipped through her notes. "GSW to the left shoulder that someone dug out before we saw you. Three stab wounds to the left side, one that nicked your lung and was torn more by exertion. And, of course, memory loss. That's the reason we're going through these questions."

"Concussion?"

"No."

"Then how -?"

"It's my turn." He blinked at the tone. "Agnes Keen."

"I don't know any Keens. Happy? If it wasn't a blow to the head, how am I missing time?"

"That's complicated."

"Didn't realize there were rules to this."

"I'm not at liberty to answer that one. Next -"

"No."

"I'm just trying to help you."

"Then get me a phone."

"I can't do that."

"There's a lot you can't do, isn't there?" he snapped and was halfway on his elbows when the pain ripped through him and sent him tumbling back. Black spots danced across his vision.

"... Keen? Mr Keen, can you hear me?"

"Told you. I don't know any Keens," Jacob muttered as his eyes slipped closed again.

---------

Best he could tell he'd been there at least a week. Maybe longer. He could feel at least some of his strength returning, but as it did he found that they were keeping him sedated when there wasn't someone in the room peppering him with questions. All that did was solidify his original suspicion that he was in unfriendly territory. They'd done this to him. Why was still up for grabs, but if he was going to put money on it he would bet that they were fishing for specific intel and burying the lead in the neverending line of questions every time he pried his eyes open. If they didn't get it - or even if they did - he wouldn't be useful to them much longer. He needed to get out.

The constant sedation was his biggest problem. Even when he was awake he was groggy, and even if he could manipulate the interrogation to keep it going long enough to clear his head he wasn't sure he was capable of fighting his way out. He could probably take the doctors, but he had no idea what was on the other side of that door. No, he had to outthink them. Good thing he'd always been good at that.

He took the latest round of questions as long as he could, fingers carefully groping for the IV that pushed the medication into his veins that put him under as the doctors left. More names, dates, questions. They were obsessed with these people: Elizabeth and Agnes. There were others that popped up a few times. They asked him if he'd ever worked for Raymond Reddington or if the name Berlin meant anything to him.

Jacob heard the telltale sound of the machine to the side pushing medication and he tightened his fingers around the tube under the sheet. "I take it we're done?"

Dr Cho offered a small smile as he stood. "You need rest."

"When you're done with me, what do you plan to do?"

"You're safe here. We're not going to hurt you."

Funny, he sounded like he almost believed that. Jacob forced his breathing to even out and his eyes to slip heavily closed. All the signs that he was being pulled under. He waited, listening to the retreating footsteps, and then he waited some more. Finally he let his eyes slide open carefully, peering out into the room from beneath dark lashes. He was alone. Good.

His injuries were far from healed and he felt them pull as he reached to remove the IV from his hand. He unhooked the equipment using all the tricks he'd learned as a teenager when he'd decided he was bored of the medical wing after an injury in the field. It remained silent as he made his way gingerly to the window, pulling at the heavy curtain there to get an idea where he was.

It was dark outside. Well that was a plus. The fact that he was on the second floor didn't help his escape though. Alright then. Hallway it was.

Jacob padded his way to the door, bare feet silent against the tile floor, and he supposed he should at least be grateful his captors had left him in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt. He might want to find a pair of shoes before he made his way out to the street, though. That way he didn't draw too much attention.

The hallway was blessedly empty and he took off towards what looked like a stairwell. The sound of a respirator drew his attention to a partially closed door. He wasn't the only person they were keeping here. Interesting.

He pressed his fingers lightly against the door, letting it swing open a little more to see a woman in the bed. Jacob inched forward to get a better look. There was something about her, but he couldn't quite catch hold of what it was. Dark hair spilled out across the pillow, eyes closed, skin pale, and the respirator forced air into her lungs. His gaze traveled down to see a ring on her left hand. He didn't know he was reaching for the limp fingers until he touched them and he felt his breath catch.

And just like that the spell broke.

Jacob jerked his hand back, hissing in pain at the quick movement. He had to get out of this place. Nothing made sense here and if he didn't get out right then, they would probably decide he wasn't worth the effort to keep alive even if they hadn't gotten what they wanted from him. He didn't know this woman. She wasn't his problem. Right? Right. He forced himself to turn away and start for the door, back to his original goal: the stairs.

Everything was quiet as he entered the stairwell. He leaned against the wall for a moment, his energy spent quicker than it would have been if he were healthy. It didn't matter. The first step was getting out, then he could call for backup. Then he could -

The door at the bottom of the stairwell opened and slammed shut, the sound reverberating against the concrete and Jacob froze where he was. His dark gaze latched onto the equally surprised doctor that stood at the bottom of the stairs. He turned, ready to spring back in the direction he came as quietly as he could, but the sudden movement sent a shock of pain through him and he found himself back against the wall, knuckles white as they grasped the railing.

He must have blacked out for just a moment because the next thing he knew hands were on him and he found the doctor standing with him. Chen, he thought. He was pretty sure that was his name. The man looked worried as he tried to steady him.

"You shouldn't be out of bed. Just a moment. Let me get some help." His hands left Jacob's shoulder and dark blue eyes cracked open just enough to see the phone he was pulling out of his coat pocket. That was it. That's what he needed.

Jacob steeled himself, letting instincts honed by years of training drive him as he swung around. His right elbow connected with the doctor's jaw, catching him by surprise and slamming him back hard enough to knock him out. He eased him down against the steps, not wanting to draw more attention to his location, and snatched the phone. A quick press of his thumb against the reader opened it up so that he could adjust the settings so that it wouldn't require a password moving forward. He pocketed the phone and drew in a steadying breath. Okay. Now he just needed to get out.

