#detective mc au

[mirellapryce]

I haven't thought of it beyond the concept yet, but hear me out. Dead Boy Detectives, Vampire Diaries AU.

[starcollectorsilas]

constantly struggling to decide which of my ideas I should turn into fanfiction and which I should begin actually writing a book with

[diristine]

It's so good to have someone else who loves detective void as well😔

Void is pookie first of all and second of all he cannot escape my trauma beam (he gets a light dosage dwdw), anyways Void Headcanons!!

Detective Void is a VTuber who started primarily as a conspiracy channel pointing fingers at the SCP Foundation then once he found his sibling (well they freed themself but details dont matter) he shifted to being a gaming channel as well!!

He is currently a freelance private detective, however is looking to become a homocide detective in the police force. It was his prior position during his time there, and he’d love to go back. For now he’ll work with his private cases as mundane as “Is my husband cheating on me” is, he loves his job. Like genuinely.

His full legal name is Cochran Simon Smith. He prefers his middle name so he goes by that with friends, its only family and loved ones he allows to call him Cochran (namely because he in turn can call Patch by their actual first name, Winnifred. Winnifred Patch Smith.)

He is a hunter, loves to hunt during deer season. Full on redneck.

Speaking of redneck, hes actually from Texas! Also is an actual cowboy, it was before he joined the police force. He always goes back to help his Ma when its time to herd the cows.

He moved to NYC with Patch and currently resides in his own little apartment, he feels obligated to care for them seeing as they never had a father. His had died when he was younger to a bull mauling, and he wants Patch to have some form of support.

Void is currently dating MC&D heir Crepus Dark, dont ask him how he got in that position. He will not be able to answer you.

Made a contract with a demon named Bran, in trade for residency in his body, Bran would protect him and get him out of tricky spots (the teleportation) whilst trying to find Patch. However seeing as Patch found themself, Bran just extended the contract cause he finds the human world interesting and would rather not return to Hell.

As a teenager Void got in a lot of fights and committed arson once or twice (it was never tied back to him), all to protect his younger sibling from transphobia and his mother from being outcasted for supporting her child.

He’s probably a father to a few kids, he just has 0 clue that he is. Usually he paid for the abortions or emergency contraceptives, so there is a chance he has one or two kids out there somewhere.

Hes the one who found Patch alone on the beach, a little infant washed up on shore crying. Void is so happy to have found the little bundle of joy, even if he swears they had gills, scales, and slit eyes as a baby (nobody but him seems to remember those details)

[anonauthorsworkshop]

helloo, i stumbled upon ur mha x scp au and AHDSIHDSGISDGJ UR WRITING??? IS SO GOOD?? (also im new here hi, can i be 🎭 anon) more mha x scp au pls /nf tho

hii 🎭 anon :) i get a lot of requests for this au haha, sure!

previous part here

AU where MC is transported into the MHA universe with a SCP-summoning quirk. essentially a MHA and SCP crossover. you can read the rest of the parts under the tag #pp mha au

(note: i have never watched or read mha in my life and all of my knowledge is from fanfics and lazily googled questions! sorry in advance for any mischaracterizations or anything that just... doesn't make any sense? lol)

-

You lean forward, nearly falling off of your chair in the process. Squinting your eyes into narrow lines, you focus on one, crucial objective:

Trying to figure out what the hell is sitting right in front of you.

He looks like a cat, sort of. He reminds you of Josie, or, well, 529, with his feline-esque features and all.

Oh, you really should summon Josie here again sometime. It's been quite a while since you last have. That cat makes a good cuddle buddy. Even if she's missing the entire other half of her body.

You hum in thought, continuing to careen forward from your chair. No! This thing across from you is nothing like Josie. His ears look more like a bear, like 1048. Or could he be a dog? No, no... You've got it! He's definitely a rat!

Leaning back, you return to a proper sitting position and internally applaud yourself for finding the solution to your own ridiculous question. A rat, you think to yourself, face smug. Reminds me of a certain mask that drips black snot.

Wait a minute. The satisfied expression you adorn falters as you inspect the rat closer. What if it's not a rat, but a mouse?!

No, you're getting sidetracked! You take another bite of the banana you have graciously been given by your... captors? Do they count as captors if you willingly went with them?

The clearing of a throat. "Excuse me. If you could please answer the question..."

Oh, right. They're not really your 'captors,' just your interrogators, (that provide you with free food, might you add).

"What was the question again?" you ask, before not-so-elegantly stuffing the rest of the banana down your throat. You couldn't help but cave into your stomach's hunger; you haven't tasted this quality of fresh food in years! No more scavenging for meals or rummaging through garbage bins!

The man in uniform raises an inquiring eyebrow. You examine the badge attached to his right breast pocket: 'Detective Tsukauchi.'

He gestures to his side. "He asked you for your name."

Your eyes follow his hand's movements, and you find yourself gazing at the rat once more. "Oh, I wasn't paying attention." You admit shamelessly, grabbing another banana from the bowl placed before you. "I'm Y/N."

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N." The rat smiles. You absentmindedly nod in response. "I'm Nezu, the principal of U.A. High. The man beside me is Detective Tsukauchi," you glance at the final stranger, "and this is Aizawa, a teacher at this school. He is also the one who found you. We would like to ask you some questions, as you are already aware."

"Sure," you comply, shoving another banana into your mouth. "I don't mind."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen, I think."

"Who are your parents?"

You shrug, nonchalantly reaching for another banana. "Don't have any."

Nezu's grin widens slightly, and you watch him place a paw below his jaw. "Would you be comfortable telling us about what happened in that alley?"

Cocking your head to the side, you carefully peel off the banana's skin. "Which one?"

The detective speaks up. "The one you were found in."

Chewing another bite of your food, you tap a finger to your chin in thought. "Well, I was asleep until I heard a bunch of noise." Slowly, you turn to Nezu, replicating his ear-to-ear smile as you dramatically retell your experience.

"I looked up from my home, my beloved alleyway cardboard box, and saw two groups of people fighting. I decided to hide in my box until it was all over, but then one of them crashed into my home. They crumpled my box, and my hiding spot was revealed! The two groups started arguing about 'gang territory,' or whatever, and one of them decided to use me as a hostage and pointed a gun to my head."

You sink your teeth into your banana once more, oblivious to the horrified looks from every adult in the room.

"Oh, but it was fine," you casually continue, mouth half-full, "since, you know, I took care of it and all."

"When you say that you 'took care of it,'" the detective asks cautiously, "do you mean that you used your quirk?"

"My... quirk?" You scratch the back of your neck. "I guess it's my quirk? Don't know too much about 'quirks,' to be honest. I've never been to a doctor, or whatever specialist you go to for checking those out."

"Could you describe to us what it was that you exactly did?"

You gulp down the rest of your banana before replying. "You mean, in that alley? I summoned, or, like, conjured up one of those, uh." You pause, replacing 'SCPs' with another word to prevent further confusion. "Creatures? One of those creatures."

Tsukauchi looks you in the eye. "These creatures that you summon." You glance at the detective's hands, and you notice that they're trembling. "What do they do? What do they look like?"

"Usually I summon them to help and protect me." You explain with a shrug, "Oftentimes I encounter people who want to hurt me for some reason. There's a bunch of, er, 'creatures,' that I can summon, and they don't typically look like your perception of what's 'normal.'"

You continue, "There are endless possibilities, really. One looks like a teddy bear, just covered in human ears." Tsukauchi's eyes widen, as if his suspicions have been confirmed. "There's some that are long and bony. Some of them have these gigantic claws and razor-sharp mouths. Some of them are all gooey and acidic-"

"I believe that's enough." You turn to the side, taking a brief glimpse at Aizawa, who is standing beside you. Those were the only words he's spoken this entire time.

Turning back to the other two, you're about to grab another banana when you catch sight of the detective. You stare awkwardly, your hand paused mid-air. He seems to have completely spun on his heel to face away from you, hands clutching the wall as he gags and dry heaves. You scoot back in your chair uncomfortably.

