#disgusting crimes commited inside

[alex-the-bringer-of-chaos]

As an ex jw, listen to me when I say: never set foot in that hell hole, don't study with them, don't trust the watch tower, look at their lies and how they cover up abuse and csa.

Fuck the watch tower! Fuck the governing body! Fuck the jw! Fuck this high controlling religion/doomsday cult! Fuck these queerphobes! Fuck these abusers! Fuck these misogynists! Fuck these ableists!

[sweaters-and-vertigo]

serial killer fans: but jeffrey dahmer derived no pleasure from his killings!!!!! 😭😤🥺

literally anyone with a pulse and a brain who knows that dahmer was trying to create sex slaves:

[dolicekiss]

Bittersweet Belladona

PAIRING: Dark!Will Graham x Yandere!Reader x Dark!Hanninal Lecter

CONTENT WARNING: SMUT (18+ only, mdni) very dark Will Graham. age gap (reader is twenty two) mention of mental instability, unhinged behavior by all parties, dubcon, stalking, slight blood, choking, hair pulling, manhandling (reader gets her shit clapped) degradation and praise, mention of cannibalism, scratching, slight fluff at the end.

SYNOPSIS: Following along the bloody trail left behind renowned Psychiatrist Dr. Lecter and his kin, Will Graham, your sick obsession had made you somewhat better than the FBI at tracking down the two. In the shadows, you lingered and stalked them both like a new born shadow, oblivious to the fact that you were also captured in their sight. Your twisted infatuation with the two had you cornered soon enough, trapped in an empty museum with them.

You were lured in.

You should've known.

Just why would they commit a crime in the open museum if not to lure you in and trap you?

The two men circled you around like you were their prey, like the man they had killed and formed into a firefly with its wings spread out, hanging in the air. Wings that were made out of the man's skin — red flesh exposed. The sight was spectacular and you wanted nothing more than to click photos of it, capture it in the deepest darkest parts of your mind and savor it forever.

You stared at it in pure awe, not registering the fact that you were trapped.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

It was Will’s deep voice.

Strained and dry, it made you feel something dark inside your chest. You flinched at his voice, retreating a step back but all you felt against your back was Hannibal’s hard chest, as you crashed into him. His tall figure towered over you and you moved forward, in an attempt to get away from him.

“Beautiful like her.” Hannibal spoke, voice cutting the silence like butter. “But too bad she lacks manners, don't you think?”

All you wanted to do was stalk them, learn more about how their minds worked and get to know them. You had never found their acts of violence disgusting, no. It was simply human, their flaws and the gruesome darkness concealed behind their beautiful faces. It was all too fascinating for you but you knew all too well what the two men were capable of.

The proof was levitating right up in the air.

“Following us around, stalking us. Even going as far as to hacking our phones to eavesdrop on our conversations, how fucking impolite and ill mannered.” It was Will, as he snapped at you. Your face set ablaze underneath his searing gaze, feeling terrified as he stared at you.

A look of disgust in his eyes.

“She might as well be the next Freddie Lounds.” You wanted to hide away from the way Will was glaring at you. Glasses long gone, curly strands slicked back as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Your lips trembled. “I—”

Your throat was parched, running dry in an instant as you attempted to speak and come up with some sort of excuse to your bad behavior. You felt like a child trapped between two adults, anticipating a very bad scolding, maybe even a beating too.

“You're scared, hm?” Hannibal reached for your face, squeezing it between his hand. Your lips forming a forced pout. You were trembling in his hold, as resilient as you were.

You'd decided to follow them, in a way, finding solace in them. The cannibalistic murderers of Baltimore, murder husbands, the FBI profiler who eloped with his cannibalistic psychiatrist. Everytime you saw them on the news, you felt a connection form between you and them and tug you towards them. It was profound, what you felt for them and how the people to whom you were an unknown person comforted you.

Without their own acknowledgement.

You didn't want to die.

As much as you had nothing to live for, other than the delusions that you were meant to join the two— you were an empty shell. An unstable mind wandering the world with nowhere to go. You attempted to make a run for it as soon as you felt Hannibal’s grip loosen. Bolting for the large door, your hand nearly grasped onto the golden knob and pulled at the door but Will was quick to run after you, grabbing your hand and pushing you up against the wall next to the door.