Adrenaline helped to dull the pain in his left side and shoulder to get him down the rest of the stairs. He pushed the door open, emptying out into a hall. Left was clear, but a guard was making the rounds to the right. He instantly drew his gun, but that was confusion that flashed across his face. That was useful at least.

"You shouldn't be down here," the guard called out, lowering his gun without holstering it.

Jacob pressed a hand to his side and leaned heavily against the wall. "Listen, I got kinda turned around. I just…"

The guard moved forward, more at ease now and the weapon was no longer trained on Jacob. "It's alright. Let's get you upstairs. Dr Chen was on his way to see you. He can -"

His movements were quick. As soon as the guard touched him, ready to help him back up to his room, Jacob's hand flashed out and grabbed the gun. He turned it, firing three rapid shots into the other man, and watched him slump to the floor. He stood there for a long moment, his entire body trembling under the strain of the quickly dissipating adrenaline rush, and he winced as he pressed his empty hand against his side, blood already soaking through his shirt. Great. Just what he needed. He had to get out of there before anything else went wrong.

Jacob stumbled his way down to the hall and found a door leading out the side of the building and into an empty street. It was later than he'd realized, most people in bed, and he pushed himself along. He exchanged the gun for the less conspicuous phone in case anyone did happen to drive by. Bloody fingers clumsily dialed a number.

It rang once, twice, three times before finally connecting to the expected dead air on the other end.

"Bud. It's me. Something went wrong. I need an extraction."

There was a long pause before a voice that was definitely not Bill McCready's spoke. "Jacob?"

"Gina? Where's Bud?"

"What are you doing calling this number?"

"I don't have time for this. Something happened… I don't know what. I've lost time and I -" He doubled over, loosing the grip he'd had against his side to catch himself as he half collapsed against the nearest solid object, leaving a trail of blood streaked against the vehicle. Great. Just great.

"What do you mean you lost time? What the hell are you doing calling here?"

"I don't remember," he managed. When had it gotten so hard to breathe? "I just… The job's blown. Whatever the job was. Listen, I need an extraction. Tell Bud -"

"Where are you?"

He pushed himself off the car and looked around. "I don't know. DC, looks like? I don't know."

"I traced the call. I've got you. Find a place to lay low. I'll have someone at your location in ten minutes."

"Kay," he breathed out, stumbling towards an alley and sinking back against the building. He wasn't going to make it any further than this, but at least it was out of the general pathway if anyone decided on a late night stroll.

"Jacob?"

He blinked hard, trying to focus. "Yeah?"

"Don't die."

A rough chuckle escaped him. "Trying not to." Then everything went black.

---------

TBC

Next Time: Red discovers that Tom is missing and tracks him down to St Regis while Tom looks for any answers he can find.

Notes: Hello hello! It's Friday again. I hope everyone is staying safe and well!

Thank you for all the lovely reviews and responses! It's great to see names I've seen for years back in the review inbox as well as some new ones. You guys are fantastic! 3

This week has been really good for finding answers to some of the questions I hadn't quite sussed out for this story yet. I keep a longrunning set of notes with plotpoints and various other details for stories like this to help keep everything straight. One of the reasons I was so hesitant to start posting (even over 20K into it) was because I didn't have those answers, so it feels great to have found some of them along the way as things start falling into place with the writing.

For those that don't follow me over on Tumblr I'm releasing a sneak peek every week in the form of AU gif sets of at least one scene in the upcoming chapter. They're a lot of fun to make. You can find them over at .com and just look up "Love Me Twice" in the search for my blog and you should be able to find them. Those are posting every Tuesday.

#the blacklist #Blacklist Fanfiction #Tom Keen #Raymond Reddington #Elizabeth Keen #Gina Zanetakos

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darkshadow90 · 4 years

Text

His Obsession Chapter 19

A/N: Hey guys. Things get intense in this chapter. If kidnapping bothers you, you should probably skip this one. Otherwise, I hope you like it 🙂

Chapter 19

Ashe felt a huge wave of anxiety the whole day. She was relieved she didn’t see the clown on her way home. At the same time, she was beginning to wonder if it was all in her head. Even though she was alone the whole time, she still felt the need to constantly check her surroundings. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed. She felt a little safer now that she was home. ‘I’m so grateful for my boss. He’s always been nice to all of us. I wasn’t expecting him to be so understanding about everything. I guess working at a small printing shop isn’t so bad. I’m happy I have a job and a good boss. A lot of people have had a hard time finding work in this city. I feel sorry for them. I also feel guilty for being lucky. If they could find jobs that payed them decent wages, maybe the riots wouldn’t have happened. If I could agree with Arthur on one thing, it’s that Gotham is definitely a shit hole. And yeah, there are uncaring people here. Some of them are shit heads, but there are also good people here, too. I’m really glad none of the ones I know were hurt. They wouldn’t have deserved it. I wish I could do something for the city’s less fortunate residents. Something besides giving them food. I know it’s my caring nature that makes me more likely to get into trouble, but I won’t stop trying to be a good person. I just wish it didn’t lead me to Arthur. If I had just ignored everything on the subway that day, then maybe...’ She began to tear up. She wiped her eyes, and decided to take a shower. She took the extra bottles of shampoo, and conditioner out from under the sink, and she took the spare bottle of body wash out of the small drawer. She put everything on the side of the tub, and she froze when she saw what was on the other side. ‘That’s the bottle of body wash I was using at Arthur’s place. How did it get here? Oh, right. The detectives must’ve brought it with my clothes. Silly me. I have nothing to worry about. Arthur’s in Arkham. It’s fine. I’ll just call Sandy and ask for their number so I can call them and thank them.’ She calmed down and took a long shower. It felt really nice to her. She felt dirty for some reason, like she hadn’t showered in days. She finished up, dressed herself in a long, pink t-shirt and a comfortable pair of lounge pants.