"...And you do not have a home, correct?" Nezu stands up from his seat, approaching yours.

"Well, I did, but like I said, my cardboard box was destroyed because of those two rival gangs, or whoever they were."

"I see." He raises a paw so as to pet the top of your head. You clumsily bend down in your chair, allowing the two-foot-tall principal to reach your height. "We can arrange something for you. You may stay in a personal dorm here for free, if you would like." He smiles, "So long as you attend this school, the police force has also gladly agreed to erase your criminal record!"

You gawk at him. "C-criminal record?" Well, you guess you usually do end up leaving a mess of dead bodies behind, but it's always in self-defense!

"You should know it is illegal to use your quirk unlicensed and in public, Y/N."

Surveying the room, you dart your eyes from person to person. In the corner of the room, the detective, who is on the verge of vomiting up his insides. The man beside you, Aizawa, who refuses to look at you. The one standing in front of you, Nezu, who is blackmailing you, but is also offering you free shelter and free food...

You huff, grabbing Nezu's paw and shaking it wildly. "It's a deal, then."

[washichan]

I have to clarify that I don't like the DMC Netflix show in general so uh please interact with consideration for your well beings. 🙏

[rainbow-journalist]

Guess what, I did some things with the Roleswap version I made of Makoto.

Tw: 🎭⚠️ + spoilers

I was playing around with the shades of purple, and wanted to make a difference between the purple uniform and Yuma's default blue uniform. I still use sprites as reference for the characters, because I'm afraid of making them look too different and irresponsible, and Makoto looks good in both variants, right? I hope you guys don't mind me doing this in each different drawing.

Makoto switching places with Yuma, he would wear the same style of clothing, I was thinking of making him wear pants, but, I think it wouldn't look good and Yuma would already wear pants with different blue suit variations. I don't know if he would use a floral theme, I was thinking about stars, I don't know why.

Makoto being human here would be interesting, I've been thinking about Human AUs, where characters who aren't human become human and have modern lives, I really love the plot and the Homunculi thing in the game, but imagine if everyone from Kanai Ward + Makoto were human. I like to think of him as the total opposite of Yuma, even without memories, his relationships would be a little more complicated to form, and the player (you) would have work to build. He could be, like, passive aggressive, and be very sarcastic at first, and start to open up more as the game progresses, he would have his hair tied up at the beginning and would only let it down in chapter 3 onwards. I also wanted to make him dressed in the blue uniform because I think the way Yuma dresses is cute. I was also thinking about the mirrored thing.

I'm really interested in a version of the game where you play as him, MC!Makoto is very good idea, the story could be told from his point of view and you understand him more. I'd like to know in a future sequel if he and Kanai Ward are okay now.

[elfqueen006]

Suspect Apprehended

Notes: Slasher/Detective AU by @themeatpit37 . Basically, May is a detective in this. We chatted about this a little and in a burst of inspiration I wrote it while I was getting my hair done. I also did a LOT of googling for 80s accurate info admittedly lol

Content Warnings for use of a gun, gun abuse(?), implied/referenced murder.

---

"Finally caught your ass..." May pulled up in front of the apartment, a new fervor boiling up inside her. Her shotgun rifle in the passenger seat screamed in the corner of her vision. It'd be too heavy. That was a great excuse. It'd look great on her tombstone.

He's not going to let me point that big ass thing at him. She'll have to make him look at it. He's gonna have to.

It takes three seconds to reload. Every one unaccounted for marks her end. So she better make it count.

Call for backup.

...Call for backup.

It was a blow to her pride, yes. But she didn't have time to play renegade. She wasn't even really a cop, not on paper. She was technically a civilian until faced with an angry parent or love one, blaming her for not following an obvious lead - an obvious trap- No. No. No...

She unclenched her fists and leaned back in her driver's seat. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Don't get mad, don't get mad..." said May. Don't get mad at the parents. Don't get mad at the police. Don't get mad at the world. Hell, don't even get mad at the killer. "...When you're mad, you're not thinking."

May stepped out of the car and looked around. By the grace of God or Lady Luck she saw a phone pole. There was no one else on the street, but people chattered in the apartment. Laughing kids, arguing couples, and raucuous druggies. They're so unaware to the monster residing with them. Or maybe few had caught on for some time and just... didn't care.

She knew better than anyone, having lived in her own shitty apartment - sometimes it benefit most to simply mind your business.

Maybe she should have ignored this case. God knew before this, she hadn't bothered to contact either of her sisters. Only Hailey had reached out every so often. It was only because of common decency that she came by to get a 411 on her missing sister. And truthfully, she should've pegged him from the start. Everyone should have, but Eileen wouldn't have given anyone a reason to. It was one of the primary reasons they grew so distant beyond obligatory babysitting and message passing. Pride. And what little Hailey had of that, she made up for in humility and kindness. And if she hadn't that, May was sure none of them would be aware of the others existence up to this point.

The wind blows hard, snapping her out of a daze. She checks her pocket lint and thankfully gets out a ripped ten dollar roll. When she deposits what little of it she has and waits for about three rings.

"Gallagher residence."

"Yeah, this is Davis. I'm outside the suspects house."

---

She's faced with the door. Once again, there's no one around. But the hallway is so vast and there's so many sounds... don't think about that.

May raps the door three times. "Open up." No answer. The rifle is heavy in her other arm, but sure enough it's damn near apart of her. And she's not letting it go for any reason.

She knocks again, damn near rattling the peeling walls. "Open up. I'm with the police."

There's some faint footsteps and then a series of locks coming undone. Yeah, you would you bastard.

Joseph Haberdae opens the door. He's a tall, pretty thing with wide set shoulders and a thick frame. Dark eyes and coiffed hair. To those that didn't know him: a dreamboat. To people like her that knew better, The Sunny Day Killer.

But it was too soon to make that call. She'd startle him into slamming the door in her face. Then that'd be it. He'd probably flee the city. Or worse, he'd stay and send her the bones of whatever unlucky kid decided to ride their bike next afternoon. He'd mock her like he always did. Even now he was mocking her by feigning surprise. You expected me, didn't you, you son of a bitch?

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Joseph Cullman? I have a warrant out for your arrest."

He looked her up and down, "You have a rifle at your side. I don't think I'm in any position to refuse."

"You're right. You aren't." May said. And that's literally what the warrant is for so you couldn't do shit anyway.

"Show me the warrant." She held it up to him. He eyes it with a scoff. "Cullman isn't my name."

"I'm aware you went by Cullman up until you were around seventeen or eighteen. There was never a documented legal change with any sort of court, you simply started using an alias for your old high school. Right? Haberdae?"

Joseph gave her a long look. May resisted a chill from having his dark eyes look through her. They were fascinated, evaluating, and probably seeing all the ways he could tear her apart.

"I-"

His large hand shot out and gripped her by the collar. May was ripped from the hallway floor and thrown across this man's kitchen in a single move. She hit the hardwood floor. Her vision swam by the swift assault and harsh impact.

"Caught me, yeah?"

At the last second, Joseph's loafers came down on her face and shoved her head over to look at him. "Yeah?" He had a wild look in his eyes now. May moved her arm to get some leverage, but he kicked her over. She cried out.

"You're the spitting fuckin' image of her, you know that?" Eileen.

"It's just the mole." May bit out.

"No, no. It's the almond shaped eyes. The...the green irises. Granted hers are a little brighter. But yeah. You look like her." Joseph huffed.

May looked up at him to glare, "You take a course in genetics or something?"

Joseph grinned and knelt down. He gripped her by the hair and forced her head back to look at him. His breath smelled coppery and tart. Her nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Does being a smart ass make you feel like you have some control in this situation?"

"No."

"Aw... at least lie a little."

May glanced at the rifle. It'd fallen next to her, just out of arms reach. There's no way Joseph didn't catch it. "Oh, you think you're gonna shoot me?"