His palm laid straight on your cheek, forcing the side of your head along the wall. Holding you firmly in place all while you struggled and became a sobbing, sputtering mess. Pain blossomed in the side of your head, throbbing and roaring through your skull. Like it could grow two large heads more. The rough manhandling caused tears to pool in your waterline, threatening to drop.

You felt horrible, didn't know what was so wrong about wanting to get to know them on a deeper level as they provided you with comfort. Feeling a bit dumbfounded and stupid.

“Please—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Will nearly growled in your ear, a shiver of terror dancing up your spine.

You watched, in your blurred peripheral vision, a figure moving in next to you. It was obviously Hannibal and you stared at him with a plea clear in your eyes.

“She looks so afraid.” He commented, moving his gaze from your face to Will’s. The man still locking you in place. “She's pretty too.”

“I hate to agree.” Will sternly said, with a hint of frustration in his voice.

You struggled and squirmed, all futile and not enough to help you get your freedom. Will’s hand tangled in your hair, fingers grabbing a bunch of your hair and fisting them. He dragged you from the door and tossed you right across the vast space on the floor, watching as your body collided with the hard marble.

You didn't waste a single second in scurrying away from them both. Now you were the prey and they were the predator, stalking upto you like you were their food. Which, you were pretty sure you were going to become. You didn't mind but you couldn't die with a heart aching to be understood, to be seen.

“She deserves a punishment, no?” Hannibal said to will, voice laced with mischief.

You shook your head. “Sorry—so sorry.”

Your tears and apologies were falling upon deaf ears. Will reveled in the feeling of seeing you this helpless, at this mercy and he knew he could crush you beneath his shoe like a dying little bird. Hannibal was more interested in Will and your dynamic, how you craved to be in his presence yet were terrified of him.

He found it endearing, even.

“Oh no, apologies won't cut it, pretty girl.” He said, in a hoarse voice. “I'm gonna make sure you never ever do something so silly like this ever again.”

Fear had consumed your whole being. Fingers trembling and breath hitching. Heart beat pattering like wild raindrops against a glass window. You could feel it thumping in your ears, as nausea took over you. The urge to throw up all over the floor fought to dominate you but you didn't allow it.

“What were you thinking?” Hannibal asked, squatting down next to where you were on the floor, back pressed into an old viking artifact. “Following dangerous men like us around. Just what did you believe you would achieve from it, if not your demise?”

You gulped, staring between the two men.

Glancing at Will and cowering under Hannibal’s gaze.

You didn't dare speak a word. The letters of the word ‘comfort’ burning the tip of your tongue but you didn't say it. The fear that wafted off you was almost arousing for Hannibal Lecter. His strong ability to smell emotions and feelings helping him smell your fear and anxiety.

“Answer him.” Will ordered, reaching forward and squatting down next to Hannibal in front of you. His hand extended out and collected the hair straight from your roots, tugging onto them. It hurt, the burning sensation spreading along your scalp as your neck was craned up.

You stared at him, a lone tear sliding down.

“J-Just wanted to see, w-wanted to see how you both do it.” Broken words uttered by your broken self.

Hanninal and Will looked at each other, seemingly communicating through their minds as their eyes spoke. Hannibal nodded and Will’s attention shifted back to you, this time staring at you with a different type of void behind those blue eyes of his. His grip tightened and you whimpered, fueling your tears.

Then he leaned down and in a rough kiss, captured your lips. Teeth clashing against your skin, tugging and biting on it. Your little fists tried to push him away from you, banging on the expanse of his chest. He didn't budge at all. Will had newfound determination to break you, to break you in order to put your pieces back together.

In a way he'd liked.

Hannibal knew as manipulative as he was, Will Graham was a cunning boy.

You felt him sink his teeth into your lower lip, piercing the skin enough to evoke blood. A trail dripping down, accumulating at the round of your chin. Vision blurry and eyes squeezed tightly, you cried and cried while struggling. It only worsened your situation as you felt someone behind you— taking a hold of your small fists and restraining them behind your back.

