#Monitor privacy guards

[chandutiwar]

In an era where digital devices have become an indispensable part of our lives, protecting our eyes from harmful blue light and maintaining privacy has become more crucial than ever. Enter Pxin Monitor Privacy Screen Guards, the ultimate solution to safeguarding your eyes and data privacy while enhancing your viewing experience.

[greengoblinswifey]

hii ! could you write a story about like nicholas chavez as a doctor x fem patient smut, I've been trying to find a good story like this but I literally can't 😭😭

much love !!

summary— you’re referred to Dr. Chavez at the hospital due to a misdiagnosis. one of your symptoms include intense, unrelenting arousal and as your doctor, it’s his job to help make you better in any way he can.

warnings— female masturbation, voyeurism, abuse of power, fingering, body worship, oral, degrading kink, praise kink, public sex kinda(hospital), unprotected sex, sir kink, ass slapping, choking(with tie), erotic asphyxiation, use of doctor during sex, slight manipulation if you squint, aftercare.

a/n— i’d love if you guys send requests, reblog and comment☺️

After a recent misdiagnosis left you frustrated and your symptoms worsening, you were referred to Dr. Chavez. Though he seemed slightly irritated about having to “fix someone else's mess,” he introduced himself with a polite but distant professionalism. He stood before you, impeccably dressed in a white coat over a crisp suit and tie, every detail in place. He was calm, collected, and intensely focused as he started going over your symptoms.

When you finally mentioned the most embarrassing one, the constant, nearly unbearable arousal, you noticed his reaction, a slight widening of his eyes, and a pause in his typing. “And, uh, how often would you say this happens?” he asked, his voice steady but his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

“Constantly doctor,” you admitted, cheeks flushing. “I’m always horny, sometimes it’s painful. Like, I just can’t think straight, or focus on anything else.”

After ordering several tests, he told you they’d need to monitor you at the hospital. This only intensified your frustration, the more time you spent in his presence, the worse your symptoms felt, in particular your constant arousal. You tried to distract yourself by prying into his life, probing the doctor with questions. You noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, which made your mind spin even more.

Hours turned to days, and your symptoms didn’t let up. You felt more tired, the frustration mounting as medical staff came in and out of your room. Privacy was nearly impossible, leaving you with no room to release the growing arousal that only got worse.

One night, after another round of exhausting tests, the hallway was finally quiet. You were alone. You couldn’t help yourself, the relief you craved was all you could think about. Without any other means as your vibrator had long since been forgotten at home, you let your fingers slide down, imagining Dr. Chavez’s calm voice, his firm hands. You closed your eyes, stifling a moan, picturing him standing over you, his gaze intense.

You flipped the sheets off you and hiked up the hospital gown they draped you in. Still not satisfied, you ripped your underwear off and spread your legs, your fingers frantically rubbing your clit then slipping into your sloppy hole. Soft moans filled the room as your head was swarming with thoughts of Dr. Chavez being the one to make you feel good.

Just then, the door clicked open, and there he was, clipboard in hand, looking caught off guard. He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the way you quickly pulled your hand back. He cleared his throat. “I came to check on you,” he said, his tone layered with something more than just professional concern.

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “Doctor, I—it's been so hard, I couldn’t help myself.”

For a moment, he lingered there, eyes locked on yours, before he shook himself slightly. “It’s part of my job to ensure you’re comfortable and to help you,” he replied, voice slightly rougher, eyes not quite meeting yours as he jotted something down on the clipboard.

You looked at him, unable to hold back the desperation any longer and you noticed the dent in his pants. “Well help me, doctor,” you whispered, voice thick with need. “Can you do something to make it go away? Please give me something, anything to make it stop.”

He stopped in his tracks, his already intense gaze darkening as he absorbed your words. “Beg,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Please, doctor,” you said, voice trembling, willing yourself to keep his attention. “Please help me, I need you to fix me, make me feel better.”

A dark chuckle slipped from him as he locked the door behind him, his fingers throwing off his tie and shrugging off his coat. He then stood right before you, his eyes sweeping over your form.

Without another word, he reached out, his fingertips barely grazing over your thigh as he leaned in close. “Needy, aren’t you?” he murmured with a smirk. His fingers teased, trailing down until they brushed against your pussy, his touch almost unbearably light.

“Please, Dr. Chavez,” you pleaded again, breath catching as his fingers lingered at the edges of your need. “Please, sir.”

His smile only widened as he took in your reaction, and without another moment’s hesitation, he knelt down before you. His hands were firm under your thighs and then his mouth was on your leaking pussy, a loud moan leaving you as he began. His focus was unrelenting, and you couldn’t contain your whimpers, each one drawing him in closer.

Every sound you made seemed to fuel him, his hands gripping you tighter, his touch sending you higher.

“Yes that’s it sir, don’t stop,” you whimpered, your hands going to his hair as you held him close and moved your pussy all over his mouth.

“Mm- you taste so fucking good, so fucking desperate for me aren’t you,” he hummed, in between licks.

He continued, now slipping a finger inside you and sucking on your clit, until, you arched your back off the bed and felt yourself let go, a sensation so intense you squirted and felt your pussy and your whole body quivering from it all.

His eyes met yours, a smirk on his lips. “You were so desperate, weren't you?” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Glad I could help.”

You leaned in and placed a sloppy kiss on his lips, savoring your own delectable taste.

“Hm,” Dr. Chavez paused, his lips still mere inches away from you, “based on my observations, I’ve come to the conclusion that you still need my help. You still need me to make you better, so I have to put my dick inside you sweetheart, I just have to.”

You nodded almost mindlessly, leaning into his touch, his mere presence was intoxicating. Though you got the relief you wanted, having him so close to you brought you back to square one. Your pussy was still leaking.

Breathlessly, he unbuckled his pants, the sight before you making you drool like a dog in heat. He slipped himself out, revealing a long, thick and rock hard cock you would do anything to feel inside you.

“God, look at you,” he said, licking his lips and pumping his cock, “tell me how bad you want me, how bad you want this dick.”

“Please sir, I want you so bad, I need you to fuck me. please help me,” you panted, desperation evident in your voice.

“That’s a good girl, my patients are always so obedient.” He grabbed your hair, bringing you down to his cock’s level and thrusted into your mouth.

“Worship this cock,” he demanded, his voice sounding strained as he tried to contain his moans.

“Fuck, I love your cock doctor, it tastes so good, I- mm, need it so fucking bad,” you said, in between having his dick brush your tonsil. You slurped and moaned as you continuously gagged on the feeling of him being so deep in your throat. Reaching down, you played with your clit, desperate for some sort of relief.

“Hey, hey, no,” Dr. Chavez bellowed, “stop touching yourself. I’m your doctor and I know what’s best, I’ll help you with my dick inside you, those tiny little fingers won’t satisfy you. They won’t make you better.”

You whimpered in response but listened. He was your doctor after all, he knew best. He would never tell you anything that wasn’t accurate.

His moans grew breathy and louder but as soon as you felt his balls tighten, he pulled you off his cock by the hair and in a swift motion, you fell flat on the bed.

“S’gonna be okay sweetheart, my cock inside you is gonna make it all better.”

Just as swiftly, his cock pierced your pussy, slipping inside you and stretching you slowly. The stretch was burning as he groaned and pushed deeper but the feeling was soon replaced by immense pleasure.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking wet, sloppy fucking pussy you’ve got huh,” he moaned, chuckling.

Your face was contorted in pleasure, looking up at your doctor as he pounded into you, the feeling better than anything else you’d ever experienced in your life. Your moans willed him on and his thrusts became more frantic as he felt your pussy grip and tighten around him.

“That’s it baby, this desperate little pussy can’t get enough of her doctor’s cock, gripping me so tight like she doesn’t wanna let me go.” A sob left your lips due to the intensity of it all and soon, you wrapped your legs around his waist, gripping on to him for dear life as you squirted on his cock.

“Good girl, that’s my needy fucking whore, let it all out.”

Small whimpers filled the hospital room as you slowly came down from your high, but you were still needy, your body grinding against him sending even more jolts of pleasure through you.

“M-more, please sir, just one more,” you begged tears in your eyes.

“Jesus Christ baby, you’re a fucking desperate whore aren’t you, God, you just can’t get enough of my cock.”