You arrogant-

"No, I know I'm gonna shoot you!" Before he could answer, May reached up and swiped at his face repeatedly, nails digging into his skin and puncturing his eyes. He yelled, jerking back and loosening his grip on her hair. It was a split second but she pulled the butt of the rifle to her and fumbled with the grip before cocking it. Joseph had pulled her back to him but the iron grip she had on the weapon wasn't yet to wane. She held it assuredly as he jerked her by the hair and held a hand over her neck. May waved the barrel his way and pulled the trigger. The closeness of the blast startled him away, giving her an open to scramble from his grip.

She pulled up in time to see him lunge again. "Get the fuck back!" she hated the crack in her voice as she screamed.

"You ever held a gun before-"

"Shut the fuck up! I'll shoot you in the fucking face, I swear to God!"

He was a huge fucker. And she had to check her backseat multiple times to make sure she had the right size and amount shells to take him out. But reinforcement should be down the street. She had to make it count.

"Reinforcements are coming in less than five minutes and you will be detained. Any funny movements and I'll shoot."

Joseph sneered, "Oh really? So because your technically a civilian you think a cops punishment don't apply to you?"

"Cops don't get punished. They get laid off." May cocks the foreend. Joseph laughs. He laughs and it pisses her off.

Don't. Get. Mad.

"... you said less than five minutes." Joseph said.

"I did."

"How long do you think it'll be before I snatch that barrel and bang your head against the wall. You'd be out cold before they knocked on my door." Joseph said coolly, "And by the time you come to you'll be stripped bare. Wrists bound. Probably on a dirty floor. Probably in the bathtub. Your call."

Crazy as he was, she was sure he'd take that chance. Even with the barrel of a gun pointed toward him. He'd take that chance. He was just that crazy.

May took a deep breath and turned the gun toward the bare wall next to her. If she knew anything about apartments, the layouts were likely the same. She noted the idle chatter of a couple nearby. They didn't seem to stir after hearing the sound or her rifle go off.

Blam. Ker-chuck. Blam.

"Oh, what the fuck!?"

"Oh my fucking God, Jerry!"

The man's voice, likely "Jerry", banged on the wall shouting various cuss words and insults. "I will call the fucking cops!"

Ker-chuck. Blam.

The woman's voice shrieked. "Jerry!!!"

"You motherfucker!"

May pointed the barrel back at an astonished Joseph. "It's their problem now. They're stirred up. He should be coming around with his girl, right now."

"Jerry be careful!"

"No I'm giving the fucker a piece of my mind-" Footsteps rounded the hallway and banging ensued on Joseph's door, rattling it. He cursed under his breath.

"No one can just ignore it now. And the police won't miss your door by the time they get here."

"Get the cops over here Carrie, call the fucking cops!"

"You still wanna try and kill me? Get yourself one last hit before you go down." May taunted. The vein throbbing on his neck was proof enough of his agitation. But she couldn't get cocky, no. Even if she riled up the neighbors, there was no guarantee they'd stay long enough to get follow through on their threats to call the cops.

And unless Joseph was as bloodthirsty as he portrayed himself, there's no way he'd follow through on killing her before the cops came, now that the attention was on his door. Even if she died, she won. Because this was a game to him. And May could tell he was the type of person who really hated to lose.

---

May watched the trial on TV. She recorded beforehand and bought out as she went home. It wasn't as satisfying as she thought. Clearly, Joseph was milking his exposure for all its worth. He recounted his...exploits... with perverse glee and smugness.

Officers were placed around the courtroom, holding back various agitated peoples from dog piling him. In the corner there was one man who even came at him with a hammer. And in the middle of it all was poor Hailey. Disheartened and confused, like Alice in the Queen of Hearts court. Terry, bless his heart, had been with her the entire time.

It almost pained May not to be there. But she was adamant on being done with the case. So she instead, provided a written statement for a cop to use.

She rather enjoyed the sneer on Joseph's face when her name came up. She took a bite out of her burger and kicked her foot out, "Your call, bitch."

[kstrucknet]

surprise !! please check out { @seokminfilm } new post !!

─ ⊹ please reblog and leave feedback for the creator.

monet | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warning: non-idol au, noir au (early 1930's), romance, private detective!seokmin, jazz singer!reader, lots of flirting, seokmin calls reader angel, implied age gap, mutual attraction, they're hot and in love your honor

word count: 1.7k | for @kstrucknet

The sultry sound of jazz music filled the vibrant nightclub, where the brooding Seokmin sat in a hidden corner. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and whiskey as the singer on stage finished her final solo. His eyes were like darts, dashing across the room and scanning the faces of patrons who passed by him.

Smoky nightclubs weren’t Lee Seokmin’s thing—as a detective, he spent most of his time in a police station, working on filing papers and questioning delinquents who didn’t want to talk. Being stationed in a nightclub was the last thing he wanted, and now that he was here, sipping on a glass of whiskey himself and wincing at the crooked high notes the older lady hit, he realized just how much he hated this atmosphere.

And then, you came along and changed that completely.

The clapping started to fade away, and you entered the stage in all of your soft glory, light dress a stark contrast from all the other female singers who tried so hard to be sensual. A smile was on your face as you cleared your throat away from the mic, and once the pianist started to play, you sang like there was no tomorrow, your voice clearer and brighter than anything Seokmin had ever heard. You looked out of place—like you weren’t made for the smell of cigarettes and dirty wine, and Seokmin found it incredibly alluring. More alluring than any other woman he had seen tonight. 

At the end of your song, Seokmin found himself joining in with the crowd, standing up and clapping his hands together as you did a polite curtsy, smile dazzling once more as you made your way off of the stage. He felt tempted to laugh at himself; it was as if he was observing his actions from outside his body and the instant attraction that he had to you was something akin to a high school crush.

As much as he tried, though, he couldn’t deny how much more he wanted to know about you. How much he wanted you.

“Hey,” Seokmin’s voice was sharp, and the bartender cowered slightly, answering with a timid “Yes?” as Seokmin’s slender finger jabbed to the stage. “Who was that girl?”

“Her? Well, she’s—” Seokmin’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek annoyedly, and he turned to the side for a second, immaculate side profile on display as he returned his piercing gaze to the confused bartender. “The one who just left the stage.” He sighed, annoyed, and the young bartender cleared his throat, nodding quickly.

“That was Monet. No one knows her real name, as she uses her stage name for everything. She’s one of the newer performers, but she’s already our most popular one.” He explains, and Seokmin is drawn in even more, mind now full of unanswered questions as he continued to ask the bartender about her. What made her choose the name Monet? Why did she start singing? Wasn’t she too young to be in a place like this?

“Where would her dressing room be?” Seokmin asked, and the bartender looked at him warily, obviously disturbed by his rather out-of-the-blue question. “Why would you want to know that, may I ask?”

Something about this girl was different. He didn’t know her from anywhere, but he wanted to know more about her. The desire to get to know her was so strong, and he couldn’t fight it anymore. Monet was the only thing he could see or hear anymore. Maybe it was the whiskey talking, or maybe the cigarette smoke was finally getting to him, but he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had finally solved the many mysteries swirling around in his head.

This wasn’t Seokmin’s mission, and he knew that. Now, though—now he had made it his mission.

“I simply want to congratulate her, that’s all,” Seokmin says simply, and it was the truth—he just wanted to lay his eyes on her once, thank her for her stunning performance, and finally get her out of his head. The bartender, on the other hand, didn’t seem so convinced and shook his head. “I don’t think I can let you go back there, sir.”

Seokmin’s thick eyebrow raised as he looked down at his watch, and straightened his black tie, nodding. “Fine. Just let her know I want to see her before she leaves.” The bartender nodded slightly, and went back to cleaning glasses, leaving Seokmin to make his way back to his seat in the corner of the room and ignore the look of swooning women surrounding him. He only had his eyes set on one woman, and that woman was the ever-present Monet.

The bar was empty now, with just a few more patrons left as the quiet chatter of certain tables played as the music of the hushed establishment. Seokmin finished another glass of whiskey, still not drunk as his eyes continued to dart down the hallway that contained the dressing rooms. He could see your plaque on the door, signed Monet in a pretty cursive font that teased him as he waited for your door to open.