Ashe went over to the phone and called Sandy. It rang a few times before she picked up. “Hello?” “Sandy, it’s Ashe.” “Oh, hi, Ashe. I was about to call you since it’s been a few days. Did you want to talk about anything?” “Well, yeah, I do. It’s about Arthur and other things. As you can probably guess, I’m still not doing well. I keep having nightmares. They’re about Arthur, but he’s different.” “What do you mean?” “Well he acted different than he did when we were in his apartment. Arthur always seemed shy and timid, like he wanted to do things but was afraid to act on them. But in the dreams he was a lot more confident and bold, almost like a completely different person. He seemed like he was more likely to act on his impulses, and could care less about the consequences. I can’t shake the feeling I’m not entirely safe.” “It’s probably your PTSD manifesting itself in your dreams. It’s going to take time to heal.” “I’m not so sure, Sandy. There’s always been something about him that’s wolffish.” “Wolffish? What do you mean?” “Well by looking at him, you would assume he’s extremely weak because he’s so thin. But he isn’t weak. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, and he’s no criminal mastermind, but he’s not dumb. Like a starving wolf, he’s very thin and looks weak, but he’s not. There’s something wild in him, untamed and waiting to pounce. A starving wolf is still dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous than a well-fed wolf. Also, I saw a clown on my way to work today.” “A lot of people work as clowns, Ashe. Gary does.” “Yeah, but this one smiled at me like he knew me.” “He was probably just being friendly.” “Yeah, maybe. Hey, do you have the numbers for the detectives?” “I have Detective Garrity’s number. Why? Do you need something?” “I just wanted to thank him for everything.” “Okay, sure.” Sandy gave her the number and they hung up.

Ashe called as soon as Sandy hung up. “Yeah, this is Garrity.” “Hey Detective Garrity, it’s Ashe. I’m the girl who was kidnapped by Arthur Fleck.” “Yeah, I remember. Sandy shared her notes with me about you. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know it must be hard for you. I’m actually helping investigate two brutal assaults. I don’t know if you’ve heard about them.” “Yeah, I did. It’s awful.” “Yeah. We still don’t know who did it.” “I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to thank you for everything.” “Sure.” “It was really nice of you to bring my clothes and other things back to my apartment.” There was a long pause. “Ashe, has anything strange happened the last few days?” “I saw a clown this morning.” “A clown? Can you describe it to me?” He felt a chill run down his spine. The description Ashe gave him matched exactly how Arthur looked the night he shot Murray Franklin. It occurred to him Arthur escaped from Arkham and was responsible for the assaults. “Ashe, is everything locked can anyone get in?” “Yeah, why?” “I don’t know how to say this, but we never went inside your apartment. We didn’t return your things. Someone else did.” “I don’t understand. You know I live on Anderson Avenue.” “Yeah, but we never went into your apartment.” “If it wasn’t you, then who?” Ashe felt panic when she realized who it could’ve been. ‘Oh, no...no. No, not him, please no. It can’t be him. He’s locked away in Arkham.’ But it all made sense. The day she came back to her apartment, it must’ve been Arthur she saw out of the corner of her eye. He brought everything back to her apartment and was leaving as she, Gary, and Sandy were coming to the building. Then there were the two assaults, one of the victims worked at Arkham. Then she saw the clown on her way to work. ‘Fuck! All this time he was following me. I thought it was in my head. I know it’s only a matter of time. What the fuck am I supposed to do?!’ “Detective, I think Arthur is out there looking for me. Can you please send someone out here?” Detective Garrity felt a huge pang of guilt wash over him. “No. I can’t a lot of our officers were hurt during the riots and we’re understaffed. I’m sorry. The soonest we can get someone out there would be in the morning.” “I don’t know if I have that long.” “I’m sorry. Just keep everything locked. I’ll try to send someone over in the morning. Try to hang in there. And make sure you check to see who’s at the door before you let them in, okay?” “Okay...” Ashe hung up and was trying to keep herself calm. She turned on the TV took her meds, and finally went to sleep.

Arthur waited for hours. He sat there, hiding in her closet. He didn’t mind. He knew what the payoff would be. He knew the police department was understaffed and the majority of them didn’t give a shit. He was in the clear. He was craving a cigarette, but he couldn’t smoke one. It would give him away. That was the worst part. Not to mention he forgot about the chemical soaked rag in his pocket. ‘It was nice of Barry to give me this, but now I smell like all that stuff under sink. Who knows where he even got this stuff anyway? He did say it would be easier to sedate her since she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight. Whatever makes it easier, I guess.’ When she was asleep, he made his way over to the bed. She woke up and screamed when she saw him. He put the rag over her nose and mouth, so she would inhale the substance. He held it more firmly against her than he meant to. He was trying to keep her from moving her face away from the rag, and muffle her screams so no one on the upper floors would hear her. Arthur’s hold was so firm, it caused Ashe’s jaw to hurt. She kept screaming. She smelled harsh chemicals, and her throat burned. She managed to fight him off long enough to get the rag away from her face. She took deep breaths to try and relieve the burning in her lungs. She felt like she was suffocating. Feeling lightheaded, she got off the bed and tried to make it to her window so she could climb out and escape. She moved too fast, and fell down, coughing violently. She tried to get back up, but Arthur grabbed her from behind and injected her with the sedative. He felt so guilty about what he did. He wanted to tell her it was him. He knew she didn’t recognize him. He knew she was scared. How could he blame her? It hurt him, but it had to be done. After a few more seconds of holding Ashe, as she struggled like a wounded animal trying to break free from his grip, she finally passed out. Arthur put her on the bed. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. “It’s me. I got her. Meet me outside.”

