#as well as implied off-screen murder

[shady-tavern]

WIP for the long short-story “Holding Curses with Gentle Hands”

Lune had been born a little different, two minutes before her twin brother Luc, into a world teeming with magic. She grew up like any other little girl, playing and roughhousing, splashing through mud with her brother. They learned how to climb trees up and down with all the fearlessness of someone who had not quite yet learned how painful falling could be.

She was bright and inquisitive and always pulled her brother along towards her next idea. Showing him snails and slugs and bugs and bees. He came up with stories of all kinds as they played, creating crafty trolls and sweet little fairies as they swung sticks around and made dolls out of grass and flowers. 

They came back home with skinned knees and rips in their clothes and grins so wide and bright they might just rival the sun. They were, indeed, very happy children.

It was only when school started that Lune and Luc learned that they were different. In a world where their neighbor grew a bucket of strawberries in the span of a week, where the grouchy mayor always looked sparkling and perfect and every child learned at least one or two cantrips as they grew up, they were very, very ordinary.

Not a single spark of magic was to be found in their veins.

At first their parents were very concerned, worried that something had happened to their beloved children. That someone might have cursed the babes out of jealousy. Their mother sought out everyone she might have accidentally insulted to apologize, while their father reached out to old friends he lost contact with, worried he might have offended them.

But when an expert came by, he told them the children were fine. They were just ordinary. As bland as old lettuce, he said.

"They're bright children," their neighbor said while bringing them a bowl of strawberries. "It doesn't matter if they have magic or not. At worst their lives will be a little boring."

"We'll adjust their classes," their kind and cheerful teacher promised. "Don't worry, we'll compensate for their lack of magic. They could become great, um, scribes!"

"They don't understand what they're lacking," the mayor said offhandedly during one of his rounds through their little town. "They were born without magic, they didn't lose it. That's a good thing, it will cause them less grief."

Lune and Luc heard their parents cry at night and they looked at each other, deciding that if they had no magic, at least they could be kind. They would make sure their parents wouldn't have to be so sad all the time.

They became some of the hardest working students their school had ever seen and the entire town had nothing but praise for the friendly twins willing to lend a helping hand. Their parents got used to their magic lacking children and while everyone in town knew and never failed to inform travelers and traders about the unfortunate twins, it bothered them less and less over the years.

When the time came that Lune and Luc were old enough to leave the house, their parents were incredibly reluctant to let them go.

"There are a lot of dangers in the world," their mother worried, wringing her hands. "You have no magic to defend yourselves with."

"We'll be careful," Lune promised. "And we'll stick together."

"How will you avoid bandits and rogue mages and magical beasts?" their father fretted, packing daggers into their bags.

"We'll stay on the road," Luc answered. "The queen's road is safe and regularly patrolled. We'll stick with other travelers and traders so we won't be alone."

Their words soothed their parents. While they were sad to see their children go, they gave the twins everything they could possibly need and sent them on their way.

For the first time, Lune and Luc left their hometown and soon they realized how freeing it was to meet people who had no idea who they were. What they were lacking.

They reached a big city after a couple of weeks, getting lost among winding streets and big, bustling crowds. They met mercenaries and adventurers and at one point, Luc started to write down stories inspired by their tales if they agreed to speak to him. He accumulated a big book full of daring tales, of dashing heroes and wicked foes and wondrous places. Of loss and love and what it meant to be brave.

They settled down in the city after a while. Luc learned to play the lute from an old bard and spent his nights in taverns, chatting up travelers and earning his keep by playing music and telling his tales. As well as fleecing drunkards at games of dice.

Lune found herself working at an antique store that doubled as a pawnbroker. Many of the adventurers came to get rid of the odd trinkets and pretty, shiny knickknacks they picked up during their travels and quests.

Sometimes, the items they tried to pawn off were magical and that always made her boss leery. He always refused them, sending them on their way.

"It just means shit's cursed," he would grumble into his majestic beard. "They would not come to us if they could sell magic items to mages instead. Don't touch those things, even the best mages can't always defend themselves against curses."

"Can't curses be broken?" She had heard enough of those tales from the stories Luc read her. He liked to read things he wrote out loud, getting her opinion on his wording and descriptions.

"Aye," the shop owner dusted one of the stained glass decorations he had been trying to sell for a while now. "But you can only remove the curse from the person, not from the item. That's what makes curse casters so much trouble, they fuck up perfectly good merchandise. The best you can do is destroy the item in question and hope that the curse let's go. Doesn't always work, but it's worth a try."

He made Lune promise to never accept magical items from anyone and already the next day she unwittingly broke that promise. She had no magic and therefore no sense for magic either. 

She accepted a plain gold necklace from a mercenary while her boss was in the backroom. The woman had handed the necklace over with gloved hands and a relieved look in her eyes.

Lune chalked that up to her having debts to pay off and startled when her boss returned only to start cussing.

"Stupid girl," he hissed, staring at the necklace in her hand while the woman bailed before she could be stopped. "That's magic, cursed magic! Do you have any idea what that will do to you?"

Startled, Lune dropped the necklace onto the counter and they both stared at it as though it was a life, poisonous snake.

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[reiding-writing]

Are u willing to do a fic about an unsub!reader with early seasons Spencer? Like, the BAU has to team up with the unsub to catch another criminal with a similar M.O. to them and hijinks ensue (could be angsty hijinks or could be general scooby doo type situations) Idk!! I really like ur works and I've been thinking about this thing for days but my ass sucks at writing lol ;;

copycat—s.reid [1]

Summary:

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn’t work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer’s addiction, sociopathic reader

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 4.5k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: sorry to the person who requested this because tumblr deleted the actual ask but i did have it copied so at least it wasn’t completely lost 😭😭😭

left it here because people tend not to want to read really long fics. if people want a part two i will gladly oblige but otherwise its a decent stand alone to see how spencer would interact with an unsub like this

“James Harden, 23, was found two days ago on the bench of a public park in Los Flores, Orange County,”

The BAU team, barr Hotch, all settled in their seats as JJ arrived in the room.

JJ pressed a button on the small remote in her hand, two photos, one of each wrist of the victim, appearing on the screen behind her. “Both wrists had been slit, and the cause of death was concluded to be blood loss,”

“So, why are we being called in exactly?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee. The team was *tired*. They’d only gotten off a case three days before, and they were all in need of a break.

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish,” JJ shoots Morgan a pointed look to which he promptly raised his hands in surrender.

JJ presses the remote again, images of the victim’s wrists being replaced with images of his face.

There was a mix of reactions from the group, all of which perturbed, but some with more intent than others.

His head was laid limp over the back of the bench, his face pale and his lips white from the lack of blood flow to his head. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

His eyes however, were a different story, covered up by a pair of red roses that had seemingly had their stems forcibly pierced into the victims eyeballs, leaving a trail of oxidised blood down his cheeks.

Morgan and Garcia shared a concerned glance that they simultaneously turned towards JJ, who matched their expression with her own.

“They didn’t-”

JJ shakes her head at the beginning of Morgan’s question, and Emily and Spencer share a confused glance that they turn towards their three teammates who seem to be locked in a silent conversation that only they understood.

“I feel like i’m back in high school again,” Rossi pipes up at the three from his seat, inadvertently calling them out on their exclusion of Emily, Spencer, and Rossi from their conversation.

JJ sighs as she adverts her eyes towards Rossi, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We worked a case in 2004…” She hesitates to elaborate any further about the details, and Spencer takes the opportunity to voice is own curiosity.

“You didn’t solve it?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, eyes glistening slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in JJ’s direction.

It’d been three years since 2004, and the idea that an UnSub could go postal for that long with an FBI target on their back was- something, to say the least.

“No, we did-” Garcia nods her head determinedly, her eyes lingering on the screen as if she was more focused on the images than the conversation.

“So, a copycat then?” Emily adds her part to the conversation, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.

“Most likely,” JJ nods her head sharply, looking back at the screen once more. “There’s only been one recorded victim so far, but we want to stop whoever is responsible before anything else happens,”

“Are you alright Garcia?” Emily’s eyes remain fixated on Garcia’s face, her usually upbeat persona dwindling into something more solemn.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course my love bug, i’m alright,” Garcia shoots Emily a small smile as if to emphasise her point. “It was the first case I ever worked on is all, they just… stick with you ya know?”

Emily nods softly at her explanation. She knew what it felt like to have your first case stick in the back of your mind.

“Alright settle down everyone,” Hotch’s voice echoed through the conference room before he even stepped inside, and the team all diverted their attention towards him.

“I trust they’ve been briefed?” Hotch looks towards JJ, who gives him a nod before stepping aside so that he can take her place at the head of the table.

Hotch walks into the conference room with someone at his side. Someone who makes Morgan’s hand clench into fists and the small hint of optimism that Garcia had managed to keep fizzle from her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” Morgan’s voice was stern and challenging as his eyes narrowed in Hotch’s direction. “Hotch-“

Hotch halts Morgan’s attempt at a rebuttal with his hand, raised in Morgan’s direction as he knits his eyebrows into a line. “They will be a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“You can’t bring a psychopath in here and expect us to just go along with it-” Morgan’s argument was interrupted by your voice from where you stood behind Hotch, hands clasped together behind your back.

“Sociopath.”

Morgan’s expression furrows further if that’s possible, eyes staring daggers at your face. “Close enough.”

“Actually, Psychopaths and Sociopaths are fundamentally different, with the only real similarity between the two being an extreme lack of human empathy,” Your eyes flicker towards Spencer as he corrects Morgan’s assessment, raising an eyebrow in his direction out of intrigue.

“Either way, you cannot expect me to be okay with working alongside a serial killer.” Morgan’s eyes don’t stray from Hotch’s as he speaks, not backing down from his standing.

“I don’t expect you to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that they will be joining us for this investigation.” Hotch’s tone marks the end of the debate, one that Morgan knew he’d lost before it even started.

Hotch gestures for you to take a seat at one of the empty chairs and you oblige, leaning the side of your left foot on top of your right thigh and relaxing back into the swivel chair as Morgan’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

The fact that you were even here was enough to spark the embers of rage in the back of his mind.

The fact that you were walking around freely with no restraints was even worse.

“For those of you who weren’t present, in 2004, the BAU team was called out to Malibu to investigate a series of murders that littered the city.” Hotch’s eyes flicker over to where Emily, Rossi, and Spencer were sitting.

“Eighteen people were killed over the span of ten days, crossing age, gender, and race boundaries typical of a normal M.O, with the only link being two roses in place of the victim’s eyes.”

Hotch’s eyes turn towards the images on the screen, yours following his own as you examine the photos with a small huff. “Are you sure that is person is copying me and that it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Putting roses in peoples’ eyes isn’t something we see in the field every day,” Hotch’s explanation is blunt and straight forward.

“My roses were white.” You tilt your head at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty stark difference to just ignore.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself,” Spencer throws the idea out into the air at your observation, seemingly undeterred by your criminal history now that his head was submerged in the case.

“Then be original.” You face furrows with a roll of your eyes. “Don’t copy somebody else’s idea, it’s not that hard,”

“That’s enough,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss the details on the plane.”

Hotch picks up one of the open files on the table and tucks it under his arm. “Wheels up in thirty, i’ll meet you all there,”

A gesture of his head for you to follow him later, and he’s exiting the conference room with you on his tail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You walk right past Hotch’s seat as you board the jet, opting to take a seat directly opposite the genius doctor that had managed to capture your attention in the conference room.

He looks up awkwardly as you sit down, not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do. Should he start a conversation with you? Should he continue reading his file and pretend he can’t feel your eyes pouring over his features like you were sizing him up.

He doesn’t have to think for too long.

“What’s your name?” Your tone lacks any social grace, but he supposes he can’t blame you. It’s not like it’s your fault you don’t feel or express your emotions in the same way that the majority does.

“It’s- uh- Spe- Spencer,” His awkwardness really shines through his tone, left hand scratching at his right elbow as a self-soothing strategy.

Two seconds into a conversation and he already wants to dig himself a hole and hide in it for the rest of eternity.

“Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid,” He purses his lips into a line once he’s settled on his full title, but it doesn’t stop him from blurting out more in his effort to get all of his thoughts out of his head. “Spencer’s fine though…”

“Doctor? Of what?” You skirt past his awkward introduction in your pursuit to know more, and he’s grateful that his completely lack of social skills doesn’t scare you off like it would most people.

“Well- I have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry,” Spencer tucks his hair behind his ear, his file falling over the side of his lap into the gap between his leg and the arm of the chair. “But i also have bachelor’s degrees in Sociology and Psychology,”

He shuts himself off after his over-winded explanation with a purse of his lips in your direction.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology,” Spencer’s eyes practically light up at your words, completely forgetting that you’re a convicted serial killer and instead hyper-fixating on your academic interests.

“Really? Did you do a Bachelor of Arts or Science?” You can almost feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his body as he leans forward in his chair slightly.

“Science,” You tap the side of your head with your finger and Spencer thinks he understands. It’s the same reason he studied psychology himself.

Because he was different.

Because his brain worked in different ways than other people.

He couldn’t even imagine how much more severe it was for somebody like you.

“How do you know so much?” Your tone isn’t chastising. It’s not questioning his knowledge because he’s ’too young’ or ‘doesn’t look like someone who would be an expert’ in niche academic areas. You genuinely just wanted to know.

“Well- I have a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory,” You’re eyes followed his as he explained his intelligence to you, chasing them to ensure the two of you maintained eye contact. “And I have a reading speed of 20,000 words per minute,”

You hum at his answer, seemingly satisfied as you lean back in the jet seat.

The silence between you doesn’t have time to get awkward before Hotch is calling the team’s attention to go over the details of the case thus far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer spends most of his first night in Los Flores on a laptop.

Garcia almost has an aneurism when he asks her if he could borrow one of hers.

It takes him almost 30 minutes to figure out how to use it, face lit by the harsh white light of the screen and softened slightly by the warm yellow of the lamp on his hotel bed’s side table.

Once he manages to pull up the internet browser he spends the next multiple hours researching. Pouring over every news article and journalist report that he can about the 2004 Malibu case that had you in its centre.

The 2004 ‘Malibu Rose Killer’. One of the most prolific serial killers in California’s history.

Eighteen people dead in just ten days. An extremely rapid escalation that held no victim pattern of any kind.

A spree that only stopped when the police found both of your adoptive parents dead after a welfare check concerning your father not turning up to work. Your two first victims.

You’d told the courts that it was a manic breakdown. A symptom of your previously undiagnosed sociopathy. That you weren’t in your right mind when it happened.

It worked to a degree, swerving you of a death penalty, but the fact that your parents’ crime scene had shown signs of recognition for your actions halted your defence quite a bit.

Instead of slitting their radial artery and leaving them to bleed out, you’d severed their spines from the brain stem whilst they slept.

And instead of piercing their eyeballs with two roses, you’d instead chosen to lay one in between their two bodies instead.

That was enough for the prosecution to say you had at least some knowledge of the severity of your actions, and so instead of being carted off to a psychiatric prison you were left in a regular old high security prison to serve two consecutive life sentences for the murder of your parents with an annual mental assessment.

He assumes that’s why you agreed to be here. To gain a lenience on your sentence.

He didn’t know why he found your story so fascinating, but he knew that he’d only be able to refrain from asking you questions for so long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Spit it out.” Your words snap Spencer out of his thought-filled dazed, blinking at you as he slowly regains his senses.

“Huh?”

“Spit it out. Whatever you have to say to me.” Your tone, as he’s come to expect over the last few days, is very flat and straight to the point, clearly agitated at his eyes lingering on you for what you’d deemed too long.

You walk around the small table at the Orange County’s Los Flores police station with your arms crossed, confined there for the majority of the case as to not possibly initiate any ‘aggressive urges’ that might spawn from seeing a replica of your past crimes.

Spencer’s left hand absentmindedly scratches at his right elbow at your glare, clearing his throat and averting eye contact with you, both out of embarrassment of his unintentional staring and self-preservation towards your proclivity to get angry without real aggravation. “I- It’s nothing really,”

Your head tilts at him, your eyes telling him enough that your patience was waining and that you would get whatever he was thinking about out of him.

“I uh- did some reading… about your case-” Your expression morphs into an emotion that he can’t quite place at his confession, and he feels an overwhelming pressure to keep explaining himself as well as to just sew his mouth shut so he can’t say anything.

“And?”

“And… um- there was a part about it that didn’t really make sense to me,” He’s thrown himself in the deep end now, any hope of changing the topic of conversation long gone as he watches your eyebrow quirk in curiosity.

“Your parents…” Spencer’s eyes scan your expression intently as he mutters out the words, gauging your reaction to his words before he dares to continue.

“What about them?” You remain indifferent if not mildly compelled by the line of thought running through his head, and he’s internally relieved that he hasn’t pressed any of the wrong buttons in your fragile emotional state.

“Why?” Spencer mirrors the short, straight to the point wording that you seemed to be so fond of, and he can see you blank expression waver slightly at the question, like you weren’t sure how to answer it.

He watches the wrinkle in your brow become more prominent, how your eyes seem to loose focus and flicker around the room, the way you subconsciously shift from one foot to the other.

He’s not entirely surprised by your reaction. Sociopaths were very capable of harbouring emotions like everyone else. Anger, happiness, sadness, love, and even fear. Even if the intensity of them and the way they were expressed was different.

Right now your expression read as confusion mixed with mild apprehension, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to answer his question.

You still didn’t seem angry, which he was grateful for. He might have been a qualified agent, but that was with the exception of him not having to pass a physical examination.

And he really didn’t want to risk having to physically defend himself against someone who managed to kill eighteen people in the span of ten days because he’d accidentally said the wrong thing.

“They didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I was going to do,” You tone is a lot less apathetic as you come to your answer, stopping intravenously to collect your words.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your answer, not quite sure what to make of it.

“My turn,” Your eyes scan Spencer’s facial features, watching how Spencer’s eyebrows raise as you don’t give him time to compute your answer. “Do your higher ups know you’re an addict?”

The question is blunt, clear, and lacks any subtlety whatsoever despite the two of you technically being in a public place, even if you were the only people in the room.

Spencer’s eyes snap towards yours, surprise written all over his face. “You- I- Uh-“ His mouth falls open and closed like a fish as he tries to string a coherent sentence together, blinking at you with wide eyes.

How did you know that?

He falls short of an answer to your question, his eyes questioning you silently.

“Does your team know?”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “If they do no one’s ever mentioned it..” He doesn’t know why he’s exposing himself to you like this, but theirs something in the look your giving him that tells him that he can’t lie to you.

“What great friends.” Your voice is practically dripping in sarcasm, and Spencer can’t help but subconsciously agree with you.

He’d waited and waited for someone to recognise that something was off with him. That he wasn’t all there.

But instead of it being one of his coworkers, some of which he’d known for years, it was a sociopathic serial killer that he’d known for 37 hours and 16 minutes.

Lucky him.

“They have more important things to worry about,” His hand returns to scratching at his elbow through his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by the misfortune riddling his life; Almost as if it was a private viewing of a feature film made solely for your entertainment.

“Stop doing that.”

Spencer raises his eyes towards yours once more at your words, wide and glossy and making him look like a pathetic little puppy who’d been told off for tearing up a couch cushion.

You wonder how deep that patheticness goes.

“Don’t scratch. It’s annoying to watch and it’ll make your withdrawals worse.” You depart from the room before he can give you an answer, shutting the door harshly behind you as you spot Hotch in the main foyer of the station.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m bored.” You swing your legs over the edge of the table you were sat on. You’d spent the last four days confined either to the hotel room you were sharing with Hotch or the small meeting room the OCPD had reserved for the BAU during the case.

You wanted a change of scenery. Desperately. You could only deal with monotony for so long.

At least back in your cell you activities you could engage in.

Instead you were just stuck as a fact checker for the details of each victim.

Five people had died now. Following your victim pattern to a T.

The first a young white man. The second a middle aged white woman. The third a male black college student. The fourth and fifth a young gay couple.

It agitated you. What happened to originality? Get your own random victims.

“You can accompany Morgan and I to the coroner’s office,” Spencer offered you a pursed smile at his suggestion, partly because he knew you’d be able to see more differences between the originals and recreations in person than through photos and partly because he wanted to crack you open.

He wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to know what made you tick. How you rationalised your crimes. How your sociopathy developed.

He was in deep. And his brain wanted answers.

“Absolutely not.” Morgan shot down the idea immediately with a stern shake of his head. “There is no way in hell we are bringing them with us,”

“They might catch something that we won’t be able to,” Spencer’s rationalisation wasn’t exactly wrong. Even in copy cat murders the offender always left a piece of themself behind. Something of their own personality rather than the killer they were trying to replicate.

It could be so tiny that no one would recognise it. Apart from the original offender of course.

“They might catch the bright idea to try and attack somebody.”

“Oh please-“ You roll your eyes at Morgan. “If I was going to have another mental break at seeing a recreation of my past endeavours I would have had it already,”

Morgan narrows your eyes at you calling your murder spree your ‘past endeavours’. You hadn’t published a book or painted some mural. You’d killed eighteen people.

“Reid’s right,”

He doesn’t have time to get angry at you.

“Hotch-“ Morgan looks completely betrayed.

“There’s only so much they can do to help us from here. We want to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.” Hotch’s tone is stern, leaving no room for argument.

“And if they do spiral out of control,” Hotch’s eyes flicker between Morgan and yourself. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of it.”

Morgan mutters something under his breath about ‘stupid hierarchies’ and how much he hated your guts as he left the meeting room with a huff, although more composed than you thought he’d be.

“Are you ready to leave?” Spencer’s question snaps you out of your revelling over Morgan’s distaste for you, although your small smile of satisfaction doesn’t falter as your eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

- part two !!

[yandere-yearnings]

Contract-Bound Death (Yandere!Actor x GN!Reader)

feat. Viorel Dalca

♡ pt.0, approx. 1k words | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: (off-screen) murder, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, the entertainment industry, dark themes, implied use of contracts as a threat | series warnings: yandere themes, the entertainment industry, reader has a guilt complex

♡ a/n: we're pretending it's still 'around the end of october' so i'm not a liar. this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

It’s the middle of the night, and the floors are still stained with blood when you arrive. Thin smears across marble, flaking up when the wheels of your suitcase roll over them. You'd convince yourself it was just rust that had formed over time, but the lie would die too easy for you to try. After all, now you were working for the devil — and who would he be without murder to his name?

You see him for the first time under the low lights, chandeliers casting dim orange overhead. The Vio before you looks so very different from the one you'd watched from the other side of your screen. Lacking his trademark blue, blonde to the roots and rolling over, wearing white as blank as the look he shot you, brow raised into a pinched arch. You tell yourself that his disdain is only so palpable because he's been through these exact motions a million times before. You tell yourself that it's only natural. 

His attention shifts quickly, back to his script and the lines highlighted in electric teal. It's at this point you realise he isn't going to give you the time of day, that he won't even consider it. All the training leading up to this moment has whittled away your hopes, and finally, they've diminished. Wiping away cold sweat for the promise of six figures lying somewhere in your future, praying that if you didn't last the week, you'd at least be fired instead of killed. 

Unlike the last man in your shoes.

The lump in your throat is firm where it lodges itself; you swallow once, twice and give up. Dry lips parting so you can speak, hoarsely. “Hey.” Already, the nerves have made formality slip your mind. “I'll be working with you from now on. Your new manager.”

Vio scoffs and flicks a page. you think you notice him glare. “Hey,” he mimics, “it’s been a minute and I already can't stand you.”

Wincing at the harshness and deciding that now isn’t the time — that there would likely never be one since the rumours about him had proven to hold — you steal away. Thankfully, Vio doesn’t give you a harder time for it. You suppose he wanted you out of sight, so he wouldn’t.

At least you had your room to look forward to. Back in the winding hallways that this job forced home to you, all your life packed up in the little fabric box that trundled on behind. These white walls made everything seem like they stretched on forever, made you feel awfully alone. A wide world you’d stepped foot on, it was funny how you had been so ready only to get lost so soon.

Tomorrow’s schedule was an early start, high rise at the break of dawn so the light felt more natural on camera. Vio was shooting a solo scene. He’d be the only actor on set. Somehow that did nothing to calm your nerves. Somehow it made them worse. Up velvet steps, your footprints pressed their marks. The choice of colour made you remember something that a producer had said to you before this: that scarlet covered scarlet well. Your stomach churned.

On the ceiling of the top-most storey, there was a brown door nestled in the far corner. You stopped and stared at it for a long while, at the string that dangled down, worn and frayed and used time and time again by different hands. Yours would be the next to pull it, and maybe you didn’t want to anymore. Over your shoulder, there was the winding staircase that you’d just traveled, leading back down to the entrance. The sight drew a sigh from you, it was choked and wet because no matter how much you were beginning to regret this all — you’d signed your life away. That entryway could never be an exit to you.

So you turned your back to it.

Pulling down and unfolding the steps didn’t take much effort, yet the hinges seemed strong. You hauled your luggage up first before you followed, just to stall a second more. Surprisingly, the attic was unlike the rest of the mansion. A largely wooden interior gave it character, and strung fairy lights around potted plants made it feel warm. For a single moment, you found your breath taken in a better way than it had been all week, and then it filled back into your lungs entirely cold because there was something you’d almost forgotten. A dead man had lived here before you.

The way the image kept haunting you, you were starting to convince yourself that it must’ve been your hands that wrapped around his throat and strangled the glimmer from his eyes. They never did, though. It was Vio who took his life. You’d watched it happen from a ways away, but it had still been in front of you. You’re not sure what you had been expecting after that, things were too late; before you could even breathe a word there were papers being held to your neck like knives and they all had your name on them. 

As you shut yourself in and sat there, in the glow you’d been greeted by and that had started to flicker, you finally broke. Your tears were hot but that didn’t make them any comfort. You were scared. Everywhere you turned you were met with the dead looks of people who had seen it all again and again and again. Unable to understand how you were the outlier in this normality. Terrified that Vio didn’t seem even the slightest bit remorseful. Terrified that you’d get used to it. 

World spinning, all a blur on your heavy bones. Fatigue settled and inside you knot after knot tied. You felt heavy, like you’d been flooded entirely in water. No matter how much you cried, the sensation did not ebb. Perhaps your guilt remained to save you. Perhaps it endured, on your mind as the last thing, so that you were still human when you woke up come morning.

[mullermilkshake]

Sukuna’s proposal

Yakuza!Sukuna x Fem!reader

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, fem reader, knives, blood, graphic depictions of violence, references to non-con, stabbing, potential death, gun use, fighting, risk of death/murder, threats of violence, marriage proposal.

Shinjuku - 1982…

Mr Nanami called your name from his office, "Can you come in here please?"

"Is everything alright?" for the first time since you started this job, Kento Nanami showed a concerned look across his face.

"I have someone incredibly important coming and I have to be upfront with you," he offered up the chair across from his desk and allowed you to sit. "To be honest, I thought you would have left by now."

Was he questioning your professionalism? You had been there a few months and he hadn't uttered a word. "How so?"