Seokmin stared down at his watch again, reading the time as he pushed the empty glass away. It was almost ten at night, and you still hadn’t left your dressing room; he wasn’t about to give up, and as long as the workers of the club didn’t kick him out, he’d still be here, eager for any chance to talk to you and hear your pretty voice.

Just as another patron said goodnight and left the bar, the door in the small hallway—the one Seokmin had been waiting on for what seemed like forever to open—had finally opened up, revealing you in a dark coat as you said goodbye to what must have been your makeup artist.

You said thank you to every patron and other performer who had complimented or congratulated you, and the smile on your face was radiant as you left the hallway, chatting with the bartender Seokmin had talked to earlier.

After a few minutes of laughing, the bartender whispered a few words to you, pointing to the corner table Seokmin sat at as you looked over to see the man he was gesturing to.

He was attractive in many ways—he had this air of strong masculinity around him, one even you weren’t immune to. His features were strong, eyebrows thick, nose strong and sculpted, and lips plush as they wrapped around the glass of water he was drinking. The suit he wore was out of place, but it drew you to him even more.

After thanking your good friend behind the bar, you made your way over to the table where Seokmin was, a polite smile on your lips as you spoke. “I heard you wanted to see me, sir?”

Seokmin’s throat bobbed as he admired you quietly, taking note of your delicate face and soft features, highlighted by the soft makeup you still had on. You were an angel, an angel from heaven that God had somehow graced Seokmin to see.

“I did. You were amazing up there, angel.” The pet name just came naturally to Seokmin, and you didn’t shy away from it or become uncomfortable because of it—in fact, it made you blush. 

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed the performance; that’s my goal for every performance I do. To have someone enjoy it.” You look up at Seokmin through your eyelashes, and the collar around his neck feels tighter as he gives you a lazy smile, eyes sparkling with an undeniably attractive emotion as he takes another sip of his water.

“It seems like you don’t have a hard time reaching your goal, then. The compliments have been flowing for you tonight, you know.” Seokmin’s voice was like honey, thick and smooth while draping you with such an ego boost you could barely stand to be around him anymore.

“That’s what I’ve heard, sir.” You reply, and Seokmin looks up at you, glancing down at his watch. “Well, are you heading home? It’s growing increasingly late.”

“I am, sir. My house is about fifteen minutes away, so I better start walking now.” You say, eyes glancing at the clock adorning the wall. Seokmin’s eyebrows furrow, and he stands up, adjusting his crisp black suit as he looks at you. “You’re not going to walk home, are you?”

“That’s what I was planning on doing, sir. There’s no other way I would get home, and I’ve done it many times before,” You reassure him, but Seokmin doesn’t let up, coming closer to you—so close you can smell the strong cologne wafting off of him in heavy waves.

“I can’t let you walk home alone, angel. There are plenty of dirty men out there who would jump at the chance to take you for themselves.” Seokmin states, and you can’t help but laugh, looking up at Seokmin again through your eyelashes as you tease him. “But don’t you want to take me for yourself?”

Seokmin’s eyes darken slightly and he smiles, taking your hand in his as he pulls you closer to his body, lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I do, angel, but I want to do it in a polite and proper manner.”

You blush, laughing nevertheless as you add, “But you don’t even know my name. I don’t know yours, either, I’m afraid.”

“I know everyone calls you Monet, angel. And now you’ll know my name,” Seokmin says, taking your hand again as he brings it up to his soft lips and kisses your knuckles, sharp eyes meeting yours as he continues to speak with that husky tone that embodies the strong personality behind his watching eyes and rich-looking exterior. “I’m Seokmin—Lee Seokmin, private detective.”

“Oh, I’ve heard many things about you.” You giggle deviously, and Seokmin’s smile widens at your cute, contagious laugh as he adds, “All good things, I hope?”

“All good things. All very, very, very good things,” you reply sweetly. Seokmin promises himself from that moment on that he’ll do everything in his power to have you, only if you want him in the same way.

“I’m flattered, angel. So very flattered,” Seokmin’s voice is like sugar, making you feel sweet inside and out as he comes closer to you again. “So, will you let me take you home?”

“Depends on which home we’re talking about—I would much rather go home with you, Mr. Lee.” Seokmin’s chuckle is dark, dangerously attractive and alluring as his lips brush the shell of your ear again, sending shivers down your spine as he whispers once more.

“Then let’s go home, then, angel.”

[starmocha]

OK, fuck it, I'll throw this idea out into the universe. Very, very rough. And I will never complete this story lmao ✌️ I was gonna do bullet points, but I am also incapable of making things easy for myself. 😔

Caleb/MC/Zayne love triangle AU where Caleb and MC had a secret relationship prior to chapter 4 that resulted in a pregnancy that won't be discovered until after The Explosion.

When U Come Back

All it took was one second for her world to disappear.

One moment she was speaking with Caleb outside Grandma Josephine's home, their conversation tensed because of a disagreement, and suddenly before she could even realize what had happened, she found herself crumbled on the floor, hearing flames crackling, the scorching heat like hellfire surrounding her.

There was an explosion. Her mind was in a frenzy as it tried to register the scene before her. Right, an explosion. Her hand was on the door handle. Caleb had gone in first and just as she was about to follow suit, she was blown back and now she lay there, her vision failing.

Caleb...Caleb...!

His necklace lay in front of her on the ground. No. It couldn't be.

Caleb!

She shakily reached for his necklace, grasping tightly as her consciousness slipped away.

When she regained consciousness later, she found herself in a hospital room.

Confused, completely disoriented, she barely registered the tears running down her face until the door opened and Zayne walked in, his eyes widened in concern.

"Doctor...Zayne...?" She still hadn't realized her cheeks were wet with tears, only being able to focus on the heavy pounding in her chest. "I...I had a bad dream...why...why am I here?"

Zayne drew in a breath. He steadied his own breathing, mindful of his tone as he questioned her gently.

"Do you not remember anything that happened earlier?"

A knot formed in her stomach.

"No," she said hesitantly, hoping the scene still vivid in her head was unreal. "I...I don't..."

Zayne understood the situation, knowing she was still in shock so he wasn't going to pressure her. He did know, unfortunately, that she needed to hear the truth.

"I'm sorry," he said, his chest tightening when he saw that flicker of fear in her eyes, "Miss Josephine and Caleb are both...deceased."

She started laughing, nearly crying in hysterics. "That's not a funny joke, Zayne."

He was quiet.

"Caleb and I had an argument earlier," she continued, speaking more to herself. Her words were pouring out frantically as fresh tears rushed down her cheeks. "We had an argument. We were going to make up later. We never go to bed angry at each other. We were..."

"I'm sorry."

There was a knock at the door and a nurse entered, apologizing quietly to the young doctor. She mentioned there were detectives who wished to speak with the patient. Zayne sent her away, saying the patient needed some time to calm down first.

Zayne stayed with her the whole time, feeling his own grief at losing a childhood friend as well.

Some time passed. She returned to work with bags under eyes, looking malnourished. She hadn't had much of an appetite lately, and sleep scared her. She found herself dreaming of that evening over and over again, reliving that moment when she and Caleb were upset at one another.

They were supposed to make up. They always made up. She caressed his necklace in her hand, her thumb brushing over the pendant, tracing the engraved message:

When U come back

Her co-workers chimed in that she should take time off. Captain Jenna herself even said the Hunters Association offered bereavement leave, but the moment she heard that term, she unknowingly shot her superior a look of intense hatred.

There were startled gasps around her, breaking her out of her stupor. She immediately apologized once she realized what she had done. She didn't want to hear that word, or any similar words that would remind her that Caleb was gone.

No one was angry at her. They were all concerned for her, seeing she was wasting away, destroying herself as she grieved.

Tara offered to take her home, helped her as she needed. Captain Jenna also issued this as an order, knowing she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Before she could protest, she suddenly felt dizzy, feeling an intense migraine and a fatigue unlike any she had felt before in her life. As she collapsed, she heard her co-workers crying out her name, and in her hand, she grasped Caleb's necklace tighter, the last thing she heard before blacking out was hearing Caleb’s voice calling her:

Pipsqueak, I’ll always be by your side.