#arthur fleck #joker fanfiction #joker fandom #joker movie #joker 2019

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mutantsrisingrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations DEAN! You’ve been accepted as JANUS with a FC change to CASEY DEIDRICK.

Dean, first let me say that when I saw an app from you in our inbox I screamed! Now, onto business. The way you created a backstory for Jackson that starts in Las Vegas and ends in Chicago kept me hanging on each and every word. I have to admit, the detail about how there’s only one form of identification with his true face and name was one of my favorite parts! I also loved how you broke name his name - it’s a little detail that went a long way in figuring out who Jackson is. We’re so excited to have you back on the dash and with our Janus!

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

NAME/ALIAS: Dean

PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT, fairly active

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Jackson Sawyer Raemers

GENDER/PRONOUNS: He/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: This is where you show us who the character is to you! The format of this doesn’t matter, whether it’s in bullet points or in para form, and can be as long as you’d like it to be. Feel free to get creative!

The name Jackson is a Scottish name. In Scottish the meaning of the name Jackson is: God has been gracious; has shown favour. Based on John or Jacques.

Sawyer was an English meaning, a occupational name for someone who earned his living by sawing wood, Middle English saghier, an agent derivative of sagh(en) ‘to saw’.

Raemers based on Ramer, The oldest form of the name is “Reinmar” or “Reginmar,” which literally meant “famous councillor.” Always prominent in social affairs.

He’s a walking contradiction, his mind never 100% made on a singular motive and distraction easily pulled him from one thing to the next. Jackson’s chaos is a subtle one, orchestrated solely for his own enjoyment until there’s reason to repel against something or someone. Opinionated in a way in which his argument could be swerved from one side the the other only because he wanted to play devil’s advocate and test other people’s beliefs because it gives him comfort to see witness the grey spots in other’s morals.

A lot of what he does was born from his own insecurities, the voice in the back of his head telling him that we were more worthless than the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. So he hides his true self carefully, uses masks of humour and then hides behind other peoples identities. Carefully packaging away his own demons with false confidence that couldn’t be questioned.

BIO:

Fraud and robberies became second nature, easier than breathing yet essential to keep his head from sinking below the water. It was ironic, how swift his own actions turned from survival to pure indulgence. Disordered violence increasingly becomes addictive due to the way it supplied him with a steady rush of endorphins. The taste of rebellion even more rewarding when it was fuelled by the very mutation that he’d been discriminated for his entire life. He’d unlocked his true potential, a criminal with the ability to morph fluidly from one appearance to the next.

He supposes it was a form of obsession, in contrast to his former self, an upbringing spent repressing his powers to appease his terrified parents who feared the opinion of the neighbourhood than what may become of their son by neglecting a key part of his identity. Living life as an outlaw, adorning himself in tourist t-shirts and tacky dollar store sunglasses was a vast improvement. A lifestyle that saw him existing out of the trunk of his car, mustard stains from a drive-thru burger discolouring the map which lay open on his passenger seat, red ink circling his next destination. He couldn’t picture himself living an average life, didn’t want to be another cog in a well oiled cooperate machine where he’d become just another number sat at a desk until he’d worked up enough hours to pay off a mortgage.

Jackson’s luck fell short, naturally, the second his car pulled into sin city. Las Vegas with the luminosity of neon lights and slot machines was the single worst decision he could have made. Worse than disowning his family, worse than his impulsive decision making when getting tattoos and maybe even worse than the time he’d shifted into the body of a girl scout in some desperate attempt of getting a dozen boxes of thin mints free of charge. But like a moth to a flame, it was the adrenaline that led him to do it. Shifting from one casino owner to the next, he’d committed fraud multiple times each night and donate the remainder of the money after he’d loaded up on hawaiian shirts and sugary snacks, to organisations working against mutant laws and discrimination. Like a modern day Robin Hood, only driving a rusted up old Chevrolet in dire need of a new paint job.

It’s a mixture of arrogance and a blimp in his concentration that causes it to all unravel. Facading as a beer bellied Elvis impersonator in one of the chapels, he’d spent the evening pick pocketing gambling money from unsuspecting intoxicated couples who’d been making poor life decisions. It was easy work which naturally meant he’d become sloppy, the sort of stupidity that lands him an evening in police custody and unable to show any identification on himself other than a driving license that matches his true appearance. Jackson Sawyer Raemers, born November 22nd in the state of Arizona, an individual with an outstanding warrant for his arrest and a suspected mutant. There’s no court trial, no mention of imprisonment or bail. Instead he’s transported overnight to a medical research facility, sedated and left to answer for his crimes in what he would deem to be the pits of hell.

He’s carefully monitored, pumped with medication and used as a lab rat for illnesses to watch how his mutation may help him to recover- if at all. Cut open and stitched together again, regular interviews for insights on his ability and encouraged with rewards to see how far he could push his powers under supervision. Of course those rewards never met anything more exciting than a pudding cup with lunch or a ten minute stoll in the security monitored outdoor area. The three years he’s trapped there he learns a few things about himself and his mutation; no matter how many times they tried they couldn’t replicate it in a tube, even with the ability of cell reconstruction this hadn’t granted him immunity from the common cold and pudding cups definitely weren’t worth the amount effort he’d been putting in for them.