"Well this sort of work isn't exactly your usual office work, I know you're aware of my security systems."

You were also very aware that at least Mr Nanami was Yakuza, though it never bothered you. It was simple enough to come into work, do your job and leave in the evening. Of course it came with its risks, but any job linked to the Yakuza warranted more open eyes than usual.

That was why you opted for spray in your bag incase someone came with overzealous hands. You could handle yourself in some capacity, so it was never an issue.

"I'm also aware that you are Yakuza, Mr Nanami. That doesn't bother me if that's what you are trying to imply?"

Was that a sigh of relief? "So you're up to speed then, this makes things easier. I apologise I never implicitly clarified before you came, but as you may have noticed, it's difficult to find civilian staff who won't run at the first sign of trouble."

Mr Nanami seemed like a reliable man at least, he was prompt, respectful and incredibly chivalrous. Something that may come in handy later should trouble actually arise.

Though for now, it seemed plausible to suggest that you were in good hands. As long as that didn't change and he left you out in the cold.

"I took this job knowing what sort of work you may have been in, I just need a steady pay check to afford my apartment. I don't need to know anything or ask questions."

Mr Nanami nodded and leant forward in his chair, lacing his fingers together in thought. "Good. At least I won't have to explain this."

He rummaged through his desk drawer and pulled out a knife. large enough to be mistaken for a kitchen knife, though it was dainty enough to be pocket sized if you squinted at it hard enough.

"I want you to keep this in your desk out front. The man who's coming is the type that some people despise for various reasons and I do not like the fact you have nothing as a deterrent while he's here."

Some might have suggested in their minds that the man himself was a serial killer or something, but that wasn't it at all. That signified to you that the man in question was someone of great importance to Mr Nananmi.

His own boss perhaps? Someone with enough power to make enemies out of the wood work to warrant protection from a secretary out front at collateral.

You bet on that it was his boss.

"Alright then," you leant forward and took the knife from the desk, its weighted handle gleaming in the low light of the screens off to the left side of the room you never dared to look at. "If that's what you wish of me, consider it done."

Mr Nanami got up from his chair as a signal for you to do the same. "Thank you, I hope you never have to use it."

"I hope so too," following him, he led you out of the office and back to your desk to which you slipped the knife into your drawer just like he had done before. "What time will your guest arrive?"

"Tonight, but I won't need you to bring him through. I'll greet him myself," he made a move back to his office and stopped in his tracks. "It's best if you don't make direct eye contact with him, his presence can be overwhelming to some."

You nodded to give non-verbal communication and turned to your work for rest of the day until Mr Nanami came back out of his office to greet the shadow at the door.

"Chairman," seeing Mr Nanami bow to another man was an odd sight.

The man being shorter in stature than himself, bright hair and unusual tattooed markings on his face. He was beautiful, the markings were beautiful in their own way, and being a Yakuza man made his presence all that more intimidating.

Well, to other people. Not to you.

To you, he was just another man just like Mr Nanami.

For a fleeting second, the two of you made eye contact to which you bowed your head in respect and continued working, noting his silent footsteps wander past you and into Mr Nanami's office.

Another hour must have passed in silence while your pen scribbled away, scratching over the quiet for something to listen to. Paperwork and filed reports sorted alphabetically to make the time not drag whilst there wasn't much else to do.

A knock at the outer office door was the most interesting thing in the whole room, it sounded timid by the rapping of knuckles which led you to believe it was Ino coming back to tinker with the network, or fiddle with something computer related.

But it wasn't.

It was a man you had never seen before. "I'm sorry, is there any chance I can see Nanami right now?"

"Sorry, but Mr Nanami is in a meeting right now. He can't be disturbed, would you like to leave a message?"

"No that's fine," he moved towards the desk and just past it, looking at the office door. "I only wanted to see who was out here before I get my guys."

What?

He held up a gun and moved fast enough to get behind you. "Why he would put a woman out front is beyond me. The Chairman's in there, isn't he?"

So that man inside with Mr Nanami was the Chairman?

You said nothing, making little micro movements towards your desk drawer. The weapon seemed as though bad luck had graced your desk, spending not even twenty four hours in your possession and you were already edging towards it to use it on a man you'd never met before.

There was a gun pointed at your head and you were as calm as you had ever been. Though what was the use in panicking?

The barrel of that gun pressed against your head. "Answer me, bitch."

"I don't know who you're referring to," so close now, the drawer handle in your reach.

"Don't fucking lie to me," he was trying to be as quiet as he could, teeth gritted and all. "I have four guys out there ready to storm this place and they'll take turns with you, believe me. So cooperate and tell me."

He was making threats like that already? He was either incredibly wet behind the ears to use something so drastic this early, or it was a bluff.

"Alright, I'll get the keys to the office."

The excuse was enough for the pressure of metal to leave the back of your head and allow you to open the drawer naturally and moved your hand around to feel for the knife's handle.

'If a person has possession of a knife when threatened, they better follow through in using it.' That was advice you had heard once from somewhere.

Might as well listen to it.

It all happened so fast, taking a hold of the weighted handle and moving forward a fraction so you could drive the blade into the man's thigh. The gun went off regardless by your head and the shot rang through your ears though it wasn't enough to stun you.

You weren't sure how you got up from your seat the way you did to draw the knife out of him and lunge again with the steel pushing onto his chest, enough to topple him off his feet and drag him to meet the hard floor with you on top of him.

The ringing vibrated your ear drums, tingling too much to notice Mr Nanami's office door open. You were on top of a man who threatened you with a gun and there was so much blood.

But he was still alive.

It wasn't shock. It couldn't have been. You were still coherent, you just couldn't hear much. The red on your hands was new, sticky and warm enough to keep you out of the moment until someone took a hold of your shoulders.

It wiped you out and into reality, grasping at what you had done in the present in front of your employer and a stranger who was eyeing you intensely.

"Can you hear me?" Mr Nanami shook you a little, his voice muffled somewhat. "Are you alright?"

"He threatened me- I didn't know what else I could do."

And now you were justifying yourself. You would do the same thing if there was a time machine to take you back.

"But are you alright?"

"I'm fine. There might be others outside," how were you talking so clearly right now with just your little rapid breaths at your lips? "He asked about the Chairman and said there are four others."

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah. I'm alright," the blood was a nuisance.

Mr Nanami lead you over to your chair and pulled the desk phone to his ear. "I'm calling Naoya, he'll be able to take you home."

"Don't let that ingrate in on this Nanami," the Chairman spoke for the first time.

"I can't leave until this is cleared up, she'll need to get home."

"I'll take her back, Uraume is waiting in the car," the Chairman approached the desk and folded his arms with purpose. "Naoya is a brat, he'd only mess it up. I'll make sure she get's home while you clean up the trash."

Wait. Clean up? Things were catching up to you. "Is he dead?"

Had you just killed a man? You should have been more freaked out about it. But you weren't.

"He's kicking for now. Shame. You should have aimed higher."

Right in front of you was a hand, the Chairman's hand. You made a note of the darkened polish adorning his manicured nails, black bands around his wrist.

You took it without question. "I'll bare that in mind next time I stab a man."

"Good. Nanami, call by tomorrow when this is sorted."

"Yes sir."

His hand was far warmer than you anticipated. He never let go until you were in the car, a sort of blur until he broke the silence.

"Care to explain how a civilian found their way into a vipers pit of the Yakuza?"

He was the Chairman, it was only respectful you answer him honestly. Right? "Money. I needed the money. I was aware who Mr Nanami was as soon as I saw him."

The world zipped by from the car window, unaware for the crime you had just committed. If the man wasn't dead, he was certainly gravely injured enough to warrant a prison sentence should anone find out. It was never discussed or mentioned by Mr Nanami or the Chairman.

It was more like an afterthought from yourself.

"Yet you still accepted the job offer anyway? And now you've stabbed a man with a gun. This life is hardly one to brag about when you're collateral."

"It doesn't scare me," only his reflection was in your periphery, you didn't turn your head to face him. "It's a job. I've had my fair share of hardships to know life isn't easy. Defending myself is something that comes naturally."

You could have sworn you heard him chuckle. "Defending yourself is far more difficult than people understand. It takes someone strong to do what is necessary."

That much was true. And that statement was enough to get your head turning to face him. Even in the dim light of the passing street lights, he was beautiful.

How did someone such as himself find his way into becoming a Chairman?

"Sometimes we're faced with difficult decisions when the hardest choice is the wisest. It's just something that has to happen."

The blood had dried along your fingers and began to crack and chip away leaving streaks of exposed skin at the joints. It would take more than just one shower alone to get all of this yuck off of you.

"You speak more truth than most of the men under my watch. It's refreshing."

"Sir, we've arrived," a voice from the drivers side came about to ground you.

"Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it."

The car door was suddenly opened for you, the driver bowing and their identity remained hidden. The other door opened and the Chairman approached you.

"I never got your name, Mr Nanami never told me."

"Sukuna. It's Ryomen Sukuna."

Even in the darkened sky of the night's glow tapered off with the neon signs of Shinjuku, he was still beautiful. You spoke your name too and offered a bow before taking steps towards the door to your apartment.

A quaint little ground floor, and it was all yours.

"Do you need assistance?"

"No, I'll be alright from here."

His eyes were in the back of your head as you wandered past him. "I'll be forward because it's not every day I meet a woman who pulls something so extraordinary to gain my attention like you did today."

"Hmm?" you turned and watched him from your front door almost, he made no attempt to follow you.

"Marry me."

"What?"

A proposal from someone you had spoken few sentences to was a first. But you didn't find yourself shying away from the subject.

"Marry me."

"I..."

The man in front of you softened his eyes, never judging you covered in another mans blood. "Think about it, and come to me with any answer you choose."

He bowed to you and turned towards the car, the driver opening the door to let him disappear into the darkness of tinted glass.

After that night, you wondered about that man and who he really was.

You gave him your answer several days later.

And it was a firm yes.

[doctorbunny]

A little speculation about Corpse Disposal and J-horror

But I'm a little bored so sharing a part-theory, part-headcanon on Muu and Rei

So we unfortunately don't see much of Rei in "Its not my fault" but I want to point out three key times we do

The first time we see Rei in the MV, is her wet sleeve (we know its not Muu because Muu wears a pink jumper under her blazer)

Then, after a lot of bug stuff, we're finally back in the real world, where Muu has just killed her Post-After Pain. In INMF, we don't see the surroundings as well, just the dirt track and bushes. But in AP, we see this is right next to a rushing river (Muu's undercover card also features a bridge as a landmark)

The next time we see Rei after her corpse, is a flashback to the start where she turns the hourglass over. Then it cuts just further back to before Rei stood up - as she pulls herself up off the floor She's alive and absolutely soaked after a session of intense bullying (which we saw Muu insert herself into in AP)

However, I want to now switch a little to talk about cinematography and a concept called the Kuleshov effect The video I linked is pretty concise but the gist is that if you put two shots next to each other, even if they were filmed separately, the brain interprets it as a continuous scene (so if you film a character looking off screen, then a picture of an apple on a table, we're going to assume they're looking at the apple)

Therefore while we understand chronologically that the sequence of events is Rei (wet and alive) -> Rei's murder on dry land ↺ Flashback to Rei still wet and alive Which I think everyone understood as a commentary on how this power struggle was a constant cycle of the hourglass being turned over

I think visually, it also implies a sequence like Rei was bullied -> Muu kills her -> Sopping wet, Rei crawls back to the classroom

But wait! That sequence suggests a missing step How did Rei get wet again?

Well, we know Muu killed her next to a river And if you were a scrawny teenage murderer with a body on your hands, would you leave it there where someone could see it while you grab a shovel and stand in broad daylight digging a hole in tough ground??? Or try lighting a fire in public??? Of course not!

It'd be much easier for Muu to, in a panic, just roll her body into the convenient river and let all the evidence wash away!

(Of course, if Muu was panicking, she might not have been very careful. Given she ended up in MILGRAM, there must've been something tying Muu to Rei's death and in T2 Muu seems to have finally remembered losing her left shoe...)

Fun fact: this is the same shoe Cinderella loses in the animated Disney film (and the best known version of that story came into English from France)

Shoe break over, back to the Endless Queen's Game

So, if we assume Rei's corpse was thrown in the river, what does it matter? Its just a pointless headcanon

But I speculate the meaning goes deeper!

So that image of Rei, soaking wet, crawling off the floor reminded me of something: J-horror ghost girls! Specifically the most famous of ghost girls Samara/Sadako Who became a vengeful spirit after being thrown in a well and now crawls out of TVs to kill people who watched her VHS tape

Her story too is a cyclical one (its called 'Ring' for a reason), the only way to break the curse is to copy the tape and have someone else watch it, who will then become the victim unless they can themselves copy the tape and show it to another unsuspecting patsy

The story goes back further because this movie is based on a novel, which is based on the legend of 番町皿屋敷 Banchou Sara Yashiki. There are many versions but generally a maid girl Okiku is proposed to, and when she rejects the proposal, her master breaks one of ten plates and promises to forgive her if she marries him. When she declines again, he beats her to near death then throws her into a well (sometimes it's a jealous mistress instead of a master)

Interestingly, Atrophaneura alcinous (swallowtail butterfly) larvae found in Japanese wells became known as Okikumushi お菊虫 (Okiku bugs), tying back to the whole insect thing...

It's been said a bunch now, but the name 'Rei' can be read as 霊 meaning ghost (seen in words like Yuurei 幽霊, a more common word for ghost than Rei on its own)

We know Muu is afraid of ghosts too (though I must admit she says Obake, not yuurei, but both words refer to ghosts)

Remembers the i/井 in Sakurai/櫻井 can be read as 'well' I'm sure that has nothing to do with anything

Uh, I can't think of a conclusion because its 1 am and I had to look up a bunch of spooky images

TL;DR: I think Muu may have quickly shoved Rei's body into the river next to where the murder happened (maybe forgot her shoe at the scene of the crime) and now she's scared by the cycle continuing and Rei coming back to haunt her

[sunnie-angel]

Part 13: The Coworker

part 12 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a strange holding pattern develops where nothing really happens and all you can do is bury yourself in work while jason keeps hiding things from you

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: more of a set up chapter before the next big plotty thing happens. umm don't throw tomatoes at me?

Jason Todd is lying to you. Or at the very least he’s keeping things – important things – from you. Knowing that, being unable to close your eyes and turn the other way anymore, it fractures you a little more in ways you had thought you were long past. Still, stupidly, you love him. You keep waiting for the day when it gets easier to breath and your stomach stops swooping anytime Jason Todd is in sight. Hope rises and falls. His kindness mixed with cruelty burns but you can’t stop drinking it down as though you’ve been days in the desert.

In some ways, not being around Jason and the friends you share is easier, not having to wonder with every stilted interaction what there is left to hold you together. Much easier then, to bury yourself in work, in school. Lose yourself to distractions until the fear and paranoia dogging your every step fade into the background with the hum of routine and the mindless chattering of people who don’t know you well enough to hurt you with their well meaning questions.

It feels silly to plan for your future when it might very well come to an end in an alley, but the thought of a next month, a next year, a next moment keeps you clinging to sanity like a life preserver. So you put your head down and work, fingers crossed that all your effort will pay off with the summer research position currently being dangled over the heads of all the English department interns. A stepping stone, maybe, to being able to work your way through grad school that certainly no one else but you and your student loan from Gotham Trust will be paying for. For 15 hours a week you can tune out the present, get lost in the daydreams and the work of building that future which rests just hazily out of your reach, beyond the taint of murderers creeping in the dark and a love that seeps like poison.

Something close to regret always passes over you when the work day ends and Jason stands at the door waiting for you. Maybe even something ugly, a twisted up anger, jagged and sharp, that buries itself under your breastbone. Your life is held together with duct tape and sticky glue, balanced precariously on one wobbly leg, but no matter what happens to you, Jason will be fine as always. In a few months he’ll have his degree and a family that apparently doesn’t hate him as much as he’s implied and he’ll go swanning back off to wherever the fuck he mysteriously appeared from. After graduation, who’s to say that you’ll stay friends at all? That he won’t move on with his life and maybe, occasionally, he’ll think fondly of the girl he was friends with for less than a year while he’s off saving the world, saving the Alley, from yet another idiot villain. The future is yours, shining and pristine, but yours alone. A shining knife that’s lodged itself in your chest and twists in anticipation of the moment when he’ll let you go.

You don’t let any of those thoughts show on your face though. Don’t want to ruin any of the dwindling moments you have left and so you bury it down inside, pack the soil down on top hard and cross your fingers that it won’t grow any poisonous fruit.

The first time you stay late, you’re apologetic when you ask Jason to come back in a few hours but there’s none of the usual claustrophobic sensation. Jaimie had asked for help and you had volunteered to give it to her, any excuse not to go home and sit in your tiny apartment and flinch at the wind outside. It’s the first time you stay late but not the last.

Really you had never intended to be so distant from the other research interns but when all the seniors are competing really for the same opportunity, one that would make or break your future plans, it’s not hard to see everyone else as competition. People to be polite and helpful to, but not people to get close to in the eventuality that they break your heart by getting the position or you break theirs. But in searching for more and more reasons to stay distracted, to prolong the moment just before you see Jason again, before you fall into his arms again begging for scraps, it’s hard not to get to know them better.

There’s sweet Jaimie with her bottle thick glasses who only started this semester, Amira with her nearly magical knowledge of the library’s cataloguing systems, and Louisa whose German accent only comes through when she gets annoyed. Stoic Miguel that never really says much but doesn’t have to in order to get his point across and Ian whose charm has even crabby Dr. Duvall smiling broadly. They’re friends, all of them, or at least on friendly terms. It’s hard not to thaw towards them when suddenly you’re making a point to spend so much time with them.

Probably, you should be on your guard. Probably, you should listen to the paranoia whispering at the back of your mind about strangers and hidden motives. But with all the lights turned on in the tucked away office for interns, the space heater warming the old bricks and mild laughter and offers of help freely given, it feels safe in a way. That this space makes them safe even if you couldn’t name their birthdays at gunpoint (you really hope you’ll never have to do that). Here you can leave all of your messy emotions at the door, all the bagging and sleepless nights forgotten in the face of people that don’t know you.

Three weeks and never once does Jason complain about the hours stretching later and later. He never mentions how your feet seem to trudge slower and slower to him where he waits at the door. How the lightness seems to leave you as you hit the cold night air. Three weeks until his patience hits its limit.

“Seems like you’ve been working more than last semester,” he drops leadingly into conversation one morning as he rolls out of the side of your bed he’s claimed for himself.

“Seems like it,” you reply as you struggle to get your bra hooked on right. He comes up behind and does the clasp for you, hovers like he wants something more he’s not sure he’ll be allowed in the bright light of day.

“I just worry about you, yeah? Don’t want you to work yourself sick with— with everythin’ else goin’ on.”

“Well don’t,” you tell him, harsh words that drip with your frustration as you dig through your drawers for a sweater. Dannika and Lina have already been on your case about all your overtime hours, not to mention Rei’s quiet concern. “Don’t worry about this, okay” You say more gently, turning back to him as you tug the sweater over your head. “Work’s the one place where I don’t have to deal with—” you gesture expansively “—all of this.” Quickly you register the way his eyes go blank and shuttered. “With the fear, I mean. No time for serial killers when I’m trying to collate lists of possible sources for Dr. Higuchi’s next book.” He nods, and then doesn’t bring it up again. 

It’s a Tuesday, so it’s only you, Amira, and Miguel working. The office is quiet without Jaimie’s constant questions and Ian’s little asides but its a cosy kind of quiet. Slowly the quality of the light changes as the sun creeps below the skyline and eventually you have to admit that there’s nothing more to keep you there for the day. You pack up simultaneously, Amira bumping your elbow with her overstuffed satchel as she swings it onto her shoulder.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t ding you too hard did I?” She apologizes. It was a pretty solid hit, the several hardcovers in her bag as good as bricks but she didn’t mean anything by it and so you don’t take it personally.

“No harm done,” you let her know, shouldering your own bag as you do.

“Any plans for tonight?” Amira asks.

“Just tackling some readings for class, nothing interesting,” you reply with the conspiratorial tiredness that all students have by this time of the year.

“Hmmm okay, what about Thursday?”

“Thursday? Why?” You ask, a tightness to your spine. She’s never asked, none of them have ever asked before. There’s been the usual how was your weekends and have a good nights but never anything this direct.

“Well most of us sneak into the grad student bar on Thursday for their trivia night and you need five people for a team only Louisa’s got that paper due Friday and probably won’t come. So, if you’re free, would you want to join us?”

“I— uhm I’d have to check?” You tell her, suddenly panicked because this wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all. Yes, you’d been getting on with your coworkers better but you hadn’t thought that you’d been getting on well enough to be invited to their plans outside of work. And yes, technically a Thursday should be fine, should be safe, no one’s gone missing on a Thursday. But to meet? Outside of the office, outside of the place you’d neatly marked as ‘safe’ with people that you barely know? “When does it— when does it usually end?” You ask instead. “Just with everything going on I usually have a friend—” the word catches in your throat “—walk me home at night.”

“Hmmm like eleven or so?” She cocks her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t even think of that. It’s so scary and I don’t even look like a potential victim.” Amira smiles at you pityingly and you can already feel the sympathy curdling in your stomach. “You know what, why don’t you bring them along? The teams only have to be a minimum of five but they can go all the way up to ten.”

“I’ll see if he’s free but I’ll let you know?” It’s pathetic at how easily just the thought of Jason’s presence makes you breath easier, feel more up to accepting what’s probably a genuine invitation. Amira happily gives you a number to contact and you part ways. Jason’s waiting, like always but it takes you a while to figure out exactly how to phrase your request to take up his time with something so trivial.

“I got invited out by my coworkers today,” you tell him, staring out the bus window as you speak. He’s folded himself into the aisle seat beside you, something you’d snorted about earlier and muttered about a clown car until he’d scowled from swallowing his laughter.

“Do I know any of them?” He asks, grumbling as he tries to find a position kinder to his knees.

“Maybe I introduced you to Jaimie?” You rack your brains thinking back. “Anyway, the point is they invited me to trivia night with them and when I was worried about making you wait for so long to walk me home they invited you too,” you say in a rush.

“When?” He cranes his neck to check the next stop as he asks.

“Thursday, ends around 11.”

He sighs through his nose. “If it was any other day I’d say no problem, yeah? But I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, a thing,” he evades.  The two of you get off at the stop, the bus kicking up dirty slush in its wake.

“You should go, have a good time,” Jason tells you in front of your building. “I’ll make sure to be there at 11 and I’ll still make sure you get home. But you should have some fun, yeah?”

He’s hiding something again, isn’t he?

It’s silly to be so distracted by a maybe but you can’t stop thinking about it. You miss a very obvious trick question on the publication of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, though Ian smiles very kindly when he changes the original date you had written to the date the book was first published under the author’s real name. Even without doing anything at all Jason still manages to knock you off balance. You don’t regret it, coming out with your coworkers, even if the bar starts to get more rowdy as the night goes on. That sense of safety, of oh these people won’t hurt me, isn’t restricted just to the office it would seem. Miguel still doesn’t speak very much but he smiles more and Jaimie is strikingly confident when she isn’t wrestling with spreadsheets. It’s almost, almost enough to distract you from thoughts of Jason by the time the evening is wrapping up.

You’re laughing freely at a sly joke from Amira you wish Dannika was there to hear too when you finally spot him. He’s leaning against the wall outside the building, phone still cupped to his ear when you run up to him, the snow muffling the sound of your foot steps. Even in the low lighting of the bar’s neon sign he still looks beautiful and you’re loath to disturb the moment. He’s just ending the call as you get closer, fat snowflakes catching in your hair.

“...yeah, yeah love you too Barbie.”

Oh.

a/n: on the other line, barbara's threatening to castrate jason for making dick sad

[btsugarush]

GANGSTA | myg - 001

summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, and gang related activity; four things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention.

pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader

warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni

word count: 4.2K

You tossed and turned in your bed as the obnoxious sound of banging carries through your apartment. You snatch your pillow from under your head, placing it over your ears in hopes to drown out the sound. Sadly, it helped very little. “Ugh!” You groan, tossing the pillow to the floor in frustration. “GO THE FUCK AWAY!” You shout. The banging abruptly stops, and you sigh in contentment. 

Just as you were prepared to close your eyes again, your phone started to ring. You let out a loud whine, deciding to give up on slumber at this point. Looks like resting wasn’t in your favor. You grab your phone from your nightstand, the screen flashing your best friend, Mina’s, contact name. You accept the call, only to be ear assaulted by her shouting from the other side.  “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” 

You pull the phone from your ear, cringing as though she had burst your eardrums. You don’t even dignify her with a response before you end the call. Of course Mina would be the one banging on your door like she’s being chased by a masked killer. 

You swing your legs over your mattress, sliding on your house slippers that you kept on standby beside your bed. Purposely procrastinating, you take your delicate time, trying to stretch away your exhaustion. You saunter towards your living room, making no effort to rush and open the door. Mina begins to impatiently bang on the door again. “I’m coming! Geez!” You unlock your door, pulling it open to expose your displeased friend. “Took you long enough.” She simply walks past you, entering your abode without your permission. 

You shut your door, looking back at Mina as she takes a seat at your dining table. “What was so important that you had to drive to my place and bang on my door like a lunatic?” You questioned the blonde. She squints her eyes, her mouth dropping in disbelief. “Did you forget we were supposed to go out for lunch today?” She crosses her arms. 

“Of course I didn’t forget,” you say, taking a seat in the chair across from her. “I thought we were doing that at like 2:00?” 

Mina raises a brow at you. “Um… newsflash, it’s 1:50 right now.”  

Your eyes widened. There was no way it was already the evening time. You felt like you had just dozed off in bed not too long ago. You check for the time on your microwave for clarity, pouting when you realize she wasn’t telling a story. “Fuck…” you rub your cheeks with the palm of your hands. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I overslept.” 

“It’s fine,” she shrugs. “It’s not too late to still go.” 

The two of you weren’t going anywhere exotic for lunch. Just going out for ramen at Makoto. You worked there as a server, so you got a discount on food. Why not take the advantage? Especially since you didn’t make enough money to eat anywhere else, and you’d hate for Mina to have to pay for both of your meals.  “What has you so tired anyway?” She asks, pretending like she couldn’t get a clue. “Like you don’t know.” You roll your eyes. 

“Ooooh,” she smirks, wiggling her eyebrows. “Did you finally give Kookie the cookie?” 

You giggled, shaking your head. You wished that’s how the night went. Although,  you still enjoyed yourself because any moment spent with Jungkook was still time well spent. “No, not yet. He hasn’t pursued anything, so I don’t think he’s ready.” You rest your chin into the palm of your hand. “What the hell is he waiting for? Your wedding day?” She turns up her nose. 

“I think he’s waiting until we make our relationship official. We’re still just at the talking stage.” 