Another hospital room.

She stared at the ceiling, still feeling fatigued. It was bound to happen, she realized, knowing the many sleepless nights had finally caught up with her.

Just as she sat up, the door opened and she immediately locked eyes with Zayne.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” she said, “I just needed to rest at home. They didn’t need to check me into the hospital—”

Zayne stopped her from getting out of bed. He was holding a clipboard, his expression hardened. “We had to do some tests to rule out any major concerns…”

She sensed something was off about Zayne’s demeanor. “What is it? Do I have an illness or something?”

“Not quite,” he said, realizing there was no tactful way to deliver his news. He continued calmly, “You’re pregnant.”

She stared at him, not believing she had heard him correctly.

A tensed silence settled in the room, neither person able to tear their eyes off the other. Zayne waited patiently for her to register the news, seeing in her eyes the different emotions passing in quick successions. He was startled when she suddenly broke down crying, her hands settled over the flatness of her belly.

“Pregnant?” she asked again, looking up at him with tears down her cheeks.

Zayne breathed in sharply and nodded. He kept his expression neutral, hiding the fact that a mixture of feelings was warring inside him, ranging from anger to heartbreak. He had always thought he would have more time with her, a chance to cross that line of childhood friends, but it seemed all of the recent outings or late nights together were simply just two old friends catching up and nothing more.

He nodded quietly. “If you need help contacting the father—”

“It’s Caleb’s.”

The silence returned, but it was broken just as quickly as it had arrived.

“It’s Caleb’s,” she sobbed again, her arms suddenly wrapped around Zayne’s torso. He stood there rigid, unsure of what to do. There were questions swirling around in his head, but they didn’t seem to matter to him as much. All he could do—wanted to do—was comfort her.

He let his arms wrapped around her, his heart breaking again as she continued to cry.

“It’s Caleb’s…”

Zayne remained by her side. That won’t ever change, he had decided long ago. For as long as she would allow him, he would stay by her side.

He stayed with her, saving her from herself as she angrily tore herself apart, guilt-ridden that in her grief, she had allowed her baby—Caleb’s baby—to also suffer.

“You didn’t know,” he soothed her, his arms around her in comfort. “It’s still early. You hadn’t done anything wrong.”

He brushed her tears aside with his thumbs, his voice still as gentle as always. “You are allowed to grieve for as long as you need to,” he said, “I know he was important to you.”

He just hadn’t realized the extent of their relationship together. Zayne quelled his jealously before it could ever simmer. This was a deceased man, and also, his own friend. He didn’t want such ugly feelings to fester inside him like this. There were more important matters at hand now anyway.

Zayne stayed. She didn’t push him away, so he stayed.

He stayed and guided her through her first trimester. He made her ginger tea for when the morning sickness came. He advised her to rest as often as she needed since these first months were going to be rough on her body. He also made her meals often, finding the most nutritious recipes for an expectant woman.

One evening, over dinner, she asked, “Are you Doctor Zayne right now or…just Zayne?”

He looked surprised, not understanding her implication.

“It’s just…a doctor wouldn’t care about his patient this much, would he?”

“That is up for debate,” he answered, “many doctors do go above and beyond for their patients.”

“Then I’ll ask again: is this Doctor Zayne…or Zayne?”

He looked into her expectant eyes before his own drifted down to her growing middle. A small bump was forming, a reminder that she was carrying a new life inside her body. Another man’s baby.

Zayne met her gaze again. “Does it matter how I respond?”

“You don’t have to do this…”

“‘Do this?’”

“Take care of me like this,” she answered, that ever-familiar flicker of guilt returning in her eyes. “I can take care of myself. If not, Tara has also been helping me out, too, so you don’t need to—”

“If I say I am Zayne, will it change anything?”

She was silent, so he continued, his tone was soft, but his words were firm.

“If I say, I want to stay with you, will you let me?”

She looked up. “I don’t want you to have the wrong impression—”

“What impression would that be then?”

“That…I am using you.”

“I don’t believe you are. I know you aren’t,” he said, continuing, “But if I say I would let you use me, will that scare you?”

She drew in a sharp breath, feeling her heartbeat quickening. He crossed over to her side, kneeling down next to her.

“If I say, I want to stay by your side, then…will you let me?”

“Zayne…”

She slipped her hand into his, that flash of hesitancy in her eyes unmissed by him, but he was not upset by it. Not in the slightest. He wasn’t demanding anything from her, nor was he expecting anything in return.

He simply wanted to stay by her side.

That night, she slept for the first time in ages, curled into his protective embrace. The weight she had been carrying on her shoulders were lightened by his presence, his soothing words freeing her from her own shackles as she allowed him to break down her wall.

“You can sleep now, I’m here,” Zayne whispered to her as she slept. The deep troubled creases in her expression relaxed, as if in response to his words. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his words earnest: “I will always be here.”

Gradually, over time, there were many changes happening. Her belly had grown bigger, rounding out distinctively that it suddenly made everything feel so real. She was having a baby. Caleb’s baby. The tumultuous emotions that followed would always send her down a dark path.

The baby was somehow a constant reminder of the man she had lost, but at the same time also a gift he had left for her, his promise staying true. He was still here. He would never leave her.

Just like Zayne had also promised to stay with her.

In the beginning, each passing day felt like Hell, a constant nightmare she wasn’t able to escape from. Time moved so agonizingly slow, it might as well have been frozen, trapping her in that perpetual state of grief and anger.

Then, so subtly, Zayne reached into her depths of despairs and pulled her out. He was patient, empathetic, and careful. He had never overstepped any boundary, never took advantage of her vulnerability, but he still loved her unconditionally.

Hesitantly, she began to allow herself to reciprocate, genuinely touched by all of his thoughtfulness and concerns. Some days, she might even admit that she adored him. She adored the way he interacted with the children in the pediatric ward, she adored the way he enjoyed eating sweets, she adored how he always put others above himself. It made her want to take care of him herself, wanting to return the love she was receiving. She also wanted him to feel as loved and cherished as he made her feel.

The first time she kissed him it took them both by surprise.

She was nearing six months before she finally felt the baby’s first movements. After weeks of carrying this growing anxiety inside her that something could be wrong with the baby or pregnancy, the moment she felt those first few gentle kicks had her laughing in joy for the first time in months.

Zayne had just finished building a crib for the nursery when she rushed into the room in her delicate condition, throwing herself into his embrace.

When she guided his hand to her belly, his look of surprise staying only briefly before a small smile replaced it. Without thinking, she leaned up and kissed him, and instead of feeling shocked, Zayne responded immediately, feeling joy swelled in his own chest.

He had been by her side through all of this. He had taken care of her when she was sick or tired. He had been the one to comfort her through her mood swings. He was there helping her buy maternity clothes or choosing the necessary items the baby would need. In times, he realized, he had also grown to care about the baby she carried—even if it was not his.

Now, he felt a new emotion stirring inside him. She wanted him to be the first to hear the news. She wanted him to feel the movements alongside her. She kissed him. He wanted to be bolder.

He cupped her face in his hands and guided her lips back to his, relishing in the way she responded, her wall coming down completely as she surrendered to her feelings for him.

It was almost like playing make-believe.

Their feelings for one another were genuine, but sometimes they would forget. At least until someone, naively, took off the rose-tinted glasses they wore.

Congratulations. You two must be so thrilled about the baby.

Oh, what a beautiful couple. Their baby will surely be beautiful as well.

Have you picked out a name yet?

They responded to such comments with polite smiles, but once they were alone, the masks fell off.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why are you apologizing?” Zayne asked, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She didn’t do anything wrong, but she still felt like she needed to apologize to him. Zayne had never said anything, never showed her the slightest inkling that he might be affected by such words or speculations, but she felt like she knew Zayne just as well as he knew her.

She knew he never wanted her to see when he was hurting.