Hannibal held you in place tightly, giving full access to Will to have his way with you.

Your lungs expanded, in desperate attempts to suck in air but all you felt was Will’s tongue slipping past the entrance of your mouth. Colliding with yours, like snake, wrapping around it and in a way, the man was fucking your mouth.

Plunging his tongue in an out of your mouth.

Saliva, blood, tears. All of these liquids proved your demise, though not forever. You knew after Will or both the men are done with you, you'd be different. You'd be dead and you'll be reborn.

“Will, do you intend to end her life with a kiss?” Hannibal called out and the man finally, finally retrieved his tongue and broke apart from you.

Terrified to open your eyes, you let them stay shut. You could feel the hot breath of Will mingling with your own, chest moving vertically up and down. Lungs dragging in as much oxygen as the organs could, unaware of when they'll be allowed to breathe ever again.

“Open your eyes.” Hannibal’s hands caressed your wrists as he whispered in your ear.

You didn't listen and that was a grave mistake. That somehow managed to piss Will off more than you invading their privacy. Your disobedience towards Hannibal and as he walloped his hand across your cheek, a ringing sound entered your ears.

It was loud, everything becoming a blur to you.

Just how hard had he hit you?

Your eyes were opened and you blinked profusely, now finally capturing the man in front of you. You noticed the swell of his lips, as well as the blood that was smeared all over it. His slicked back hair now messed up in a few strands dancing over his forehead. You didn't stop your cries this much, soft little sobs echoing in the spacious museum.

“Will,” Hannibal warned. “She's fragile, you shouldn't be this aggressive.”

“She's strong and she knows it. A fragile little girl wouldn't stalk two men all the way from the US to Italy, would she now, princess?” You shook your head.

The obedience you had shown by responding immediately was satisfying for both of them. The slap had worked, and Hannibal took a hold of your chin, moving your face towards him. His scrutinizing gaze hovered over your busted lip. “It's bleeding, poor you. Will is really cruel, isn't he?”

The sheer rudeness and strictness Will Graham expressed and showcased was in complete contrast to Hannibal’s sweet, gentle demeanor. Its like one was meant to leave bruises while the other bandaged those same wounds.

“Please.” You pleaded, completely unaware of what you were actually pleading for. You knew that even if they were to let you go, you would still continue to stalk the men. You couldn't survive separation and it wasn't like you wanted to live with the two or be roommates, no.

You were more than okay with striving in the shadows, only admiring them from afar.

How did they catch you?

Were you that obvious? That obsessed and infatuated that you hadn't realized these men could outsmart you?

Will stared at you, the scared look on your face stirring something primal within his chest. You looked so beautiful, so broken and he saw himself in you. He saw who he was before meeting Hannibal and this — what he was about to do to you — could be your breakthrough.

They could be your pillars.

Hannibal was in absolute awe of the beauty you possessed and were. Just the raw vulnerability you exposed and how dedicated you were to stalking them, it was all endearing to him. To him it felt like you harbored romantic feelings for him, for them both. Like a puppy following its owners.

“Tie her up.” Will said to Hannibal and he nodded — immediately getting to work. Despite the amount of tears you shed, the struggling and the pleadings, it didn't bother them one bit. Hannibal had found a rope, magically and it made you realize all the more of how deep you had fallen into the well.

They came prepared.

Oh they had thought everything out.

They were looking forward to this.

“No, n-no, please. Listen to me.”

Didn't matter. You were nothing but a lifeless little doll, a plaything to keep them entertained. Hannibal tied you up, hands behind your back. Each knot tightened to the point of purple bruising, his hands skilfully moving across your body. It wasn't just your hands he tied, he'd restrained your arms too and the pain begun in your shoulders.

Both of them looked at you, sitting on the floor, tied up. Your dress had riled up to your thighs in the endeavor and it exposed your soft flesh, which seemed to be an invitation for the two men. Hannibal could only think how you'd taste, drenched in honey and garlic, sizzled on a barbeque. The flesh roasted and sprinkled with diced coriander.