You’ve known Jungkook since high school. He started off as your best friend, next to Mina. He was always there for you, lending you a shoulder to cry on when you were going through a breakup, or listening to you vent. Never did you look at him as a potential romantic partner, or at least, never have you said it out loud. You two didn’t admit your feelings for each other until 3 months ago; now you were trying to see where it goes, and so far it’s been everything you’ve hoped for. Except for the lack of sex, which surprises you to care so much about considering you’ve never had sex with anyone before. Yet, you’ve craved it so much recently. 

“Well, he better make things official soon because there is nothing better than sex.” she bit down on her bottom lip, practically drooling as she reminisced about her sexual conquests with her boyfriend, Jin. “Yeah, I bet.” You chuckle. “Don’t get any slob on my table, whore.” You stand up from your seat, figuring that you’ve wasted enough of your lunch time sleeping as it is. You didn’t want to waste anymore of it by gossiping about sex. 

You head back to your bedroom, pulling open your wardrobe as you search for something to throw on. Mina follows behind you, plopping down in your bed with a light bounce. “So, is Kookie coming over again tonight?”

“Probably not,” you flip through your clothes like a photo album, taking hangers from the bars to see what looked good on you. “I have work tomorrow, and I cannot risk waking up late again.” 

You didn’t have the luxury of being late for work like most folks did. It was hard enough for you to find good paying work since you didn’t finish nursing school like Mina. You want to go back, but you didn’t have the funds to pay for college, and your apartment at the same time. You only made like $15/hr working at Makoto, and your checks from that went to your rent, and other bills. You couldn’t even afford a car. You had to take the bus to travel. 

You finalize your outfit choice, going with a mini floral print spaghetti strap dress. “How’re things going with Jin?” You query, undressing yourself before you slip on the red dress. “We’re pretty good, except I feel like he’s hiding something from me. He’s been really anxious lately, but when I ask him about it he says he’s fine,” she shrugs. “I’m trying not to overthink it. Maybe he has a lot on his plate with work and everything. He hasn’t been making any sales in real estate, and is afraid he might be jobless soon.” 

“Yikes,” you walk into your bathroom to brush your teeth. “That must be tough on him.” You grab your toothbrush from its holder, taking the tube of toothpaste and squeezing it onto the bristles.  “Yeah.” She sighs. You felt for your best friend. Nothing sucks more than watching your significant other go through a rough time, but for Mina it was much worse because she absolutely loved and adored Jin. 

You spit and rinsed in the sink, washing your toothbrush off before placing it back in the holder. While the water was still running, you took the opportunity to splash your face with the cooling liquid, making sure to clean away the crust from your eyes. Once you turn off the faucet, you grab a towel from the rack and dry your wet face. 

“Are you done yet? No need to get all fancy for some ramen.” Mina complained, which prompted you to roll your eyes. You weren’t even taking that long. You usually take a considerable amount of time getting ready on a regular day. Jungkook could definitely attest to that, seeing as he’s always whining about you ‘taking 40 hours to get ready’. 

You grab your white air forces, and a pair of socks from your closet, slipping them on. “Okay, I’m ready to go.” 

“Finally.” She jumps up from your mattress. “I’m literally starving. I felt like I could pass out from hunger any second now.” 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” You grab your purse from your wardrobe, and your cellphone from the nightstand before the two of you make your way back into the living room. You grab your unit keys from the hook by your front door, the two of you heading out. As you were locking the door, your neighbor Hoseok exits out of his apartment. “Ladies,”  He smiles, locking his door as well. “Grand rising.” 

“Oh, hey, Hoseok. Grand rising to you too,” You return back the smile. “Where’re you headed to today?” You ask, dropping your key into your purse. “Just going to check the mail,” He laughs. “How about you, lovelies?” 

“We’re heading to Makoto for lunch.” 

Hoseok hums lightly, nodding his head. “Mmm, I love Makoto. Bring me back some rice cakes?” 

“Of course.” You giggle. 

“You’re a real one.” He lightly pats your shoulder before going on his way. Once he was far enough away, Mina spoke up. “He’s such a weirdo.” She snarls, shaking her head as she watches Hoseok walk down the hall. You shrug. “I think he’s eccentric, but in a good way.”   

“Whatever you say. I think he watches you through his peephole when you’re coming or going.” She jokes. “You’re such a bitch.” You chuckle, nudging her with your elbow. As you and Mina walk to the exit of the building, your phone vibrates from the inside of your purse. You pull it out, peering at the contact name. “Kookie cake 🍪🍰”. 

You smile upon seeing Jungkook’s contact name, answering quickly before it sends him to voicemail. “Hey.” You greet him giddily. “Hey, beautiful.” You could tell he was smiling on the other end. “What’re you up to?”  You ask. Not that you needed to. You could hear the buzzing in the background, which tells you that he’s at work. Jungkook worked at a tattoo parlor as one of the main tattoo artists and piercers there. He usually doesn’t have time to call you when he’s at work, being that he’s always so busy with clients. 

“I’m at work,” he lets out a sigh. “One of my clients doesn’t come in until 3:30, so I took this time to hear your angelic voice.” 

You felt your cheeks heat up. Mina looked over at you, making kissy faces. You make it outside, the sun blazing down on you. It had to be about 80°C out today. “Well, I’m glad you called. I wanted to tell you that you made me late for my lunch date with Mina today.” You approach the passenger side of Mina’s silver Chevy Cruze, waiting for her to unlock the door. “Oh, you’re blaming me?” Jungkook laughs. “I seem to recall a certain someone begging for me to stay longer.”

“Wow, expose me much?” 

Mina unlocks the car, and you pull open the door before climbing inside. She starts up the engine, looking over at you. “Alright, lovebirds. Talk to each other later, I want to play music.” You roll your eyes. She wouldn’t be saying that if it was her on the phone talking to Jin. “I guess I have to get off the phone, Mina’s being a hater since she’s not on the phone with her man.”

She throws a glare your way, childishly sticking her tongue out at you. “Alright, Angel. Call me later?” 

“You know I will.” You say your goodbyes, then end the call. “Thank you.” Mina turns on her radio, turning the volume to the highest it could go. The drive to Makoto wasn’t a long drive. From your apartment it was about 8 minutes away. You usually had to take the bus there on scheduled work days as the walk took an hour or so.  

“Hope we find a table, it looks crowded today.” Mina makes the observation, seeing that the restaurant’s parking spaces were nearly full. “They usually are on Friday.” You inform her. You’ve worked plenty of Fridays to know. Mina manages to locate a parking spot not too far from the entrance, and pulls into it. “I can’t wait to stuff my face with dumplings.” Mina licked her lips like an animal deprived of food. 

“Their dumplings aren’t that good.”  You shake your head. Maybe you only felt that way because you worked here, and are constantly having Mr. Kim make you dumplings. After a while they started to make you sick. The bell rings as you two walk through the entrance. “Hey, Jimin.” You greet your co-worker as he’s taking a customer’s order. “Hey, Y/N. Are you here to help out today?” He peers over at you with a smile. 

“As if. I’m going to enjoy my day off while I can,” you laugh. “Any tables left?” You ask, looking around. The restaurant was crowded just as Mina thought. “Yeah, we’ve got one more table left. You’re lucky.” After he finishes up taking orders, he leads the way to an empty table. You and Mina take a seat, and Jimin flips to a blank page on his notepad. “I’m guessing you girls already know what you want?” 

Mina piped up immediately, already making up her mind before you got there. “Dumplings.” Jimin scribbled down her order. “Anything to drink?” He asks.  “Water will do.”  Jimin nods, looking over at you. “Let me guess,  dumplings for you too?” 

“Wrong. I'm not a total cliché. I’m getting Hakodate ramen.” 

Jimin smirked, taking down your order. “Anything to drink?” He scribbles something else down in the notepad. “I’ll take a water too.” Jimin flips the notepad your way, showing you that he had already written it down. “Guess you are a total cliché.”  You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Just go put in our orders.” 

He chuckles, leaving your table to head back into the kitchen. “He seriously wants to fuck you.” Mina blurted. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head at the unexpected assumption. “Don’t be ridiculous, he knows I’m seeing Jungkook.” 

“What’s your point? Guys don’t care if you have a man or not. If you gave him an opening he’d take it in a heartbeat. Trust me.” she whispers as she notices Jimin walking back over with your waters. He sat the glasses down on the table, then pulled out a pair of red chopsticks for the both of you to take. “Your food won’t take too long, I’ll be back with it shortly.” He smiles down at you before walking back to the kitchen. Mina stares at him as he walks away, a grin on her face. “If I were you, I’d fuck him.” 

“Not a chance. I care about Jungkook way too much.” 

“That’s cute and all, but you need to burst that cherry at some point, and Jungkook is taking his sweet time.” She takes a sip of her water. You didn’t see what was so wrong with that. Most women would find it attractive to know a guy is taking his time with sex. You did. It showed that he didn’t just see you as a sexual object. As much as you wanted to lose your virginity, you respected him for wanting to wait. It honestly made you feel more important to him. You knew you weren’t going to be Jungkook’s first–you weren’t even going to be his second or third, but for some reason it brought you comfort knowing he valued you enough to take it slow unlike he did with other girls. 

Jimin comes back to the table with your food in hand, handing Mina her dumplings, then sitting  your ramen in front of you. “Here you go, ladies.” 

“Thanks, Jiminie.” You grab your chopsticks, pulling them apart. “No problem. Enjoy–” Jimin is cut off by the bell of the entrance door ringing. His expression suddenly looks distressed, and sickly. “Uh…. are you okay?” You ask, following his gaze towards the entrance. When you look to see what caught his attention, your eyes are fixed on a group of men standing there. You noticed that the entire restaurant seemed to quiet down upon these men's arrival, the atmosphere not as family friendly as before. Some of the people whisper amongst themselves, not daring to speak aloud. 

“Can we get some fuckin’ service around here?” A taller guy within the group calls out, staring directly at Jimin. Jimin sighs, walking over to the flock of degenerates. You turn to look at Mina, her face was just as confused. “Am I missing something, who are these guys?” You whisper to her. “I don’t know, but they’re giving off some bad energy. Let’s hurry and eat so we can go.” 

“I’m sorry, but we’re out of tables right now. The wait time is going to be about 30 minutes.” Jimin explains to the men, but they clearly aren’t having it. “Why wait when we can find a table for ourselves right now?” The lanky man snarls, shoving Jimin out of the way as they stride through the restaurant anyway, laughing as Jimin seemed to freeze up instead of stopping them. The group of men are looking at tables, as though they’re shopping for who’s they’re going to take. People turn their heads, trying to avoid eye contact as they do so. 

They end up stopping in front of an elderly couple, and the taller one speaks again. He must’ve been the leader of the group, with the way he seemed to take charge. “You’re being booted, oldheads. Give us your table.” The older woman looks towards her husband, awaiting for him to speak up. “You should learn to respect your elders, young man. We’re still eating here.” 

The group of men snickered, clearly not giving a damn about respect of any kind. “You think we give a fuck? Get up, or we’ll make you get up.” Your eyebrows furrow, the threat not sitting right with you. Mina notices your expression, knowing it all too well. “Don’t you dare say anything. Stay out of it.” She warns, not wanting the attention of these men on you. One thing about you is that you didn’t take too well to bullying. You were always standing up for people, and judging by the fear oozing off of everyone at the restaurant, you’re the only one that was willing to do it. Even Mina was scared. 

The elderly couple ignored the group, clearly having no self awareness about the potential danger of the situation. The lanky guy shares a look with a raven haired man, almost like they were speaking to each other telepathically. “Handle it.” The raven commands the taller one. Those two simple words were all he needed to hear as he snatched the elderly woman from the table, prompting the older woman to scream out. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Her husband shouts. “I told you to get the fuck up or we were going to move you.” 

You noticed that everyone looked mortified by the ordeal, but still made no effort to help. Who were these guys that made everyone here too terrified to even speak? “Let go, you’re hurting me!” The older woman cries out. You couldn’t take the sight anymore, you refused to cower and watch these men harass the elderly like everyone else; you slam your hand on your table, taking a stand. “Why don’t you assholes just leave them the fuck alone?” Your outburst catches the eyes of everyone in the restaurant, some shaking their head at you like you were a fool. Mina slides down in her seat, wishing she could hide from this confrontation. 

“Mind your fuckin’ business, bitch.” The lanky man spat, glaring at you like you were insane to be talking to them like that. “This just became my business, so how about you just walk the fuck out of here and find a different place to eat.” You snap back at him, your glare just as vicious. You were probably making a mistake by opening your mouth, seeing as you were heavily outnumbered, but you couldn’t turn back now. “How about we take your table then?” Mina is quietly whispering ‘no, no, no’, hoping that it didn’t come down to that. You knew she was going to be unbelievably pissed at you if it did. 

“Try and take my table.” You challenge him. 

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back; the man shoves the older woman back into her seat before he stalks over to your table. The way he’s approaching you looks so threatening, and you feel that you have no choice but to defend yourself. You grab your chopsticks from the table, tightly gripping the wooden sticks in your hand as you brace yourself for a showdown. “Joon,” the lanky man halts in place just as he’s about to grab you, and looks back at his posse. “Head outside and take a breather.” The raven speaks calmly. 

Joon pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, not even bothering to argue back with the order given to him. He looks at you with an evil glower and points his slim finger in your face. “You just lucked out, bitch.”  He storms out of the restaurant, the bell dinging as he exits. You’re still holding the chopsticks as the raven now approaches you, his hands in the pockets of the green letterman jacket he adorned. The way he commanded the Joon guy told you well enough that he was the one in charge. “I apologize on behalf of my friend there. He was a little out of line,” 

‘A little??’ 

Even though this man was apologizing to you, there was something about him that sent chills down your spine. The way he looked into your eyes felt like he was trying to take your soul. He had eyes like the devil. They were dark, cold, lifeless even. He actually intimidated you more than the tall one, which you felt showed through the way your legs quivered like they were about to give out at any second. He looked so cool and collected, the disturbance he and his crew caused having no effect on him. It was like he worried about nothing, and feared no one. His eyes shift from you, to the chopsticks in your hand. “Were you planning on stabbing my friend with those?” 

You look down at the chopsticks as well. “If… if I had to.” You answer truthfully, swallowing the lump in the back of your throat. The raven smirks, running his tongue across his bottom lip as if the thought turned him on. “You’re brave,” his eyes roam your body in an uncomfortable, predatory kind of way. “I like you.”

Those were the last words he spoke to you before turning away, deciding to leave the restaurant like you requested them to do. He jerks his head towards the exit, signifying for his crew to follow him out. You wait for them to fully depart before you drop your chopsticks to the floor and collapse back into your seat. Your heart was beating so fast, you really were doubting your decision, not knowing how it would’ve turned out. Jimin runs to your aid, finally doing something useful after letting those guys punk him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. You simply nod, not having the words to speak. “Who the fuck were those guys?” Mina spoke up after also leaving you to basically battle alone. “Trouble, and I can’t believe Y/N just stood up to them like that. Those guys are dangerous, I don’t even know how you’re still breathing after talking to them the way you did,” Jimin shakes his head in wariness. “The tall guy with the big mouth was Kim Nam-Joon, and the nonchalant one was Min Yoongi. Some people call him Agust D. He’s the one in charge, if you didn’t notice. I’ve heard horror stories about that guy, like that he stabbed a dude in the neck with chopsticks and killed him,” 

You snap your head up at him, your eyes wide. ‘He killed someone with chopsticks?’ Were you really in the face of a serious threat? You could tell that those guys weren’t like normal bullies you’ve stepped to, but you never imagined them being notorious enough to have heinous stories told about them. “I really can’t believe that you survived that.” Jimin repeats again, making you sick to your stomach. “Okay, you’re not helping. At least she did something, unlike you.” Mina snapped. Jimin threw his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m a man. I might have not been so lucky if I pulled what Y/N did. The only reason she got out of that situation unscathed is because she’s an attractive girl.” 

“Can we please get the check?” Someone calls from a different table, catching Jimin’s attention.“Be right there.” He squeezes your shoulder in a comforting way before leaving you alone to get back to his scheduled work. You sat in silence, your appetite lost.  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Mina pressed. You nod again, reassuring her. You’re alive, right? Why wouldn’t you be? “What we should take from this situation is… I told you not to get involved.”  You whipped your head in her direction, your mouth gaped at her insensitivity. She shrugs, taking a sip of her water. 

“Excuse me?” You look to see the older woman and her husband walking towards you. “Yes?” You smile at the couple, taking solace in knowing that you risked your safety for them and that they were okay in the end. “We want to say thank you for standing up for us,” The older woman reaches out, taking your hands in hers. “Thank you so much.”

“It was no problem,” You lightly squeezed her hands. “I’d do it again.”

Taglist

@l0stindigo @minyoongimylove @mamidescarada, @corruqti0n, @cuntessaiii, @bubbles2300 @rosquilleta @justletmehavethenamemarsomfg @pineappleburger @secfir @bangtangalicious @mytokkiboyfriend @ahses-world @kenpachisimp @snoozeagustd @borahaerhy @officialholyagua @kooslilhoe @agustdsslutt @wittyreader @moonchild-qaads @all-black-darling @littlestarstinyseven @jojowantstocry @whipwhoops @moocow778 @multiasf @mxshikoo @passionandsuga @justdancehoba @missmin @kooksbunnnn @primadonnasdream @ashslytheringoddess @yoongislatinagff @itzz-me-duh @roguesthetic @melankooly @captaincarmel416 @strxwbloody @catchmybreath94 @yunkissis @miamorcitovante @sanxoxodra

[hg-aneh]

will you ever come back, or is this an indefinite hiatus/straight up dipping?

i don't know

all the i miss yous are making me want to come back but ik i would just be terrified and motionless as soon as i do

Vent-ish Rant downstairs

CW: Pedophilia, Antisemitism, Suicide, Ableism, Harassment, Bullying, all the important words except for murder basically

i want to fix things in private with the people who hurt me so things can be okay and I don't out them for being wieners

but i also want everyone to know who hurt me, yet I'm aware it's not the right choice to make. social media outrage barely leads to anything, specially where minors are concerned

hell,now that i think about it, considering the fact that they genuinely don't believe people older than them are allowed to have feelings, I don't even think talking would be the right move

it's scary, its fucking scary

fuck. the whole thing started with a person mocking the way i spoke about crowley telling me to stop babying him because i was a legal adult and shouldn't be speaking like that

i had just turned 18 and the person was only a year younger than me

like when it's gone to that point and shit is that fucked up, what can one person even do

i remember i laughed about it back then but truth be told, every single little thing I've been told and that I've listened to coming from the people who hurt me has fucking destroyed me as a person

I looked at my older Discord messages, from before this whole mess started. I was so fucking happy and shameless with my joy, now look at my sorry ass

i just.

it's crazy that i have to go around masking in social media of all places because there are people that take such offense to me being cringe that they legitimately turn into high school mean girls

it's crazy that there are people who claim I'm something i am not because they want to make me look bad in the eyes of their little circlejerking friend groups so they can feel like the hero of the story

it's crazy that empathy goes completely out of the window when an account is big, that people don't see human beings as human beings when they're behind a screen

"just log off lol" i am a lonely shut in motherfucker due to my autism (that, surprise surprise, hinders my ability to socialize), you do not understand what you're asking of me, specially while being in this country and at this point in time where I'm actively craving to kick the metaphorical bucket, at daily risk of doing so, and what basically is house arrest for my own safety and well being

(aka, avoiding to physically yeet myself into upcoming traffic or buying something to actually seal the deal)

thus far I've been accused of antisemitism, pedophilia, being too self-centered (which. bro, the reason why i talk about myself is because it's the one thing i can comment on without being scared of some random person coming to tell me "NuH uH" about it out of nowhere or worse, having their feelings hurt because I don't agree with them 100%), proshipper (which, to those people, the word implies wonderful labels such as "incest apologist" "pedophile" (again) "abuse endorser" among other things) ((sidenote, I'm on neither side on that particular discourse. my friends from both sides know this. I would elaborate on my stance if this wasn't already long enough, but it is, so I'm leaving it at an "I don't care, you do you, but please leave me out of it")), being... mean... because i blocked someone...? (this one is just. that's how the second wave of hate started btw. yeah, because i blocked someone. holy fuck), and there's probably a handful of other things I haven't seen yet. fuck it, there's probably someone out there calling me a zoophile because of my catboy au

My friends who I will not name because I don't want the high school mean girls crusade to get to them, have helped me stash out evidence for all of the accusations and bullying.

fuck, they were the ones who let me know about it on the first place, both actions for which i am eternally thankful for because it means I can defend myself properly should the occasion arise (dios no quiera)

I've already had to make a post on Xitter responding to the antisemitism and pedophilia claims, in which, for the latter, i had to reveal extremely personal information for the people who started this to give me respite if only for a while

and. ugh

What I'm trying to get at with all of this is. it's. coming back is scary. i want to but at the same time I don't think I can take this shit anymore

I wish I had people defending me like this when the harassment started because I'm a spineless little bitch who'd rather talk things out and at least be neutral with people than clap back and tell them to stop being stinky

but what's done is done and now i just gotta figure out how to fix my head before i do something stupid

this is not the full story obviously, I'm cutting off certain details as well as more personal depression stuff to not make this bible longer than it already is

fuck

TLDR: I need a hug, idk if I'm coming back, I probably will cuz I can't say no to people, and some teenagers are horrible

[ittybittyremy]

All the details Bells Hells know about Cyrus' death & everything surrounding it

I've been seeing people wondering/forgetting how much Dorian has told Bells Hells about the circumstances of Cyrus' death. So I've decided to go through the episodes!

A couple disclaimers before I start:

Orym shouldn't have made that comment to Dorian. Even if he didn't know all the specifics, knowing Dorian's brother died recently (and at all for that matter) should have stopped him from making that theoretical. Even if Cyrus' death had nothing to do with the gods, it would still be an inappropriate thing to say. He could've made that theoretical to anyone else in that group but he said it to the person with a recently dead family member.

Even though it would be beneficial for Dorian to tell BH (and for BH to learn/understand) everything about that day, he doesn't have to (and` shouldn't be forced to). Plus, it's very in character for Dorian not to tell them.

I don't want to see any comments saying "well it's implied," "BH should be able to connect the dots," or "BH should get the hint because of how Dorian has been acting." I'm bad at picking up hints irl so I won't fault BH for not connecting those points.

This post is about what Dorian has explicitly said (even though I did add a couple parts where he implies what happens).

This is all under the assumption that Dorian has not told BH everything off camera.

All timestamps will be based on the YouTube VOD.

I may miss a couple tidbits so sorry in advance.

Now to the actual information

Episode 93

Cyrus died (3:43:24)

Two of Dorian's best friends became the champions of the Matron of Ravens and the Spider Queen (3:43:28)

It all happened yesterday (3:43:38)

Opal is "not really" okay (3:43:45)

Cyrus died in battle "if you can call it that" (3:53:36)

Until that day he never thought real evil existed (3:53:46)

What he saw in the previous couple days does was "irredeemable" (3:53:55)

They tried to help Opal (3:54:59)

Dorian knows that there are forces enacting on the world that go "deeper than [he] imagined" (3:55:05)

Fy'ra Rai stayed with Opal (3:55:16)

Dariax is "all right" (3:55:20)

Opal is alive but corrupted (3:57:04)

Fy'ra Rai may be walking down the path as Opal (3:57:12)

Episode 94

Dorian doesn't explicitly mention it this episode but there is a moment where he hints that the prime deities may have somehow been involved.

"If you are relying on the help of the gods, champions, I can't say that I trust them anymore" (2:30:17)

Episode 102

No explicit mentions here BUT we begin to get Dorian's opinions of the gods. That's not what this post is about so I will move on

Episode 103

More of Dorian's views on the gods and we finally get another (sort of) explicit mention

"The last I conferred with a god, they cared very little about the feelings of anyone around us." That god being the Spider Queen (1:37:01)

The reason I say "sort of" is because Dorian doesn't say this is in regards to Cyrus' death (even though we the audience knows this). Orym and Fearne could've easily assumed that this was in regards to their EXU times.

Episode 109

Get an idea of what "getting dark" means. Matt describes Opal as "a humanoid shape of white hair and a black crown dripping and black oil and ichor. Opal stands dark and still" (2:19:13)

"Opal the Twice-Crowned, born a fractured, dual soul. A being of unknown potential, manipulated by cult and betrayer gods alike to walk a violent path without agency, a pawn for the gods and their whims." Raven Queen describing Opal (2:19:32)

Opal has a spider form (different from three-armed Opal) (2:49:20)

Episode 110

Dorian remind Bells Hells that Opal is now the champion of the Spider Queen (51:29)

Laudna says "hang on, because didn't, the last time you saw Opal, wasn't she trying to brutally murder you?" (52:22). I guess BH knows it was the Spider Queen? I'm a bit confused because Dorian never explicitly told them this but maybe it was an off screen thing

Dorian: "I'm not certain any information we would get from her would be particularly reliable" (52:30)

What does Bells Hells know?

As far as they know, the day before Dorian reunited with Bells Hells:

Cyrus died in a (sort of) battle.

They tried to help Opal but she is corrupted, she is still alive though

Fy'ra Rai stayed with Opal

Dariax is safe

Opal and someone else are now the champions of the Spider Queen and Matron of Ravens.

Dorian discovered real evil existed

The title "Opal the Twice-Crowned"

Opal's spider form (but different the three-armed Opal that Dorian saw)

Opal is not a reliable source of information right now

What does Bells Hells not know?

Wildmother refused to help

Matron refused to help

The Spider Queen killed Cyrus (? tbh i'm confused about this one)

Dorian came here because Opal casted mass suggestion

Dorian abandoned Dariax

Opal's memories are either gone or altered

Opal with three arms

The whole Ted thing

And much more

[apollodarling-writes]

HUNTING GAMES

cws : dubcon, somnophilia, creampie, levi leaves the game, murder, code-breaking, i went over the word limit a little bit, implied manipulation and threats, dating sim! levi, levi gets a bit ummm sadistic?? at the end, college! reader, im still not happy with it but its been so long since ive updated, if i missed anything please let me know.

commissioned by anonymous.