It was entirely by chance that a group of enraged mutants in the facility had grouped together to form a riot. The building caught up in an intentional blaze that triggered cell doors to swing open and allow their occupants to vacate. With such a perfect diversion in place, Jackson takes his opportunity to escape by shifting into the appearance of one of the women who had been treating him. Able to use her fingerprints to unlock the exit, the first thing he does is hot wires the Mercedes in the parking lot and takes off back on the road. They say old habits die hard, much could be said the same for Jackson. How easily he fell back into his old games of identity theft as if three years worth of reflection had taught him nothing.

He returns to what he does best, only now it was personal, the lust of rebellion replaced with spite for those who had been disceting him like a science project. Jackson spends his time examining the faces that appear in the media voice against mutant rights and the research entrepreneurs that treated as nothing more than a paycheck. It’s how he finds himself in Chicago, rumoured a place that was almost a santuary for mutants where he’d be able to meet like minded individuals. And of course, it’s how he finds The Jem Family. He’s still not entirely sure why Damien had taken a liking towards him, his only redeemable factor being that he was reckless enough to not question any given orders in which other members may shudder at. It was an overwhelming sense of finally belonging to something, that he’d mattered outside of his own world and could really make a difference.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Luca Medoza: He finds them entertaining, his own laid back rebellion in contrast to something much bolder. Subtle versus out right in your face. He’d spend a lot of time with Luca, telling her what had happened in the latest true crime series he’d been watching and not minding too much when the only thing she picks up on was that he’d spent 10 hours straight binge watching on Netflix again.

Neve Kaplan: She’s the first person in a long time that he doesn’t hide any aspect of himself from. He let her see every aspect of his personality, the gritty details and forbidden secrets he hadn’t dared to share with anyone else. For a while she’d been his home, the missing part of the puzzle that could take the bitterness away and ease his own reckless behaviours, until she’s gone. It still stings when he see’s her, but it’s also a pleasant reminder that at least what he’d felt had been real.

Cain Douglas: He gets pleasure out of his visits and will show up even if the damage is nothing spectacular. He’s absolutely rolled up with a paper cut before and made it out as if he’d lost a limb over texts on his way there. Jackson gets most his kicks from aggravating the hell out of people and with Cain it was almost too easy. Although when he is genuinely hurt it does become a little more difficult of Cain to take him seriously with all the jokes he plays. Sometimes he’ll fake an injury just to get some advice, doctors and therapists are basically the same thing, right?

EXTRA: This section is completely optional. You can add anything here such as: more para samples, headcanons, mock blogs, edits, playlists, etc. Please note that because it is optional, putting everything or nothing in this section will not be a determining factor in your application. This is just for fun!

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/dean_ie/janus/

Tag: https://stereotypicalcancerwrites.tumblr.com/tagged/ch:%20jackson%20raemers

-Jackson is obsessed with snacking, or any opportunity to stuff his face with food really. He’ll take it personal if you go out for a meal and he doesn’t get an invite.

-He can’t function without a morning coffee. 3 shots served black with one spoonful of sugar. He’ll have another at noon because he’s a night owl and eternally paying the price.

-He has a fear of blood, it makes him feel dizzy and he’s absolutely the worst person to have around if you were in a serious injury. He’d pass out before you would.

-Jackson can sing The Element Song by Tom Lehrer perfectly from memory.

-He has a habit of seeing the world from a very cynical perspective and is always anticipating the worst to happen in any given situation. It allows him to feel less surprised or out of control when things do turn sour.

-Jackson has a doberman named Bella, as in Bella Swan- he was trying to be funny

-He doesn’t trust easily and as a result he’s pretty distant. He’s always got a guard up and is very reluctant to let people into his life as most people that have seen the real him have resulted in negative connotation.

-He is allergic to shellfish so if someone wanted to kill him…

-He is always using humour and bad behaviour as a defense mechanism from people getting too close to see the real him.

-He had a stutter as a kid due to low self-esteem. It occasionally comes back when he’s stressed or upset. It’s one of the giveaways for his shapeshifting.

-Jackson is a reckless driver

-He’s obsessed with 1970s music

-Jackson is a hoarder, he collects a lot of pointless stuff like the top of bottle caps, funny slogan tshirts and cheap sunglasses from dollar stores

-He hates having to dress up formally, he feels like it draws attention to him and not in a funny showing off sort of way

-He has numerous tattoos and none of them were what you’d consider ‘good’, they’re shitty or only there to illustrate some pun or memory of a drunken evening. He’s upset some of the scars from the research facility have beheaded a hulahooping stick men on his leg.

ANYTHING ELSE: Did you have any questions or any changes you wanted to discuss with us beforehand?

FC change to Casey Deidrick

#accepted: janus #accepted

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plainjaned-blog · 6 years

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AMERICAN BEAUTY SENTENCE STARTERS

Because I can never find one I like, and that’s a shame. Some sentences are slightly modified for flow reasons, feel free to tweak and modify however needed. NSFW mentions / implications below.