Meanwhile Will could feel his cock becoming hard at how fucking hopeless you seemed. Just sitting on the floor, soft little sniffles falling from your lips. Even a few hiccups here and there too. A red handprint on your cheek a clear indication of your disobedience. It was a sight he wouldn't mind if he were to witness it for the rest of his life with Hannibal.

Will leaned down to you, sitting next to you as his hand reached for the exposed flesh of your thighs. When his soothing fingertips touched your skin, you flinched. That act of yours and how unwilling you still were made him tighten his grip on your thighs, nails leaving crescent moons all over the skin.

“You could've chosen a different path. A different life, different interests than the ones you have right now.” There was almost a heavy sadness to his words. Like he missed the person who he was, somewhere deep inside his mind. “Yet you got yourself into such a mess. Trapped with two men. Do you have any idea what we'll do to you, pretty girl?”

You shook your head.

“If you knew coming here would have you end up like this, would you still go through with it?” He stared at you, in anticipation, searching for the answer in your blurry gaze but he didn't need to.

As you nodded your head. Proving the unstable state of your mind. Despite knowing things would end this way, you'd come to this place over and over again. They had noticed you, they'd seen you, felt you. How could it get any better? Yes, you were hurt but did it really matter? It was worth seeing the two perform their art in all its glory.

Hannibal stared at Will and the man scoffed — shaking his head. “You're such a braindead little thing, aren't you?”

You lifted your eyes up from the floor you were on, confused. The confusion gave you the look of a lost puppy, who had no idea just what was even happening to it. Puzzled and all over the place, terrified and lost.

“She's a peculiar one.” Hannibal commented, one hand slipped inside his pocket. “Should we take her?”

“We'll decide that when she's proven to be worthy of it.” His hand inched closer and closer, riding further up your thigh and between them. Your breath hitched, body shivering as you felt his fingers brush against your clothed cunt.

You were already soaked, as confused as you were about it. They had humiliated you, disrespected you, hurt you yet your panties were saturated. Upon feeling the slick coating your inner thighs, Will let out a dark chuckle and showed his fingers to Hannibal.

The slick glistening against the bright lights.

“She's not some innocent little girl. Her cunt is drenched, Hannibal. All because of how we treated her, like some whore.”

You squeezed your thighs together, not wanting Will to pry more but he did. Both hands at both knees, he parted your thighs open fully and exposed you to the lascivious gaze of himself and Hannibal. The wet spot on your beige panties the perfect innuendo that you were aroused, like some fucking animal and it grossed you out.

Why were you feeling this way?

Will’s hand lowered to your cunt, his thumb flat against your covered clit. He moved it in slow, circular motions, watching you in exciting anticipation. Your body twitched, hips immediately beginning to writhe and he scoffed. Your reactions were fucking adorable, both the men in complete awe.

You still wanted out — as good as this felt.

You struggled, squirming your hips and trying to stray further from him but Will grabbed your leg, putting his own over it to refrain you from moving. You whimpered at his heavy weight on your leg, as he continued his ministrations on your cunt. He then finally peeled the panties off you, sliding them down yout ankles and tossing them to the aside.

“Fuck, such a pretty pussy.” He whispered, Hannibal also joining him on the floor.

Both of them stared at your cunt like it was a meal they both had craved for a very, very long time. A fresh set of tears fell as Will parted your pussy open with his thumbs, pink flesh coated with creamy arousal.

Hannibal shifted behind you, pulling you between his own legs. Both his hands caressed your sides, slowly riding upto your breasts. Fingers kneading into the plush of your tits and dragging your dress down, watching the fat mounds bounce out. His own cock hardened at the sight.

Hannibal loved the female body, how beautiful and different it was than a man's. Innocence seeped into it, like a fresh drop from the sun and a tear of the moon.

You looked up at him and shook your head, squirming. “Stop —no. Not right, not right.”

At your resistance, Will delivered a sharp smack across the stripe of your cunt. Watching as the pink deepened. He slid a finger inside you and you whimpered, gaze fixated on Hannibal. The men simultaneously toyed with your body, having their way with it and you could only sit there helplessly and sob.