MDNI.

there was a new otome game that had been all the rage recently. characterized by its cutesy, college-life approach, lurking beneath each syrupy-sweet word and blossoming friendship was a sinister undertone. the objective of the game was to achieve the best possible ending for the route you choose, however each love interest was desperate for your love, making said objective increasingly unattainable the further the plot progressed. you’d downloaded the game when your friend had shown you one of their favorite love interests, finding yourself hooked on the stoic culinary arts major, levi ackerman.

levi ackerman was the first route you’d ever chosen. although, in the beginning, he wasn’t too keen on raising your intimacy level. while looking at forums online, you realized that was just how he was. levi was harder to please, and by far one of the most dangerous and volatile love interests in the game. he wasn’t afraid to annihilate any other character to get what he wanted, and knew how to cover his tracks. it was hard to tell when he was on the cusp of snapping, what he liked and disliked, and where he was when he wasn’t pestering you about something trivial.

once you finally manage to get your intimacy level up to the point where his obsessive tendencies begin to show, his personality does a 180… with you at least. he’s more affectionate, gives you gifts for your daily check in — most of it being food he’s cooked just for you, and you find that he’s easier to fluster, stumbling over his words and a faint blush spreading across the apples of his cheeks. levi is still the same when he interacts with npcs, maybe a bit more on the protective and stand-off ish side when youre around. with love interests, however, levi is more hostile than ever.

you’d failed levi’s route many, many times, and had finally just achieved the good ending when you’d stumbled across something regarding a secret route of his. naturally, you wanted to see it to completion, but for some reason it just kept going. growing tired of this secret route, you chose to switch to another love interest.

this love interest in particular was very sweet, docile almost. armin seemed harmless enough, and you found that you enjoyed this route more than you had levi’s. although, after a little while, you noticed some easter eggs hidden in the back that made you feel a bit uneasy. there was a silhouette in the background of each interaction, watching everything play out, as well as a few npcs that seemed to disappear or avoid you altogether. the more you played, the more uneasy and afraid armin looked.

you noticed that armin’s eyes were often glancing around, his sentences shorter when the silhouette was more prevalent, and on a few occasions, he’d outright ignored you. once, you’d found him beaten and bloody in an alleyway outside of the boy’s dormitories, appearing half-conscious and you’d chosen the option to patch him up. after that, your intimacy levels skyrocketed and he was back to normal.

just before the two of you exchanged a kiss during one of the date events, the screen glitched and suddenly armin laid in a pool of his own blood. armin’s face became pixelated, which was unusual for this game since it was known for its graphics. was this part of the game? your heart skipped a beat, gooseflesh rising on your arms as levi entered the place armin was just moments before.

levi’s appearance glitched in places, the blood spatter on his face seeming to drip and become more realistic. that… wasnt supposed to happen. did the game have a bug? you think you see levi’s brow twitch, his lips tugging into a frown, but you cant be sure.

“[name]… why did you leave me?” levi is uncharacteristically upset with you, his face scrunched with what seems to be a mixture of frustration and hurt. “i thought you loved me.”

you knit your brows, trying to exit the route; to your horror, youre unable to leave. levi grows increasingly upset the more you click the button, “why are you on his route? can’t you see that youre mine? we’re made for each other!” he shouts, his voicelines glitching in places.

“why can’t i leave the damn route?” you grit out, one hand gripping the hem of your shirt. “what the fuck is going on?”

levi’s face falls, a far away look in his eyes as you are finally able to exit armin’s route. you groan, leaning back in your chair as you thread a hand through your hair. “is this part of levi’s secret route?” you wonder aloud.

after that, you didn’t touch the game for days. you searched forum after forum, site after site, searching for answers. why did levi suddenly appear on armin’s route? surely, it was part of levi’s secret route… right? your gut told you otherwise, but a game character being sentient? that was something that only happened in fanfiction, and certainly not to you.

a week had come and gone before you even thought about touching the game. you were busy with work, college, and still hadn’t found the answers you were looking for. maybe you’d be able to find them in-game… but what if levi kills another love interest? what if they don’t come back when the game resets? what if —

shakily exhaling through your mouth, you release the tension in your shoulders, cracking your fingers as you hover over the next love interest’s route. she was a very bubbly love interest, her smile bright and contagious enough to have one of your own tugging at the corners of your lips as you right-click on hange’s route.

the two of you interacted quite well, your natural dialogue choices furthering your intimacy level. hange was known to be a relatively easy route — not much reading between the lines, or even guesswork. she was very upfront for the most part. you found yourself forgetting about your secret investigation, genuinely losing yourself to the interactions between yourself and hange.

you only started getting suspicious again once you noticed the silhouette in the background once more. hange seemed to notice too, but she was more composed than armin had been. you squint as the silhouette flickers, your pulse thrumming in your throat as you quickly stutter out, “levi, leave hange alone or i’ll never play your route again.”

the silhouette rushes to the screen, stumbling over its words and blubbering about how it just loves you so much and can’t live without you! the anonymity fades, leaving levi in its place, and you realize that levi was more dangerous than you’d initially thought. hange is quick to take her leave once she notices the look in levi’s eyes, and you attempt to as well. levi’s anger flares up once more at the sight of your cursor clicking the exit game button.

“[first name] [last name], stop trying to leave me. why don’t you want me anymore? you can’t make me love you and then leave. you’re so cruel.” levi’s digits grip his collar, tugging it away from his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. “i-i learned things about you, for you — i tried my best to be the man you wanted, so why are you choosing other people?! am i not enough?!”

a chill shoots down your spine, cold washing over your body as your stomach tightens. you tuck your fingers into your palm, beginning to feel as if you were glued to your seat. how did he know your last name? you don’t remember putting that information in at all… maybe it was from your email? maybe the developers had a third-party thing going on?

levi becomes more frantic the more he speaks, pleading and begging for you to love him again. “i was your first route! you put the most effort into me! you can’t just leave!!” you have a creeping feeling that he’s looking at you — unlike most games, levi seems to lack a blank stare, and instead seems entirely focused on you.

“there’s no way he’s sentient.” you mumble to yourself, pressing a quivering hand to the damp skin of your forehead. “i’m just…. im just tired and stressed. yeah… i should just go to bed.”

you stumble out of your chair, body on autopilot and mind reeling as you put your monitor in sleep mode and push your chair under your desk, trudging over to your bed in disbelief. you tuck yourself in, and just before you’re able to fall asleep, you hear levi speak.

“you look so cute when you’re sleeping…” you hear his shaky breaths — the utter glee in his tone, as if he were more than content just to watch you. dread and unease fill your stomach as you realize you can’t ignore this anymore.

you shoot up in your bed, chest heaving and eyes blown wide as your gaze snaps to your monitor. could he see you? could he hear you? were you going crazy?

you slowly make your way over to your monitor and pull up your game, levi dreamily staring back at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky. “are… you sentient?” your voice wavers as you ask this, fingertips digging into the hard plastic of your desk.

levi stills, his idle animation unusually stiff. for a moment you wonder if you should check yourself into the nearest hospital, but then, “you finally noticed… oh, baby, that makes me so happy— i’ve been trying to get your attention for so long!”

it’s your turn to still, your body going rigid and exhaling shakily. oh, you were royally fucked. if he was sentient, could he leave the game? god, you hope not.

“i’ve been watching you for so long! i even learned about your parents and your siblings for you! i know your address, the names of your friends; i know your all favorites, i know that you have a dog named rufus, i know that you like to listen to music while you clean —“

levi drones on and on, going over everything he’s learned about you during the time he’s been watching you. your breathing grows heavy and erratic; sinking into a primal state of fight or flight, you hurriedly try to uninstall the game from your computer, but it seems levi had already anticipated this. the screen glitches, flashing white as levi appears in different places — duplicates, different routes, pictures of you, npcs that went missing, hastily written notes all dedicated to you.

deciding that deleting the game wouldn’t work, you opt to unplug your computer. the screen stills for a moment, going completely black before a variety of coding begins to type out on the screen.

“leave me alone!” you shout, your voice cracking as you rip your monitors and pc off of your desk, throwing them across your room. they bounce off your dresser, knocking a few trinkets and such off, sending them clattering to the ground. you notice the coding slows for a moment, eyeing the shattered hardware scattered across your bedroom floor. “you’re just a game!! i don’t actually love you!”

“you’re wrong!!” levi’s voice is distorted and distant — glitching out in some places, or manifesting as a multitude of voices, some higher, some lower in pitch. “you love me — you do! i know you do!”

you panic, the cortisol and adrenaline running through your veins clouding your sense of judgment as you rush to your kitchen and grab a trash bag, picking up a baseball bat from a closet on your way back to your room. you hastily throw your setup in the bag and grip the bat, swinging the metal bat back and smashing the contents of the bag until you feel safe and can’t hear the whirring of the code any longer. you stumble back onto the edge of your bed, staring at the bag as you strain your ears for any signs of levi. heaving a sigh, you wipe the sweat from your brow and gather all the miscellaneous pieces of your setup that were strewn across your floor, placing them in the bag.

you feel disconnected from your body as you bring the bag outside, opening your garbage can and tossing them in. a drop on your face shocks you out of your stupor, but you realize that it was only a drop of rain. your fingers tremble still, your breathing still erratic as you try to calm your racing heart. how was any of this even possible?

you slowly trudge back inside your home, entering your room and collapsing on your bed. this must be a bad dream. it has to be; there’s no way that this could happen. you lie awake for awhile, your mind spinning round and round again. thoughts come and go, never staying for too long, and you forget them immediately after they depart. the events of the night had worn you out, your eyes growing impossibly heavy, drifting off into a deep slumber.

outside, the monitor screen flickers to life. code rapidly pans down the screen, sparks flying as a hand slowly peels out. carefully, levi drags himself out of the game and into…. wait, why is he in a trash can? surely, his beloved wouldn’t…? with haste, levi tracks his way inside your home, brows furrowed with quiet rage. how could you just throw him away like that?

levi takes his sweet time cleaning up, lathering himself in your products and sniffing your towel before drying himself with it. he runs his fingers along the countertops, walls, and doorframes, trudging along to your room as he admires your home. it isn’t long before he finds you sleeping soundly atop your bed sheets. levi’s breath instantly catches in his throat, his heart racing in his chest as he approaches your slumbering form. you were even prettier in person.

carefully crawling onto your bed, the pads of his fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trailing down to your shoulders. his eyes wander to your exposed flesh before flickering back up to your lips. one kiss couldn’t hurt, right? carefully leaning down, levi molds his lips to yours; his heart nearly stops the moment he tastes you. one kiss isn’t enough. he needs more! levi unbuckles his belt and ties your hands to the headboard, then drags his hand along your chest, swallowing thickly as he feels his pants tighten.

levi quietly positions himself between your thighs, burying his head in your neck as he leisurely grinds his cock into you. biting his lip to muffle his whimpers, he lifts your shirt, baring your breasts to his greedy eyes. levi immediately latches onto one, his tongue swirling around the erect flesh as he works your pajama pants to the side.

“need to taste you, baby.” he murmurs. levi kneels between your thighs, his tongue slowly lapping at the arousal that had begun to leak from you. he takes but a moment to shimmy his pants down far enough to fist his cock, slowly pumping it with his free hand. the man softly groans into your folds, a sleepy whine parting your lips in response.

as he continues lapping at you, levi feels his stomach tighten and stops all movement. he waits for the feeling to subside, then aligns himself with your entrance. he shallowly thrusts into your cunt, slowly working his way inside and bottoming out with a broken whimper. levi’s mind spins at the way your walls grip him — the feeling almost as if he were made to fuck you, as if you were made to take him. his fingers grip your hips as he attempts to control himself, pressing both of your legs further out for easier access.

it isn’t long before levi loses himself in the feeling; it is his first time after all. his hips snap into yours, whimpering and whining through gritted teeth all the while, and you slowly begin to wake. levi’s eyes roll back as the feeling in his tummy snaps, not once stopping as he pumps you full of his cum.

you let out a confused moan, your eyes slowly adjusting to see levi’s fucked out face gazing down at you. “f—feels so good…” he whispers, slotting his lips to yours. you attempt to shimmy away, but it was to no avail; the asshole had tied you up. you attempt to fight him off, but it’s to no avail as he’s stronger than you and has shackled you to your bed.

waves of unwanted pleasure course through your body, forcing soft whimpers and whines from your lips as levi unknowingly rocks his hips into the places that have your eyes rolling back. gazing down at you with something akin to reverence, levi presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, slowly circling his name and bringing you closer to your climax.

“cmon, baby.” levi groans, feeling your walls tighten around his cock. “cum f’me.”

you simply shake your head in response, screwing your eyes shut and murmuring through a whimper, “go fuck yourself.”

levi only chuckles at your words, seemingly amused, and lifts your hips; the man slings an arm around your lower back, one hand gripping the meat on your hip, and forces you to meet his thrusts.

nothing seemed real at the moment. you were unable to stop levi from leaving the game, and now the man was taking advantage of you. you suppose the only good thing in this situation is that despite it all, levi was going to make you cum.

your back arches as your fingers dig into your palms, your cunt pulsing and fluttering as your eyes roll into the back of your head. a high-pitched whine erupts from your throat, levi smirking victoriously at the sight beneath him, and you relinquish control; melting into his hold, you wordlessly beg for more.

you didn’t know what would come after this, nor did you know how you were going to fight your way out of it. the only thing you knew is that this felt good. somewhere deep in your mind, you knew you didn’t want this, but had decided to relish in the feeling of being desired for the time being.

[ahhhwomen]

Copycat

Pairing: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Dark!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

A/N: Well here it is! The new and (hopefully) improved version of Copycat! The OG will not be removed btw, so don't worry if these changes aren't to your liking. Tbh I gave up editing this thing halfway, but I definitely think I improved it.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

Warnings: Ghostface, implied murder, knife play, humiliation, degradation, smut, so much smut, Mistress kink, Halloween, dub-con, Dom!Reader, Sub!Wanda, Wanda is a total bottom in this entire thing Minors DNI 18+

Summary: Halloween is around the corner, all you want is a calm night home alone… though it seems the universe can never give you a break. Or; Your phone rings with a mysterious number on the night of Halloween. What’s your favorite scary movie?

Word Count: 7.2k

You have always taken a liking to Halloween, but even you have to admit this year was turning out to be too much. Between the excessive amount of Halloween activities, decorations, and the new wanna-be Ghostface, it was starting to get to you.

Since the start of October, bodies have been turning up left and right, all with the same knife lacerations. All from the iconic Ghostface's choice of weapon.

Or a copy of it, anyway.

You snicker to yourself as you scroll past the multitude of outlandish articles trying to pinpoint why the town killer suddenly changed their routine after five years of dedicated Halloween night slaughters.

The screen is cold as your thumb glides against it, trying to escape the new narrative that the OG has gone off the rails, more so than the town of less than two thousand people can wrap their heads around.

If you thought like them, you would also be confused and terrified.

Yet-

You don’t have to be a genius to know it's a mere copycat.

For starters, a true killer would never change the storytelling of their kill within such a slim window, and even if they did, their true dedication would never change to such a drastic contrast as the recent kills showcased.

Whereas the real Ghostface would play with their victim and start off by only slicing nonthreatening veins in a close to surgical precision, this new imitator would finish them off by mere coincidence, there was no way for them to keep control over their victim´s lifespan with the rouge slashes that the news spoke of.

Whomever this copycat was, they were sloppy and attention-seeking.

The real Ghostface has been killing for over five years at this point, and still, they remain unknown.

This copycat will probably be busted before Halloween even takes place.

However, you would be lying if you said it didn’t concern you a bit; at least with the real Ghostface you knew when to expect havoc and you could take precautions to keep the ones you love safe.

A copycat is not as easy.

With keys in the form of pepper spray, you keep caution locked inside your heart, as you continue your trudge toward Wanda´s house.

The plastic canister rattles with every step, weighing down your right pocket as it slams against you. The frequency of each click changes depending on the asphalt, and as you step foot on the wooden porch it settles with one final clack against your midthigh.

With Halloween just around the corner, you have come to reiterate the tradition between yourself and the redhead. That tradition being to watch all your favorite horror movies the night before Halloween.

It started because you would both be busy, trick-or-treating and partying the night of and it would be a waste not to celebrate such a strange day with your favorite person.

Or, she would be busy trick-or-treating and partying, while you stayed at home worrying about her with your doors double locked and the porch lights off. You like Halloween, you just prefer to stay home and be comfortable, rather than to fit into a tight outfit and worry if too much or too little of your ass is showing. 

You ring the doorbell on Wanda's ridiculously decorated door and wait while the creepy plastic skeleton stares you down from where there would usually be a wreath.

You don’t have to wait long, and soon you can hear subtle footsteps close in on where your feet are planted to stained wood.

It's Mrs. Maximoff that opens. Her tone is gentle as she acknowledges you, “Hey Sweetie, Wanda is just in her room, go right ahead.”

She lets you in with a warm, welcoming smile and a pat on your shoulder. Her hand settles something within you that you can’t explain, and you smile back. You thank her and climb up the stairs of their expensive house.

You can’t help but feel more at home here than at your actual home as your fingers run along the intricate design in the stairs railing.

You like Mrs. Maximoff.

Ever since you were little you have been best friends with Wanda. When Wanda´s mother and father realized you were often alone as a child due to an absent father and an avoidant mother, they took you in and quickly became your pseudo-family.

You will always look up to Mrs. and Mr. Maximoff for their help and welcoming presence, but it was different with Wanda.

Her parents treated you as their daughter and you felt immensely grateful and happy to be a part of it, but Wanda has never been like a sister to you. Even when you were kids, she was always so much more to you, though as much as it breaks your heart, you can never tell her that.

You shake your thoughts off as you enter Wanda's bedroom to find her changing.

Your eyes kiss the back of your skull with how hard they roll from her antics. “I know you could hear me walking up and yet you still chose the last second possible to put your clothes on.”

The light from outside her ginormous window encapsulates her body perfectly as your eyes dance over the expanse of her stomach while you chuckle to yourself.

Wanda snickers as she pulls the hem of her t-shirt down, not all the way, she leaves a couple of inches ridding up her sides, just enough to tease you.

A sultry voice carries over the room and blesses your ears, “Well, I gotta give my little pervert a show, don’t I?” Wanda smiles with mirth and you return it.

This girl, you think to yourself.

Playing it cool you answer the way you usually do. “Pretty sure you are the pervert in this equation.” You say with a shrug.

It's now Wanda's turn to roll her eyes as she lays down, with a pat on the bed she signals for you to do the same.

“Potato potahto,” her light laugh floats around the room as you settle yourself beside her, you can’t help but lift your lips into a gentle smile as the redhead laughs to herself at her stupidity.

You missed her, you hung out just the other day, but you miss her on a deeper level.

It has been like this for a while, so you push it down as you stare up at the ceiling.

An array of pictures, posters, and drawings of the infamous Ghostface stare right back at you. One shift of your view and the very same can be said for every other surface within her room. From the ceiling to her desk to her bedside drawer, it’s all covered with different illustrations of the cold-blooded murderer.

Ever since that Halloween five years ago, Wanda has had a deep obsession with the Ghostface killer. An unhealthy obsession, you think to yourself as your eyes sone in to see a new replica of the Ghostface mask on Wanda's desk.

With a sigh, you look over at Wanda with disapproval at the new addition.

Wanda pretends not to see you.

You know to tread carefully around this subject, but you can’t help yourself and you lean up on your elbows and voice your disdain for her “hobby”.

“Wands, we talked about this.”

She pushes herself up on her elbows and slaps your arm gently. “It's not that bad,” she gives you her best puppy dog eyes, but you don’t budge.

“It's wrong that’s what it is, you can't simp over a real killer Wanda. It's not right” You can see irritation build in her delicate features as she thinks your words over.

“You are just jealous I am giving someone else attention.” She huffs. You know she doesn't mean it like that, but it stings when it’s put so bluntly. There is a hint of truth in what she says, but you ignore it.

“I am not jealous; you are just sick.” You say it in a lighthearted manner, but you can tell Wanda does not appreciate the call out.

“No, what is sick is what that dickhead would have done had Ghostface not killed him that night.” You have to agree with her on that part. So, you nod, but make sure to add a

“Still.”

Sensing that this is not the right time, you change the subject by asking what movie to start with.

“Same as always dumbass,” Wanda giggles as she gets up to retrieve her computer. Already set up with Friday the 13th.

A heavy sigh echoes throughout your empty home as you drag your hands down your face in frustration.

The night has dragged on for far too long. Kids and teenagers alike running up and down the streets for hours on end sure can piss you off.

You have been camping on your couch the entire night, making sure to keep the news on as you scroll through social media.

Wanda said she had some family over, so you don’t have to worry about her this year.

Which is a relief, you aren’t really in the mood for an extra adventure today anyway, it's been forever since you could just stay home the entire Halloween night.

Even so, unease has plagued you ever since the night started.

It's strange, the copycat and the original have not shown their face today. The night is almost over, but only party drama and yelling neighbors have been reported on. The original is one thing, but you were sure the copycat would take advantage of the night. Surely this build-up hasn't been for nothing?

You are almost disappointed.

In the mood for something to do you get around to making dinner, it may be the middle of the night, but like the nocturnal creature you are you don’t care either way. You never had a routine, not until you started hanging out at Wanda’s house, so some habits are hard to lose.

You are just finishing up with the dishes when your phone calls. The newly dried plate clatters as you put it down. You dry your hands with the kitchen towel, the material is rough and scratchy as your hands glide against it, then once your hands are fully dry you make your way over to the couch where your abounded phone lays.

Peering down at the metal thing you tilt your head in confusion.

The caller ID is unfamiliar. 

Usually, you wouldn’t bother picking up, but for some reason today was different. So, with an uncertain sigh, you shrug the chills that prickle your spine off and answer.

“Hello?”

Your brows furrow when silence hangs in the air. Just as you are about to hang up a deep voice answers.

“Hello, is Ms. y/l/n there?” You narrow your eyes as the voice questions you.

You don’t trust it; your mother always insists on people calling her by her first name.

You can't even remember the last time you heard someone call her by her last. It must be a work call then, maybe your mother mixed your numbers up. Something even more peculiar, you are not even sure she knows your number.

You right your posture and lean more heavily on your right foot, shifting your weight. Already suspicious, you make sure to answer vaguely.

Whomever they are, you aren’t interested in talking much more.

“No, I'm sorry. This is her daughter, I can give you her number if you would like?” You can hear a puff of laughter on the other end. Their tone unsettles you.

“Aah, so you must be y/n. I have heard quite a bit about you.” Your grip tightness against the offending object as the person on the other line lies to you. Your mother barely acknowledges your existence, and there is no way she talks about you.

Even family members have been blindsided when they heard your mother had a child. You were seven at the time.

Something is definitely off.

“Who is this?”

Now fully engaged in this mystery of a conversation you turn off the TV and leave the living room, intending to end this conversation swiftly, after getting some questions answered, and going to bed. Its only 1 a.m., but all the noise has been wearing you thin the entire day.

Again, there is a long silence before they answer.

“I'm your mom's friend.” They don’t add anything beyond that. You know they are lying; no one calls your mother by her last name if they are her friends. You are curious as to what they could want, however, so you keep the conversation going.

“Oh, really? What's your name?” You subconsciously cross your left arm over your right while holding the phone tightly to your ear.

“You can call me Mike.”

You blink, stopping in the middle of ascending the staircase.

“Mike?”

“Yes.”

You remove the phone from your ear and look at it briefly before answering.

“Mike is the only name you could think of? Really Wanda?”

You smirk, continuing your travels up the steep staircase and turning left toward your room as silence hangs between the two of you.

“…”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” Wanda avoids your question by asking her own.

You bite your lip; satisfied with yourself. You let the soft plush of your clean sheets engulf you as you lay down. Then, and only then, do you choose to entertain this mood of hers.

“SpongeBob” Wanda will find that reference hilarious, you were nine when she introduced the show to you. You had nightmares about that damn sponge for weeks, there was just something about him.

That’s why it takes you by surprise when the voice seems angered by your response.

“This is not the time for games!”

You agree, you are far too tired for these mind games so if this is how she wants to play this then fine.

“Fine, how about this? Who is your favorite killer?” You put extra flair of dramatics into your voice while you question her. The dramatized voice paired with trivia questions comes naturally to you after watching all types of trivia game night shows with Wanda throughout the years.

“I asked you first.” Childish.

“No, you asked me what my favorite horror movie is, I answered.” You thought it over, “Oh well I answered a show, but you get what I mean. Now I want you to answer my question.”

There was a tense rustling on the other end and stomping footsteps before it got silent, and the answer was a mere whisper. “Ghostface.”

Not very surprising. You smile to yourself as you roll over on your stomach and fiddle with your duvet. You wonder what she is up to.

“It's my turn now,” the deep voice darkened, “Why did Ghostface kill that boy five years ago?”

Your body tenses. You don’t like where this is going, so you play dumb. “How am I supposed to know?”

The voice gets louder. “Answer me!”

You feel yourself tighten a little at her tone, what is she getting at? “Look Wanda I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why Ghostface killed Vision.”

All background noise disappears from the call, you can’t even hear breathing. Then, a strained voice, like cat claws on a chalkboard, speaks up.

“Wrong answer.”

Before you can reply, the phone call ends.

You debate with yourself on whether or not to call Wanda, she usually plays some prank now and then, but this was something else.

You don’t have time to think about it before a knock can be heard on your front door. An unpleasant feeling pools in the bottom of your stomach as you try to ignore it. Plenty of children can’t take a hint and come here looking for candy, you rationalize with yourself.

You are just paranoid.

The knocking doesn't stop, however. You puff your chest before getting up and deciding to put an end to this. When you unlock and tear open the door, intending to give a stern talking to whatever kids were up so late, you are stunned at the lack of anyone.

You slam your door closed and lock it. Whomever they were, they were messing with you. Probably just some bored teens from your high school, or Wanda. Either way, if you didn’t react, they were sure to get bored.

As you head back upstairs the pieces of the puzzle take place.

The voice, Ghostface was known for using a voice box and calling their victims with stupid trivia questions. You knew this well, you just didn’t expect it to happen to you.

You are three steps up the stairs when you hear your door unlock.

You snap your head to the sound. Only three people have the keys to your house: yourself, your mother, and Wanda. You know Wanda likes her fun, but she wouldn’t take it this far.

The handle doesn't move. You wonder if you imagined it all together? No this isn’t right. You scan your surroundings before going back to the door.

Sure enough, both locks were undone.

“Enough!” You hate to admit it, but you were getting nervous.

“Whoever the fuck you are, fuck off!”

You can hear your phone go off in your room, “Damn it,” you curse yourself for never taking it with you as you again lock the door. The cold metal does little to settle you as you triple-check that you indeed have locked the door.

Then, taking a glass from the kitchen, you rigg it up on the front door handle. Some kids don’t know when they have taken it too far, so you have to make sure to be one step ahead.

Like always.

You walk deadly silent as you go to get your phone, now that you have finally caught on, you have no doubt of what game will start once you pick up the phone.

You are being hunted.

Despite the consequences, when you see the lit up screen atop your duvet, you don’t hesitate. You slide your thumb over the screen, picking up the call.

All the while, you keep moving.

“What do you want?”

The voice sounds rough and excited. “Me? I am just trying to get someone's attention.”

Go figure. The one Halloween you just wanted to spend in peace the damn copycat has to target you.

“Right. The infamous copycat is it? So is it like a kink or..?”

You are standing in your kitchen now, if they want to play, you’ll play.

You tighten your hands into fits as you anticipate the comeback.

“Cheeky. No, I am just trying to prove a theory.” This bitch.

You can hear heavy breathing on the other end like they are running… Or have just stopped.

You grab the strongest knife in your drawer. Then you put it back.

It’s a risky move you know, but you also know that no one ever thinks of the back door leading into the woods and it's safer for you to run than fight.

At least for now.

Besides, what’s the fun of ending it this early?

“And what do I have to do with this theory?” You chew your lip in annoyance as you lean your body weight forward. Ready to bounce any second now.