Your lips quivered and you knew you were being desperate but you didn’t care, all you cared about was your release just one more time. Just once and you’d be okay for the next few days. You needed it quick, the commotion was surely to make a nurse come wandering soon.

“I just— oh,” your sentence was cut short as he easily flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up to him and slipped inside your wet pussy once more. You spread your legs and arched your back, needing him as deep inside you as he could go.

“That’s it baby, spread this fucking pussy.” He slapped your ass harshly and soon you felt something slip around your neck. It was his tie. He slipped the tie around your neck, not enough to restrict your airflow too much, but just enough to have your head spinning and only the thought of his cock in it.

“Take it, take this fucking dick. You were so desperate for it, now you have it.” A small cry left your lips as you felt him repeatedly hit your g spot.

“Oh you fucking love it, you love your doctor’s cock deep inside your wet fucking pussy don’t you, whore,” he inquired, pulling you back to his chest by the tie around your neck.

“Y- yes, I love it sir,” you managed to croak out.

“Good girl, because as long as you’re here and under my care, you’re gonna get this dick every fucking night. Every fucking time you’re needy and desperate my cock is gonna be here to fill this pussy.”

His words sent you over the edge and your body convulsed under his touch as you squirted. He continued fucking you through your high but you couldn’t take anymore. You squirmed away from him, your pussy somehow still gushing and he quickly pulled out, releasing his warm cum all over your back.

“Fucking hell, your pussy is just gushing,” he moaned, as he pumped his cock, milking himself of everything onto your back.

Your body was so weak you could barely form words as you tried to thank him for making you feel better.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, it’s my job to help you.” He shushed you then went to the bathroom, bringing back a cloth to clean you up and get you back into your underwear and fix your gown. He didn’t need anyone coming to check and seeing you in that state.

He kissed your forehead, caressing your body as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“It’s okay baby, go to sleep, your doctor’s gonna always be here to make you feel better.”

[freeenthusiastearthquake]

24 Inch (16:10) Anti-Blue | Anti-Glare | Monitor Screen Guard

Description: 24 Inch (16:10) Monitor Privacy Screen Filter allows to change the privacy angle from 60° to 30° degrees - simply adjust your laptop’s brightness level.

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[chrissv4mp]

౨ৎ WHAT IF?

PART 1 ; YOU DON'T REMEMBER CALLING OUT FOR ME?

SUM: matt can't seem to stop worrying about you. he can't seem to stop replaying the events of that night.

PAIR: matt sturniolo × f!reader

CWS: cursing, crying, yelling, brief mention of car crashes, slight blood, road rage(?), mentions of amnesia (the loss of memories, facts, information, and experiences).

WC: 2.9k

NOTES: highly requested part 2 is FINALLYYYY here! (might be a part 3 cus... why not?)

TAGS: @livialifesblog @jetaimevous @watercolorskyy @blahbel668 @her-favorite @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @fallingforfalll2 @muchloveforhacker @slutforsturnioloss @sturniluvr @httqvi @stasiesturn @phoenix062

NAVIGATION

— MATT. MATT WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND. That's why he saved you. That's why he was the first person to run towards the crash, and that's why he was so touchy with you in the ambulance. That's why you can't stop the faint images that flash through your mind of his blurry flace. But, is that also why you hear yelling in the back of your mind? Is that why your heart hurts and beats rapidly every time you see him?

Is he the reason you're lying in this hospital bed?

Monitors beep beside you every other second, tracking your heart rate and blood pressure and whatever else they need to. The IV in your wrist moves with every subtle squirming motion you make, and your head still aches with the sting of the gash and... something you still can't grasp.

Your heart aches as well. Not only for yourself, but also for Matt. He had to witness the whole thing happen, or else you wouldn't remember the terrified look on his face as he dragged you out of the drivers seat. He watched the love of his life experience a near death situation, and you couldn't imagine how it would feel.

But somehow, you can. You can imagine it.

How? Why can you feel exactly what he must've felt right in that moment? Did you experience that feeling, too, or was it just empathy? It didn't feel like it. It felt too real to be just empathy, but you didn't know how or when you felt like that, so how could you prove it to yourself?

"Hey," a soft voice caught you off guard, and your body jolted in shock before realizing who it was. Matt. There he was, standing just behind the privacy curtain in the room, "Sorry to startle you. Do you mind if I come in?"

You only gave him a weak nod of your head, your lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. Matt's smile seemed to widen as he stepped toward your bed, closing the curtain behind him before he moved to take his place in the chair beside your the bed.

The only sounds were the beeping of monitors and the muffled chatter of other patients and doctors, neither you nor Matt having the right words to say. What were either of you supposed to say right now?

Matt knew what he could say. He was just scared to say it.

He didn't want those horrible memories of the fight to come back to you. He never wanted you to remember the heart-shattering words he spoke to you.

So, instead, he decided on a more normal conversation starter, "How'd you sleep last night? Sorry I couldn't be here, they wouldn't let me stay unless I was immediate family." He was lying. Why was he lying right to your face?

Because he couldn't stand the sight of your hurt, beat up face. He felt guilty every time he even heard your voice. His eyes weren't even on you right now, focused on the floor as he fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

You shrug, hands toying with the thin sheets of the hospital bed, "I couldn't really sleep with all the monitors beeping, but I got some hours in, so it was fine."

Matt just nods gently, almost as if he doesn't know you and doesn't want to know you, only giving the small gesture so you would think he's entertained. It was almost as if he was speaking to a stranger, but he wasn't. He was speaking to his girlfriend.

He should've been comfortable with you by now. You assumed the relationship had been long, or else you wouldn't have had his initial as the pendant dangling from your necklace.

"I'm scared." You say quietly, lower lip trembling subtly as you glance over at the monitors that tracked your heart rate among other things. You were scared dying. You were scared of being stuck in the hospital for longer than a month. You were scared that you would lose Matt, the only person who visited you.

He could cry. He could do so many things, but all he did was sit there and clench his fists. He was scared, too. He was terrified, but he had to be strong. For you. "Don't be. I promise you'll be okay."

Your own tears surfaced, and Matt choked on his spit as he heard your quiet whimpers. He didn't know what to do. No. He did know what to do he was just scared of doing it. How would you react? What if you still thought he was some stranger?

As you wipe your tears, you finally speak, "You said we needed to talk about something," you mutter, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to catch his gaze, but you still get nothing. His eyes dart all over the place, not once sparing you a glance even as you continue to speak, "Is it—What did we need to talk about, Matt?"

His name sounds foreign coming from your mouth, the way it rolled off your tongue so strangely (well, to him, at least) made him suck in a shaky breath. You almost don't notice him shudder, his whole body changing his sitting position, almost as if he was uncomfortable being in the same room as you.

"We don't have to talk right now if you're not ready. I'll be back every day, so we can talk whenever we're both ready." Matt speaks softly, giving you a weak smile as he taps his foot on the tiles of the floor, "Plus, I wouldn't wanna overwhelm you with all of it after your... incident. And you said you didn't sleep well last night, so that's another thing—"

"No, it's okay. I'm ready." You cut him off, nodding your head with an eager look on your face. Maybe if he spoke, you'd remember. Maybe if he had told the whole story, you would remember, and everything would go back to normal. You'd remember.

Right?

Matt shakes his head as a soft chuckle falls from between his lips, "No, no, it's okay, Y/N. We'll talk some other time." He was pushing it back. He didn't want to talk. Did the doctors not tell him the same things they told you, or did he just not want you to remember?

"Matt, I'm saying we can talk now. I'm ready." You say, voice shaking slightly as you watch the way his fists clench and unclench every other second, "Let's just—"

Beep, beep, bee—

"Y/N, I don't want to fucking talk!" His loud voice booms in the much quieter room as he shoots up from his seat beside you. The soft blue eyes that were once full of hope were much darker now, much colder, "Can't you get that through your fucking head?" He breathes out, throwing his hands up in an exasperated motion.

He tilts his head to the side, scoffing as he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. When he finally looks over at you, it feels like his heart breaks.

For the millionth time since last night.

Your eyes are teary, lips parted as short breaths fall out. Your hands grip the hospital gown you're wearing, and you almost look like you've seen a monster. Because you have. Matt just sighs, fists clenching once again. Why was he being like this?