❝ In less than a year, I’ll be dead. ❞

❝ In a way, I’m dead already. ❞

❝ I get exhausted just watching her. ❞

❝ We used to be happy. ❞

❝ I wish I could say that’s all going to pass....but I don’t want to lie. ❞

❝ Are you trying to look unattractive? ❞

❝ I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I know I didn’t always feel this...sedated. ❞

❝ But you know what? It’s never too late to get it back. ❞

❝ You got a minute? ❞

❝ Gotta spend money to make money. ❞

❝ I’m one of the good guys, [NAME]. ❞

❝ You don’t think it’s weird, and kind of fascist? ❞

❝ Do we always have to listen to this elevator music? ❞

❝ How was school? ❞

❝ You couldn’t possibly care less, could you? ❞

❝ You can’t all of a sudden be my best friend just because you had a bad day. ❞

❝ You’ve barely even spoken to me for months. ❞

❝ Oh, what, you’re mother of the year? ❞

❝ You know you don’t always have to wait for me to come to you, right? ❞

❝ What happened? We used to be pals. ❞

❝ Oh what, now it’s my fault? ❞

❝ Just filled with positive energy, huh? ❞

❝ Who are you looking for? ❞

❝ They’re trying to, you know, take an active interest in me. ❞

❝ She doesn’t want us to know how important this is to her. ❞

❝ I bet money she’s gonna resent it. ❞

❝ I’m sensing a real distance growing between you and [NAME]. ❞

❝ We can leave right after this, right? ❞

❝ I’m so proud of you! I watched you very closely, you didn’t screw up once! ❞

❝ Do you need a ride? We can give you a ride. I have a car, do you want to come with us? ❞

❝ Could he be any more...pathetic? ❞

❝ It’s the weirdest thing -- I feel like I’ve been in a coma for the last twenty years, and I’m just now waking up. ❞

❝ I’m used to guys drooling over me. ❞

❝ There’s nothing worse in life than being ordinary. ❞

❝ I really think it’ll happen for you. ❞

❝ Everything that’s meant to happen does, eventually. ❞

❝ Asshole. ❞

❝ Well my phone rang, and I answered it, and they hung up. So I star-sixty-nined it and it called you back. ❞

❝ I’m sorry, I must have forgotten. ❞

❝ This country is going straight to hell. ❞

❝ Are you expecting anyone? ❞

❝ Let’s cut to the chase, okay? What are you selling? ❞

❝ Don’t placate me. ❞

❝ Hey, that’s how things really are. ❞

❝ I’m so sick of people taking their insecurities out on me. ❞

❝ They can’t put you away just for saying weird things. ❞

❝ You’ve got a crush on him! You’re defending him, you love him, you wanna have, like, ten thousand of his babies! ❞

❝ I kind of remember this really creepy incident where you were filming me last night. ❞

❝ I didn’t mean to scare you, I just think you’re interesting. ❞

❝ I’m not obsessing, I’m just curious. ❞

❝ He’s so...confident. It can’t be real. ❞

❝ Do me a favor, act happy tonight. ❞

❝ Oh, we’ve met before -- it’s okay, I wouldn’t remember me either. ❞

❝ Honey, don’t be weird. ❞

❝ I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink. ❞

❝ Do you party? ...Do you get high? ❞

❝ I’m not paying you to do...whatever it is you’re doing out here. ❞

❝ I quit, so you don’t have to pay me. Now leave me alone. ❞

❝ I think you just became my personal hero. ❞

❝ I’m in trouble. ❞

❝ Last time I saw you, you seemed pretty wound up. ❞

❝ What if he worships you? What if he’s got a shrine with pictures of you surrounded by dead people’s heads and stuff? ❞

❝ Welcome to America’s weirdest home videos. ❞

❝ You’ve been working out, haven’t you? I can tell. ❞

❝ That’s right, I was choking the bishop, chafing the carrot, saying hi to my monster. ❞

❝ It’s a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself. ❞

❝ When I was your age I flipped burgers all summer just to buy an 8-track. ❞

❝ Never underestimate the power of denial. ❞

❝ Using illegal psychotropic substances is a very positive example to set for our daughter. ❞

❝ Do you mind? I’m trying to work out here. Unless...you wanna spot me. ❞

❝ My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge and fantasizing about a life that doesn’t so closely resemble hell. ❞

❝ Man, you are one twisted fuck. ❞

❝ I’m just an ordinary guy with nothin’ to lose. ❞

❝ As if being driven to succeed is some sort of...character flaw! ❞

❝ Do you need a ride? ❞

❝ I don’t wanna end up hacked into pieces in a dumpster somewhere. ❞

❝ I’m sure there have been amazing technological advancements in the industry, but surely you’ve got some sort of training program. It seems unfair to presume I couldn’t learn. ❞

❝ Have you ever known anybody that died? ❞

❝ When you see something like that, it’s like god is looking right at you, just for a second. And if you’re careful, you can look right back. ❞

❝ You’re scared of me. ❞

❝ That’s the day I realized there was this...higher life, behind things. This incredibly benevolent force wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid. Ever. ❞

❝ Today I quit my job, and then I told my boss to go fuck himself and blackmailed him for almost sixty thousand dollars. ❞

❝ You don’t complain? If you don’t complain, what is this? ❞

❝ Don’t interrupt me, honey. ❞

❝ You cannot count on anyone except yourself. It’s sad but true. ❞

❝ I really don’t feel like having a Kodak moment here, okay? ❞

❝ You ungrateful brat! ❞

❝ You need structure. You need discipline. ❞

❝ When did you become so...joyless? ❞

❝ I don’t like how I look. ❞

❝ I can’t believe you don’t know how beautiful you are. ❞

❝ You don’t feel naked? ❞

❝ I wanted to kill him. I would have killed him, if they hadn’t pulled me off. ❞

❝ It’d be nice if I was anywhere near as important to him as she is. ❞

❝ Now I too need structure, and fucking discipline. ❞

❝ Someone should just put him out of his misery. ❞

❝ Want me to kill him for you? ❞

❝ I guess I’m not a very nice girl then, am I? ❞

❝ Do you know how lucky we are to have found each other? ❞

❝ We’ve met before, but something tells me you’re going to remember me this time. ❞

❝ You don’t get to tell me what to do. Ever. Again. ❞

❝ In order to be successful, one must project an image of success at all times. ❞