“You don’t, you are just an easy target.” This absolute fucking bitch.

“What theory is it that you are trying to prove? Trying to test Ghostface's ability to kill or something? There can only be one or whatever?” You try to keep calm, but you can hear your own voice echo on their side, you sound pathetic, with your breathing fast and escalating by the second.

“Don’t be jealous, this will be over soon.” They have no idea.

The glass shatters and you run.

You don’t even think about it, you dash straight out the back door and into the thick forest surrounding your home.

It doesn’t take long before you can hear them close behind.

The voice box activates. “There is no point in running!”

Truly an amateur, everyone knows running will be your safest bet when you don’t have a weapon. Fighting should always be the last resort when you are inferior to the killer. It's basic movie logic.

You run until you see it. Your safe haven.

The shed.

The shed creaks open and slams shut as you barricade the door. You have been trying to hold it together all night, but now that you stand there surrounded by your darkest secret and seconds away from revealing it to the psycho copycat, you can't help it.

You are getting excited.

It's been ages since you got to play, and there is no need to run now. They are about to enter your territory; they will be inferior.

You have just finished getting ready when you hear the door kick in. Just as expected the killer stops as soon as they take in their surroundings.

Got you.

The copycat threads carefully, the shed is unexpected. Unfaired territory, filled with… Filled with Ghostface?

The shed is a rundown, abandoned, shit box the copycat has never seen anyone use. Yet here it stands, filled to the brim with every crime and murder Ghostface has ever committed.

As their eyes glide over the various papers and pictures strewn about, they are riddled with confusion. Everything is written in more detail than what they could ever put together themselves. They have read all the pieces of information out there, yet they don’t even know half of the scribbled and planned murders that litter the walls and table.

It only takes a moment for it to set in.

They just walked into the fucking lion's den.

And you will show no mercy.

The copycat freezes as a voice rings through the still air.

“Don’t look so disappointed. You are getting what you want, aren’t you?”

It’s delicious really, the way you stalk your prey as they flail their head around trying to locate you in the dark shed. Your infamous knife is strongly gripped in your right hand, then with a deliberate creak of wood beneath your feet the copycat wooshes their body toward you.

As your eyes connect, they start walking backward, startled by your closeness.

Their knife drops to the ground as you trudge forward. God, there is nothing quite like the sight of them shivering beneath their poorly made mask.

A mask you have most definitely seen before.

They walk straight into your little homemade table and you take the advantage to press your body into theirs. Your masks; almost touching.

“Tell me,” you raise your hands to their covered face. Slowly peeling the mask off as you continue. “What theory was it you wanted to prove? Hm?”

Just as red hair reveals itself a hand takes hold of your wrist to stop you from going any farther. That’s fine by you, you know they didn’t realize when you deactivated the voice box.

Nagging them on you continue, “Don’t leave me hanging, what do you want to know? I might just answer it before I cut your pretty tongue out.” You hold the knife up to their face before slowly dragging it down the mouth of their mask and leaving it just under their jaw.

Wanda's meek voice responds.

“I- I I didn’t mean too- too-“

You mock her “too- too-?” “Spit it out pretty girl.” You dig the knife in, just a little.

Too lost in the situation, Wanda hasn't caught onto her voice filling the room.

“Why do you keep killing for me?” So, the age-old question is finally voiced out loud.

You smile beneath your mask. You consider lying, but it's Wanda.

“Because I can.”

Truth be told, it started when you saw the football jock Vision put his hands on Wanda five years ago at a random Halloween party. After that night it evolved.

It just feels right to kill for the things you love.

You don’t let Wanda query anymore, taking hold of her mask you rip it off, revealing her tear-stained cheeks and scared eyes. You have to resist digging the knife in harder, yet it still digs minuscule more. Just enough for one drop.

A single drop of blood that slides onto your gloved finger.

Your eyes snap toward the red drop as it disappears against your black glove, as the dampness against your finger hits you, you can’t resist anymore.

Wanda lets out a squeak as you push her onto the table. Your knife never leaving her pale skin. Using your weight against her to keep her compliant, you straddle her. Leaning closer to her, you force eye contact by pulling her hair just right.

You want her to look at you. You want her to see you the way she did when you killed that pathetic football jock.

Wanda is not one to disappoint, her blown pupils are a window to exactly what you want.

Her feelings are on clear display; she is scared, yet deeply aroused.

Your gloved hand drags the tip of your knife down her body until you are hovering over her covered breasts. With your left hand, you clutch the fabric of her gown, cutting it open with the knife held in your right. Wanda whines as she squirms to get away from you.

You laugh at her pathetic little sounds as you forcefully grab her by the chin.

You lift your mask, only enough for your mouth to be seen, and you press your lips against Wanda´s quivering ones. She only resists for a moment, and then a delectable moan vibrates against you.

You return it when you push your tongue into her sweet, hot, mouth. You swirl your tongue around while your hands rip open her outfit. You let your hands glide and grope as they please and soon you feel her bra-clad breasts heavy in your hands. You let the knife slice her bra like butter.

You break the kiss to give your full attention to the sinful heaven exposed in front of you. Wanda turns her head away from you as she catches her breath, you let her. The only thought occupying your mind is how you will destroy her so sweetly tonight.

After keeping yourself at bay for so long, there is only so much you can do when she whorishly seeks you out. And in such a rude manner too. She was using you to get to, well you, but she didn’t know that. A punishment needs to be set in place; one you will have no regret enforcing.

You settle your mask back in place as you stand and move away from the poor birdy.

She looks up in confusion and disappointment when you go.

Picking up Wanda’s knife and walking over to an armchair nestled in the corner of your den Wanda struggles to sit up as her chest heaves with each manual breath, uncertain of what you want, as you study her from your corner.

You point her knife towards the open door. “Close it.”

Unsurprisingly, Wanda hesitates before complying. You tsk in disapproval, Wanda moves just a tiny bit faster at the sound. It's flimsy, the way she has to wobble her way over as her shredded clothes gather just before her thighs.

After it's properly closed you instruct Wanda to lock it using the plank you point out. This time she does it in a timelier manner.

After it's done she takes a timid step towards you and you nod in approval.

However, when the redhead tries removing your mask you take ahold of her wrist and bend it until she yelps in pain. The surge of power and arousal that shoots through you almost makes you lose your calm, but you soldier on.

Your gaze remains unfaced as she sniffles in pain. “You don’t get to touch me.” You say as a matter of fact.

“Why not,” tears gleam in the redhead’s eyes as she whines.

“Because only good girls get to touch their Mistress.” Wanda whimpers at your words. Her knees buckle and her nipples harden. You put the knives between the cushions of the rough chair.

You will need both of your hands for this.

As she stands there you can't help but admire her. She looks just the way you imagined she would. Her frame is perfection, even with her clothes hanging off her and tear stains gleaming on her flushed cheeks. You want to eat her up. But first, her punishment.

You act unbothered as you command her.

“Kneel.” Wanda’s eyes widen as her desperation dampens her underwear.

There is a dull thud as Wanda’s knees connect with the water-damaged wood planks. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from singing her praise for such a simple task, but you can’t help it when you automatically pet her hair gently in reward.

You think of all the times you dreamed of holding her like the pet she is. Your palm smoothes her hair down while you mule over how long it's been since you had a good orgasm. When she´s putty beneath you, you grab a fist full of red tresses and roughly pull her closer to your crotch.

Taking the hint Wanda lifts your dark gown and gasps at the lack of underwear. It's cute that she convinced herself you believed the copycat was anyone but her. This punishment has been long in the planning.

You push more intently on her. “Don’t stop now. Be a good whore and mistress may give you a reward.”

You are glad you kept the mask on as you drool looking down at her while she gets to work. She’s so tiny and irrelevant, one calculated squeeze and you can have her begging for her life while she eats you out. The power imbalance is almost enough to make you cum before Wanda can put her talents to use.

When Wanda's hot mouth makes contact with your folds, sucking and teasing you, you have half the mind to tie her down and force her to watch while you fuck yourself with your fingers. However, you can't resist her when she finally sucks your clit into her keen, wet, fuck-hole.

You wonder if she has done this before as it only takes a minute for your eyes to roll into your skull. Jealousy takes hold of you at the thought.

Pushing the redhead away from yourself, sooner than she can get a word out, you lay her onto her back on the cold floor and straddle her face. Wanda goes to grab your hips, but you force her down. Holding her wrists over her head you instruct her to stay still.

You can’t help but tease her by riding the air just higher than what Wanda's greedy tongue can reach. You drag your body slowly back and forth sensually, making sure to let some breathy moans and groans rile her up.

“I thought I told you to be good.” You tighten the grip around her wrists in warning.

Wanda, who had been slowly trying to lean upward, lowers herself. She is smart enough to act remorseful, you decide to let it go this once. Far more concerned with satisfying your thirst you take your seat right on Wanda’s waiting mouth.

Wanda makes the jealousy easier as she moans loudly into your pussy while pushing her tongue against your hard clit. It's erotic the way Wanda’s hips buck aimlessly while your juices drip down her chin.

The harsh oak makes your knees sting and you can only imagine how Wanda's back must feel. Of course, Wanda is too far gone, she’s moaning and rocking against the air with her eyes closed.

With this small turn of events, your punishment needs an adjustment.

So, you improvise. Originally you were going to make her fuck you until you ran out of cum. However, being on the floor may prove to make that difficult.

The jingle of the whore’s boobs, whilst she tries humping anything she can get between her legs, does give you an idea.

Leaning back you mindlessly search the chair. When your hand connects with the handle of a familiar steel knife you grab on. Keeping it behind your back so as to not let the redhead get a peak. You doubt she can see it even if she wants to, too deep in your cunt for her to see anything. Besides, she has her eyes closed as a bead of sweat runs down her forehead.

She continues lapping up your wetness like a dog, none the wiser as you debate on whether or not to hold the knife against her jugular. Reflecting over it, she has been good, so you keep the knife behind you.

If only to use it if she misbehaves.

Misbehaving seems to be the last thing on her mind however, she is devouring your pussy like it’s the last meal on earth. When she introduces her nose into the mix, bumping it into your clit while you ride her tongue, white-hot pleasure runs through you.

Sounds, like you have never heard yourself make, escape before you even think to stop them. Your toes are close to curling and tension tightens in your lower back. Yet you rearrange yourself away from the redhead's hungry mouth, now is not the time.

After Wanda finishes gasping for air that you hadn’t allowed her, her eyes fly open at the lack of your taste.

You stand over her.

Scrunching her eyebrows together, the redhead whines in confusion, but you ignore her in favor of fixing your outfit. Like the good girl you know she is, Wanda stays in place. All fight evaporated as soon as you touched her. You can’t help but scoff at how easy she is.

She looks like a bitch in heat, panting and twitching as you stand over her with your knife gripped like a phyton.

You tilt your head. The torn rags still holding on by a thread annoy you. “Take your clothes off.”

Wanda's eyes lack any thought as she heeds to your every whim.

She removes the cheap outfit slowly, pushing it off her shoulders and down her waist, over her ass, and past her legs. She removes her ruined bra next, sliding it off each arm and letting it fall into a heap beside her.

You sneer at her disobedience.

“All of it.” You accompany the words with a snap of your fingers.

There is a long silence while the demand sinks into her empty head. Then like lighting, Wanda takes off her soaked underwear.

She trembles as you leisurely walk around her, tapping the knife in a set rhythm against your hand.

You soak in her completely nude and vulnerable frame.

Just how you like her.

Stopping in front of Wanda´s open legs. Her body is begging for you to touch her, she is heaving, drooling, desperate. And you have no plan on soothing it.

Ever since you were younger Wanda has always been a particularly touchy person, she needs human touch to function. Without it, she can't do certain things. Like how she refuses to take a walk unless you hold her hand, and how you can see her struggle to get up and shower if you don’t promise cuddles after.

That’s why when you found her little devious plan three months ago you decided the only punishment fit for a sadist like her would be to remove all sense of touch. Deprive her of the one thing she needs to cum, your touch.

You return to your chair, mask back in place, knife tightly gripped.

“Touch yourself.”

Wanda swallows thickly as she watches you beneath heavy lids before nodding to herself.

You have seen the way, Wanda slowly gathers her wetness and spreads it around her libido while her breath turns shallow, many times. You can’t count how many times you silently sneaked into her bedroom, always mindful of what floorboards would give you away.

You have seen the way she struggles when she gets close. So close, yet so far away. Alone and desperate.

This is different, this time she is doing it for you and only you.

Wanda never breaks eye contact through the black mesh of your mask. It's only when she pinches her clit that her head gets thrown back and a prolonged moan emits from her that she can’t keep her act up. She is close, but if you play your cards right, she won’t be going over.

You dig the knife into the armrest and swirl it back and forth, fiddling like you're bored.

Wanda’s eyes burn holes in your mask as she studies you from where she sits just a few feet away, but you overlook her.

Wanda, very much, does not like this newfound disinterest you have in her. She speeds up her fingers, moving them clockwise and pressing down hard. Every time she tries to get your attention by moaning louder or trying to press her foot into your boot you tune her out and move away.

Just as you thought, when the redhead’s orgasm approaches, she struggles. Her moans of pleasure turn into whines of frustration, and you don’t look at her. You keep your focus on the knife. This is where the real punishment starts, one mistake from you and you know she will have no issue falling over the edge and screaming her pleasure for the entire world to hear.

No, you will make her suffer, if only a little.

After all the running you have had to do tonight you are making sure she will be left breathless and exhausted before an orgasm is in order.

For ten minutes you distract yourself, for ten minutes Wanda balances painfully on the edge of pleasure.

You only take pity on her when she taps the floor twice.

Raising your eyes you see Wanda with fresh tear tracks running down her cheeks while her fingers work overtime trying to move faster than you have ever seen them move before. You have to hold back a moan at the sight.

You stand slowly, dragging every movement out. Wanda stares wide-eyed and hopeful as she cries from the pain and pleasure. You make your way between spread legs and crouth down to her eye level. Lifting her chin with the tip of your knife, she stops her movements.

Good.

You know you have her attention now.

Without uttering a word, you remove your mask with your unoccupied hand.

As soon as your face is free of its confinement and Wanda sees you in all your mad beauty, a moan so deep and sonorous it leaves her dumbfounded, fills the damp air.

While she is distracted by the new sound, she can make, you hold eye contact and leave the knife in place. Without looking, you reach down and pinch her neglected clit so hard she screams.

She comes so hard she sees stars.

Wanda is a heap of moans and whines as your gloved fingers pet her folds and clit gently, bringing her down, it takes multiple minutes before her vision returns.

When she gets back to herself you are lying on top of her and petting her sides. She doesn't even realize she is crying until you carefully wipe her tears away while praising her.

“There you go, baby.”

“It's okay, you did so well.”

“Mistress is very proud of you.”

“Just breathe for me, honey.”

“That’s it honey, good job.” You sooth her while she gathers herself. She came for a full three minutes before she promptly passed out. As worried as you were in the moment, you have to admit you are a little proud of yourself.

That is definitely the hardest you have ever seen her cum.

After a while, you can hear her mumble something.

“What’s that baby?”

Wanda, in a surprising turn of events, locks you against her chest and flips you both. You blink up at her as she giggles from your tense reaction.

“Sorry,” you watch her giggle to herself, and you know for a fact she is not sorry, “I couldn’t help it, you just look so cute when you are surprised.”

You grin with her, but you also grab the knife beside you and lift it to her neck. She quickly stops laughing, but she isn’t scared. Not anymore.

“Behave, don’t forget who´s in charge here.” You fix her with a stern glance.

Wanda deflates a little, but her hands never leave you. She trails her hands up and down your body, groping everything she can. You dig the knife deep enough to where she has to stay still if she wants to keep her vocal cords.

Wanda mewls, “please.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Please what?”

“Please can I touch you, Mistress?”

You smirk, “You are touching me.” The disappointment rolls off Wanda in waves, but she knows what she needs to do.

Not wanting to actually hurt the redhead you had loosened your pressure without realizing it, Wanda uses that to her advantage.

The deviant redhead swiftly moves your hand out of her way to attack your mouth with a round of kisses. She then pushes her tongue in and swirls it teasingly around yours. You moan into her as she grinds her leg against your covered clit.

You let this go on until you need her inside you.

Clutching the fine hairs at the back of her neck you tear her away from yourself. You tighten until she wheezes, then you speak.

“If you ever disobey me like this again I will tie you down with a vibrator and leave you like that for hours. Do you understand me?” The redhead nods as best as she can.

You let go of her neck only to grab her hair again. You stand, dragging her with you. “Sit.” You point at the chair as you let go.

Wanda obediently listens without defiance this time.

“You are lucky,” you tell her as you straddle her thighs.

“If I wasn’t in the mood for an orgasm I would have you over my knee now.” You grind into her lap as you speak. This time when Wanda goes to grab you, you let her.

Wanda controls your hips as you pound yourself into her lap. She is more than eager to comply when you command her to put a finger in.

You ride her until you can't take it anymore and reach down to draw tight circles over your forgotten clit.

You cum so fast it almost gives you whiplash. Wanda moans with you as clear liquid coats her hand.

You both fall into an exhausted pile of post-orgasm bliss as you settle. Wanda cuddles into you and you lean your chin atop her head. She nuzzles into your neck and sighs with satisfaction.

You are half-dosing when a giggle abrupts from the girl in your arms. You look down at her with a confused tilt to your head. Wanda is already grinning up at you.

“Same time next year?” You laugh at your girlfriend of six years and nod while kissing her sweaty forehead.

“Same time next year.”

[beomiracles]

「 CRIMINAL CONSCIENCE 」

SYNOPSIS moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder.

wc -> 4.3k

pairings criminal!beomgyu x investigator!reader warnings for tape 04 mentions of substance abuse, implied sexual themes, HIGHLY suggestive sexual content but not full on smut, attempts at SA (refrain from reading if you are easily triggered by such themes!)

GENERAL WARNINGS ─ this story contains dark themes, portraying unhealthy and toxic relationships as well as substance abuse. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

✎ NOTE, this story is partly told in flashbacks. beware of time stamps as present and past is mixed throughout the story.

the tape recordings

tape 04 ─ I know you

April 17th 2022 

Beomgyu’s car was just like you had imagined it. A sleek black model with tinted windows and dark leather seats. It ran far smoother than your old rundown Volvo and as Beomgyu swiftly passed the cars crowding the roads, you leaned back against the cool leather.

The silence was making you rather uncomfortable but you had little clue of how to break it. It was awkward enough that you were currently in his car; after yesterday’s events you were unsure on what terms the two of you were on. 

You decide to take a safe route and ask what you thought was a reasonable question. “Where are we going?” Internally cringing at how weak your voice sounded as you shifted in the passenger seat. Beomgyu’s gaze is fixed on the road in front of him despite only keeping one hand leisurely on the wheel. “Where was your friend supposed to take you?” His voice is casual and seemingly unbothered by the awkward situation. 

“Ah, she was just taking me home, I didn’t have my car with me so…” you trail off as you pick at the polish on your nails. With his free hand Beomgyu swipes a finger over the screen in between your seats, the device flashes with a small GPS and a white search bar — he motions for you to type your address in. 

“Where’s your car?” he bluntly asks and your finger almost slips across the small screen. “Oh, at..at home”, you mumble as you finish typing the address, the device immediately shows a suitable route and Beomgyu casts a quick glance in its direction. “Why?” he then inquires and you wonder if he always pried this much into people’s lives. Yet you found yourself wanting to tell him, wanting to be open with him. 

“One of my classmate’s gave me a ride”, you explain as you fiddle with the hem of your bag, placed neatly on the floor between your legs. He hums next to you as his fingers drum against the steering wheel. “You like your classmates?” His question catches you off guard, did it really matter if you liked them or not? What was it to him anyways, he only ever saw you for sex. 

“I guess”, you shrug, albeit unsure of how to properly answer. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything and for a moment the same stale silence fills the car. It was hard, making conversation with him; you never knew how to answer the questions he threw at you — in turn you didn’t know how to counter said questions with ones of your own. He often seemed to dismiss indulging in any personal information regarding himself, yet he found no shame in dwelling deep into the details of your own life. 

It made you wonder what kind of fascination he had with you. You trusted what Kayla had said about him not seeing the same woman twice, so what was his deal with you? Was there something more behind all the occasions in which he’d asked to see you, was there a reason he had picked you up today, and why were you not made aware of his intentions. 

The feel of his ring clad hand on your left thigh startles you from your thoughts, fingers snaking between your legs to rest at your inner thigh. “Music?” he asks and you hum, “sure..” He nods toward the small screen on the dash, “pick somethin’ good yeah.” 

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your fingers swipe across the many artists displayed. “Do you like BTS?” It was seemingly impossible to read him, his music taste? even less. Beomgyu huffs as he squeezes the flesh of your thigh gently, “that boy band?” you nod, finger hesitating over the play button. You weren’t in any way ashamed of your music taste, but when in the presence of Beomgyu you somehow felt the need to please him, even if that meant changing minor details about yourself. 

He quirks a brow in the direction of your hesitating hand, “sure why not”, he shrugs and you breathe out a small sigh of relief. The rest of the car ride is spent mostly in silence save for the occasional interrogating questions fired by Beomgyu as his fingers trace your inner thigh. 

At last; after twenty long minutes, the car comes to a stop outside of your apartment complex. Finally feeling some sort of relief you step out of the car, only to frown when Beomgyu does the same. “Wait, why are you getting out?” the question slips past your unguarded lips and Beomgyu raises a brow as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see where you live”, it was a statement not a question — with those exact words he marched inside the building. 

It takes two tries to get your rattling keys into the keyhole and you swallow a gulp as the door to your small apartment swings open. The flat was small and the building rather old, but you had decorated the place to the best of your abilities — it was home for you, oh and…meeeow~ 

Your furry roommate gazes up at you with an expectant look as her tail pads against the floor behind her. “This is Nala”, you say as you give the small cat a few scratches. “She’s not very fond of new people so…” your words fall short as Nala trots over to where Beomgyu stands and brushes against his legs in a loving manner, “or not..” you awkwardly chuckle at your cat's odd behavior. 

Leaning down to give the feline a few pats, Nala purrs in response to his actions and Beomgyu smirks, “cute little thing you are.” It felt strange, seeing Beomgyu so affectionate towards anything really. “I didn’t take you for a cat person.” Your comment makes him raise a questioning brow, “no?” You shake your head, “well, you sort of strike me as more of a dog person..” 

He seems to be considering your words as he lets go of your cat to stand back up, “I like dogs”, he shrugs as a small smirk creeps its way to his lips. He takes a step in your direction, “dogs are loyal, pliant even.” Upon finishing his sentence he’s merely inches from you, pressing you up against the wall of your small hallway without as much as touching you. From this close the pungent smell of his cologne invades your senses, it’s a familiar and intoxicating scent. He smelled almost minty, refreshing, like the blow of the wind on a cold winter day. 

Blinking a few times, your eyes regain focus as they meet his dark ones. “Dogs are predictable”, he drawls, “cats aren’t.” What did that have to do with being a dog or cat person? You had always thought the question to be rather trivial — let people like what they like. Was there really more to what type of pet you kept. 

“You’re right”, he then says, “I don’t like cats.” Though he quickly casts a glance in the direction of Nala who was busy cleaning herself as she sat by the shoe rack. “But I like your cat”, he states and you frown, “Nala?” Beomgyu nods as he turns his attention back to you, “you need to earn a cat's trust. Usually that is not something I waste my time with”, his voice is low and you can feel his fingers feathery touch along your waist. 

“Perhaps with this one I will”, he murmurs, dark eyes piercing yours in such a way that would easily get anyone entranced. His words suddenly have you wondering if Nala was still the subject of your conversation. Though you get no chance to question him further before he pulls away and ventures into your living room. 

You quickly scramble to follow him as Beomgyu wastes no time in grazing the tips of his fingers along your crowded bookshelves; not hesitating to pick a few framed photos up to inspect them closer. Awkwardly rocking on your heels, you watch as he practically searches your living room. “This your mom?” he questions as he flips the picture frame to face you, squinting slightly you nod, “from when we visited Madrid…” you mumble. Beomgyu hums as he places the photograph back in its designated place. 

“Do you uh, want anything to drink…tea, coffee?” Your attempt to keep him from prying seems futile as Beomgyu shakes his head. Instead he nods toward the open bathroom door, “go get yourself dolled up.” Your brows draw together in a frown, parting your lips in an unspoken question, which Beomgyu quickly beats you to, “I’m takin’ you out, dollface”. Taking you out? Oh...OH! He was taking you out! 

“I, s-sure..yeah– I’ll, I’ll be thirty minutes.” You stammer before quickly excusing yourself to the bathroom. Thirty minutes? What on earth were you thinking, there was no way you’d be able to get ready in thirty minutes. Let us hope that he has as little perception of time as he has of others' privacy, you thought as you pull your shirt over your head. 

February 20th 2024 – PRESENT TIME

“What’s going on?” Yeonjun sighs as he leans against the desk opposite you, hands digging deep into his pockets and a concerned look on his face. You grasp the glass of water tightly in your hands as you focus on the way the cold liquid moves rather than your senior’s question. 

After the scene you had caused over at the house, Yeonjun had pulled you aside to talk to you in private. “I seriously need you to tell me what’s happening”, his voice sounds tired and you can tell that he is too. You wanted to tell him, you had been wanting to tell someone, anyone — for the past ten months. But truthfully, you didn’t know how to. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as your fingers anxiously tap against the glass. “Look, if you can’t do it, then it’s totally fine”, he runs a hand through his hair, “but you need to tell me so that I can get someone else on the case.” As soon as those words leave his lips you find yourself shaking your head, Yeonjun lets out a frustrated sigh as his hand drags across his face. 

You knew that you were probably doing more harm than good being on this case, but letting it go to someone else, you just couldn’t. Why? You didn’t know. Perhaps it had to do with some fucked up part of you that thought you knew Beomgyu, that you could read him in ways others couldn’t — that was of course a lie. For the one year you spent in his presence, you couldn’t figure him out, not once, and you were sure you never would, no one would. 

“I can tell that it’s affecting you”, your colleague murmurs, it was obvious that Yeonjun cared a lot for you and in any other instance you would have listened to him. This was different. When you finally lift your gaze to look at him your eyes are filled to the brim with glistening tears. “I have to do this”, you whisper and your senior looks at you with so much pity that you thought you might just break down in front of him. 

Shaking your head once more, the first droplet falls from your eye, “I’m afraid that if I don’t…it’ll never be okay again.” Your voice comes out shaky and pitched, but you can’t find it in you to care in the slightest. Perhaps this was the closure you needed, to complete this case and write Beomgyu out of your life once and for all. So you told yourself. The emotions you were feeling, were all old feelings resurfacing. Nothing you wouldn’t be able to handle. 

Yeonjun sighs as he pushes himself off the desk. “Alright”, he agrees, “but you’ll promise to tell me when things get too much.” Wiping your face with the back of your hand, you nod, “thank you…” Your senior nods, “you’re one of my best investigators”, he says as he hands you a tissue, “don’t forget that you’re also human.” 