“She's tight, even around my finger. I wonder how she'll take both of our cocks.” Will’s comment made Hannibal’s concealed cock throb. A low rumble escaping his chest, vibrating against your back. “Don't tempt me, Will.” Hannibal warned, his fingers pinching and tugging at your hardened peaks.

Will soon inserted another finger, staring up at you. He found you disrespectful and downright rude. Somewhere you reminded him of a certain redhead, with how you lurked everywhere in the shadows wherever they were. But he knew you were nothing like Freddie Lounds. You did not possess the same greed she did, the same lust for fame and content.

Instead he saw darkness. The type of darkness that matched his own — a reflection of his own self. He plunged his fingers in and out of you, curving them and gaining access to that sensitive spot. As he hit it, your gummy walls tightened around his digits, greedy cunt sucking them in.

Meanwhile Hannibal forced you to look at him, one hand still toying with your perky tits. He stared down at you, finding you endearing. How you cried, every movement of your little body. The tears pooling in your waterline, the way your lips shivered and produced small sobs, how the fear flashed in your gaze once in awhile. You were so broken and so damaged, he wanted to fix you right up.

By breaking you apart.

“You should've expected this to happen. Stalking dangerous men like us, while being so frail and fragile yourself. Just what did you expect to happen, hm?” His grip tightened on your wrist, as he stared at you.

You had no words. There was nothing on your mind, other than the realization that you were trapped and had nowhere to go. There was no one coming to your salvation and the thought terrified you more than anything. The complexities of your own emotions and thoughts warring together only left you further braindead.

Hannibal captured your lips. At first the kiss was sweet, gentle even but soon you realized it was only to swallow your little sounds. Every time Will bruised your sensitive spot, Hannibal swallowed a gulp of your whimper. These two were like wolves, consuming and sucking the blood out of their prey.

He continued kissing you, prying your mouth open and mingling his tongue with yours. The fact that you still had Will’s saliva in your mouth, also dribbling down your chin and Hannibal kissed the same mouth. It was all too taboo to not turn you on. Your hips shuffling a little only for Will to press his own leg harder down on yours.

Will stared at you both, watching with a burning gaze as Hannibal practically sucked the soul out of you. He scoffed a little, remembering Hannibal’s words from earlier at how he almost ended you with a kiss. The man was doing the same now, just with a much gentle tone.

He didn't even allow you to inhale or breathe, lips locked against yours in a tight firm kiss. You struggled, attempting to move here and there but it didn't work at all. He continued devouring you like you were his last meal. He kissed differently than Will. He kissed with the intention to eat you, with the intention to savor you for the rest of his life.

It was too passionate for you to ignore. Tears sliding down your face. “You can't eat her now, Hannibal. Don't end up biting her tongue off.”

Will’s words made Hannibal stall for a moment, registering what the man had said. He was right, Hannibal couldn't actually eat you now and from how sweet you tasted, he wanted to bite your fucking tongue off and decorate it with your white teeth.

He backed out, after relishing in the taste you had to offer. Hannibal almost flinched at how fucked out you appeared, from a mere kiss. Your vision had blurred, your mind hazy and your cheeks red. You stared at him, partially lost and numb and then more tears slid across your face.

“Let's take her over to the table.” Will passed an order and Hannibal complied, picking you up within seconds. Your legs resting on his waist, as he carried you to the table.

It was somewhere in the back, concealed in a dark corner. Hannibal laid you down against it on your stomach, and you kicked. Your little kicks delivering to his leg but it didn't affect him at all. Your act of disobedience was like drops of fuel against a fire and it angered both of them. Hannibal’s fingers circled around your ankles, holding them in place.

Will walked over to the two of you, and his fingers drowned in your locks. Grabbing a fistful of it, he craned your neck up and made you look at him. “You fucking brat.” Will slapped you across the side of your face, watching you with a burning stare.

Incinerating pain grew on your right cheek as you slowly regained your senses back and registered the slap. Blood trickled down your chin, the source being your busted lip. The trail cold and dark. “S-Sorry.”

“Oh you'll be fucking sorry when we're done with you, whore.” Will turned to Hannibal. “You take her cunt, I take her mouth. She'll know just how easy we were being on her.”