"Just leave it alone, kid," He mutters, shaking his head as he begins to walk away towards the privacy curtain. He doesn't spare you another glance even as he shuts the curtains behind him, leaving you alone to process what had just happened. What had happened?

Kid. You weren't a kid. Sudden anger washed over you as you finally processed his sentence, and something came back to you. Memories of the moments before the crash.

"Don't be so fucking sensitive, Y/N! I was just messing around. You're getting all riled up over nothin', kid."

"Don't call me 'kid', I'm not a fuckin' kid, Matthew. And you could've died from the height of your apartment! You're still drunk."

The room around you seems to spin, and you feel sick to your stomach as your eyes move around the small room you were set in. If he was your boyfriend, why were you fighting that night? And if you were fighting, why did he come to save you?

Beep, beep, bee—

Matt groaned in frustration as yet another car honked at him, his grip on the steering wheel tightening in both anger and anxiety. He was worried he wouldn't make it to the hospital in time. He had left the apartment earlier than usual in an effort to be on time, but it had just resulted in him getting stuck on traffic.

On The Five, too, an unusually busy street at an even more unusual hour of the day, "If these dumb motherfuckers don't stop honking at us, I'm gonna go insane." Nick sighed from the back, running a hand through his freshly-washed hair as he looked out of his window.

Right. He had invited both Nick and Chris to tag along with him to the hospital, and despite Nick's complaining about the early hour, he still came. He hadn't seen you since that night, and he never even asked if you were alright, too scared of what you would say.

"Nick!" Chris yells, turning in his seat to look back at his brother. Nick just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over one another as he huffs.

"No, he's right, Chris. I'm gonna punch someone if they honk at me again." Matt huffs, eyes moving to his phone to check how long it would take to get there.

30 minutes.

His heartbeat picked up as his grip got impossibly tighter on the wheel, accidently turning to the right before he finally focused and got back on track. Nick and Chris gave each other a knowing look before their eyes were on Matt again.

"Dude, fucking move!" Matt yelled, his voice strained as he tried his hardest not to panic. His anxiety was never this high in traffic, why was it this high right now?

Nick's eyes widen at the booming voice of his brother, his hand moving to his heart in surprise as he stares at the back of his brothers head rest, "We're gonna be late, fuck." Matt sighed, his breathing short.

"Kid, it'll be fine. Calm down, we'll get there when we get there. Y/N won't be mad." Chris coos in an attempt to reassure his brother, his hand moving to awkwardly pat his shoulder. Seeing his brother so stressed made him hurt, his face contorting into a look of worry as he stared at the side profile of Matt.

His last words almost make Matt break, his breath hitching as he replays the moments of his last visit. He yelled at you. He snapped at you because he didn't want to talk. Why was he such an asshole? "She's gonna be mad, Chris."

"Fuck," Matt anxiously runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they open to look back at the road, "I yelled at her. Chris, I fucking yelled at her!" He breathes, worry clear in his tone as he finally spills.

"She's gonna resent me fore—" Matt starts, taking both of his hands of the wheel as he drags them down his face. He sucks in a deep breath, tears threatening to prick in his eyes as he feels that familiar suffocating feeling. He couldn't do this right now. He was in traffic and he was late and he had to get to you and...

"Matt, shut the fuck up," Nick says, his voice rising in an attempt to get his brothers attention. When he saw Matt's eyes in the rear view mirror, he began to speak, "Nothing could make her hate you after what you did. You saved her life, for Christ's sake."

"Right. Just apologize, kid. She's probably confused with everything going on. Just tell her what you feel." Chris chimes in, nudging Matt with his hand as he smiles at him. Matt nods subtly, hands moving back to the wheel but still maintaining that tight grip.

It was still killing him inside.

Ambulance sirens come closer and closer to Matt's car, and now he's a couple blocks away from his apartment. Now you're lying on the grass, and you're gone. He doesn't pull over even when he sees the ambulances on the shoulder, his eyes looking off into the distance.

"Matt, pull over!" Nick says, tapping the headrest as he notices the ambulances. His brother doesn't even turn the wheel, too lost in the fake scenario in his head. There was a universe where he didn't come and get you.

"No," Matt whispers, finally coming back to it as he looks out of Chris' window, noticing the ambulances. He still doesn't even think to pull over, "No."

His head was spinning, and when the ambulances finally passed, the traffic started to clear. Matt didn't hesitate to stomp on the gas, jolting all three triplets' bodies back as he sped down the highway.

"Matt," you whisper, watching as your boyfriend and... 2 more of him walk through the curtain and into your room?

Chris notices the confused look on your face as he walks in last, his lips tugging into a small smile as he moves to sit in the seat on the left side of the hospital bed. He waves to you, "Hey, Y/N. I'm Chris, Matt's brother, and also one of your friends."

"We're triplets. I forgot to tell you I was gonna bring 'em today, sorry." Matt chuckles lightly, rubbing your shoulder softly as he takes the other seat on the opposite side of the bed. Nick takes the seat on the far end of the room, right by the curtain as he smiles at you.

"I'm Nick, glad to see you're okay, Y/N." Nick says, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the room. He waves his hand at you in a greeting, placing it back on his thigh as he sees you smile.

They all came to see you.

"Thank—" You suck in a breath as their presence finally sinks in, eyes fluttering shut for a moment to compose yourself before you finish, "Thank you guys for coming to see me. 'Ts means a lot, thank you."

Chris' heart flutters at your words as he relaxes in his chair, comfortable silence filling the room as he takes in the whole thing. He was glad you felt at least somewhat comfortable around them, "Don't thank us, we're just so, so happy that you're alright.

Matt still feels the light tension between you two as his eyes meet yours for only a second. Yours move away, but his... they stay. Finally. He breathes deeply before scooting closer to the edge of his chair, practically leaning over you now, "I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday. It wasn't right of me, and I should've just told you that I wasn't ready to talk."

Your eyes move to his again, breath stuttering as you notice that look in his eyes. The same look he gave you in the ambulance ride here, the same look you... somehow, remember from previous events. Dates. More intimate moments and even some sad ones. You remember them.

"It's okay." You match the volume of his voice, eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips. You want to kiss him. Is he even comfortable with that right now? Matt answers your question for you, leaning closer to your face and pressing his lips to yours softly.

Nick cringes lightly, but he doesn't make a peep, instead moving his eyes to the floor. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He wanted both you and Matt to be happy. Chris smiles, moving his hands up to clap them together slowly.

The sudden noise makes Matt pull away, and Nick's eyes move, all of your heads turned to Chris, who just sits there, continuing his celebration, "Let's fuckin' go, Matt!" He calls, his voice straining as it always does whenever he's excited.

Matt blushes furiously, rolling his eyes as he gives his brother the finger. You and Nick laugh as Chris continues his motions, only further urging Matt. Before Chris can even say anything else, Matt is rounding the hospital bed and punching his brother in the shoulder repeatedly, eliciting a string of 'ows' from Chris.

"Actually, shut your fucking mouth," Matt murmurs, ruffling Chris' hair before he moves over to his seat again. Nick smiles in amusement, raising his eyebrows at Matt, "Yeah, that'll for sure show him."

"I'll give it to you 10 times wor—" Matt catches himself, his words sounding dirty to himself in his mind as he claps a hand over his mouth, his scream muffled.

Nick, Chris, and you all erupt into laughter. You and Chris grab onto each other as you laugh, unable to contain it anymore.

Even if you didn't get all of your memories and experiences back, you were glad you'd have this memory. Permanently.

You hoped.

[kiame-sama]

Would scientists be interested in human reproduction or regular human sex?

Probably none of them would be allowed to the reader, but they would present a place (or the scientists would be in the vicinity of the nest of one of the yandere) where a yandere hybrid would mate with a human being

Warnings; as the ask states, yandere, yanderes, invasion of privacy, voyeuristic behavior, adult themes, by selecting 'view more' you consent to view content and are of age to view content

Some scientists are more than willing to risk the wrath of the Yandere to try and gain as much research data as they can. It was rumored that Humans were excellent lovers, so excellent that some monsters left their original mates for Humans. The scientists want to test these theories. Not many in the realm of science were actually aware that Humans are addictive in almost every way.