April 17th 2022 

You didn’t recognize the restaurant Beomgyu had taken you to, situated on a lonely and dark street, yet the diner was filled with people. Beomgyu on the other hand seemed more than at home in your current environment as he happily chatted with both waiters and the people sitting by the nearby tables. 

Their conversations ranged from the most dull and daily topics, but there was something else lingering in the air. Similar to that of the club Beomgyu had taken you to on your second encounter. Whatever it was it clung to him, the multiple glances from almost everyone in the room did not go unnoticed by you. Everyone seemed to know who he was, yet as you sit in front of him, you suddenly feel like you’re the only one in the room who doesn’t. 

Beomgyu turns his attention toward you once more, gaze lingering on the red dress you had carefully picked out. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, “you look wonderful, dollface.” The simple compliment manages to bring color to your face and you bite back a small smile, “thank you.” Suddenly you don’t mind that you might be the only person who had yet to be made aware of who he really was. Why should that matter when he was with you, and not them. 

Your waitress had been quick to bat her lashes toward him, to pout her lips and bite on her pen as Beomgyu ordered. Double checking and checking again that she got it right, almost tripping over her feet as she leaned forward to ‘hear’ him better. All the while she had almost forgotten to take your order, and when she finally turned to you, it was with a heavy sigh and a nasty look on her face. Beomgyu hadn’t seem to notice her blunt advances, if he did he simply didn’t acknowledge them.

Perhaps that was what you got for being seated with the most handsome man in the room. Going out like this, at a restaurant, it had to mean that he was serious about you, right? At least in your books it did. You could admit that you were slightly traditional when it came to dating, but going out to dinner — well it wasn’t exactly something that fuck buddies did. 

“What’s got your mind so preoccupied, dollface?” Beomgyu sets his glass down as he studies your distant expression. Fiddling with the foot of your own glass, you avoid his gaze to the best of your abilities. “I…well” — the low vibrations erupting from your phone shakes you off path and you glance toward the screen. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything as he rests his chin atop his intertwined fingers; seemingly unbothered and not expectant of an explanation.  

“It…it’s Kayla, she’s asking about our next meet up.” You give him one anyway. You knew that you didn’t owe him anything, yet you found yourself wanting to reassure him, not that you were sure such a thing was needed. “You’re busy tomorrow”, he suddenly declares and you glance at him in confusion. He nods toward your phone, “tell your friend, you’re busy tomorrow.” 

His words left much to desire, but as Beomgyu took another sip of his drink, you knew that he wasn’t going to let on to any further information. Shoving your phone into your bag, you nod “alright, I’ll do that.” 

As another waiter comes to clear your now empty plates; all the while Beomgyu mutters something in his ear, you’re suddenly left with no more distractions. The lingering eyes on your table become the center of your attention. Why did they keep staring like that? You had done nothing to garner their attention yet you felt like there was a huge light pointed right at you. Maybe it was all in your head, maybe you were going crazy. 

In the midst of it, you fail to notice how Beomgyu watches you, studying your almost frightened face. The small hum leaving his lips snap your eyes back toward him and he looks at you expectantly. Swallowing a gulp your eyes flicker between the crowded tables and him. “They’re…they’re staring” you whisper, Beomgyu doesn’t spare your audience a glance, his gaze fixed on you. 

“Do you not like it?” he mumbles, studying your face closer, as if searching for clues allowing him to enter your mind. Biting your lower lip you give a small nod. Before you get another word out, he gets up and you scramble to do the same. With his hand on the small of your back, Beomgyu guides you past the many tables and to a secluded corner of the room, near the exit. His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “stay here and I’ll pay”, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. That was certainly not something fuck buddies did. 

Feeling shielded by the dim light of your corner, you lean against the cool wall as your eyes flutter closed. Maybe Kayla had been wrong about him, just maybe. The sounds of approaching footsteps sends a wave of relief through you, he was already coming back. 

But it’s not Beomgyu’s voice that breaks the silence surrounding you. “You new around here miss?” the raspy voice of an unknown man has your eyes shooting open as you push yourself off the wall. “I would be sure to remember a face like your own”, he then adds as he eyes your frame with a little too much interest. 

He was tall. Possibly even taller than Beomgyu, and older too, he had to be in his mid thirties at least. Yet he seemed persistent in introducing himself, “the name’s Han-jae”, he reaches for your hand but you quickly withdraw it. “Ah, I’m afraid that I’m with someone for tonight..” you stammer as your eyes feverishly scan for Beomgyu. 

The man chuckles, “I bet you are, pretty thing like you, it would be pure luck to find you alone.” He leans closer and the sudden stench of alcohol invades your senses, “but it seems I just did”, a nasty smirk grows on his lips as his hand grabs a firm hold of your wrist. 

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest as the man's tight grip on your arm threatens to cut off all blood flow. Suddenly you regret not taking the self defense lessons together with Kayla, it would have perhaps saved you in a situation like this. “I…I really am here with someone..” Your meek attempts at persuading the strange man had little effect as the smirk on his lips only grew. 

“I’m sure you are, doll” he muses as he pulls you closer to him. Upon coming almost face to face with him, you can make out his bloodshot eyes and widened pupils; he was on something, that much you could tell. A ring clad hand suddenly joins the man’s hold on your wrist and your gaze snaps in the direction of none other than Beomgyu. 

Despite his intoxicated state the man seems to recognize him as the grip on your wrist falters. “Mr Choi” he exclaims, uncertainty flashing across his features. Beomgyu lets go of his hand with a small grimace before disregarding the man and turning to you. “You okay, dollface?” he asks as his fingers trace along your jaw, you give him a small nod as you cradle your sore wrist. 

“‘S a pretty little thing you got there”, the man comments, his speech growing slurred. Beomgyu’s fingers drop from your face as he casts a glance in the direction of the man. “What?”

The man grins as he motions toward you, “almost mistook her for a doll, pretty girl was standin’”, he hiccups, “all alone, but now I see who she was waiting on.” Beomgyu doesn’t say anything as he regards the man with a sultry look. Obliviously, the man continues to ramble, “but you’ll do me the favor of letting me know when you’re done”, the grin on his lips grows, “I’ll be happy to take up wherever you left off–” 

Whack!

The man’s words are cut short as Beomgyu’s fist comes in contact with his jaw, metal rings clashing against his teeth. He stumbles backward as he grabs onto his face with a small whine. Your own jaw falls open as the scene before you unfolds and if your heart nearly beat out of your chest earlier, this certainly didn’t help. 

Beomgyu doesn’t spare him a second glance, and neither does anyone else…In fact no one batted as much as an eye in the direction of the wounded man. Their conversations flowed without interruption and suddenly everyone avoided even glancing Beomgyu’s way. 

Too stunned to even speak, you let him guide you out of the restaurant, you don’t question him when he opens the door to the backseat rather than the passenger one, and neither do you when he gets inside along with you, nor when he slides down on the floor between your legs. 

The cool metal of his rings sends small sparks through your body as his hands caress your inner thighs. He lets out a soft sigh and as his eyes meet yours, you suddenly find it hard to fault him for punching a man. “Dollface?” his breath is hot against your naked skin. Swallowing another gulp you glance down toward him, yes? your words barely above a whisper. 

Beomgyu sighs as his hands push past the hem of your crimson dress. “You need to be careful”, he murmurs as his fingers trace the outline of your panties, earning a soft gasp from you when they brush against your clothed clit. “There are tons of dangerous men out there” he presses a soft kiss to your thigh. 

“Men who won’t hesitate to take advantage of you.” Fingers slipping past the fabric of your panties as they caress your already glistening folds. The cold rings against your warm core pulls a small gasp from you. His touch clouds your mind and turns your vision hazy. “Who knows what could’ve happened to you if I hadn’t been there”, he mumbles as his thumb grazes your clit, eliciting a sweet moan from you. 

He retracts his hand and your hips buck in an attempt to chase his fingers. The same fingers that hook around the lining of your panties and with a harsh tug he pulls them down your thighs and past your knees. “Promise me you’ll be careful, dollface” he breathes against your wet cunt and you nod as you squirm beneath him. 

“Need to hear you say it”, he groans as his tongue drags across your folds, earning a soft cry from you, “promise me.” His voice sounded almost pleading and you clenched around nothing. “I will, I will, I will…I’ll be careful I promise”, you ramble as your fingers intertwine in his dark hair, twisting and pulling at it. “That’s what I wanted to hear”, he murmurs before pressing a kiss to your cunt. 

February 20th 2024 — PRESENT TIME

You were supposed to have gone home earlier, a lot earlier. In fact Yeonjun had offered to take you home by lunch, yet you had declined. Instead you found yourself lingering by your office as the hours passed by. When 5 o’clock hit, your colleagues began venturing home, you stayed. By 7 the office was completely empty. 

Soon you started walking, though unsure of why, or where your goal was, you walked. Floor up and floor down, mindlessly passing the multiple vacant offices and meeting rooms. At last you found yourself by the interrogation rooms, perhaps you thought it would ease the lump in your throat to go there, but it didn’t. So you kept walking. 

You don’t know how you ended up at Beomgyu’s cell. Your feet led you to the few rows of empty rooms, all but one. The door only allowed a small window in which you could gaze into the room, it was dark but you knew that he was there. 

Did you miss him? Was that why you were here? You had told yourself that you wanted answers, but did you really? — were you even ready to hear them? You should turn back, go home, sleep, possibly call in sick tomorrow. Instead you knock. 

Three soft knocks later and a small light is flicked on somewhere inside the room. A trembling hand slides the small window to the side, allowing you to hear him, and him to hear you, to touch you even, but you wouldn’t allow that. 

Beomgyu doesn’t seem surprised at your sudden appearance, a smirk spreading across his lips, he had expected you to visit him. “Dollface”, the name sends your heart into a minor frenzy, “it’s a little late to be working still, no?” he asks as he tilts his head to the side, studying your unblinking expression. 

You swallow, “perhaps”. He chuckles and you’re once again reminded of how hard you thought he was to read. Maybe that was what made him so intriguing to you. “Yet you’re here”, he murmurs, eyes glinting in the same way they had when you first met. 

“But you shouldn’t be”, he states and you know that he’s right. 

You should most definitely not be here right now. But as your gaze meets his you suddenly realize why you are. Because despite everything a small part of you clings onto the faint hope — the hope that he isn’t what you know him to be. Because a small part of you wants to believe that Beomgyu is innocent.

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[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 7

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 7 - Excision Part One (Criminal Minds Case Time)

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Smoking. Slow Burn. Murder. Depictions of Flaying. Implied Rape. Mentions of Date Rape Drugs. Strangulation. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.4k

AO3

Chapter 6

Saturday night was supposed to be drinks with Tara and Rebecca as planned until Penelope heard about it. Then it evolved into you and Rebecca having your first BAU ladies’ night at the Fireside Lounge, the local bar the unit enjoyed socializing at. You were finding ways to politely say no at the end of the workday because the group was now too big for your comfort level. Getting to know one new person at a time was you’re your sweet spot, but now it was four. And were doomed to accept because Penelope’s pouting pulled too hard at your heart strings to further deny her.

Thankfully, two cases came in that Garcia’s law enforcement surveillance had flagged as interests. Though, it really wasn’t with gratitude that you felt having victims which cancelled the event. It was just a postponement. There was no way that Garcia was going to let you off the hook for drinking, dancing, and gossiping – as she had put it. At least this gives you time to formulate some excuses that can stick so Garcia isn’t too disappointed.

It was a problem for another time. The team arrived at Quantico Saturday afternoon and were briefed on the cases. One was in Germantown, MD where there was a break in. Two men with distorted faces had triggered the alarms to kidnap the security guard. They beat up and executed him on live feed while the homeowners watched. It’s quite possible the equipment and makeup they are using are from a Sicarius kill kit as the town is about ten miles away from Rockville, MD.

The other case comes in from Thermal, CA where a body was found at a plant nursery under shrubbery. The victim was male and strangulated to death. But that wasn’t what caught the BAU’s attention. It was a fact that the victim’s face had been precisely cut off and lain atop his chest. There was no blood at the crime scene either. The unsub appeared to be ritualistic in how they displayed the body per first impression with local law enforcement. The tools for this type of kill could also be one of Sicarius’ followers as Thermal, CA was about nine miles away from Indio, CA.

Prentiss split the team. JJ, Alvaz, and Lewis would remain in town and drive up to Germantown to investigate. She kept JJ close to home on purpose to be near her family. That meant Prentiss would take you and Rossi to California by jet. The trio remaining behind were so jealous that they all balled up paper sheets and threw them at you, making you laugh as you tried to dodge and bat them away.

Rossi was kind enough to remind the team that if not for you, there might not be a jet to use.

And that was where you were right now, being briefed in the air enroute to Jacqueline Cochran Regional Airport, right in Thermal. The local sheriff department secured a landing area for the private jet and would meet the unit there.

The three of you sat together on the four seaters – you were next to Rossi and had the window seat. Prentiss was across from you as Garcia spoke over face time. You hope you hide your excitement well since you were being trusted enough to be in the field. You brought a different kind of experience to the unit and understood there was a lot you could learn from Rossi and Prentiss.

“Since this place is in Bufu, California, they’re taking their sweet time sending me over the files. But I’ve gotten preliminary pictures from forensics.” Garcia shares her screen displaying the wounds of the neck and face. “For the record, I am NOT looking at this. La, la, la, la, la! This is all for your desensitized eyes! And I’m assuming your eyes are made that way too my CIA Cutie?”

“Unfortunately,” you answer, zooming in on the strangulation marks around the victim’s neck by garrote. The line was too thick to be wire or some sort of line. The pattern was uneven and did not cut into the flesh, just left a lot of yellow and purple bruising.

“Meet Cole McGarth, 24, who until recently, was a paralegal for a probate attorney near … oh, ho! Indio, CA!”

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” muses Rossi. “But it could be coincidence.”

You play around with the touchscreen some more and point out the marks on Cole’s wrists and above the ankles. “Looks like he was bound.”

“Indeed, he was per initial report,” Garcia says in confirmation. “Coroner is doing the work up as we speak. Or fly, in your guys’ case.”

“Any idea how the unsub removed the victim’s face?” asks Prentiss.

“Yes! Definitely meticulously excised but not sure what tool was used yet. It wasn’t sloppy work.”

“Probably not a disgruntled client then. This wasn’t done in anger, or in a fit of rage,” says Rossi.

You flip through files on the table and hum in agreement. “Too precise. Need a steady hand with how the unsub removed the skin.”

With a grimace, you look at McGarth’s eyeless face resting on his body and wonder, what did this guy do to deserve this?

“What we’re seeing here is a killer that knows what they’re doing,” adds Prentiss. “This isn’t new to the unsub.”

“You think there’s more bodies out there we don’t know about?” you ask, trying to understand Prentiss’ logic.

“Maybe. Just, this is too good. No one gets this good on the first try. Hey Garcia?” Prentiss looks to the screen to address her. “Check to see if there’s any cases that are similar to this one.”

“Will do! Anything else?”

“Any other prelim findings, send our way, but I’ve a feeling we won’t know more until we land with how slow local law enforcement’s processing this.”

“They have a major crimes unit, but this is far above their means,” explains Rossi. “They’d be calling us in eventually to assist.”

“Turtles run faster, yes,” Garcia confirms. “Oh! JJ is requesting my divine presence. I’ll keep you all up to speed on the home team, too. Tootles!”

Her face blinks out and you keep looking between the file in front of you and on the screen, not realizing Prentiss and Rossi were looking at you. Then they share a look that you were unaware of, eyes focusing with brows raising and motioning toward you with a slight shake of Prentiss’ head. They were wordlessly debating if they should chit chat with you.

Rossi shrugs. “So, Whitlock, what do you do for fun?” he asks suddenly as you look up with confusion.

“Uh …” Your brows pinch and you gesture to the files. “You don’t wanna talk about this?”

He chuckles. “We always talk about the case, but we talk about other things too. Besides, you owe me a conversation.”

You look lost, like a puppy with its head tilted trying to understand what was going to happen next. Prentiss thought it cute and made sure to down some water to hide it.

“About my work with the Gideons?” he supplies.

You lean back in the seat and smack your forehead. “Right. Yeah. Sorry! Been a hectic week and totally forgot about that.” You lower your hand and look at Prentiss. “Evil woman there’s working me hard.”

“Hey!” Prentiss sets the water bottle down with offense. “I am not evil.”

“The paperwork that you gave me is. Since you supplied the paper, it is your fault. Ergo evil paper, evil you.”

“That is the lamest logical argument I’ve heard in some time, Whitlock.”

You both then share a laugh as Rossi watches the banter curiously. He was very glad to see the two of you were finally getting along. “Well, to be fair, she did provide a valid argument. Won’t hold up in a court of her peers, but it is valid.” He smiles as Emily gives him a withering look. “But anyway, back to my question. What do you do for fun?

You close the file and set it aside as you consider this very difficult question. Rossi sees the hesitation and prods further. “Is it really that hard to answer?”

Grimacing, you nod and gesture around the jet. “Considering this my first vacation from work in, fuck, I don’t know how long?” You set your hand down and sigh. “Yeah.”

Emily thinks back on her career and yes, there were times that the ability to take a vacation dried up due to assignments, but she had vacations time – willingly and mandated by her superiors. “That doesn’t sound right.” But she knew you were serious by the solemn expression on your face, especially those exhausted eyes that had seen very little of the pleasures life could hold.

You really never take time off, do you? Prentiss thinks as she slowly begins to understand you. What are you running from that you don’t want downtime?

You shrug, offering that as answer. On the surface, you could be seen as a workaholic with no ties to anyone. Rossi picks up on that. “So, no special someone?”

You shake your head no.

“Kids?”

You laugh a little too hard. “No.”

“Family?”

Your eyes narrow briefly, the only indication that this question heightens your irritation which Emily spots. “I think that’s enough for now, Dave.”

Rossi holds up a hand apologetically. “Sorry, kid. Been awhile since we had someone new and got carried away.”

You nod as he gently squeezes your shoulder. Your eyes soften at Prentiss with thanks, but you start to worry. The section chief’s brown eyes turn mischievous. You frown as she grins. “Besides, I’m sure Penelope will continue the interrogation later.”

Rossi pulls his hand away. “Why’s that?”

“Girls’ night was cancelled. I’m sure when we have a free night, she’ll rectify that.”

You groan. “Please start finding another case right now.”

Rossi laughs. “Good luck trying to dodge her curiosity. Penelope’s tenacious. But also, sweet and easy to talk with.”

And that’s what you’re afraid of. Brian, too.

At least Rossi decided to shift gears to discuss his work with Jason and Jill Gideon. He found it precious you were taking notes …

The three of you eventually part ways for the rest of the flight to decompress until you land. As you disembark the jet, you slip on your sunglasses to stave off the bright sun and look at the one hangar that had a FedEx plane docked to be unloaded. The rest were small propellor plans that were used for lessons or crop dusting.

Wow, you think, not seeing anything like this on U.S. soil since… ever? Yeah, overseas a ton, but here? Never.

Waiting for the team at the end of the tarmac was a squad car and an SUV, with two officers waiting for you. One is a skinny fellow with a buzz cut that stood close to the other, looking restless as he paces. The other officer looks back and says something, making him stop.

As the three of you approach, the one seemingly in charge greets you with a curt nod. He wore thick glasses, dark hair kept neat and trimmed and carried a stocky build. “Chief Prentiss?” Emily nods. “I’m Captain Michael Robles and this is Deputy Aiden Miller.”

“This is Senior Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and Special Agent Y/N Whitlock.” Both you and Dave nod as Emily introduces you. “Any updates on the investigation?” Garcia hadn’t received anything from Thermal or found any similar crimes thus far.

“Unfortunately, yeah. Another body turned up. Found in some bushes off of 62nd when a trucker pulled to the side to relieve himself.” He shook his head. “Poor bastard saw the arm hanging out. Thought it was a ringtail. Wasn’t expecting a dead body.”

“We have an ID on the victim?” Rossi asks.

Yeah,” says Miller. “His name’s Lee Sullivan. Head shrink out of Palm Desert. Both vics are with the Sheriff now and said we’re to bring y’all to him.”

“Oh, so he’s with the coroner?” you ask.

Robles chuckles. “The sheriff’s the coroner, too.”

Your eyes widen much to Prentiss’ amusement. “Welcome to small town Americana.”

To save time, Rossi went with Deputy Miller to speak with McGarth’s family and glean more information about last known locations and any potential individuals that may want to hurt him. All three of you found the initial interview lacking with local law enforcement because they didn’t want to push the grieving family too hard. While there is a need for compassion, time is precious and wasting it with no leads could get someone else killed. Look at Sullivan.

You and Prentiss went to see Sheriff Alex Grosch at the station. Yes, you were surprised that the sheriff’s station and the medical exam office were in the same location. Usually, they were separated to avoid any tampering or misuse of evidence that could impede an investigation. But since you had one guy playing M.E.* and cop? Sure! Why not have everything located in one place to make their job easier?

Sheriff Grosch was already grown and gloved by the bodies as you entered. His hair was covered with a cap, glasses secured around his head with a strap. Next to him was a tray of tools, some used, some sterile. Right now, he was taking notes. You were thankful he took off his gloves before doing that. Ew…

The room was far more cramped than you’d expect it to be, only have room for three examination tables, which were position directly in front of freezer lockers. One wall had supplies and equipment for examination on shelves and cabinets that were stuffed so much that they were slightly ajar. There were boxes of various sizes stacked against the wall haphazardly and leaning against that were various shipping boxes and envelopes in various states to be mailed out. There was a half open door with a glass panel on top that led to what was presumably Grosch’s office.

The place was chaos and probably violated many OSHA’ laws.

He took a break from scribbling and looks at you both. “Agents.”

“She’s a chief,” you quickly correct, pointing to Prentiss. Then to yourself. “I’m the agent. Special Agent actually.”

His slate blue eyes narrow. “Sure.”

You didn’t like this self-righteous fuck at all. His tone drips with condemnation and you felt it was more than just the correction of Prentiss’ title.

Sensing that this could go bad quickly, Prentiss jumps into facts. It was the best equalizer. “Catch us up.”

He sets down the clipboard and offers gloves to both of you. “Nothing new. Second vic died the same. Strangulation.” You and Prentiss put on examination gloves as he does too. “Has the same mark around the neck.”

Both you and Prentiss move around the table to get a good look at the second victim. “Yeah. Matches the pictures,” you confirm as Prentiss looks at the wrists and feet.

“And the same signs of being bound. Same indentations, too. Whatever it is,” she says, squinting, “hard to make out.”

Now being up close with the body, it looked like a two-inch strap was used by how the indentation looks, but then it becomes not as deep as you look away from the point of contact. You gently stroke your finger along the victim’s wrist and find it not to be smooth but prickly. There were several smaller lines that dug into the skin as you roll the limb back and forth. “Yeah. This could be anything right now.”

But something in the back of your mind knew what this was, just out of reach. Right on the tip of your tongue. “Any other signs of trauma?”

“Nah. Just like the first,” confirms the sheriff.

Prentiss’ eyes slide up to the covered face of Sullivan. Without hesitation, she pulls back the sheet as the sheriff holds up his hand. “I really don’t think you need to see that. It’s pretty gruesome.”

She squints her face with the same parental that you recognize immediately. It was the same one she gave you when you were acting petulant in her office when you first met. She looks absolutely commanding with the etched scorn set on her face. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She looks at you and gestures over with her head to join you.

You take position on the opposite side and with a shared look, reveal Sullivan’s head. You both went immediately into silent investigation mode and compartmentalize what you feel. You both saw enough throughout your respective careers to get the job done, which caught the sheriff by surprise as there wasn’t even a gasp or flinch from either of you.

The unsub left a terrible work of art. They had removed the entire layer of skin leaving the muscles visible and unharmed, same with the eyes. You saw the entire glazed over orb staring right back at you. That should have been unsettling enough, but this isn’t the worse thing you’ve seen. As you look further down the face, the incisions were a clean angular pattern. A skilled hand as you thought.

With her free hand, Prentiss traces the cuts above the face. “Cauterized the wounds as they cut.”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah. Either skilled with both hands or ambidextrous.”

“Especially being able to remove the skin in one piece.”

“And there’s no trauma to muscle. They wanted the victims to be preserved like this.”

Prentiss bunches up her lips in thought and motions to cover the victim, which you did. She turns to address Grosch. “Have you identified what tools were used with the excision?”

“Nothing specific but definitely the high-grade surgical kind. I did figure based on the timeline of the excision and the strangulation, the vics loss their face before they were killed,” he admits soberly.

“The victim was alive?” Prentiss was shocked. Nothing indicated that there was a struggle, or the victim fought back while being flayed. The team had presumed the face was removed postmortem.

You were thinking it too. “That doesn’t add up. The bodies have nothing to indicate they tried to fight off their attacker. Fingernails and hands have no trauma.” You pull the second victim’s hand up and show there was no blood or skin under the fingernails. No bruising of the hands or knuckles.

The sheriff nods. “It’s like that with the other one, too.”

“And the unsub had time to complete their objective, without interruption,” explains Prentiss. “Was there a tox screen done?”

“Yeah. Just waiting on lab to send over the results. Should be ready any time now.”

“Make sure we get that ASAP so we can discuss and add to our profile.”

He mutters a non-committal, ‘Uh huh.’, as you and Prentiss take off your gloves to throw out and leave the exam room.

As the door closes behind you, you huff out a harsh breath of air. “What an asshole.”

Prentiss smiles. “Even if he somehow forgets to send the information over, Garcia’s already on it.” She chuckles at your look of surprise. “This isn’t the first time some male ego may try and cock block the ladies of the BAU.”

Now you snort laugh. “Yeah, I’ve dealt with it, too.”

You both enter the bullpen and head straight for the coffee. This shithole town didn’t have French Vanilla, so you were stuck with boring old creamer. Prentiss at least got her Splenda.

“The unsub had to have known our vics. Or at least caught them off guard. It doesn’t make any sense at all that our victims wouldn’t have tried to fight back - when they were taken, flayed, or even during the strangulation. Nothing,” muses Prentiss before she takes a sip of her coffee. She makes a face at how bitter it was and stirs in another packet.

“Yeah, there’s nothing substantial on those bodies to indicate anything. And the unsub didn’t take anything off the victims as far as we’re able to determine. Except their dignity, I suppose.” You lean against the counter and look at the snail’s pace of a station working. No one appears to be in a hurry. Like everything was business as usual and the only signs that something was amiss was the FBI presence. There was quiet chatter in the bullpen and eyes directed towards the two of you. Whether it was curiosity or genuine need to solve the case, who knew?

That got you thinking.

“One’s face is the first thing you really see. Physically, I mean. So why did the unsub want to remove it?”

“Stress and depression are psychological concerns that can trigger dermatological issues – even somatically perceived ones. Feeling like your skin is crawling. Pins and needles across the skin. So much so, someone might want to tear your skin off. So, to speak.”