❝ Look, I’m not gonna talk about his dick with you, okay? ❞

❝ So, you and [NAME] are fucking on like a regular basis now, right? ❞

❝ We gotta get you a real man. ❞

❝ Jesus, what is it with you!? ❞

❝ I’m the best piece of ass in three states. ❞

❝ Get out! I don’t ever want to see you again! ❞

❝ What a sad old man you are. ❞

❝ I wish things would have been better for you. ❞

❝ I refuse to be a victim. ❞

❝ If I had to leave tonight, would you come with me? ❞

❝ I’m no more a kid than you are. ❞

❝ Go fuck yourself! ❞

❝ Why do you even care? ❞

❝ Yeah, well? At least I’m not ugly. ❞

❝ You’re boring. And you’re totally ordinary. And you know it. ❞

❝ You two deserve each other. ❞

❝ She’s just someone you use to feel good about yourself. ❞

❝ We really ought to get you out of these clothes... ❞

❝ Just tell me what you need. It’s okay. ❞

❝ [NAME] and I had a fight. ❞

❝ Are you scared? ❞

❝ I don’t get scared. ❞

❝ It’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. ❞

❝ I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. ❞

❝ You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure, but don’t worry. You will someday.❞

#rp meme #sentence starters #|| I'm not gonna be a part of it ( memes. )#annnnnnd there we go #I justified another rewatch with mild productivity #long post /#these are hard because I hate small selections but if you put them under a cut 80% of people won't look at the rest

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dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

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{Valentine’s Collection} #2

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Monica laughed nervously in response to the earnest, near-desperate statement, but William didn’t join her laughter--because he meant it. Every word.

The past shared between William Birkin and his former test subject Monica was sordid at it’s very best, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t love blooming between Stockholm Syndrome and William’s devotion to Umbrella and it’s vision for the future. William told Monica he loved her and he meant it; not only did he mean it but he proved it, daily, even if the origin of their love came in the form of a containment cage and sedatives.

It was a ritual, practiced and routine. Umbrella would bring in the next batch of test subjects from Raccoon City, and William lined up with the rest of the scientists and researchers to either select or be assigned from the batch. The routine was unremarkable and so practiced it was nearly mundane, but the moment the lights illuminated the containment cages and William laid eyes on the one labeled MONICA his entire world shifted, skewed. The lights were bright, causing her to stir and lift one hand to shield her eyes but he’d caught sight of the brilliant emerald before she’d done so. Her hair shone like expensive silk and her unmarred, sun-kissed skin had his fingers twitching with an unfathomable need to touch. William knew instantly he had to have her and it had nothing to do with the research he was conducting.

Luckily for him, his impulse to have her meant his hand was up before anyone else’s and he got first pick. Off she was whisked to his laboratory with him walking alongside her cage like a puppy anxious for his first treat.

Initially, what he felt had confounded him. Monica was half-heartedly glaring at him from inside her containment cage, sitting on the floor of the 12x12 glass box because she was too drowsy to stand.The sedatives Umbrella used were top of the line, after all, but it was something William was grateful for. It allowed him to open her cage door and step inside, to kneel in front of her and get his first touch of skin softer than freshly fallen snow. She’d tried to turn her head from him but he hadn’t allowed it, easily stronger than she especially in this state.

“Extraordinary...�� He’d mused, not bothering with gloves as he ran his thumb over her lower lip, his entire body reacting to her in a way he’d never experienced. He was a man of science, of knowledge and the furthering of humanity in a twisted pursuit of perfection but suddenly...suddenly that didn’t seem all that important. Perfection was right in front of him.

William had a job to do and he of course needed subjects to test his research on but that had never been his intent with Monica. Anyone suggesting that to him was met with either anger or a bewildered question of, “Why? There is nothing to improve.” It seemed he’d accepted his curious feelings without realizing it, unable to understand obsessive love when it was staring him in the face--and Monica was, because William gave her no choice or say about the matter. Initially he kept her mildly sedated, not wanting her to hurt herself in his lab...and selfishly, so he could hold her without her struggling against him. At first it was enough simply to hold her, to cradle her like a child upon his lap while he studied cultures under a microscope, other test subjects treated like so much cattle but never Monica. She never felt the prick of a needle except to sedate her, and under no circumstances was she to ever undergo any procedure Umbrella had to offer. Monica became William’s most prized possession and he took her everywhere he could--anywhere he couldn’t take her, he didn’t stay for too long, always staring at the clock anxiously, wanting to be back with her again. The devoted focus that William used to give his work was now all focused on Monica, minute after minute, hour after hour. The longer he had her, however, the more he began to desire more that just the simple, not-so-innocent act of holding her...and he hated having to sedate her. Why couldn’t she love him back? Maybe...maybe she could. No, she would. He’d make sure of it.

“We’re going to try a little experiment today, Monica,” William unlocked Monica’s containment cage one morning, but by that point it was no longer a cage. He’d had a proper extension put on it so it was tripled in size; he outfitted it with a plush mattress, soft, warm blankets and even stuffed animals--especially after he’d seen she was quite taken with the first one he’d given her. Little toys littered the cage and he’d given her stickers and coloring books as well to occupy her time when he wasn’t with her. That morning had been exactly the same as all the others; William unlocked the door and reached for her, and she reached back, allowing him to pick her up like one might a toddler. “We are going to forgo the sedative today, sweetheart. Would you like that?”

Monica had nodded, and William smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me. I just know it.”