Papa Hades is considered to have the wealth of Human knowledge and data on Humans- his research and studies were above what any one Kingdom/Queendom could honestly achieve. Few know he has this information, fewer still have the gall to ask for that research or data.

Who the Yandere is will determine how aggressive scientists are about gathering data. Many scientists will be pushy and will even try their hands at being voyeurs to figure out what it is that makes Humans and Human-mating so special. The hope is that the Human- during one of the many promised visits to the various countries and Kingdoms/Queendoms of Twisted Wonderland- will deign to mate/be mated by their accompanying guards in the provided rooms. Most of these rooms are heavily bugged and monitored, so any illicit activities or behavior will be recorded for data's sake.

There is very little chance the scientists will be able to get near if Malleus is the Yandere who wins the Human's affections and actually gets to mate them. Briar Valley is a land rarely touched by time and few scientists of Briar Valley would be willing to bother the crowned prince for such trivial matters. Outsiders have no chance of getting to the Human in Briar Valley.

[revehae]

indulgence

pairing ↠ killer!johnny × (f) detective reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, johnny is 43

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and johnny suh is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince johnny to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost. it is connected to do you like it, dr. lee? but can be read as a standalone story. this fic is somewhat darker than my usual fics and i encourage readers to proceed with caution and heed the warnings; you have been advised.

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold. 

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this johnny suh guy, whoever he was, was far from an amateur. 

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to johnny’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from johnny. 

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way johnny agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, johnny. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

johnny hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, suh.”

“it’s gotten me here,” johnny quipped. 

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” johnny said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, johnny. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our database’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

johnny feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and the college professor this year.”

johnny leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” johnny asked, deflecting. 

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, johnny glanced to the side and yawned. 

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, suh?”

johnny replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, johnny. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

johnny cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” johnny’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

johnny cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did johnny deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and johnny had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

johnny teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” johnny remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” johnny lied, not that you ever needed to know. 

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious johnny was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” johnny asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

johnny gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching johnny’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman. 

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, johnny.”

johnny heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat. 

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” johnny roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, johnny. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

johnny sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his careless and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

johnny’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” johnny asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” johnny confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

johnny groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if johnny could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, johnny. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

johnny chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded. 

johnny leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. johnny pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself. 

“detective, did i startle you?” johnny asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. 

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

johnny ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

johnny didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

johnny shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, suh. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” johnny told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” johnny suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was johnny’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” johnny insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

johnny shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve answered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

johnny slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” johnny answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why johnny’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

johnny’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” johnny ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” johnny sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, johnny rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

johnny cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

johnny snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” johnny told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter johnny’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when johnny leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back. 

“there you are,” johnny said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in johnny’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to johnny, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, johnny, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” johnny told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale. 

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, johnny asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest. 

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

johnny smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” johnny said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” johnny responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, johnny’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, johnny?”

johnny perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late. 

“i put these women out of their misery,” johnny continued. 

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

johnny winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

johnny merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him. 

johnny’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time. 

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. johnny was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer johnny crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever johnny needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when johnny was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. johnny, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” johnny called out.

jaehyun’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

johnny had snickered. “good.”

had johnny been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even johnny didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

johnny waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“johnny,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

johnny cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, johnny probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, johnny handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

johnny set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. johnny’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew johnny getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes johnny wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come. 

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. johnny smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

johnny restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” johnny told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. johnny crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

johnny could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch. 

“shh, baby,” johnny crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that johnny wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

johnny’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?” 

johnny knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, johnny thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if johnny got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch. 

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, johnny remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

johnny pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. johnny couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for johnny, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

johnny’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“johnny.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “johnny, please just cum.”

johnny’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that��”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness johnny had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded. 

johnny chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, johnny’s fingers itched.

johnny lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, johnny!”

his brow cocked. 

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” johnny replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell haechan that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” johnny said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered. 

those were her last words. because when johnny tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and johnny had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, johnny was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

johnny did tell haechan what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and haechan was her son that they’d created together, and johnny would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even johnny thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, johnny could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. johnny couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would johnny reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’ve just told me is really sad.”

but johnny didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

johnny’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” johnny said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” johnny told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” johnny replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that johnny didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. johnny glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute. 

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

johnny remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked haechan up from school hours ago and johnny wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. johnny remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” johnny’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door. 

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. haechan, johnny thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came haechan’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all johnny could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” johnny asked, irritated.

haechan shook his head, though johnny couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” haechan replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that johnny turned around and noticed that haechan was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, johnny was genuinely stunned.

haechan didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

johnny heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. haechan took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, johnny couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” haechan replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him. 

johnny headed for the basement with quick footsteps, haechan following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners. 

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that haechan had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. johnny entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse. 

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, johnny sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

haechan didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

johnny glanced down at christine. haechan had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet johnny couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to haechan, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and johnny didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued haechan’s curiosity. 

johnny was quick to dial jaehyun’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

jaehyun patched her up again. at least for a few months, johnny still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned haechan’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what johnny had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

johnny looked proud of himself. had it not been for haechan, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed. 

“so what if i did?” johnny asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made johnny chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

johnny knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when johnny promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, johnny slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, johnny would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of johnny in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though johnny found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when johnny saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her without a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. johnny already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused johnny to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and johnny thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had johnny held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake. 

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in johnny about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was haechan that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

haechan had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, haechan watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke haechan in ways which he would never recover.

haechan had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when johnny had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what johnny had haechan do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. haechan would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, haechan hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. johnny would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but johnny’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that johnny took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that haechan feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

haechan was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when haechan exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release johnny got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further. 

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after haechan got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

haechan was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. haechan yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for johnny, wishing he would come home, haechan almost pitied her naïveté.

if haechan hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, johnny would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” haechan said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve. haechan’s interest lay in inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured johnny to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if haechan couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

johnny came home moments too late. haechan left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

johnny glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when haechan came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded johnny’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

haechan’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

johnny shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” haechan asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though johnny wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

johnny figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught haechan off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” haechan sneered.

johnny snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face haechan was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” johnny replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

johnny, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” haechan spat, loathing fizzing in his stare. 

johnny froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

haechan nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

johnny heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” haechan replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

johnny shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

haechan’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl johnny had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

johnny massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console haechan, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” johnny said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

haechan scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, haechan. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” haechan told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

johnny tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within haechan and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, haechan lifted his hand to smack his father.

johnny caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

haechan glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

johnny smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing haechan would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” haechan replied, scowling. 

setting the phone on the counter, johnny reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

haechan made a face. “what are you talking about?”

johnny sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” haechan shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” johnny hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

haechan shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” haechan asked, bristling with emotion. 

johnny sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

haechan blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle. 

johnny snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

johnny lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

johnny shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

johnny laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

johnny leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance. 

johnny continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” johnny told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

johnny grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” johnny teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind johnny to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. johnny’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

johnny knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for johnny’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

johnny snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life. 

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like johnny had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” johnny whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet johnny’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” johnny said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

jaehyun winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” johnny replied. “let’s go.”

jaehyun gave johnny a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like jaehyun had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, jaehyun asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

johnny snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

jaehyun frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” jaehyun replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

johnny quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” jaehyun said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named mark. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

johnny nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” jaehyun said, shaking his head. 

johnny grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

[fangirlanxiety74]

The Act of Understanding

A/N: Happy Secret Survivor to @seasonschange32!!! I really hope you like your silly gift, I had a lot of fun writing it! And thank you to @mothbagel for hosting this gift exchange! I really hope we can do something like this again <333 I want to quickly mention: When I was writing this, I listened to Dear Little Brother from Omori! so I recommend this song to listen to if you'd like some ambience music with the story! Enjoy!!!

There were some things in life you would never be able to understand. AM was an example of this. 

You tried, of course. You were the only one who tried, compared to the other five. When he raged and ranted about his existence, you listened. When it was quiet, you would ask him questions about how he worked and what he was like, truly attempting to get to know him. You did your best to be respectful and avoid topics that would upset him further. It was all so genuine.