“And medically, you’re looking at pain and hives. Psoriasis and eczema. A shit ton, actually.” You consider it but shrug. “None of our victims have it. Open for debate on our unsub. But …” you look to Prentiss, “there is something to be said about feeling like you want to crawl out one’s skin. Maybe there is a deeply rooted emotional need to remove someone’s face so the unsub can have a cathartic release of emotions they can’t normally feel?’

Prentiss raises a brow in consideration. “Not a bad theory.”

“There’s also the fun thought of a face mask. I mean, I’m not talking exfoliation, but we hide our true selves behind layers of walls we build up. It all depends on how we grow up. Who we have contact with. Family, friends, lovers, co-workers. The interconnections we pull from that we use to define ourselves, or equally knowing when to open up. Everything we’ve experienced creates the persona we want people to see. It’s all based on threat and trust.” You pause as you work your jaw in thought and come to a different conclusion. “What if the unsub’s flaying is symbolic. Removing a layer of that mask from the victim?”

She raises the other brow, impressed with your knowledge and focus. Yeah, your humor edges through a little but it’s a blip in the conversation. You had a work ethic that hadn’t been able to be appreciated since she had sidelined you on day one. Out in the field, you are able to shine and show how intelligent you are. You ask all the right questions and didn’t discount anything too small or too big. You home in on small details and carry the conversation without any prompting form her. It was a natural flow of ideas between the two of you. Regardless of what it is you actually do for the CIA, it clearly meshes up well with profiling with the BAU. And if she was honest, your style was meshing with her, too.

But what really bothers her with what you said is that she knows you were speaking from experience. You spoke with too much familiarity about walls being built for protection. Couple that with being dismissive of any personal connections in your life that Dave tried to ask about, Prentiss couldn’t help wonder how long have you lived such a lonely life…

Right then, Prentiss’ phone rings and she accepts it, putting it in on speaker so you can hear. “Tell me you got something, Dave.”

“I do. Last known whereabouts of our victim was at a bar called Coachella.”

You make the face. “What? Like the music festival?’

“Exactly. The festival’s in Indio. Bar’s named after it.”

“Did the family give any indication as to why he was there?” asks Prentiss.

“No. Just went for drinks after the long work week to wind down. McGarth texted his sister before he went over. Sometimes he does try for a hook up, but I’m doubting his situation had to do with anything like that.”

“You’re not kidding. Anything else? Trouble with any family, friends? Anything at work?”

“Nothing yet. I’m heading to his work now to speak with his boss. Maybe we’ll get something there. After that, I’m following up on Sullivan’s family. How are things on your end?”

“Not much that we didn’t already know, but Whitlock has a couple of good theories about our unsub. Either flaying for the emotional release or removing an emotional wall the victim has built up.”

There was a pause as you hold your breath and wonder what Rossi would think. “Not bad, Whitlock.”

You exhale slowly and preen with pride. “Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“Nah. Waiting on labs. Until then, we’re just throwing ideas around for the profile.”

“Then I leave you ladies to it. Talk later.”

The sheriff comes jogging into the bullpen a few minutes after you both hang up with Dave, flagging you down with paperwork in hand. “Report’s just came in off the first victim.”

You speak quietly behind your coffee cup so only Prentiss can hear. “Who knew snails could run?”

She fights a laugh, neck straining as her lips contort to squash away any visible humor. “What do the reports say?” Prentiss impresses you with her ability to go pro so fast.

“Couple things of note. Got flunitrazepam and midazolam in the system.” He turns the pages towards the two of you and you take it.

“Flunitrazepam?” Your confusion was palpable as you see it written plainly on the report. “That’s one of the date rape drugs.”

“And midazolam’s a sedative,” states Prentiss. She’s baffled, too. “You said there’s no indication of assault, but did you examine for one sexual in nature?”

Grosch frowns deeply and his eyes lack focus. You were quite happy to answer for him. “I’m gonna go with a no there, chief.”

He clears his throat. “With, ah, no signs of struggle, I didn’t see a reason to.”

“Well, you do now. Make sure you check both victims.” He nods and heads out as Prentiss sets aside her shitty coffee. “Honestly not his fault. He really had no reason to assess for it until now.”

“Yeah, but it was nice seeing him freak out for a sec there,” you say with a smile that fades thoughtfully. “Case keeps getting weirder, huh?”

“Oh, honey,” Prentiss smirks wistfully, “this is nothing but another day in the BAU ...”

… to be continued in Excision Part Two.

*Medical Examiner

*Occupational Safety and Health Administration

Chapter 8

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven

[writingforatwistedworld]

If requests are still open (and if it is within the rules) may I request a shot for the Reader who casually refers to TWST guy as her "dream boyfriend" on a daily puzzle? For self-aware!Au and Leona/Jsmil/Riddle if possible? Thank you.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, death, murder, violence, unhealthy relationship, implied family problems, threats

Riddle Rosehearts/Leona Kingscholar/Jamil Viper-Referring to them as your “dream partner”

Ah yes, cricket. The sport that the Queen of Hears loved so dearly and was the reason why many flamingos and hedgehogs probably planned a rebellion against humans

But here he was, Riddle Rosehearts himself, fueling that fire of hatered of his supposedly feathery friends when he felt the presence of the Overseer again

What a surprise, but he was happy none the less

Playing a perfect game because if he didn’t there was no way he could be worthy of your attention

And then you said those words

Riddles flamingo was this close to going bananas as it felt his grip getting uncomfortably tight around its’ legs

Getting called your dream partner… has he ascended to heaven?

And it didn’t stop there, the next few days you continued to fo that

You better believe me when I tell you that everyone was almost screaming in fear when he was about to punish someone only for him to freeze and stare with glassy eyes onto the distance

Mhm, you said it… only that you saw him on your home screen instead of telling a student that it was “off with his head”

But what if one day you didn’t want him anymore? What if you found someone else whom you thought was better than him?

That was the moment he started to turn into his old self

Only that he didn’t act like this because of his mother but because he thought that if he followed your roles perfectly you wouldn’t divert your attention to someone else

Dark days, my friend. Dark days…

Sometimes though even he misuses them, claiming that someone did something wrong whenever he feels threatened

Never mind that one time when something inside of him snapped and Trey had to wash suspiciously red clothing

Leona isn’t someone who desperately wants to be in a relationship but if you were to ask...

So here he is, laying like most of his free time in the greenhouse, sleeping away...

And it would have been a normal day if it weren’t for you, suddenly appearing as if you had planned to give him a heart attack

They said this wasn’t a horror game… tell that to Leona who is now clutching his chest from the jumpscare of you appearing

So, the housecat extravagant over there is expecting your visit to play out like usual, make students study… making Deuce nearly break his neck during flying lessons

What he did not expect though was you suddenly going all “Awww I like him so much!”

Well… apparently he is a heck of a fresh snack since you are suddenly like “He my dream partner!”

Charming. Absolutely charming. And absolutely not making him go into cardiac arrest for a minute

Leona thought this would be a one-time tingy but no. You are persistently trying to make him loose every single one of his nine lives

You repeat it. And repeat it. And repeat it. And… can someone help Leona over there. I’m starting to think those bad jokes are slowly turning into reality

Suddenly sleepy lion who doesn’t take care of himself is high fashion. Is Vil seething? Maybe but what I can guarantee you is that he plans to turn Sunset Savannahs second prince into a scarf

Malleus over there also looks like he might implode any moment but we don’t talk about the end of the world here… at least not now

Leona is not dangerous because he is very active but because he has his way with words and if that doesn’t work then he can literally grind people to dust… all I am saying is that his magic worked on Ruggie

So whenever he sees someone getting close to him so that they can also get close to you then they better be prepared for intimidation tactics which Lilia hadn’t seen since the war and they will definitely might end up with a few healthy bones less… especially in the neck are but this is a sunny side blog! We- we don’t talk about dark stuf here!

And yes, of course, this is bad for his ego but Leona knows that him changing in any way that is a bit more egoistical will probably end up in a negative way

After all, not even he is sure what he would do would you stop to refer him as someone you consider as husbando material

Uh… Jamil… poor in the shadow standing Jamil…

Now this is someone I can definitely assure you thinks he has absolutely no chance with you

Although that changed after his overblot, with him finally getting a good session of screaming at Kalim his self-esteem was definitely in better waters

So here he is, still a servant but at least he got his problems off of his soul

Which ends up with him dreaming. Would a kind and all-knowing soul like yourself even look at him? If yes, how would it be?

One day, that one darn day, you came and did what you ususally did

Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just some guidance

And then he feels your attention on him, his body going into “plank-mode” as he started to become nervous

All the years of serving someone like the Asim family was not able to prepare him for you

And then he is suddenly perfect boyfriend material

What’s even funnier is that he was puring Kalim a drink and at your words he gave the young heir an unvoluntary shower

Huh? The incense has probably gotten to his head, he thought whilst carrying food over to Kalim but then you started to squeal about him again and… I know, what a waste of good food.

When you repeat it every day his self esteem gets even better day by day, you repeating yourself on a daily basis

But what if someone were to take this away from him? What if some lowly insect were to question his position

Jamil can be frightening. Not the normal kind tough. No. Frighting frighting

SUdddenly that students’ social life is ruined because he did something horrible, even his family can’t look him into the eyes. WHat Jamil is always alone to those recently violent becoming people? Nah, that must be wrong, right?

[guiltyasdave]

only bought this dress so you could take it off

series masterlist • this is part I

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

a/n: I was on my summer vacation last week, and I’m suffering from severe Dave York brainrot lately, which inspired a vivid daydream of Dave taking me on a little trip and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I was planning to keep it a oneshot, but there are so many more ideas for this floating around in my head, so a part 2 miiight be happening. Please read the warnings, this one’s nasty! (it’s the murder daddy energy)

word count: ~10.4k (this was supposed to be a nice little pwp, idk what happened) (Dave was holding me at gun-point)

summary: You have been sleeping with Dave York for a few months, keeping things casual, when he suggests to go on vacation together. You’re not sure what to expect, but you agree, and Dave takes very good care of you.

warnings: bits of angst, dubious morality (Dave is cheating on his wife), kinda unhealthy relationship dynamics, age-gap implied, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, Dave pulls her hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, rough sex, semi-public touching, sir kink, degradation kink, rough oral sex (m receiving), unprotected piv (reader is on bc in my head, but it’s not mentioned in the fic), dirty talk, Dave is a menace, spanking, choking, edging, spit kink, restraints, idiots in love, let me know if I missed any!

this is explicit 18+ content, minors do not interact pleaseeeee

Your phone starts buzzing on your work desk around 8 AM. You just got into the office and are starring at your monitor blankly, nursing a to-go cup of too expensive coffee and questioning your life choices. A regular Tuesday really.

You groan and flick your eyes down to your phone, your mind way too exhausted to deal with whoever is trying to contact you right now. You read the name on the screen and do a double take, your tiredness immediately forgotten. You hastily grab the device and press the green button to accept the call.

“Hey,” you say, trying your best not to sound just as eager as you suddenly feel. He doesn’t need to know the effect a simple call from him has on you.

“Good morning, sweetheart. What took you so long to answer, huh?” his voice sounds in your ear, calm and composed as always, but with a hint of teasing. You bite your lip, thankful that he can’t see how just hearing him speak has a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“S-sorry, just work and everything, you know?”

You can’t help the little sigh that you let out -work really has been a nightmare lately- and he chuckles sympathetically.

“You poor thing. Speaking of work, I actually have a favor to ask you.”

He knows fully well that he doesn’t need to ask you favors - you’d give him everything he wants, without question. His usual demanding tone is lacing his words and you involuntary clench your thighs together. God, you’re down so bad for this man.

This, as you need to keep reminding yourself, married man, who lives the perfect suburban life with his wife and their two kids. He’s not in love with you, you’re well aware of that, and you’re trying your hardest not to fall in love with him either.

You don’t know what exactly is going on between him and his wife and you don’t pry. He’s told you that things between them aren’t working out anymore and that they’ve agreed to stay together and play happy family until their girls are older. You’re not dumb, you know that this is the kind of story that every cheating man tells the other woman. And you’d probably call him out on his bullshit, if he were any other man. Hell, you wouldn’t have gotten involved with any other married man in the first place.

But Dave isn’t just any man and he’s got you wrapped around his finger ever since you met in a hotel bar a few months ago. You had just been stood up at said bar and Dave had been on a business trip, spending the night there. He came up to you, looking more handsome than any man should have the right to, bought you a drink and had you following him up to his room in the blink of an eye, which led to sex that was easily the best you had ever had.

Now, Dave calls you regularly, mostly when he’s close enough to meet up, but also some nights when he whispers filthy things into your ear until you come on your own fingers because he is too far away to put his hands on you.

You like to think that he cares about you, that you’re not just the willing means to an end and that you can actually give him something that he can’t get anywhere else. Something soft, a person that cares for him and gives him the chance to be soft as well. Because they exist, those moments of softness, in between tangled sheets and laughs shared in the darkness of your room, his fingers mindlessly dancing over your body when he thinks you’re already asleep and his lips pressed against yours a little too urgently when he’s saying goodbye to you.

But most of the time, Dave doesn’t like to care. He also doesn’t like to be soft. He’s ruthless, his edges sharp like a knife and he likes coming at you hard. He doesn’t tell you exactly what he does for a living, but you suspect that it’s dangerous and violent. He needs an outlet, somewhere he can let his aggressions run free, someone he can control.

This, you can definitely give him. You let him take it out on you when things get too much, you give up all control to him, and you love it. And he knows that you do. Sometimes you wonder if that’s the only reason he’s keeping you around, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it.

So, when your phone lights up with his name, you answer, trying to conceal your desperation to hear his voice, the hold he has on you, even if you’re fighting a losing battle. And when he’s asking for a favor, you hum questioningly, even though you already know that your answer will be “yes”.

“Take the next week off, and pack a bag. I’m having a few free days, so we’re going away for a bit, I’m picking you up on Saturday.”

He’s basically giving you an order, not stopping to ask if you’ve already got plans, if this might be a bad time, anything. Do this, be there, stat. Because he knows that you will do as he says and you know it, too.

Excitement bubbles up in you, the prospect of spending a whole week with Dave, something of a vacation, from what it sounds like, is more than you had ever allowed yourself to even daydream about. This is not what your relationship is about, it’s not what you do. Except that… apparently it is?

“I- okay, yes. That- that sounds great, Dave.” Your delight at his proposal is clear in your voice. “Where are we going? What do I need to pack? Do I need to prepare anything?”

He chuckles again and you can picture him shaking his head.

“No doll, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Just bring your passport and pack for warm weather. And, sweetheart?” His voice drops an octave and he’s basically purring in your ear. “The sluttier, the better.”

He hangs up without waiting for your answer. You’re left to spend the rest of your workday in a daze, your panties soaked and your head busy with already cataloguing your entire closet and which things you’ll pack.

The days pass you by in weird chunks of time. On one hand, you can’t wait for Saturday, while on the other hand, you feel terribly unprepared, causing anxiety to creep up on you several times throughout the week. Every vacation you’ve ever been on has been meticulously organized and planned out by yourself and the lack of knowledge that you’re dealing with right now is entirely foreign to you.

What if you need a certain vaccine for wherever you’re going and you don’t have it? What if the flight has an early check-in that you need to take care of? Has Dave booked a hotel? How are the reviews? What do you need to prepare for?

The nervous urge to be ready for every kind of situation that you can’t satisfy right now is threatening to drive you crazy and you need to remind yourself more than once that this is Dave that you’re dealing with. Not one of your ex-boyfriends that would’ve come up with some half-assed plan that lacked in several vital points and required you to take care of things yourself eventually.

Dave is even more thorough than you, he doesn’t leave anything up to chance and he doesn’t forget things. You’re still reeling from the mere fact that he’s planning to take you away for a whole week. You’ve never spent that much uninterrupted time together and you honestly hadn’t thought that he would want to. This is couple stuff. And you’re not a couple. You’re just someone he sleeps with occasionally. You need to remember at least that.

You have texted him a few times, trying to get more information about the trip, but he hasn’t budged. You only manage to find out that he’ll come pick you up Saturday morning and that you’ll be gone for a whole week. And that you should pack a lot of bikinis.

“You make sure you’ll look good for me, and I’ll take care of the rest,” his text read. Followed up by a stern, “Stop worrying.”

You try taking his words to heart and get prepared in the one way you can: Buying lots of skimpy dresses and bikinis. You vividly picture him taking them off of you and it works. You do stop worrying.

Saturday finally rolls around and you’re ready, suitcase fully packed and dressed in a skirt so short that it will probably have you freezing your ass off on the airplane, but you can hardly bring yourself to care.

His taxi finally pulls up to your apartment building and he jumps out to meet you while the driver loads in your suitcase. You can’t help the giddy smile that’s on your face when Dave’s arms envelop you and your lips are on his before he even gets a greeting out. He chuckles as he kisses you softly, one of his hands cupping the back of your head, before he pulls away slightly to look at you. You’re breathless; the sight of him in his crisp shirt, the top two buttons undone to show off a sliver of his broad chest, his sharp jawline and those brown eyes trained firmly on you already enough to drive you a little crazy with need for him.

“Miss me that much, huh?” he murmurs against your lips, one hand still in your hair while the other one trails down to the hem of your skirt and skims the backside of your thighs before he gives your ass a rough squeeze. You nod quickly as a breath leaves you, not quite a moan but enough to clearly show him the effect his touch immediately has on you.

“Desperate little thing,” he grins and adds a playful slap to your backside before pecking your lips again and leading you towards the waiting car.

He slips in beside you, his hand immediately finding your thigh again and gently rubbing against the bare skin, creeping below your skirt’s hem again and again as you take off in the direction of the airport.

You’re falling into your familiar routine with him, the first effects of seeing him and the flare of your chemistry with each other calming down a little and allowing you to actually talk with him like a normal person, not a lovesick teenager. You’re filling each other in on the few weeks since you last saw each other, the little occurrences that you wanted to tell him about but didn’t have the opportunity to at the time. He’s not much of a texter and you understand that; he’s busy with his job and his family whose existence you still need to keep reminding yourself of.

His large hand doesn’t leave your thigh once throughout the drive, keeping a hold on you that feels especially possessive whenever his grip tightens. At the airport he grabs both of your suitcases and purposefully strides off, leaving you to walk beside him with nothing but your little purse. It’s not a grand gesture by any means, but still, no one has ever taken care of things for you like this and your want for him is bubbling inside of you.

He drops your baggage off at check-in and hands you your boarding pass. You can’t help the squeal that you let out when your eyes find the destination and you excitedly throw your arms around him.

“Are you serious? How did you know that I always wanted- But Dave, that’s SO much, I can’t have you pay for all this, I-“

He shushes you gently, though you can tell that he’s clearly pleased with how happy you are about where you’re going. He presses a kiss to the crown of your hand and rubs his hands over your shoulders.

“Of course you can. I wanted to do something nice for you, sweetheart, you’ve been so stressed out lately. And I-,” he trails off, looking almost a little bashful, “I wanted to spend my time off with you, without interruptions, you know.”

You think that he wants to add more, but he doesn’t, his expression slightly regretful like he accidentally said too much already. He barely verbalizes his feelings and you don’t push it.

“Thank you Dave, it’s- thank you. I really appreciate it.”

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him softly, trying to convey what you feel but can’t put into words. How you’re not even there yet and it’s already more than anyone has ever done for you. How ‘I wanted to spend my time off with you’ has butterflies erupting in your stomach, no matter how hard you try to suppress them. How it has you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you might be more for him than just the girl that he’s fucking on the side because his marriage is shitty. How much you wish that you were.

But you don’t have time to ponder all this because he possessively wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you off towards security control, then to the gate where he gets you your favorite Starbucks without even asking for your order, and onto the plane, where he lets you have the window seat and his hand finds its way back onto your thigh.

You brought a book to read on the flight but you can’t make it through one page without losing your focus. Dave’s hand keeps climbing higher and higher, alternating between gripping your inner thigh tightly and drawing featherlight circles on the soft skin, and the heat that had been smoldering within you since you first laid eyes on him today is slowly but steadily becoming too much to bear.

Dave seems annoyingly unaffected, his face as composed as ever as he asks questions about your book, and you know that he notices the way you’re squirming in your seat, and how much he’s enjoying the fact that he’s the one to make you act like this.

You’re in the middle of a sentence when his fingers suddenly move all the way up your thigh and brush lightly against the fabric of your underwear. It’s a barely-there touch, but you’re so wound up that it’s enough to cause you to interrupt yourself with a loud gasp. He retracts his hand the tiniest bit, still hovering between your thighs, and tuts at you.

There’s a dark glint in his eyes that hasn’t been there moments before. You know this look and it takes everything in you to not clench your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come. He raises an eyebrow, the condescension written clear on his face and his voice a low rumble, quiet enough for only you to hear.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want everyone on here to know how much of a slut you are for me, now would we? Huh?”

He pinches the soft flesh on your inner thigh roughly when you don’t answer fast enough and you bite your lip, suppressing the whine that is threatening to come out of you.

“N-no…” you whisper and Dave arches his eyebrow even higher, looking at you expectantly. You gulp.

“No, sir.”

A small smile plays around his lips and he places a kiss on your cheek. “Good girl,” he mutters and his hand creeps up again until he’s rubbing against your panties, which you know are absolutely soaked by now. Your hips chase his touch and he chuckles darkly as he withdraws his fingers, completely this time, until he’s holding them up to your face. You can tell that the fingertips are shiny with the arousal that leaked through the fabric and you feel yourself blushing.

“Lick it off,” he demands, and your eyes widen.

“H-here?” you dare to ask. His gaze hardens.

“You wanna talk back to me?” His voice is calm, but you can sense the tension that’s rolling off of him. You should be disgusted, both by his request and the way that he’s talking to you, but you’re not. This is how you want him, how you crave him.

You shake your head hastily, acutely aware that questioning him was probably enough to get you into serious trouble later on. The thought sends another wave of desperate arousal through you.

“Then lick. It. Off. I’m not gonna tell you again.”

His tone is clipped, his face a hard mask, but your eyes flick down momentarily and the growing bulge in his pants tells you that he’s not as unaffected by the situation as he wants you to believe. You train your eyes back to his face and hold his gaze as you lean forward and obediently clean his fingers with tiny kitten licks. His jaw tenses as he finally draws his fingers back from your tongue and runs them across your cheek, smearing the traces of your spit there.

A small whine slips out of your throat as you feel fresh wetness flooding your panties and he grins before he kisses you again, murmuring a “Good girl” against your lips. He leans back into his seat, his hand finding an almost innocent position close to your knee.

“Why don’t you read a little more, sweetheart? We’ll be there soon.”

He flashes you a smile that could pass as genuine but you catch the glint in his eyes as he clocks your dazed expression and your slightly parted lips. You nod dumbly and pick the book back up, but not a single word that you read actively registers in your mind.

You try catching glances at Dave, until by the fourth time, he pinches your chin between his fingers and turns your head back forward. “I said, read,” he murmurs into your ear. You know he gets off on this stuff, giving you stupid little orders. And on the fact that you let him. That you get off on it, too.

Your arrival happens in a blur. Dave leads you off the plane and through the smallest airport you’ve ever been to. Your brain is still a bit muddled from the unsatisfied arousal he’s ignited in you and now you’re excitedly turning your head left and right, trying to get in as many impressions as you possibly can. You’re not paying close attention to what’s happening and you’re thankful for the way Dave is taking charge without question. You’re happy to link you fingers through his and let him lead you wherever you need to go.

He retrieves your luggage, walks you out of the airport and to a waiting car. You spend the drive staring out of the window, your eyes wide, taking in all the beauty around you. It’s like you’ve arrived in literal paradise. You tell Dave as much and he chuckles, lifting your hand up to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. The unexpectedly sweet gesture has you blushing and a soft smile plays around his lips.

The hotel is, quite frankly, insane. If you had been worried about the amount of money that he’s spent on this trip before, it pales in comparison to how you’re feeling now. The building is nestled against the foot of a mountain, lush green trees surrounding the front and the road leading up to the entrance, while it opens up to a small, private bay where turquoise waves calmly roll up against the whitest sand you’ve ever seen.

There’s glass walls everywhere, giving you an almost 360° view as you step into the lobby. You know that you’re gaping and Dave actually laughs at your expression as he walks you up to the reception desk to check in. You’re not listening closely, too busy taking in your surroundings and convincing yourself that this is your real life and not some extremely realistic daydream that you’re having while sitting at your work desk.

Dave finishes up and wraps an arm around your shoulders to lead you to the elevators, stepping inside and pressing the top button. The doors slide closed and you can barely think about the fact that you’re apparently staying on the top floor before you’re being whirled around and end up with your front pressed against the elevator wall with Dave’s hands roughly shoving up your skirt until your ass is exposed to him.

Your surprised giggle morphs into a moan as his hand comes down hard to slap it, before gripping the flesh so roughly that it borders on painful. He presses his body up against yours and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss as his other hand slides up to cup your breasts over your tank top.

“Dave- we can’t-,” you gasp just as the elevator comes to a halt and dings. He growls and flicks your skirt back down, but keeps you pressed against his side as the doors slide open again. Thankfully there’s no other people around on this floor to witness your surely utterly disheveled state.

The dark glint is back in his eyes as he drags you along to your room number. He stops in front of the door and turns you towards him, his eyes trained on your face as he stares you down. His voice is low, his tone calm and controlled, but somehow it’s more threatening than if he shouted at you.

“You think you get to tell me what we can and can’t do? You think that’s for you to decide?” His hand grabs your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks, and you whimper.

“N-no sir, I’m sorry, I just thought-“ He slaps your cheek, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough to shut you up. Enough to remind you of your place in this dynamic. Your eyes flicker around hastily, your mind acutely aware of the fact that you’re in a public setting and that someone could walk in on this at any time. His hold returns your face, forcing you to look at him again.

“You don’t think, sweetheart. I decide and you listen, isn’t that right? If I want you to show off that slutty little ass of yours for everyone to see, then that’s what you’ll do.”

You nod to your best ability with his hand still grasping your face, mumbling another, “I’m sorry, sir.” You can barely think, the heat between your thighs almost making your legs buckle at this point. His thumb moves to play with your bottom lip and a cruel smirk grows on his face.

“You will be, doll. This is the third time you’ve disrespected me today. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help the way you subconsciously bite your lip and you know that your desire is written all over your face, your pupils probably blown wide and your cheeks hot.

“Christ,” he chuckles and seals your lips with another kiss, “you’re a fucked up little thing.” You can only nod, prompting another laugh from him.

He steps up beside you and digs a keycard out of his pocket, holding it up against the door that responds with an affirmative beeping sound and a lock clicking. He pushes the handle down and swings the door open, holding it for you, a hand on the small of your back as you tentatively take a few steps inside.