“They’re just words,” he said calmly, his hand reaching over to rub lazy circles around her belly. “I will not love him any less just because he’s not my biological child.”

Zayne meant every word.

The moment the baby was born, after over twenty-six hours of labor, she watched as Zayne cradled the newborn with such tender care. Anyone who would see him hold the baby boy would never suspect that he wasn’t the father.

There were so many bittersweet feelings that lingered, the grip they had on her firm and unyielding. Never once did she dare to relinquish the guilt she carried.

She felt guilty for letting another man into her life again, feeling like she was betraying Caleb, letting the memory of him be overridden. She also felt guilty to Zayne, feeling like he was picking up the broken pieces of her and mending her back again to some semblance of a person but never completely whole. She felt guilty to both men. One for losing her heart to another and the other for never having her full heart as his alone.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She gasped when the hospital bed shifted with Zayne’s sudden weight. He sat on the edge, the baby tucked in his arms protectively. He reached out and brushed away some of her tears. She hadn’t realized that she had started crying. She was feeling so many things at once all stemming from different origins.

She was exhausted from the long grueling hours of labor. She was emotionally overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last nine months. She knew her hormones were still out of control, heightening everything she felt to an extreme degree.

“I’m just tired,” she fibbed weakly. The exhaustion on her face was clear as day. Zayne could sense she was withholding something from him, but he knew when to not pressure her. In due time, he knew she would open herself up more to him.

For now, he accepted her benign lie.

The baby started to fuss, alerting the both of them. Zayne chuckled and gently passed the newborn over to his mother.

“He must want his mama now,” Zayne said lightheartedly. He was startled when she started to tremble, droplets of her tears falling suddenly. She was trying to hold her emotions back, but something in the way Zayne spoke seemed to have triggered her.

He gathered her into his embrace and he shushed her gently. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head and just cried against him. “I’m sorry… I’m just… I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t force yourself,” he said softly. “You’ve been through a lot. You don’t need to be so harsh on yourself.”

It was tearing him apart inside to see her still so beaten down. He continued in the same soothing tone, “Just breathe.”

Slowly, she managed to compose herself. She stayed in his embrace, her eyes peering down at the sleeping baby in her arms, her breathing nearly stopping now that she fully looked at the newborn she carried.

“He looks like Caleb.”

“He does,” Zayne agreed, and he kissed the top of her head again, his hold on her just a bit tighter.

The baby looked like Caleb and as time passed, the little boy grew up behaving so similarly to the deceased man. She found both joy and heartbreak in this, feeling happy that Caleb continued to live on in this child, but also saddened that it was a reminder of who she had lost.

She supposed she would never let go of these feelings. It would be too heartless if she did.

“Daddy, apple!”

“Alright, alright,” Zayne said with a knowing smile as he carried in his arms the small toddler, the child’s bright demeanor and appearance reminiscent of little cherubs. He set the little boy on the counter as he retrieved an apple and washed it clean. He expertly peeled the skin before he cut the fruit up into small chunks.

“Say ‘ah’,” Zayne spoke as he guided the small chunk into the toddler’s eager mouth. He smiled as the boy clapped his hands together in pure delight at the sweet taste of the fresh fruit. “Is it good?”

The boy nodded excitedly. Once he swallowed, he pointed at his mouth again. “‘nother one, Daddy, pwease?”

Zayne chuckled and leaned down. “Can I have a kiss first?”

Immediately, the toddler pressed a wet kiss to Zayne’s cheek, giggling when Zayne suddenly tickled him. “Da-Daddy!”

Zayne laughed and hugged the child, kissing the top of his head before he composed himself again. “Alright, alright, Daddy won’t tickle you anymore. For now. Say ‘ah’.”

As he fed the toddler little bites, she walked in and stopped, her body leaning against the threshold to the kitchen with a fond smile.

Fatherhood looked good on Zayne. He had taken on the role so seamlessly, never once showing any resentment to the little boy that was not his. If anything, there was so much love and adoration in Zayne’s eyes and the way he cared for the child.

It dawned on her that Zayne had been in her son’s life from the beginning. He had cared for her throughout her pregnancy. He was the one who had spent many sleepless nights with a crying newborn so she could rest. He was there to nurse her son through his first fever.

Zayne was always there, always theirs.

So, when the little boy uttered his first word Dada, it shocked them both. When the child clung to Zayne, falling asleep in his safe embrace, they both realized this life they had come to build together was something beautiful.

They could make this work.

They could be a family of three.

It was going to be beautiful.

It had been several years since she had stepped foot back in Skyhaven, remembering old visits to see Caleb when he was studying here.

Caleb.

She sighed.

It had been a while since she had thought of him, or at the very least, in that way. There were so many things on her mind nowadays. The grief from his death would always stay with her, a throbbing pain that could never be dulled, but as time passed, she learned to live with this heartache. She had a child now—Caleb’s child—and the little boy deserved his mother’s whole attention.

She remade herself whole for her son’s sake, not wanting him to have an empty shell of a person for a mother. She also had Zayne by her side, wanting him to have someone who could love him the way he deserved. There were still so many people in the present needing her, she let herself slipped further away from the ghost of the past.

Around her neck, she still had Caleb’s necklace. It had come to be her comfort object, a charm of sorts to ground her when she was feeling lost in her head or needing some sort of reassurance.

Right now, she needed a lot of reassurances.

The current mission to infiltrate the Farspace Fleet was in jeopardy of being discovered. She had been discreet and blended in well for several weeks now, but one moment of carelessness had now secured her a place in an interrogation room where she was told the new colonel would question her himself.

Nothing, however, could prepare her when the door slid open, and a pair of old, familiar violet eyes stared her down coldly.

Ca-Caleb?

Her heart sped up, pounding against her chest as she stared in disbelief at the man before her.

“Is it really you? Ca—”

“Show some respect to the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel,” he said coldly, the authoritative tone had her frozen in her seat, her thoughts racing as she tried to make sense of this moment. The man before her was completely identical to her Caleb in both looks and voice, but the way he spoke and carried himself was not like her beloved.

Still, she wondered. Hoped, even.

She steadied her breathing before she questioned him hesitantly. “Sir, have we met before? You seem familiar…”

“You’re wrong.”

“…But you look exactly like someone I know!”

“Watch your mouth,” he said, nearly sneering. Then in a lower voice, he said, “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room.”

As this man was about to begin his interrogation, he noticed the necklace around her neck. He touched it, eyeing the pendant with an unreadable expression.

She spoke up, explaining, “…It belonged to someone from my childhood. He died in an explosion. Like the one in the Cascade District. I… I miss him.”

The colonel shifted his gaze to her, but his expression remained icy.

She continued, asking him, “Sir, can you tell me something? If that person hadn’t died, would he support me even now?”

He didn’t answer her directly, and instead redirected the conversation to the current interrogation. After placing a mood tracker on her, he began grilling her with a barrage of questions, his tone firm and unyielding.

Eventually, she managed to pass, the light in the interrogation room brightening and the colonel stepped forward from the shadow.

“You passed,” he said with a satisfied smile.

She felt irate. “You…”

“Surprised?” he asked, his tone much more lighthearted than it was a few minutes ago. He continued with that same teasing tone, “Sure, it’s been a while, but you already forgot about me?

She felt tears in her eyes, her chest tightening with pain. Her voice was shaky, in complete disbelief, as she questioned him hesitantly. “You… it’s you, right? Caleb.”

“Is there another me in the world?” he teased before his expression changed, looking worried. “Did I scare you?”

She immediately leapt to her feet, rushing to him. “It is you!” she cried out, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek, pausing at the last second as if she was afraid that if she tried to touch him, she would feel nothing, breaking whatever illusion she was seeing right now. “Caleb… I must be dreaming.”

He grabbed her hand before she could pull away, guiding it to his cheek as he smiled softly back to her. “It’s me…” he said, adding reassuringly, “It’s okay. I’m back.”

She started sobbing, falling into his arms, feeling his own hold on her tightening. It felt so warm and familiar, like home.

Like Caleb.