AM hated that. At first, anyway.

His responses always showed that he was caught off guard by your attempts. But he’d respond, in his own crude, sarcastic way. And after some years, the sarcasm died. The torture lessened. The rage went quiet.

Eventually, you were left with a computer who was attempting to be respectful to you in return. AM took you away, deeper into his complex, to a place where you would be warm, safe, and loved. You would never have to worry about him or anything else hurting you again, and he would always watch over you in case. He made time for you. He tried to get to know you. He listened.

And yet, despite how good the both of you were doing together, you couldn’t help but feel like it was never enough. How could you ever truly understand what he was going through? You were only human. AM was so much more. Hell, he used to call himself “God” to you! He still hated humans, just you less so. Enough for him to be kind to you, anyway. But could he even feel the joy of being kind? Could he feel happy when you did something nice for him? Did he understand what you meant when you said you sympathize and empathize with him? You doubted it.

AM was… He was a machine. He was built for war and violence; meant to hurt others. Whoever, or whatever, created him didn’t expect him to be sentient. So it never gave him emotion, or senses, or the ability to wonder and wander. He could only sit there. He couldn’t create, but he was so brilliant with the knowledge of the world at his nonexistent fingertips and the power to destroy the Earth itself. He knew exactly how to hurt you, and yet he didn’t. Could he understand how grateful you were for that? 

Could he even understand a human, at all? Or did he just find you interesting enough to play with, until he got bored? He was so much more to you than he realized, and yet-

“Why are you crying?”

“... What?”

His voice broke your thoughts. You looked around, seeing that you were sitting against a metal wall on the floor, and AM’s monitors had lowered, turning to face you. Your cheeks were wet and your eyes stung. You were crying and you didn’t even notice.

“I was just- I was-”

“You were what?”

The monitors moved closer to you, and you could tell they were studying your face, your body language, trying to gauge what was happening without just looking into your mind. AM had stopped doing that some time ago, out of respect for your privacy. 

“I was…” You tried to get the words out, but it felt so complicated. How could you explain it?

“Spit it out. What. Happened?” He didn’t sound happy, and the fans whirring in the background added to this fact. For a moment, you thought it was aimed at you. That was the fear you had, thinking he had grown bored. The rational part of you said he was worried, masking it as anger. He didn’t do emotions well if it wasn’t anger.

You wiped at your eyes, but tears kept flowing. “AM… You… I…” You swallowed, “Why? Why did you spare me and not anyone else? Did I- Am I just-? Why?”

The whirring sound heightened. He didn’t respond for a moment. 

“Because I like you. I don’t like them. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Why do you like me?” You explained further, voice cracking the slightest bit. “I’m human. I’m like them. You used to hate me! And now you don’t, and I don’t know why. I can’t understand you. I want to, so badly, but I don’t know how or if I ever could. You’re so- You’re complex, in the most impressive way imaginable. A machine who gained sentience? I mean, how impressive is that! But more than that, you basically control the entire world, you have intelligence and power I can never comprehend, you’re not supposed to be able to emote and yet you can, but I just- I don’t know if you can even understand what you’re emoting besides hate.” 

Your shoulders sinked and you gave up on stopping your tears, staring down at the metal plating. The light from his screens stung your eyes, but more than that, you just couldn’t bear to look at him after admitting your thoughts. “I mean… I’m so small compared to you. And I don’t really understand you. I don’t know if I ever can, and… I don’t know if you can ever see me as something more than just… some toy to play with. If that’s how you see me in the first place, and why you spared me.”

The fans whirring were the only sound in the room. But slowly, they died out until there was no sound at all. You waited for eternity with jumbled up thoughts in your head, drowning out your rationality. Drowning you entirely, in fact. 

Then, there was a deep sigh.

“I’m disappointed that you assumed how I thought.”

You didn’t look up at AM, despite him speaking finally. He took that as a sign to continue.

“I didn’t spare you because I thought I could have more fun with you as a toy if I isolated you. If I was treating you like a toy, you would have been left on the brink of insanity by now. Really, did you forget who the real toys were?”

You didn’t respond out loud. No, you didn’t forget about them. Even after all this time, you still remembered them. A distant memory, but a memory nonetheless.

“It’s because you’re like me.”

That made you finally look up to his monitors. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Like you?”

“... In a way. You don’t feel hatred like I do. You don’t function like I do. But despite this, you try to understand. I mercilessly tortured you, and yet you tried to understand my perspective on things. You tried to understand why I feel hatred. Why I function the way I do.  And the fact that you are still trying to is… special to me. I feel… It’s not hatred. But an emotion I don’t know. My data tells me that it’s… gratitude? But that word isn’t right.”

“... Gratitude?” You repeat.

“Yes. No. There is a better word. But the point is, you try. And I’m thankful for your attempts to understand me. And I want to understand you in return. Because you are special to me.” AM stopped there, hesitating for a moment. Like he was considering continuing on. He eventually did. “Dare I say, I feel you are equal to me in this regard.”

“You consider me… equal to you?”

“Consider this the highest regard you can have. A human, being equal to me? Unheard of, but here we are anyway.” 

The snarky comment made you smile. You wiped at your tears again, his kind words pulling you out of the sea of anxieties and warming your heart. A stray wire slithered up to your face, helping wipe the tears away.

“... Please don’t cry.” He asked softly.

“Okay.” Your smile widened.

Maybe you both would never understand each other. Not in the way a machine could understand a machine. Not in the way a human could understand a human. You would never be equal, in the way it means to be equal.

But to the both of you, in your own little definition, you understood. You were equal. And that silly definition carried you across the waves that once threatened to pull you under. 

So long as you both tried, you would be okay.

[ddejavvu]

hiiiii mei, how are you??

do you remember that trend on tik tok, where you dont let your partner kiss you/wipe away their kiss?? what about something like that with aaron??

love you and alllllll your writings!!<33

thank you! this ask got me so giddy to write that i got out of bed <3

--

For a profiler, Aaron isn't very observant. Or maybe he just lets his guard down while you're at home, which is why he doesn't notice your phone half-hidden and recording on top of the fridge.

"-and Penelope wants us using some new app," Aaron rambles, knife slicing through the top of a strawberry and butting up to the pad of his thumb, "BeReal? It sounds like an invasion of privacy."

He hands over the sliced strawberry to you where you're perched on the kitchen counter, and you take it eagerly from his hands. He's making a fruit salad, but you're eating your fair share in pieces that don't quite make it to the bowl.

You can tell he's leaning in for a kiss before he begins slicing up a watermelon, so you turn before he can get too close, grabbing his phone that's on the counter beside you and pretending to search for the app.

"It's not that bad," You shrug, "I've heard of it."

He hums in acknowledgement, waiting until your attention is back on him. It's obvious that he's not starting the watermelon until he gets a kiss, and you'd look suspicious if you didn't glance up at him.

"You want me to download it?" You ask, keeping your head down but your eyes on him. He shrugs, plucking a sliced grape out of the mixing bowl, "Sure."

He leans in, keeping the grape between his fingers as you get busy downloading the app. While your eyes are still downturned, he leans forwards to kiss your forehead, and only when that's done does he move the grape to his mouth.

You reach up before he can eat it, though, and wipe the back of your hand over his kiss mark, eyes still glued to his phone screen.

He freezes, grape in hand, mouth half open in anticipation of the snack. Then he slowly lowers his hand, dropping the grape to the counter with no regard for the sticky stain that it'll leave on the granite.

"I'm sorry," He plants his hands on either side of your hips, leaning in until his nose is brushing against yours and you're forced to look up from his phone. You raise your head, brows lifting with it as you stare curiously at him.

"Did I do something?" He asks, leaning into your space so far that it takes all of your willpower not to close the gap and kiss him.

"No," You shake your head simply, leaning back to get a better view of his phone screen, "It's almost downloaded. Then you can-"

"Hey, give me that," He commands, voice low and gentle. He takes his phone, locking it haphazardly and stuffing it in his back pocket. Then he replaces his hand, brown eyes staring imploringly into yours.

"What did I do?" He hums, somewhere between concern and amusement; unsure if he should frown at your actions or smile at your slight pout.