“Don't end up damaging her.” Hannibal responded, grip tightening on your ankles. “I have taken a liking to her, she'll be good entertainment.”

“Fine.” Will replied with a groan.

Then you caught his attention, again. How unlucky you were. You watched as he unzippes his pants and your eyes widened in horror, hearing another zip being pulled down right after Will’s. You shook your head but it caused Will’s grip to tighten.

As he pulled out his cock, you heard shuffling behind you as well. Will tapped his fat tip against your cheek, then slowly running it along your sealed lips. “Are you going to open up or do I have to force you?”

You contemplated. You really contemplated and the slap made you more pliant, as you parted open your lips. On the other hand, Hannibal had pushed your legs apart, his own cock in his hand. He slowly guided it inside you and when you felt his thick head enter you, a high pitched moan echoed within the walls of the museum.

Will pulled your hair. “Stick your fucking tongue out.”

And you obliged. Ashamed and embarrassed, you stuck your tongue out and Will slapped his fat cock flat against it a few times before driving it inside the wetness of your mouth. Feeling them both enter you at the same time, one inside your cunt and the other dominating your mouth. You cried out in pain.

Hannibal looked down at how your pussy hugged his cock, barely halfway through and a low growl rumbled from his chest upon seeing the ring of blood around his cock.

You were a virgin.

“She's a virgin Will.” Hannibal called out, pushing himself deeper inside you. To a point where no one else has been. “Poor girl probably wanted something sweet, something gentle for her first time.”

Will practically melted at the fact that you were a virgin. Completely untouched. He wondered how could that be possible with the way you appeared and how your body was carved by the gods them selves? But he didn't care. It was perfect. You were perfect.

Made for them.

Crafted for them by the same god they both resented.

Will’s gaze dropped down at you, watching you as your lips squeezed around his cock and sucked him in. “Ever sucked a cock before, princess?”

The term which was usually used for endearment sounded so ironic when it came from Will. Like he was mocking you, using it to taunt you. He didn't mean it when he called you that. He was only using it to make you feel horrible, calling you a princess while treating you worse than a peasant.

You shook your head. You were foreign to the idea of such explicit activities before this very night but now, you were stuffed two cocks. One in your mouth and one in your cunt.

You felt Hannibal’s cock grow thicker inside you at the information, its veins throbbing against your gummy walls. A muffled cry of despair left you as Will continued sliding his cock further into your mouth. “If I feel one tooth, I will punch them right out of your mouth. Got it?”

You inhaled through your nose, nodding.

“Good.” Will released your hair as both his hands settled against your face. He held your face, the head of his cock pushing past your palate and uvula as a loud groan mixed in with your muffled whimpers. He snapped his hips, not caring that you were choking all over his cock.

Saliva trailing down your chin, making a mess around your mouth. You moved your shoulders, all the while Hannibal held you tightly against the table by your hips and fucked you like some wild beast. Both men used their full strength, snapping their cock inside you and it left you light headed.

“She's squeezing me in so much, almost as if she likes this.” You heard Hannibal grunt, his cock slamming against your cervix. From how hard his fingernails dug into your flesh, you knew your skin was bloodied by now.

Hannibal’s gentle demeanor was out the fucking window, replaced with the monster he truly was.

As Will’s cock slid along the surface of your tongue, his hips bucked and he fully bottomed out in your mouth. You could feel his head at the back of your throat and gagged all over it, tears splattering out of your eyes. It was all a mess. You couldn't even breathe anymore and let out little screams — which were muffled and only worked as vibrations against Will’s throbbing length, nearing him to his orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck. I bet her little cunt is as tight as her mouth. It's like I'm fucking a pussy.” Will whimpered, slurring out soft little pants.

Hannibal groaned in respond. “Show me her face, Will. Right now.”

Will nodded, pulling out of your mouth only for a few seconds as he flipped you on your back and pushed your head up, holding it for Hannibal to witness the mess he'd created out of you. A mirror with broken shards, showing Hannibal a reflection of himself.

He almost came at the sight of you.

Looking so fucked up. Hair a mess. Lips bruised, bloody and swollen. Tears and saliva running down in rivulets. You were a fucking sight for sore eyes and Hannibal wanted this every single day. He needed to witness this every single day.