She had been; the day passed without any incident and William was delighted that without the sedative, Monica was talkative. He could listen to her speak for hours and that night he hadn’t gone home. The laboratory locked down with him inside, lying inside Monica’s containment cage with her while she talked, told him about her life and he asked her hundreds of questions. He learned she’d only been passing through Raccoon City when she’d been abducted by Umbrella, and he learned where she was originally from. He learned about her likes and dislikes, her fears and what dreams she’d had before her life changed so dramatically.

“I can’t...I c-can’t ever go home, can I?”

Her broken voice at three in the morning had torn at William’s heart, but he’d shaken his head all the same.

“No, sweetheart, but don’t worry. You’re going to stay with me.” He’d taken hold of her fingers and kissed each one. “Forever.”

Monica has now lost track of how long she’s been with William. Her life has changed so much in that time, but it hasn’t...been bad, she has to admit at least to herself. After that night spent talking, William moved her from the Umbrella lab to his home, and he made good on his promise of forever. William never experimented on her and he never let Umbrella do it, either. She went with him everywhere, and when he went to work, she went with him--not because he didn’t trust her in his home, but because he couldn’t be apart from her. William, so often without seeming to realize it, paused in what he was doing to touch her, look at her, kiss her, as if he couldn’t help himself. That brilliant mind held such capacity to hyper-focus and that’s exactly what he did, his entire focus seeming to shift from his work to her. He was devoted to her and her happiness, constantly striving to ensure she had everything she wanted so she would be happy with him. Monica slowly began to forget what her life had been like before William and now...

Now she was afraid she wouldn’t like life without him.

“You’ll say yes, won’t you, sweetheart?” William’s large hands skimmed down Monica’s skirted legs, past the fabric to the soft skin of her calves. His eyes were on her face, searching near frantically for any positive sign. “Please, I mean what I said. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The small velvet box sat on Monica’s lap expectantly, open to reveal a ring holding a diamond that glittered like a star on a polished silver band. It was beautiful, and it was also a seal to William’s promise of forever.

“W-William,” Monica cleared her throat, her hand coming up to the box--but William caught her small fingers with his free hand, moving her fingers to the heat of his mouth.

“I know our love didn’t start as it should have and I am so sorry for that. But I’ve courted you as you deserve, haven’t I?” William turned his head, nosing against the center of Monica’s palm, pressing her soft skin close to his mouth. “Sweetheart...I need you so badly.”

His admission was a broken whisper and Monica bit at her lower lip; William always got her this way. She should by all accounts hate him, he worked for the company that had stolen her life and though she should blame him for that, for the fact that he not only aided in stealing it but kept her hostage even when he could have released her...she couldn’t. He looked at her with so much love in his eyes she thought she might drown from it. She didn’t understand it initially and truthfully she didn’t understand it now, but William loved her with everything he was and the only thing he couldn’t, wouldn’t give her was her freedom. The thought terrified him; if she stirred in the middle of the night, moved to sit up or even turn over, he snapped awake and clutched her to him defensively. He had nightmares about her leaving. Some might argue this love was wrong, twisted and warped, but it didn’t feel that way to Monica. She couldn’t help but feel cherished, desired, needed--24 hours of the day. William could not be apart from her. He’d been prompting her with a ring for over a week, now, and it seemed this time he wasn’t going to let her go until she said yes to him.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t have you.” William’s strong fingers cupped her bare calf, his words ghosting over the inside of her wrist as he locked gazes with her. The raw intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “The world is going to change around us, very soon, but I promise I can keep you safe. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

“I k-know,” Monica placated, her fingers a soft caress against his cheek. “I believe you, William.”

“I’ll do anything to keep you,” he pushed forward, mindful not to lose her touch against his cheek as he pressed a kiss to her waiting mouth. She made a soft, feminine noise in response and he swallowed it with a needy, stammering inhale against her mouth, the headboard the only thing keeping her upright. He’d woken her with this proposal, laying the ring box in her lap in the hopes that today, today would be the day she accepted him forever. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I l-love you too, William.”

The words were exchanged with their lips still pressed to one another’s and William took advantage to steal a deeper kiss, his tongue caressing the seal of her lips as he drank from her, his hand sliding up her thigh, pushing her skirt up to reveal soft, supple flesh until he slipped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her up and into his kiss. William was always gentle and reverent with her, treating her as if she were the most breakable treasure on earth, but it never lessened his needy kisses and the desperate way he touched her.

“If you love me, then say yes, say you’ll be mine forever.” William rested his forehead against hers, rubbing their noses together with such innocent affection it was almost as if he hadn’t won her heart through nefarious means. If one were to ask William--and truthfully, others had before--he would answer honestly, in that he would burn this entire world to the ground for Monica. Nothing else mattered to him, not anymore.

Monica wrapped her arm around William’s broad shoulders, turning to rest her cheek against his as she nodded quickly before she lost her nerve.

“Say it, please, my love.” William pressed, his arm an iron band around her back.

“Y-Yes.”

William broke out in a smile, his other arm sweeping around her to cradle her to him, finally feeling content and secure that he would never be without this embrace. Call him delusional, call him a madman, call him obsessed--William will correct you and tell you to call him a man in love. He’s a husband-to-be, the happiest man alive.

As Monica felt William slip the ring on her finger, never to be taken off, she could only cling onto him a little desperately in return, her anchor in this fiery love affair that had taken over her entire life.

“I’m going to make you so happy, Monica, I promise. Forever, just you and I.”

Monica didn’t have to ask if this was until death do they part. William worked for Umbrella; when he told her forever, he was the one man on earth who could and did mean it.

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : 14 days of valentine's #{character} : william birkin #{ i took some liberties here }#{ idk how much she's down with stockholm and this level of taking advantage }#{ BUT I GUESS IT'S TOO LATE TO TURN BACK NOW }

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