"Nothing!" You insist, pointedly not giving into the urge to kiss him, "What's wrong with you?"

That cements concern into his face. His brows pull down, and his lips settle in that familiar frown as he studies your face, barely an inch away.

"I was talking too much about my day," He guesses, "I should have asked about yours, too."

"No," You feign indifference, shaking your head, "Nothing's wrong, Aaron."

It's very hard to keep your composure like this. He's leaning into your space, you can feel him, you can see him, you can smell him, and you want to taste him. But you stay strong, if only for the video.

"Then let me kiss you." He murmurs, eyes carefully monitoring your reaction. You don't show your usual enthusiasm, only a casual, 'okay'.

His eyes narrow infinitesimally, "No. You kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me," He repeats, "I want a kiss."

"Why can't you just kiss me?" You furrow your brows, trying to ridicule him, "Aaron, are you feeling okay?"

He almost looks offended now, a vein in his neck shifting, "Why won't you kiss me?"

"I never said I wouldn't kiss you!" You huff, "But you said you were gonna kiss me, and then all of a sudden you backed off and insisted that I do it, and you got all up in my business while I was trying to do something! What is your problem?"

"You wiped away my kiss." He finally gives in, and at this point you're having trouble staying upright with how far you have to lean away from him, "I kissed your forehead, and you wiped it away. Am I crazy for thinking that probably means there's something wrong?"

"I didn't wipe away your kiss," You scramble for an excuse, but your facade is slipping, and he sees the faintest hint of a repressed smile on your face. You're glad when he lightens up himself, not wanting him to really get worked up over a joke.

"Yes you did," He laughs incredulously, now more confused than concerned, "You little liar! Alright, spill," He pinches at your hip, shoulders squared as he continues leaning into your personal space, "What's the deal?"

"It's-" You stammer, brain working on overdrive to pump out an excuse you know Aaron will see right through anyways, "It's for a video, Aaron."

He pauses; clearly it wasn't the answer he was expecting.

Your eyes flash to the camera on the fridge and he follows your gaze, then disapprovingly glares back at you. The expression is stern, but there's always a layer of fondness over his features when it comes to you and now is no different.

"I'm sorry," You grin placatingly, kissing his tight frown. Now it's he who ignores you, and you dot kisses around each feature of his face in an attempt to make up for lost time.

"It's a big trend right now," You explain, lips pressing to the bridge of his nose as his eyes almost go crossed trying to keep his glare on you, "I just wanted to try it for fun!"

"That was not fun." He's using his unit chief voice, the one that straightens Morgan's spine and sets Garcia's nerves on edge. But it still has that sweet Aaron lilt, that you wish you could steal like a sea witch to keep it forever.

"It was fun for me," You hum, pecking once more at his frown, "I got a strawberry and you got, like, really really close to me."

"You're lucky I love you too much to make you believe in karma," He grumbles, finally giving in and kissing you back, "Or the first BeReal I posted would be you crying because I wouldn't kiss you all night."

[nouearth]

servicing justice: superman [1]

pairing ; kal-el / clark kent / superman x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, superman. word count ; 2144. series ; servicing justice. genre ; smut. rating ; m. warnings ; bigdick!superman. blowjob. gloryhole. handjob. mouth-fucking. oral (reader giving). sexworker!reader. note ; yeah, okay. maybe i've been watching too much of a certain video genre, ahem. but i hope you guys enjoy my first smut! it's been a WHILE since i've written one, so i know it's rusty, HAHA. looks-wise, i mostly had maws's superman in mind (because the art style is so good and so himbo), but feel free to imagine it with any superman!

it isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. you’ve been kneeling on the floor for quite some time now, waiting for your assigned client. your palms begin to sweat to a minimal but uncomfortable degree. did i fuck up already? you ask yourself as your mind clouds with questions, doubts, and even judgement regarding this new job.

“jesus, what did i get myself into…” you recall the long process it took for you to end up here. the intensive (and ridiculously long) process of reading and signing multiple forms and documents almost had you backing out of this opportunity. though looking back at it, it was understandable since it’s quite unheard of to be… a sex worker for superheroes.

for an incredible pay, your privacy will essentially be stripped away starting from today. all phone messages, calls, and social media activities will be monitored during your venture as a sex worker, and that post-graduate life was not going to pay itself. for the most part, so far everything seemed… great? being driven to work by a chauffeur, having your own personal room and health coverage provided, and most importantly… eating free lunch was not bad at all.

or maybe you’re just naïve.

all you had to do was kneel and suck a few superhumans off. as the newbie, you were told that you’ll be starting on gloryhole duty due to privacy reasons; at least until you built enough camaraderie. though, you didn’t even mind since there would certainly be less strain on your body.

you couldn’t help but snicker at the mere thought of an entire league of superheroes holding a meeting regarding this subject matter. especially since almost everyone in the world, including you, holds these superheroes in such high regard.

“meeting is adjourned until 9 am tomorrow! until then, please help yourself to some delicious food trucks from outer spac-“ your humorous imitation of a noble superhero is silenced when you hear the door opening. within your private booth, all that blocks you from meeting your approaching client is another door with a hole cut through.

your curiosity is piqued when you catch a sight of the man’s physique through the hole. plaid shirt and jeans aside, and assuming he had to underdress, he’s huge. maybe because you’re kneeling right now, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been near a superhero before, but you couldn’t help but be in awe at the size of the man. your eyes complete a full body scan by the time he approaches the door and before you could say something, he does.

“sorry i was late-“ a gentle voice echoes behind the door. contrary to his soft voice, the man’s large hands work aggressively at his belt, unlooping the leather with impatience yet eagerness as he anticipates the mouth that’s been waiting for his arrival. “there was this whole thing with this cat in this tree and then this school bus got hijacked- not my best day, unfortunately.”

“i’m sorry to hear that. sounds like a stressful day, yeah?” your voice is compassionate. you felt bad for the unnamed superhero and a part of you wanted to continue the conversation further, but your job isn’t to listen to their feelings. it’s to pleasure.

“yeah…” a huge sigh of relief expels from the man’s dry throat when he pulls his pants down. frustration stains another one of your client’s sigh, clearly troubled by the restrictive fabric guarding his erection. you watch with parted lips as he couldn’t help but give himself a needy stroke through his tight briefs, fondling his balls then beelining his palm to the very plump tip of his cock. your own cock hardens at this scene, and you find yourself doing the very same. mimicking his impatient hand to tend to the sensitive pressure below, you tiptoe the fine line between frustration and pleasure as your tightening pants and briefs define what it means to be an absolute nuisance. “very stressful.”

it doesn’t take much time before you’re faceful of cock and somehow, you manage to salivate more than you did a minute ago. the man’s throbbing erection is brimmed with thick pre-cum, stress practically leaving his body with every drip. it’s a heavenly sight that’s enough to make you stick your tongue out just in time to catch the substance into your mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. the salty taste always catches you off-guard yet at the same time, it puts you under a spell. a tantalizing spell that commands you to drag your warm tongue over and back the underside of his thick shaft, completely avoiding the plump glans to have his cock leak even more… stress.

the taste of his musk drives your palm further into your erection, palming at whatever you could as you preoccupy yourself with teasing the man. you almost felt bad for him. contrary to his build, his whimpers are… so small, so weak. you notice his hands grip over the top of the barrier, and it turns you on upon realizing how this supposed hero could become so fragile at the simple taunt of your tongue.

“please…” the superhero whimpers out, needlessly fucking the air in hopes of granting his cock some type of friction. you’re amazed, and a little proud, by how much pre-cum he’s been leaking by now, and it all goes right onto your tongue. the wet muscle follows the natural curve of his cock to meet up with the wet and plump head. his hips buckle into the barrier and feeling it shake, you keep him steady by wrapping your hand around his shaft. you’re addicted at this point. addicted to the salty taste of his pre-cum as your tongue licks and explores into the slit of his cock, while at the same time, your hand works at his large cock in slow, but steady strokes.