And he never needed anything.

“So beautiful. So fucking—” He snapped inside you, his pace becoming rough and animal like thrusts founding their way against your bruised spot. “beautiful but such an impolite little girl.”

He spat as the sound of skin against skin echoed in the room. Bouncing off the walls of the museum, reaching the carved out ancient ceiling. The cupids listening to each and every noise made in sin.

Will dropped your head down, your neck bending slightly as he shoved his cock back inside your mouth. This new position gave him all the power to fuck your mouth thoroughly, watching as the imprint of his cock inside your throat formed against your skin. Bulging and moving along the skin.

It turned him on like nothing else.

He glared at you, eyebrows furrowed in pure pleasure, lips parted to allow heavy pants escape it. Will Graham looked fucking breathtaking when the sweat trickled down his forehead. You were wondering if this was that bad, if them taking you against your will was anything bad.

But it was the pleasure getting to your head.

Of course this was morally wrong and fucked up.

But who had morals in this room?

One was a cannibal, the other was an accomplice and murderer and you were an unhinged stalker.

“Fuck you looking at huh?” He asked you, abruptly slapping your chest. Your back arched and you let out a whimpered cry, almost tempted to use your teeth.

But you were well aware what that act would cost you.

Will gasped out, feeling his orgasm nearing while Hannibal looked at Will. He could only admire the view before him and as he fucked your cunt, his own orgasm came knocking at his door. Both of them imitated each other's pace, fucking you like wild animals during mating season.

They came soon and the intimacy of them cumming together was so intense. Hannibal’s load shot out, coating your gummy walls and filling you up to the brim. Will’s thrusted, and as you subconsciously tightened your mouth around him, the man also released into your mouth.

His moans had evolved into whimpers and gasps, breathing ragged as he emptied himself inside you. Balls throbbing and hips bucking. It was fucking intense, for both Hannibal and Will. His fingernails dug into the wood for support, fucking your mouth leisurely to ride out his orgasm. Hannibal had left marks on your thighs and hips from how roughly he'd gripped them, as well as blood trails from his nails.

Coated in your own blood, your once untouched and unclaimed skin was now drenched in sin — purity long snatched by the hands of the devil himself. In your case, both Hannibal and Will relresented the Devil. Falling angels they were.

As Will pulled out from your mouth, he caught a glimpse of all his load sitting there in your mouth. It's taste salty and texture thick. Something you'd never ever experienced in your mouth.

“Swallow it.” He ordered and you shut your mouth, swallowing it all. It felt gross and weird against your throat but you didn't complain, only a look of grimace crossed your face.

You still hadn't cum.

Your body twitching and aching. Your cunt screaming for its own release, knots building up in your stomach and thighs convulsing. You were close too but Hannibal stopping made you let out a whimper of frustration.

“Look at her, Hannibal. Twitching and whimpering for a release, huh.” Will scoffed, lips shuddering as he inhaled long chains of oxygen.

Hannibal pried open your hole with his thumbs, watching as his cum oozed out of you and pooled on the table. Your gaping hole sputtered, more cum leaking out and Hannibal licked his lips at the sight. “Although she has not been an obedient girl, I think she deserves her release too for taking us so well. Don't you, Darling?”

You nodded.

You needed this feeling of intense desire and wanton to disappear. This frustration that bit at your stomach, nipped away little pieces of flesh.

Will walked over to Hannibal as the man took you into his arms, sliding his cock back inside you. This time Will sat on top of the table, his half soft cock fully hardening at the evil idea that cooked in his mind. He held your ass, opening it with both his hands and slowly pressing his tip against your rim.

Your eyes widened. “N—No.”

“Still resisting us? Knowing we've claimed you, all of you? How naive.” Hannibal commented, face only a few inches apart from yours. He slid his cock inside your cunt as Will lowered you onto his. The two men were gonna tear you apart, you knew that.

Their girth and length were both something you couldn't handle, not at once at least. But Will didn't care — and Hannibal shared that. Feeling the burning stretch in your ass, you shrieked as Will entered you. A tear slid down your face, disappearing into your parted lips as Hannibal held you for Will.