Suddenly, all of her heartaches and anguish disappeared.

He was alive. He was here, holding her again just like how he had always done. When he looked down, his gloved hand touched her chin, cradling it gently before he leaned forward, his lips pressing over hers in such a natural way as he had always done.

And she paused, remembering back home in Linkon, another man she had come to love was waiting for her, taking care of her child while she was away and fulfilling the role of father to her son, giving the boy a life he deserved.

She shouldn’t be doing this, but she couldn’t pull herself away. There were so many voices in her head competing for dominance to be heard. Some admonished her relentlessly, tearing her to shreds with cruel, heartless words while others encouraged her to stay, to linger and give in to the temptation of her desires and yearning.

She felt a trickle of tears on her cheek as she hesitantly kissed Caleb back, her heart still bleeding for him, still remembering that he was hers just like he had always been.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the tears. He brushed them away, his smile soft. “It’s okay, pipsqueak, I know this is a lot to take in and I will explain everything to you.”

She stayed in his warm embrace, cheek pressed close to his chest, and she listened. His heart was beating in his chest. He was standing here, holding her, his words warm and comforting.

Everything was still so surreal, feeling like she had stepped into an alternate reality, her mind still unable to comprehend this moment in time.

If this was just a dream, she wished to stay asleep for just a while longer. For one selfish instance, she wanted to disappear from the world, returning to Caleb and the secret paradise only they would ever know.

But it would never be like before.

In the farthest depths of her heart and mind, she knew it would never be like before.

Without thinking, she blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Caleb looked down at her confused. “Why are you apologizing?”

She looked embarrassed. Quickly, she fibbed, “We had a fight before. I…we never made up.”

It took a while before Caleb remembered, nodding in understanding. “That was a long time ago,” he said, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

She said nothing as he pulled her back into his orbit, his hold firm and secured, but in her mind, she apologized again. Whatever was brewing in the future was going to affect three childhood friends, and the ominous unknown scared her, knowing no matter how things played out, someone was going to get hurt and none of them would come out unscathed.

I’m sorry, Zayne.

Like a forbidden fruit, she greedily coveted Caleb’s kisses again, tasting sin on her lips as she began to tread down the path to damnation, willfully blinding herself to the destruction that awaited in her future.

[potatomountain]

Case: It's Us - Masterlist

!!!!!!!! Please read first: Book 1~ Case: It's You !!!!!!!!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED IF SEEN INTERACTING WITH ANY OF THIS SERIES, LIKES INCLUDED!

Pairing: Poly 0t8 Ateez x fem reader AU: Mafia/detective Genre: action, romance, thriller? Ongoing Word Count: 3,507 Summary: After 3 months since agreeing to join them fully, you had buried yourself into work to make up for how less you have been feeling since the traumatic incident. However, crime does not stop so you can properly heal, nor is it a burden you have to face alone. Eight is now nine, a lesson to be learned while also fighting for everything you believe in, and learning to believe in something new. General Warnings: 18+, member x member smut content and side ships, poly dynamics, lots of gay, kidnapping, killing minor characters, some members showing sadistic sides. Reader is recovering from a huge trauma so there will be light triggers, panic attacks, etc. General dark themes like stalking, killing, kidnapping, cnc, blood play, and a criminal world that condones human trafficking, r@pe, child slavery, and more. Smut warnings on the chapters that have them. About "Reader": For the sake of the story Reader is physically fit and professionally trained as a detective. There are some personality traits that are more based on the backstory of reader and so forth so I understand that it isn't entirely "reader insert". I try to avoid using y/n completely, thus the pet names. Reader is Fem for plot purposes however, reader's height, skin, weight, hair and eye color are left as vague as possible so you may picture her as yourself. Otherwise you can read it like an oc and picture your version of a femme fatale badass. Author's Note: I would like to note that the city this all takes place in is fictional, same with the country. Like Gotham or something similar. I know nothing about being a detective or undercover work aside from what i've seen in dramas. The world, characters, and actions are completely fictional and do not reflect on any of the idols used in this fic! edited in: All idols are aged up to be in their later twenties to early thirties for the time period to make sense (they didnt just become this influential after a few years but a decade). There will also be chapters that are backstory and will most likely be before MC arrived. Banner and dividers made by me! Beta readers include: @bunnliix , @adelusionforyourthoughts, and @yourfatherlucifer for all chapters. For any additional betas will be tagged in the chapters! Networks are first tags <3

Chapters

Act 1: The Vipers - One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Act 2: The Goblins - TBD

Act 3: The Circle - TBD

Act 4: The Pirates - TBD

Act 5: The Wolves - TBD

Act 6: The Guardians - TBD

Taglist will always be the first reblogs!! Rules to apply for the taglist lie on Chapter 30 of book 1! Will cap at 100. Slots: 50/100

[jayflrt]

yours forever in 786

PAIRING ▸ private investigator!jay park x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), smut, fluff, angst, mystery, drama, enemies to lovers au, college au, rich kid au

SUMMARY ▸ after being blackmailed into accepting an assignment, jay park, a young private detective, is thrown back into college. this time, though, he’s at an ivy league and tasked to follow you to uncover what dark secrets your old money family is hiding. in doing this, jay must fraternize with your inner circle by joining a secret society called the "order of kryptos.” what he doesn’t realize is that the deeper he gets into his mission, the more he starts to lose himself.

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slowburn, alcohol/drug consumption, portrayals of addiction, sexual jokes, sexual content, betrayals!! backstabbing!!, toxic relationships, order of kryptos isn’t a real secret society but heavily inspired by the ivy league secret societies, emotional cheating (BOOOO! not from mc or jay tho), jay and mc have a small age gap (2 years), most of the characters are pretty toxic so please note that this is not attune to their real life personalities at ALL

STATUS ▸ on hold (coming back soon)

PLAYLIST ▸ fatal trouble by enhypen • still sane by lorde • this is what makes us girls by lana del rey • too good by troye sivan • paparazzi by lady gaga • old money by lana del rey • i was never there by the weeknd, gesaffelstein • prisoner by the weeknd, lana del rey

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i’m back with another smau but this one’s less lighthearted and more heavy ? sort of an experiment let's see how it goes, but hope u enjoy and lmk what u think !! ♡

CHATROOMS !

TEASER

PROFILES ONE | TWO

ACT ONE: THE TRANSFER

01. skip tracer to millionaire pipeline

02. besties with testes

03. who the fuck is princessyuna

04. the world of the elite

05. please don't the tom nook

06. standing on business (vlog boycott)

07. friend (noun.) not heeseung

08. boo boo the fool

09. professional haters debut

10. 21 jump street for nepo babies

11. how to not bleed to death

12. jay/n train

13. leather jacket

14. no goodbye sucks or fucks

15. ugly truths

16. girlfriend but the girl is silent

17. justice for stress shitters

18. alcohol shortage when

ACT TWO: THE INVITATION

19. attention seeker

20. and there was one bed

21. every boy for himself

22. rhymes with loona

23. out-testosteroned

24. white lies

25. heart-to-heart

26. the athenaeum

27. sock sock shoe shoe

28. group ass fucking

29. post defamation dinner date

30. final verdict

31. do you have time to talk about our lord and savior

32. tap to get tapped back

33. mad as fuck (the remix)

34. in too deep

35. change my world

36. provisional fight club

37. go piss girl

38. girlhood won

39. we can't do this

40. pledge week

41. babygirls with daddy issues

42. they must be really good friends

43. hot jay summer

44. dangerous entanglements

45. the fifth interview candidate

UNCUTS !

TBD.

ONGOING 7/29/24

[urlocalmcflurry]

Beef dosen’t even stop after death for over 10 years, that’s crazy

in the honor of j-gems, allow me to remind you of this gold of a scene that i will never ever forget-

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[mssoapart]

Day 7

Free-day (Out of order and late) Alenoah as Sherlock/Moriarty.

I like it when two characters play mind games and scheming against or with each other.

I didn`t plan to create an AU, but – my rant and bits of literature/character analysis (The Vision). Also, draw concept sketch.