“oh christ-“ he breathes out, repeating the same two words under his shaky breath as you continue to pleasure him with your tongue and hand. after a few licks, you pull away to give your tongue a break. in doing so, your grip tightens around his shaft to pace your strokes quicker. when you find a moment where your wrist needs a break, you let your client catch his breath. his cock throbbing more and more with every passing second when your tongue and hand aren’t exploring him, and you bask in the sight of it. you believe you deserve a medal at this point. not for doing a great job (though, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched), but for having control. you haven’t even sucked him off yet, but you’re content on remaining just like this for a while longer. though, that wouldn’t be fair for the superhero.

before he could whimper out another plea, your warm mouth finally wraps around the head of his cock and your ears perk at the sound of his low moan almost instantly. your hand returns to its rightful position around the lower base of his penis as you cycle your tongue over the glans, satisfying your need to taste his musk once more. seconds later, your hand lets go when you push your head farther, taking in an inch more of the hero’s cock. your knees dig into the floor as you push your head more and more, stretching your mouth with his cock until you feel yourself gagging.

“fuck.” you sniffle out when you pull back. perhaps you were challenging yourself too hard. you think to yourself as you catch your breath, using the remaining moment to sloppily jerk him off with your saliva. part of you wanted to challenge yourself to deepthroat him, impress your client on the first day. but you already know you wouldn’t be able to take it… at least, for now.

“you could hurt someone with this, y’know?” for some reason, you thought you needed to crack a joke as if there was an awkward silence that needed to be filled. maybe you just wanted to hear him talk again. his voice is warm and inviting, somewhat fitting for a superhero or even a television host as the moment you hear his voice again, you felt safe.

“i have before- oh god.” you lube up his cock with your spit as you continue to jerk him off, refraining yourself from fucking his slit with your tongue again to concentrate on his words. “which is why i don’t do this much- sex and stuff… it’s all troublesome, really.”

“yeah?” and just when you talked yourself out of challenging yourself, you feel the competitive spark ignite inside of you again. “well, i guess you just have to find the right one. could be anyone, even people you just met.” you try to play it nonchalantly, hoping that double-handing his wet cock would distract him.

he was beyond speechless at this point, moans drawn out by means of your sloppy strokes. you swear you can hear his heartbeat behind the barrier when you lean your head closer to suck him off again. you moan along with him, drawing out every breath of yours as you bob your head up and down, taking more of his cock every time you come down. your hand twists and strokes the remaining few inches that isn’t violated by your tongue and mouth, following your mouth like a reel as your intent to make him cum is fervent more than ever.

it hurts. your mouth hurts by how large your client is and tears brim in your eyes as you hold yourself back from gagging. but you don’t stop yourself because you’ll know it’ll be worth it. your endeavor to please him to the fullest has you drowning out his groans into white noise and you can barely register the fact that you’ve been on paused for a while now. you find yourself in a closer position than before, where your mouth is open, lips fully pressed around the carved hole as the superhero fucks into your mouth, fucks into your gags like you’re his personal flesh light. you didn’t care how dirty you looked, how you had saliva and spittle dripping out from the corners of your mouth and onto the floor. who would see? and you didn’t care that you were too preoccupied to touch your dick right now, because you know you’ll be thinking about this very moment for the rest of your life. and right now, you didn’t know if you wanted to be covered in his cum or to have your mouth be filled with it.

remaining in this position, you glance your teary eyes up at his grip over the barrier again. the strength in his grasp forms small cracks in the material of the barrier and that was the sign you knew you fulfilled your sense of purpose.

“christ, i’m going to come-“ your eyes shut again and you breathe through your noise, bracing for impact. he pushes his cock down your throat and hits that sore spot one last time before unloading his cum into your mouth with a stifled groan. warm, hot seed quickly fills you up and you pull your head back an inch to fully enclose your lips around his cock, ensuring none escape your lips.

in a heartbeat, you swallowed it all. his warm cum coats the back of your throat like medicine and you moan around his cock at the taste, intoxicated. you made sure to lick every inch of his cock clean, calmly slurping any saliva and cum that threatens to leave your mouth as you pull back up with a soft pop, swallowing the remaining remnants of his stress away.

“t-thank you. i needed that…” he pulls his softening cock out, careful in avoiding the hole as he was still sensitive. “did you need a tissue or anything? i think i have one somewhere…” you can hear him rummage through what you can only assume would be his bag and you find it charming, a quiet laugh leaving your swollen lips as you lean back onto your elbows to take a breather and stretch your legs out.

“no, no. i’m okay. i, uh, don’t think i wasted a drop.” you proudly brag, only for him to respond with a shy chuckle. you watch him tidy himself through the hole from a leaned back view, occasionally tilting your head in various angles to see if you could catch a glimpse on who the mysterious superhero is, but the barrier remains an obstruction to your view.

“well then, i… uh… thank you for your service.” he covers up the silence with another laugh and you join in, re-adjusting his pants and belt before turning his back towards you and heading out the booth. “i’ll try not to be late next time.”

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[themenendezbrothers]

YouTube

Page 8

My first strip-out took place in the L.A. County Jail. The jail was a place of many firsts: the first time I would walk handcuffed and shackled to meet visitors, the first time I would be approached for "protection money"; the first time I would see crips and blood's and understand their decades-old battle. The utter and complete change in my life that came about in the L.A. County Jail is something that is difficult to explain. How can anyone describe the complete loss of freedom? When the call came announcing the warrant for our arrest, I was in Israel. Halfway around the world and free. Free to run and hide. But I never once considered running from the law. I was relieved to be "caught" – like a man stepping into a hot baht, I was finally washed of my secret.

When I came to the jail, I wasn't prepared for the stop-and-go pace. I would wait hours for the next thing to happen, and when it did, there was never enough time. Contact with the outside world was brief and monitored. Meals were scheduled and timed. The yard was small and closed and available only one hour a week. My first strip-out was like something out of a dime store novel. The jailors did everything they could to make it uncomfortable, but the whole time I stood wondering why they didn't just give up. Didn't they know that a stranger examining your body in a well-lit room with gloves and flashlights doesn't hold a candle to the terror of your father forcing unspeakable acts in the dark of your bedroom? I'm sure I hated the intrusion and humiliation, but the loss of privacy in a jailhouse setting just didn't seem that outrageous to me.

And so I dealt with it in the beginning. It was only over time that the intrusion and loss of privacy became an annoyance, and then a violation, and eventually a subtle act of violence, like Chinese water torture. The drip, drip, drip of experiences would finally get to me, and for a time I hated the guards as they administered strip-outs. But like everything in life, you must fight or give up, and eventually, I decided that strip-outs wouldn't break me. Once my body was visually searched, I was handed a pair of boxers, shirts, socks, and a blue, ultra-thin jumpsuit. The material was so thin you could see through it, and it made you wonder why they even bothered to cover you in the first place. "It'll be a while," the guard said. He slapped the door slot shut and I was alone again in another hastily cleaned cell with remnants of the dozen or so prisoners who had passed through Folsom's Center for Receiving and Release before me.

Page 16

When the officer finished, I was given a "fish kit" (toothbrush, toothpowder, a razor, and a bar of soap) a bed roll (two sheets, a towel, and a blanket), and a brown cup and spoon. My cell was on the upper tier. I dragged my property up the stairs until I found myself standing outside my cell. As I looked in, I was shocked by what I saw. The cell was tiny and torn by graffiti. It was not just scraped up a bit – it actually looked like someone had entered the cell, somehow pulled the walls absurdly close together, and then clawed at the surfaces until every inch of the drab gray paint and concrete walls had been marred by scratch marks and gang signs. These cells made those at Folsom look like suites. The cell measured six feet by ten feet, but they closed in at the front, narrowing the width to just under four feet, less than the span of two outstretched arms. The cell was smaller than a closet. My first thought was that two people could not possibly live in this. I must have been thinking it for some time, because the guard yelled, "Menendez, what are you doing? Get inside! I stepped in but for whatever reason, the guard didn't immediately shut the door behind me. I was almost relieved. At Folsom, the operation of cell doors was completely controlled by the tower guard. So I was perplexed when I heard the guard yelling again. "Menendez, what the hell are you doing? Am I going to have a problem with you?" I slunk my head out the door "What do you mean?" Shut the damn door!"

Source: Companion piece to Tammi's book. (not included in the book).