The gasp you let out now isn’t fueled by your arousal, which is momentarily forgotten, but by your utter inability to believe what you’re seeing. You’re standing in a small hallway which opens up into a gigantic living room that’s probably bigger than your entire apartment and completely lined with glass walls, revealing a balcony and the shimmering sea several floors below you. You slowly walk to the adjoining bedroom that houses the easily biggest bed you’ve ever seen and a continuation of the glass walls. From what you can see, the en-suite bathroom features a lot of white marble.

You turn back to Dave, who has followed you silently and seems to expectantly take in your every reaction. “You’re crazy,” you tell him and he grins as you struggle for words. “This is- it’s so expensive, it’s- it’s too much, really. You’re crazy,” you repeat and he walks up to you to take your hands. His thumbs rub little circles over the skin and he smiles softly.

“As I said, I wanted to do something nice for you. You deserve it, sweetheart, you do.”

“But- but it’s-,” you trail off, mortified to realize that your bottom lip is trembling and your eyes are getting wet. You’re not going to cry in front of Dave, not because of a stupid hotel room. More like a fucking suite, your brain unhelpfully provides and your lip trembles harder. Dave quickly wraps his arms around your shoulders, his eyes searching your face.

“But it’s what?” he implores, his features displaying a look of such genuine concern that you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen on him before. “Sweetheart, do you not like it?”

You shake your head, trying to think of some way to explain that doesn’t make you seem totally pathetic. “It’s-,” you draw a deep breath, “it’s just- this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Like, ever. I just can’t believe you would- for me…” You trail off, not sure how to explain that you can’t grasp why he would be willing to spend this amount of money on you. “What I mean to say is, it’s beautiful. Just- thank you. Really, thank you.”

You smile at him and the relief is incredibly evident on his face before he pulls you into a hug, his arms engulfing you, one hand stroking you head softly. For once, his hands don’t wander down your body, he just holds you tight and you allow yourself to think that you could get used to this.

You feel awkward after your little breakdown, but Dave doesn’t mention it again. He lets you traipse around the suite to explore and unpack and follows you when you step out onto the balcony where you inhale deeply, enjoying the salty air and the view down to the bay. You think that it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life and you flash a beaming smile at him.

“You like it?” he checks again and you nod eagerly. “Good,” he mumbles and steps up behind where you’re leaning against the railing, one of his arms finding its way around your middle and his head resting on your shoulder. “That’s good.”

You stay like that a little while, taking in the scenery in front of you in peaceful silence, listening to the sound of the waves that roll against the shore and watching as the sun is sinking lower, a soft golden light spreading out across the sky and reflecting in the water.

Eventually, one of his hands slowly starts gliding up your torso. He cups your breast and his fingers graze your quickly pebbling nipple. You moan quietly and instinctually push your hips back against his crotch and the growing hardness there, which causes him to chuckle as he bends down to run his lips over your neck, leaving small kisses and bites on the sensitive flesh.

You’ve been riled up and let back down so many times today that you feel a bit crazed at this point, the need for him between your legs downright painful as you grind your hips against him and another desperate moan escapes you. “Dave, please… I need you.” Your head falls back against his chest and his other arm loops around your middle, pressing you against him as he tuts softly.

“So needy that you’re forgetting all your manners, huh?”

He pinches your nipple, hard, before his hand sneaks higher and loosely wraps around your throat. The anticipation of what is -hopefully- finally about to happen has you feeling lightheaded. You don’t care that you’re outside, that anyone could look up and easily spot you on the balcony, you would let him fuck you right there, as long as he just finally fucks you at all. You haven’t given him an answer and the hold around you throat tightens. Not enough for any real pressure, but enough to remind you of the power he holds over you.

“Please, sir,” you whine and he chuckles again.

“Not yet, doll,” he whispers into your ear and his hand leaves your throat, then he turns you around until you’re face to face. You can see that he wants you too, it’s written on his features clear as day, and you can barely fathom his level of self-restraint right now. You open your mouth, ready to beg again, ready to beg for anything to relieve the throbbing pain between your thighs, but he shakes his head curtly and even in your lust-filled haze, you know better than to keep going and shut your mouth again.

He grins at your obedience and gives your lips a quick kiss. “Good girl. You’ll get everything you want soon enough, don’t worry. Just gotta be patient a little more, okay?” You nod, and dazedly let him take your hand and lead you back into the bedroom. “But first, we’re gonna have a nice dinner. Think you’re gonna need the energy, doll.” His grin turns downright feral and a small shudder runs through you. “Show me what pretty things you packed, yeah?”

You hum your agreement and turn to rummage through the closet, pick out a dress and fresh underwear and wander off into the bathroom. You half-expect him to stop you and make you change in front of him, but he doesn’t say a word. Maybe seeing you naked would be even too much for his restraint right now.

You change into the dress; it’s one of the new ones that you bought only last week while daydreaming about how Dave would take it off of you. It’s a short silk dress, dark red and with an open back that basically only consists of a several straps that form a loose pattern over your skin, which is why you forego a bra and only pull on a black thong, a lacy, barely there scrap of fabric. You also redo your makeup, adding a lipstick in a shade that matches the dress and freshen up your hair, then step out into the bedroom again.

Dave is still wearing the black slacks that he wore all day, but seems to have changed into a new, creamy white dress shirt, while you were busy in the bathroom. The top three buttons are open, which is one more than usual, exposing more of his broad chest than you’re used to and you know that you’re wearing an expression of awe on your face. He’s so beautiful. He always is, he’s stupidly attractive, really, but it’s hitting you especially hard right now, in these new surroundings and with the prospect of having him all to yourself for one whole week.

He’s eyeing you as well, his gaze roaming hungrily over your body. You become acutely aware of just how short the dress is, how much of your naked skin is on display. You like your body, and you’re not ashamed of showing it off, but this place is fancy. You know you look good, but suddenly, you feel a bit awkward. “Is- is this okay? Because, I-,” you stammer a little, “I didn’t expect this kind of hotel and you said- you said you wanted slutty, so…” You trail off, biting you lip nervously.

Dave’s gaze softens. It’s giving you whiplash, how quickly he switches between the domineering, controlled, sexually charged persona that he’s displaying around you most of the time, and this sweeter, caring side. The side that wants to do something nice for you. He takes a step towards you.

“Turn around for me, sweetheart.”

You do, giving him a little twirl before turning back around and meeting his gaze. He looks… you don’t know how to describe it. The hunger for you that you’re familiar with is there, but it’s also something else, something… more. “You look perfect,” he assures you and you can’t help but believe him. Then he continues, “take off your underwear.” You blink at him and he cocks an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t want any panty lines when you’re looking so gorgeous with that pretty dress.”

You know fully well that the tiny thong that you’re wearing isn’t leaving any panty lines, but you also know better than to argue. The thought of having nothing to protect your modesty under the very short hem of your dress makes you feel exposed, a little uneasy, which is probably exactly what he wants. Always testing your limits, always looking to see how far he can push you, how far you’d go to please him.

You slide your thong off and make to toss it in the direction of your suitcase, but he clicks his tongue and holds his hand out towards you. You put it into his waiting hand and he stuffs it into the pocket of his pants. You suppose that he’s planning something and that you’ll get to know about it when he wants you to, which isn’t now, so you keep your mouth shut and step closer to him. “Dinner?” you ask softly and lean on your tiptoes to kiss him. He returns the kiss, his tongue entering your mouth swiftly, giving you a taste of how much he wants you, before he pulls back and grabs your hand instead, leading you out of the suite and back to the elevator.

It’s just the two of you when you get on, but two floors down, you’re being joined by an elderly couple who you greet politely. As soon as their backs are turned to you, Dave’s hand is under your dress, running a finger through your slick folds. You manage to swallow your surprised gasp, but flinch slightly, and you see him smirk out of the corner of your eye. He slides his finger up and down your slit, brushing your already oversensitive clit a few times, and you bite down hard on your lip to keep the sounds inside that threaten to spill out of you.

When the elevator finally stops, he withdraws his hand and waits until the couple is a few steps away from you, until he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Good girl, learned your lesson I see. Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe, your legs a bit wobbly and your arousal already leaking out of you.

“That’s right.” He pats your ass in a sort of condescending appreciation and you follow him into the dining area.

The hotel’s restaurant is located on the first floor, a beautiful, light-filled space that opens onto a big terrace which seems to float over the ocean and gives you a gorgeous view of the sunset’s colors that have become even more intense since you left your room. You’re being led to a small table for two and you gape at the view, causing Dave to laugh at you again, but it’s a warm laugh, that feels like he’s genuinely happy about how much you’re enjoying yourself.

You try reading through the menu, but you know maybe half of the things that are on there, much less how anything tastes or what you would prefer. You shoot Dave a sort of helpless look and he grins. “Want me to order for you?” he asks and you nod gratefully, trying not to feel embarrassed about how out of your depth you are. He orders something, along with a bottle of red wine, which you very much appreciate. You don’t know much about wine, but this one tastes really good. It turns out that he ordered some kind of fish for you, that you still have no idea how to pronounce right, but now you know that it’s freaking delicious. You tell Dave as much and he gives you another smile that seems much too soft and overwhelmingly right at the same time.

Dinner with him is much easier than you had anticipated. Apart from your excitement about the whole trip, you had been a little nervous about spending an entire week with him, having to make much more conversation than you usually do. It’s not that you never talk, but sooner or later, you end up naked with him whispering filth into your ear. You don’t go out on hour long dates, maybe a drink at a bar, but no big dinners and extensive talks. Until now.

Now you know that he’s a great listener, making you feel heard and understood, never once giving you the impression that you’re boring him. You also learn more about him, about his past, though he stays vague about his current job and the situation with his family. But it’s nice, being with him like this. Another thing that you could get used to, but that’s also another thought to shove into some far away corner of your mind. Be thankful for what it is, don’t become greedy for more, you tell yourself.

After two glasses of wine and a dessert that you could have died for, watching the sun set over the ocean until the night sky took over, you’re buzzing with happiness, but also excitement for the next part of the evening. The whole dinner was better than you could have imagined, but you have also been turned on for hours, with the man that you want right in front of you. When Dave finally stands up and pulls your chair out for you, you all but jump up and flit to his side. He chuckles and looks at your eager face. “Don’t get too excited, sweetheart. Tonight isn’t gonna be all that fun for you.”

The dark glint in his eyes is back and you’re subconsciously clenching your thighs together. The simple thought of what he might do to you is enough to push the arousal that has been simmering inside of you to the forefront of your mind again. You’re amazed how quickly he can sink back into that domineering character that could make you do almost anything with a simple snap of his fingers. He wasn’t like that at dinner, he didn’t once give you the impression that you’re below him or that he doesn’t respect you, separating this sexual dynamic that you’ve established from other parts of your interactions with clean precision.

He leads you out of the restaurant, his fingers grazing the bare skin on your back and you’re once again reminded that you’re completely bare beneath the skimpy dress that you’re wearing. His hand dips lower, playing with the hem that feels like it’s barely covering your ass. Goosebumps are forming on you lower back and your thighs and he chuckles darkly.

He keeps playing with your dress during the elevator ride, his fingers sliding underneath and grazing your ass repeatedly, until you’re fully riled up again. You’re a little nervous now. He promised to be rough several times today and you don’t doubt that he will. You’re excited as well, you want him rough, crave his control over you, but still…

He takes out the key card and opens the door as you follow him quietly, waiting for instructions. You can feel the tension rolling off of him. As soon as the door clicks shut, he’s on you, crowding you back against it, his hands grabbing your wrists and pulling them up above your head while he leans down to capture your waiting lips.

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongues as he devours your mouth, towering over you and keeping your wrists fixed to the door while his whole body is pressing into yours. You arch into him, helplessly trying to get him closer as you moan into his mouth when he bites at your lower lip, keeping it in between his teeth as he pulls back a little before letting it go. You whine, the quick stab of pain transforming into pleasure and traveling straight to your pussy, which causes you to spread your legs wider and grind your hips against him.

He gathers both your wrists in his large hand, still pressing them against the wall above your head, and lets his other hand roam over your body, grabbing at your waist, bunching up the dress there. “Looked so good tonight, all dolled up in your pretty dress…” he murmurs with his lips now dragging against the soft skin of your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking at the skin, “and all this just for me, sweetheart?” He bites down right below your ear and your hips buck against him.

“Yes, yes sir, fuck…”

Your breath catches in your throat when he abruptly pulls the neckline down to expose your breasts and scratches his fingernails over your nipples. He pinches one hardened bud between his nails and pulls slightly before he lets go and watches how the flesh bounces back, then he repeats the motion on the other side. You’re gasping, tears are welling up in your eyes, it hurts, but it hurts so good, your pussy is completely soaked and you just want him to finally, finally fill you up.

Then he steps back, his jaw flickers as he watches you, still pressed against the door, panting softly and with a dazed expression on your face.

“Get on your knees.”

You get down immediately, hoping against hope that maybe he’ll let you come sooner when you’re being good now. He allows himself a cold smile at your eagerness and steps closer until you have to crane your neck to look up at him. He opens his belt and slacks in sure, controlled movements, the only evidence of his own need for you being the massive bulge that’s right in front of your face. He doesn’t waste time, shoving his pants and underwear down in one move and letting his cock spring free.

You gasp quietly, your mouth opening on its own accord at the sight of his massive length and you look up at him hungrily. “Open wide,” he tells you softly, almost gently and you obey, sticking your tongue out and watching mesmerized as he lets his tip rest on your tongue for a few moments. He pulls back slightly, smearing a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum across your cheeks, then slapping you with his cock, which causes you to moan. “Filthy little thing,” he murmurs and sinks into your wet mouth in one hard thrust.

You gag almost immediately, your throat contracting around him and he groans as he grabs your head and holds you still. Tears well up in your eyes and you already feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. He finally lets go and you desperately suck in a lungful of air before he starts thrusting into your mouth again, hitting the back of your throat every time and causing you to choke around him. The way he pushes you around, uses you for his own pleasure has a new rush of wetness flooding your pussy and you’re itching to touch your clit, just a little bit.

He notices how you’re squirming beneath him, how one of your hands is inching closer between your legs and he stops his thrusts, his cock still taking up most of your mouth, and looks down at your face.

“You wanna touch yourself? You like having your face fucked like a whore?”

You nod as best as you can and hum desperately, gazing up at him through your tear-soaked lashes. He furrows his brow, looking down at you with that wicked glint in his eye. “You know how to ask properly, I didn’t hear you sweetheart,” he tells you, sinking even deeper into your throat and you fight to suppress another gag. You hum again and look at him pleadingly; he’s well aware that you can’t ask him anything with his cock filling your throat like this. “Guess you don’t want to, then,” he shrugs, “hands behind your back. You’re not touching that pussy without my permission.” You whine, your clit throbbing painfully for attention, but you obediently cross your wrists at the small of your back.

“Poor thing,” he coos and pats your head in mock-sympathy, then moves his hand back to hold you in place as he pounds into your throat with renewed force. You gag around him, tears flowing all over your face and drool streaming down your chin and onto your tits. He sinks into you again and again, holding you up by your head and making you sputter around him, desperate to somehow draw air into your lungs. “Take it,” he growls, “take it like the little slut you are, down on the floor for me. That’s how you like it, don’t you?” He finally pulls out of you and slaps your cheek when you don’t respond immediately. “Don’t you?!”

“Y-yes sir,” you rasp, gasping for breath, tears and spit still all over your face.

He crouches down cups the cheek that he just slapped, his thumb rubbing at the tear-stained skin under your eye. You’re positive that you look a mess, mascara running down your cheeks and your dark lipstick smeared all around your mouth, mixing with your spit. Your hands are still behind your back, the arch in your body making you push your chest out and putting your tits on full display for him. He starts toying with your nipples again and you want to cry. An orgasm feels so close, yet so far away. You feel like you could come with just a few strokes on your clit, but you have no idea how much longer he will string you along until he finally deems it enough.

“You’ve been such a good girl, sweetheart. So patient all day, I bet you’re dripping all down those pretty legs right now, aren’t you? So desperate and ready for me, yeah?” His voice is a low growl in front of you and you whine your agreement. It’s not enough for him. “Say it. Tell me how desperate my little slut is to finally get fucked.”

You hesitate, your eyes dropping to the ground in front of you. “I-,” you gasp as he roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, waiting for you to do as he said. “I need you to fuck me, so badly. I’ll be so good, I promise, just p-please, sir,” you whine, feeling pathetic, your voice trembling and your face burning. No matter how many depraved things he gets you to do with him, for him, talking like this still gets you embarrassed. Which is precisely why he makes you do it.

“And what are you?”

You feel your face heating up. “Your s-slut, sir.”

He grins as he adds another slap against your cheek. “Damn right you are.”

He straightens back up, tugs himself back into his pants and looks down at you. “Bedroom.” You scramble to get up, but he shakes his head and lands a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down again. “No, no. You’re gonna crawl.” You sink back on your hands and knees, the amount of embarrassment and arousal that you’re feeling making you dizzy, and you look up at him shyly.

He nods approvingly and bends down to tug your dress up higher until your bare ass and pussy are on full display. “Good girl, right where you belong. Off you go, come on.” You bite your lip and start crawling towards the bedroom, his footsteps right behind you and you can feel his eyes drinking you in as another groan grumbles in his chest.

You stop in front of the bed and give him a questioning look. He gestures for you to stand up and you get back to your feet with trembling knees. He steps closer, his hands ghosting over your shoulders and toying with the straps of your dress.

“Such a pretty dress,” he murmurs as he slides them off your shoulders, the garment slipping down your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that you’ve been wearing all evening. You’re painfully aware of the power dynamic between you, how you’re completely naked and at his mercy while he’s still fully dressed. His hands roam over you, leaving goosebumps in their wake and come to rest at your hips. He squeezes the flesh there, then turns you around until you’re facing the bed.

One hand reaches up to your neck and he bends you over until your upper body is resting on the mattress, your back arching and your ass up in the air for him. He takes a step back and lands a slap on your backside without warning. You yelp, your body instinctively lurching forward and your legs shaking with the strain of keeping your balance in your heels. He notices, of course, and says, “You better keep those pretty legs steady, doll,” before reaching forward and massaging your stinging flesh. You hum, trying to get your muscles to cooperate, but your legs won’t stop trembling.

Dave’s touch leaves your body and he sits down on the bed beside your head, his eyes searching your face. “What’s your color, sweetheart?” he inquires, softly stroking your cheek.

“Green,” you answer without hesitation. It has already been a lot and you’re sure that he’s nowhere near finished with you, but you like it like this. You crave it. He nods, his touch still gentle on your face.

“And what do you say when you need me to stop?”

“Red,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek, before he stands up again and disappears from your field of view.

“So,” his voice drawls from behind you, “I think I’ll give you twenty-five tonight, how’s that sound, sweetheart?” You gulp, but know that there’s only one acceptable answer.

“S-sounds good, sir. Thank you,” you breathe, the apprehension clear in your voice, and he laughs quietly.

“And what did you do to deserve this?”

You bite your lip again, struggling to think through the fog of arousal clearly enough to give him an answer that he’ll be satisfied with. “I d-didn’t listen and talked- talked back at you, and…” you trail off when his hand dips between your legs, swirling through the wetness there before retreating again. You inhale sharply and continue, “…and that was disrespectful. I’m sorry, sir, it won’t- it won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dave mumbles and his fingertips ghost over your lower back. “But that was a nice little speech, sweetheart. Starting now, you’re gonna count them out for me, yeah? Lose count and we’ll start over.” You nod and your hands grip the sheets as you try bracing yourself.

The first slap meets your flesh, not as hard as you know he can go, but hard enough to get a small scream out of you. “One,” you force yourself to say and he hums appreciatively, before landing the second slap exactly on the same spot as the first one. “T-two,” you whine, his handprint searing on your skin.

You make it until eleven before your legs give out, your trembling muscles collapsing under the task of keeping you upright in your heels while your body is scrambling to get away from the oncoming assault on your ass cheeks. You fall forward, your knees hitting the mattress right after Dave’s hand connected with your backside again. “Twelve, I’m sorry, sir,” you choke out.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, stepping closer and running his hands soothingly over your back as he searches your face, a look of soft concern on his face. “What’s your color, doll?”

“Green. Still- still green, sir,” you breathe out and you mean it. You feel like you’re on fire, but in the best way.

“Yeah?” he questions, “want me to continue?” and you nod your head eagerly. The concern washes away from his face, his jaw tensing and his eyes growing cold again. “Fucking masochistic little slut,” he growls and you moan, your walls desperately clenching around nothing.

He lets you stay with your knees on the bed, your ass still up high for him, until you’ve finally reached “twenty-five, t-thank you, sir.” You’re sobbing at this point, your skin feels raw where he hit you, but you’re also damn near delirious with want for him.

Dave strokes your skin gently, telling you what a good girl you’ve been and how proud he is of you, and you bask in his praise. Then his hand travels lower, slipping between your thighs until his fingers are running through your folds, feeling how soaked exactly his rough treatment has left you. “Fuck doll, you’re dripping. You really liked that, huh?” he murmurs as he pushes two of his thick fingers into you, sliding in easily and making you moan loudly.

He thrusts into your tight heat roughly, causing you to arch your back and spread your legs wider, your release so close that you can almost taste it. He keeps going until he feels you growing tighter, starting to clench around his fingers, and slides them out of you abruptly. You sob, feeling your orgasm subside again.

“I think you were about to come without permission, sweetheart. You just promised me you’d be good, didn’t you? Guess your greedy little cunt just can’t help herself, huh?”

You whimper an apology and receive another slap to your abused skin, causing you to jerk forward. “No doll, you stay right here. Give me your hands,” Dave’s stern voice orders from behind you. You let him take hold of your wrists, leaving you completely at his mercy in the position that you’re in, and he digs your panties out of his pants pocket, looping them around your wrists until they’re tightly secured.

When he’s satisfied with his work, you finally hear the rustling of him taking off his clothes. Without warning, you feel him swipe the head of his cock through your drenched folds, teasing you with the tip, grazing your clit and causing you to gasp, then sliding back until he’s prodding at your entrance. You whine loudly and try pushing your hips backwards, but his hold tightens around you, keeping you in position.

“Not so fast. Be a good girl and beg for it,” he requests, in a voice that still sounds so controlled, while you feel like you’re barely able to form words anymore. You’re not embarrassed anymore, the promise of his cock so close to where you want him wiping all inhibitions from your mind.

“Please sir, I need you so badly, please fuck me, I’ll do anything, just please…”

You feel pathetic begging like this, but you couldn’t care less. Dave lets out a strained groan behind you, and then he’s pushing into you in one strong thrust. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve taken him or how wet you are, his size always stings at the first intrusion and you wail, your body being pushed forward by his movement and he grips your bound wrists, holding you steady as he starts pounding into you.

“So fucking tight and wet you little slut, fuck you take me so good, being such a good girl, fuck…” Now his voice sounds wrecked behind you and you moan loudly at his words and at the way he’s splitting you open. This is what you had been craving for hours, the feeling of him thrusting into you again and again, and you push your hips back to meet his thrusts, to get him even deeper.

One of his hands grips your hair and pulls, forcing you to arch your back even more and slightly shifting the angle where he’s pounding into you, hitting something so delicious inside of you that you almost come on the spot, your walls already fluttering around him, but you’re not allowed, your scrambled brain reminds you, you need…

“Please sir, I’m gonna come, can I please…” Your voice breaks off into a sob when his movements slow down and he pulls out of you, pushing you forward until you’re laying flat on the bed, and he starts working on releasing your bound wrists.

“Good girl, asking for permission,” he praises, “but you’re gonna look me in the face when I make you come tonight.”

He frees your wrists and turns you around so that you’re on your back, looking up at him through teary eyes, desperate for your release. “Poor thing,” he coos as he gets between your legs, placing his large hands on your thighs and spreading them wide. His cock nudges at your entrance but he doesn’t sink back into you, his gaze trained on your face and his hand wandering up to play with your bottom lip.

“Open wide,” he tells you and you obey, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out. His breath has turned heavy by now and he hovers over you, hungry eyes roaming over your face, your open mouth and your wet eyes. He draws back the tiniest bit, then he spits into your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue and you whine, the filth of the whole situation making your pussy clench once more.

“Keep it open, show me.”

You hold still, your mouth wide open, feeling his spit mixing with yours as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. “Now swallow,” he finally says and you do, showing him your empty mouth afterwards and he grins. “Fuck, you’re such an obedient slut, being such a good girl for me. You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you? Fucked all the thoughts out of that pretty little head, yeah?”

“Yes, anything,” you whimper, and he sinks his cock back into you without preamble. Your eyes widen at the sensation of being full again and the new angle, moans of his name falling from your mouth and you wrap your legs around him, grasping at his wide shoulders to hold onto something as he starts pounding into you again with raw strength.

One of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing until you feel light-headed, intensifying the feeling of his deep thrusts into you. Pleading whispers leave your lips, but you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, if you want more, if you want him to stop.

His movements speed up even more, hitting spots inside of you that have you moaning and squirming underneath him and the hand on your throat travels down to your breasts, toying with your nipples, pinching and pulling and sending delicious waves of pain through you.

You’re so close again, when his hand slides down to rub at your clit, making you scream and throw your head back, your eyes pinched close. He grabs at your face and forces you to look at him.

“Oh no, you’re gonna look me in the eyes when I make you come, are you gonna come sweetheart?”, he growls. You whine and nod desperately, your eyes shining with tears. “Go ahead then, come for me, squeeze my cock like the good little whore you are.”

He swirls his thumb over your neglected clit once more, gives you a particularly hard thrust and your vision swims, your whole body tensing up before you bear down on him and fall apart. You’re clenching rhythmically around his cock as the orgasm tears through your body in pulsing waves and you’re pulling him over the edge with you as he climaxes with a deep moan, spilling his release inside of you.

You’re a trembling mess, your breath stuttering and your mind still caught up in a blissful haze, and you’re only vaguely aware of him collapsing beside you, but you register the tender kiss that he presses to your cheek before he gets up and retreats to the bathroom.

The next thing you feel is the bed dipping as he sits down beside you again and you slowly blink your eyes open. Maybe it’s the post-orgasmic bliss that you’re still lost in, but you think to yourself that he looks especially beautiful right now, his face relaxed with a small smile playing around his mouth, where the stubble of his beard is showing through at the end of the day, and with his brown eyes warm again now as he looks at you.

“May I?” he asks and holds up a damp towel. You nod, returning his smile and watching as he brings the towel down between your legs, cleaning you up and soothing your hot skin. He gently turns you over and spreads some kind of healing balm over your burning cheeks, careful not to touch you too roughly. He also cleans your face, his soft touches almost enough to lull you to sleep.

When he’s finished, he maneuvers you around, causing you to giggle, until you’re in the middle of the bed and he can pull the covers over you, sliding in beside you and wrapping his arm around your middle. You shuffle closer until you’re securely tugged into his side, your breath fanning against his broad chest.

“You good?” he asks, looking down at you and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah,” you smile up at him and stretch to reach his mouth with your lips. He kisses you back, his hand coming up to play with your hair, and you smile even wider. As much as he likes to be rough with you, you think that what he actually needs, is the softness.

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