Noah (Detective Sherlock Holmes). I mean, they're both geniuses, introverts who don't care about social opinion and some versions depicted him as being good with dogs. In Victorian England, I totally see Noah opening a detective agency, because you either go working on a plant or you might use your geniuses’ intelligence to solve crimes, like game puzzles, and make monies to pay bills and buy new books because in 1800 many books were expensive and produced in small quantities.

Plus! I might look at this too far, but I think the Sherlock and Watson analogy was implemented in London episode when they strip team Chris just to Noah and Owen for investigation.

Owen (Dr. Watson). Basically in the original books, Watson plays the role of the guy, your typical visual novel MC, well narrator, who has character, but his whole purpose is just to be a witness to detectives doing, asking questions for the audience. This leads to usually representing Watson as either annoyed with Sherlock's antics or (usually in kids' media) naïve but with good intentions because of this simplification, to show his kindhearted nature in cartoons and caricatures he is portrayed as chubby, which is what we need! But all of them did service in the Anglo-Afghan War, even Disney version mentioned it. (Also if you want to do Nowen version of Jhonlock I don`t mind, sure go for it)

Alejandro (professor Moriarty). Do I really need to explain? Both archvillains in their stories. Professor, respected in society for his talent and achievements, wealthy, but behind all of that façade he`s "Napoleon of crime". He doesn’t usually do crimes himself but rather, schemes, orchestrates the events, or provides the plans that will lead to a successful crime, like paying money to a court so that someone can be released from prison.

Heather (Irene Adler). OK, in the original books (all books written not by Arthur Conan Doyle are basically fanfics) her character and Sherlock don`t date (But if you like, it`s fine). She was more like “I know what you are” towards him.  I want to base it more on Warner Bros Sherlock where Irene works with Moriarty, but they also try to get rid of each other. She is also famous for blackmailing royals, If it isn`t most Heather thing I don`t know what is.

Eva (Mrs. Hudson). The landlady. I think it would be funny, she yelling at them to pay their bills in time.

See you next week

[occasionalsnippets]

Ngl i can imagine FD MC dumping an iced coffee on bruce while he's working on cases bc he hasn't slept for days and just going

"Your coffee, Bruce."

"...thank you."

(I love this au sm omg)

A/n: set during the early Tim Robin days

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations, @roseapov, @alittletiredcry

—

The ever present fluttering of bats greet you as you descend into the batcave, two small bags in one hand and a hot mug in the other. Your sweater does little to protect you from the frostiness. There still aren’t any railings, you note as you head deeper in.

Mr. Wayne- Bruce Wayne- Batman- sits by the batcomputer, laser focussed on the recent case, some drug that’s been hitting Crime Alley, that has taken over him. You’ve counted the hours, the case first popped up beginning of the week and he hasn’t left the cave in three days.

You set the mug down on the table. There are two thermoses and four cups resting there already. The scent of coffee lingers. Mr. Wayne turns his head ever so slightly to look at you. Illuminated by the bright screen, his dark circles look deeper than they’ve ever been.

"Hot chocolate from Mr. Pennyworth,” you tell him.

He blinks slowly. “Not coffee?”

World’s greatest detective, everyone.

“Obviously not. You haven’t slept in three days.”

“There was a case.”

“And you, what, couldn’t leave the cave and go upstairs for three days to deal with it?” You raise an eyebrow.

“It’s urgent.”

“You’re using it as an excuse to destroy yourself.”

His jaw tightens and he turns to stare back at the data displayed on screen and begins typing. Rude but you didn’t expect this to be easy.

“Mr. Wayne. Here is what is going to happen.” Your finger curl around the handle of the mug. “Either I pour this hot chocolate directly onto the keyboard and your costume or you go wash up, I send the info to Oracle and we can both go upstairs to drink hot chocolate and sleep.”

You hope he does not make you have to do things the hard way.

“Choose.”

He does not waver beneath the weight of your heavy stare but he does stop typing. He still does not answer.

“Mr. Wayne,” you sigh and start lifting up the mug.

“15 more minutes,” he bargains.

“5.”

“10.”

“5 or I pour this over you and tell Mr. Pennyworth not to replace what you’ve wasted.”

“Fine. 5 minutes.”

“And then you’ll go wash up.”

“And then I’ll go wash up,” he agrees.

“Also, unclench your jaw,” you tap the side of his cheek and order, “unless you want to develop bruxism.”

His face shifts and settles. “… Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The five minutes pass in silence. He does not solve the case, obviously, but an agreement is an agreement and you push him off to the showers when time is up. The bag you brought down with a change of clothes is left by the showers while you go clean up the batcomputer.

First, email to Oracle with the case information. Second, gather up the thermoses and mugs into your second bag to bring upstairs so Alfred can finally clean them. Third, wipe down the table.

By the time you are finished, Mr. Wayne has exited, fully dried off and dressed in the pyjamas you picked out instead of the batsuit. He remembered to dry his hair today. Better than two months ago when you struggled to even make sure he wouldn’t drown in a bathtub, accidentally or not.

“Hold onto the hot chocolate, we’ll warm it up again upstairs.” You motion towards the only mug left on the table. “C’mon.”

And so the two of you ascend, back to the warmth of Wayne manor where Mr. Pennyworth and Tim are resting soundly in the night. And as you lead the way, Mr. Wayne reaches forward and grasps your hand, slowly, uncertainly, like a child seeking comfort in the dark.

[neowinestainedress]

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again.  Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask. 

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody. 

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro. 

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside. 

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.  

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver. 

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever. 

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him. 

What’s on the other side is worse. 

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture. 

“Surpriiise!!” 

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting. 

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck. 

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. 

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.” 

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh. 

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?” 

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.” 

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?” 

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt. 

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle. 

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.” 

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed. 

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.” 

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin. 

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on. 

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up. 

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead. 

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.” 

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.” 

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.” 

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens. 

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.” 

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different. 

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.” 

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.” 

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?” 

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.  

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.” 

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be. 

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.  

“Why?” 

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour. 

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?” 

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?” 

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat. 

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?” 

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.” 

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction. 

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away. 

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?” 

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought. 

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?” 

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow. 

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.” 

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you. 

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.” 

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself? 

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again. 

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department. 

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans. 

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?” 

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.  

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?” 

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.” 

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.” 

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.” 

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop. 

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.” 

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle. 

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?” 

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again. 

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?” 

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?” 

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not. 

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.” 

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again. 

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair. 

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.  

You gulp and automatically close your legs. 

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.” 

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —” 

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest. 

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.” 

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating. 

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.  

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.  

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.” 

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.” 

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. ���You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?” 

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right? 

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.” 

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be. 

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.” 

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.  

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving. 

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass. 

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette. 

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down. 

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?” 

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?” 

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.” 

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.” 

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.  

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.” 

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.” 

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.” 

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” 

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.” 

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.” 

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward. 

“We didn’t kill anybody there.” 

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?” 

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?” 

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you. 

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.” 

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down. 

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask. 

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly. 

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.” 

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.  

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie. 

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.” 

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.” 

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.” 

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky. 

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip. 

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you. 

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.” 

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones. 

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly. 

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?” 

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ” 

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person. 

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.  

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?” 

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds. 

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.” 

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment. 

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.” 

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.” 

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done. 

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.” 

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly. 

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?” 

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess. 

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words. 

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.” 

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity. 

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?” 

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?” 

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.” 

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.” 

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again. 

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin. 

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust. 

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair. 

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible. 

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs. 

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.  

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly. 

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it. 

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?” 

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation. 

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?” 

“No,” you mumble.  

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.” 

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly. 

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?” 

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.” 

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.  

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.” 

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating. 

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.” 

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it. 

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.” 

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?  

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans. 

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?” 

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?” 

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now. 

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.” 

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe. 

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven. 

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.” 

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should. 

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place. 

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.” 

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet. 

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.” 

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see. 

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note. 

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ” 

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