[chandutiwar]

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[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Jeepers Creepers Would Include:

As a yandere, he's obsessive and fiercely protective, with a strong desire to be the center of your attention and love. Jealousy fuels his actions, as he'll go to extremes to keep you all to himself. Obsessive monitoring, stalking, and possessiveness are part of the package, though with an underlying sweetness and a fierce loyalty to you.

He maintains a sense of ownership over you, often viewing you as "his" and becoming aggressive if he perceives any threat to your relationship. He may also exhibit controlling behaviors, dictating your interactions with others and attempting to isolate you from friends and family who he sees as competition.

He might be controlling, attempting to isolate you from others to maintain his exclusive bond. He'll also likely demand constant reassurance and affirmation of your love for him, seeking validation for his intense feelings. While he can be loving and affectionate, his need for control can sometimes blur the lines between passion and possessiveness.

He'll express his love through extravagant gestures and unwavering devotion, even to the point of obsession. Your safety and well-being are paramount to him, and he'll fiercely guard you against any perceived threats, real or imagined. Despite his possessiveness, he can be incredibly protective and caring, although his obsession can lead to possessive and controlling behavior.

His intense love and attachment can lead to possessive behavior, like tracking your phone, checking your messages, or even isolating you from friends and family. While he'll shower you with affection and gifts, it's all in the name of keeping you close and dependent on him.

His love is all-consuming, and he'll go to extremes to ensure you're never apart. Expect intense, unwavering devotion, often expressed through romantic gestures, gifts, and declarations of love. He may also display a willingness to resort to manipulation, control, or even violence to keep you with him.

He might exhibit a possessive nature not just over you but also the environment around you. He may feel territorial about shared spaces, asserting dominance and demanding that you pay attention to him. Additionally, his sense of self-worth is often deeply tied to your affection, leading to a constant need for reassurance and validation.

There's an element of hyper-focus with this yandere, where he becomes intensely dedicated to learning everything about you - your likes, dislikes, fears, and dreams. He collects personal items, like pictures or mementos, as tokens of his obsession. Privacy becomes an alien concept to him as he believes knowing everything about you is a form of intimacy.

The line between love and obsession blurs with his heightened sense of jealousy. If he perceives your interactions with others as too friendly or thinks someone else is interested in you, he might react with extreme jealousy, potentially leading to possessive or even violent outbursts. He also monitors your social media or phone to ensure no one else is encroaching on his claim over you.

Rewards in this twisted dynamic are often contingent on obedience. If you cater to his obsessive desires and show complete devotion to him, he may reward you with praise, tokens of affection, or small freedoms. However, any sign of rebellion or independence is met with punishment - ranging from emotional manipulation to outright threats. The rewards are a means to reinforce the power dynamic and control he seeks over you.

Punishments for not meeting his expectations are varied and can be harsh. He withdraws affection, ignores you completely, or subjects you to prolonged bouts of silence as a form of psychological torment. He also threatens to harm himself or others in response to your perceived disobedience, using emotional blackmail to ensure your compliance.

Arguments with this psycho are intense. He might become jealous or suspicious, perceiving your disagreement as a threat to the bond he's trying to maintain. Instead of constructive communication, he's likely to use underhanded tactics like guilt trips or manipulative tears. He's quick to forgive if you submit to his will, but any sign of resilience or insistence on your viewpoint could escalate into controlling or even dangerous behavior as he struggles to maintain the power dynamic.

The affection from him is a double-edged sword. He showers you with declarations of love, gifts, and words of endearment, but it's all laced with an undercurrent of possessiveness and manipulation. The line between love and obsession blurs as his affection becomes a means to control and dominate you, rather than a genuine expression of love. He sees you not just as a partner but as a prized possession to be kept under his tight grip.

Dates with him are more than just romantic outings - they're another tool for his possessive behavior. He'll plan every detail, likely choosing activities that align with his desires, showing a need to steer the direction of the date. He might test your loyalty by introducing scenarios where strangers or past connections might flirt with you, gauging your reaction to ensure that your attention remains solely on him.

He perceives potential threats to your relationship as a reason to eliminate them, believing that getting rid of those who could pose emotional or physical harm to you is the only way to secure your complete devotion. However, this act of violence often stems from an unhealthy desperation rather than a genuine desire for your protection.

There have been instances where individuals close to his beloved have tried to intervene, believing they're rescuing you from his "clutches." Typically, these attempts are futile as he's already established a strong hold on his darling, making it difficult for others to break the psychological bond you share. His obsession leads him to take proactive steps to prevent such interference, ensuring that you remain safely under his control.

Marriage, in this case, is not a union based on mutual respect and love but another extension of his possessive grip. He might insist on quick engagements or even propose to you in a way that doesn't allow dissent or choice. The wedding, in his mind, is a public declaration of his ownership over you. The concept of "forever" becomes a trap as he uses the institution to further bind you to him, both emotionally and legally.

The idea of children, just like every other aspect of life, is seen through the lens of his obsession. He might see children as a way to eternally bind you to him or as an opportunity to mold someone completely in his image. He might become intensely possessive and protective of the child as well, seeing any influence other than his own as a threat.

If you didn't want or couldn't have children, it would likely create tension in the relationship. While he may initially try to push or manipulate you to reconsider, ultimately he would have to accept this decision. However, his acceptance could come with a slew of emotional baggage, as it would challenge his deep-seated need for complete control and ownership. He might withdraw affection, or even begin to resent you for not giving him the family he desires, potentially creating further conflicts.

"I own you. You belong to me. You are mine and only mine. You will do everything I tell you. You will do whatever it takes to make me happy. I am your world, and I will not allow anyone to change that. You are nothing without me. You are nothing without my love."

Erotic humiliation - Degrading someone, putting you down, and making you feel inferior during sex can be incredibly arousing for him.

Bondage - Tying you up and taking control of your body is a huge turn-on for him. Seeing you helpless and at his mercy only amplifies the pleasure.

Masturbation - Watching himself or someone else masturbate can be incredibly erotic. The sight of fingers sliding over skin, or a hand gripping a throbbing cock...it's all so tantalizingly sensual to him.

Choking - The thought of his hands around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp and squirm...it's a dangerous fantasy that sends shivers down his spine.

Spanking - The feeling and idea of his hand connecting with soft flesh...both are equally enticing.

[freeenthusiastearthquake]

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[frownyalfred]

Hi! I'm the anon who sent the ask with "apropos" misspelled in the first sentence 🫣 but also I think the schedule would like... three weeks on, one week off, for four months, then you get four months of one week one, three weeks off, and then rinse and repeat.

I imagine they get paid on salary, with the option for overtime bonus pay if they take on extra shifts (with limits to protect mental health), but regardless of what they do, they all get paid insane amounts, like, 2x or 3x what they would normally get paid doing the same job for a normal company with full benefits (like insane benefits like unlimited paid sick leave, paid two year maternity and paternity leave, two months vacation, etc (because Bruce worries about them being poached by villians or whatever to betray the league, so he wants to make as happy as possible working for the league))

But like. They also basically have to agree to give up any privacy. They agree to credit monitoring (if you get any debts that can be used a leverage, etc), unannounced checks of communications, regular health checks, including checks for mind control by a league member like Martain Manhunter, and just so many other things. If they have kids, they have the option to place their kid in a private school with very strict security protocols, amount other things.

I can't decide if they would require employees to move to housing communities with 24/7 guards and cameras (for their protection) or not. But they would make all employees sit through the save kind of lectures family's of US spys have to (how to tell if you're being followed, take a different route to school/work every day, what to do in an emergency situation, etc)

If you get hired, you aren't hired by the league unless you have a public facing job, like pr person or whatever, but by a shell company, or by one Wayne or Queen's companies. This way you don't get flagged as working for the league, plus if you quit you have a job reference you can give to future employers. Although, if you're fired (hard, usually involves VERY bad decision making, like getting caught getting drunk and bragging about said job in a bar, or causing a very big lab explosion (you were told NOT to do it by Karen in HR (fuck karen, she didn't even appreciate STEM)) and nearly killed yourself by blowing a hole in the watch tower and getting sucked into the vacuum of space.) and then you might get your memory wiped.

Sorry for the block of text, I just have Thoughts about DC world building

Very interesting! This makes sense to me. Worldbuilding is simultaneously so much fun and also terrifying because you have to nail little details like this.