“It hurts— hurts please.” You cried, like a broken doll and Hannibal pressed a kiss against the corner of your lips. “It'll feel better soon. You shouldn't feel pain. You're only a set of holes for our pleasure, aren't you?”

You didn't answer, too lost in the searing pain in your bottom. Will wasn't even half way through, you could feel it and yet it felt like you were being ripped apart. Hannibal’s cock stayed inside you, not movinf at all. Allowing Will to first adjust himself inside you.

“Answer me.” Hannibal held you with one hand, as he lightly smack you with the other.

You nodded. “Yeah, only a set of holes for your pleasure.”

Hearing you accept it like this, so vocally and out loud. Will lost it and slammed you down onto his cock, bottoming out. Pain bloomed in your ass and you screamed but before it could reach the ears of people somewhere outside the museum, Hannibal captured your lips in a rough kiss.

He licked at your tongue, teeth against teeth while fucking into you slowly. Will sat there as Hannibal moved you up and down on his cock and the burning sensation only grew with each thrust. “Stupid fucking whore. Just what was going through your head, this young and dedicating your life to stalking men twice your fucking age. It's like you wanted this to happen to you, yeah? Two cocks in you at once.”

Will’s filthy words was like alcohol, and blitzed you were. Guilt consumed you and somewhere their manipulation was seeming to work on you in this vulnerable moment. You should've know better. This was bound to happen. Just what were you expecting? That they would invite you into their lives with an open, warm embrace?

You were so fucking stupid.

Hannibal parted from you, his forehead pressed against you as he settled you down against Will’s thighs. You sniffled, feeling his cock all the way inside your ass as Hannibal used your cunt. You felt nothing more than some whore that was here for their pleasure, their sake.

Your stomach flipped and churned, a disclaimer that your release was near. Your thighs shook terribly and when Will pushed upward, you surged forward and leaned against Hannibal’s chest. You tightened around them both, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh she's close. I can feel her. She's gonna snap my fucking dick in half.” Will grunted, as you twitched. Then it came. That strong, bone chilling feeling of pleasure, consuming your whole being. Eyes witnessing white and lips agape, high pitched moans slurring out and tainting the purity of the museum.

You felt the potent need of release take over you ans you gushed out, squirting all over the men. Your body going limp and losing all its strength, falling over to Hannibal. All you saw was darkness, as your eyes stayed closed and your chest moved up and down. Frame suffering from convulsions.

For a moment you thought they'd stop but what a mistake it was.

“She's made quite the mess, Will.” Hannibal commented, his button up soaked in your release.

Will released a hoarse chuckle, his chest rumbling. The man started fucking into your ass, watching as it revived you back but this time you had no resistance left in you. One orgasm had sent you over the edge, overestimated and sensitive. You whined into Hannibal’s chest, tears staining his shirt as Will continued fucking into you.

Hannibal was also in pursuit of Will, his cock carrying its assault on your cunt. Encouraging broken whines out of you. The two were also stimulated enough and after fucking you for awhile, they too came.

Feeling Will’s load in your ass was a weird feeling. It was uncomfortable but what made it even more uncomfortable was Hannibal’s cum leaking out of your cunt, as he fucked it back into you.

You fell against Will’s chest, head resting on his shoulder. Face drained and numb, no energy left in you whatsoever. You were so fucked out and numb — no expression on your face as you stared at Hannibal.

“She's fucked.” Will said, with a laugh as he stared at the worried expression on Hannibal’s face.

He tapped his fingers over your cheek. “Hey, can you hear me?”

You didn't respond. Completely broken and tired. You craved solace in that moment, absurdly from the two men who were the sole cause of all this. How fucked up could this situation get?

“Hey.” His taps on your cheek grew harder but you didn't respond. Will sat up straight, arm wrapped around your waist as he held you against him. “Fuck, I think we damaged her.”

“We?” Hannibal raised a brow.

Will narrowed his eyes at him. “Don't pretend as if you weren't manipulating her into thinking this was all her fault, all the while fucking her.”

Hannibal looked at you, also tapping at your face but to no avail. You were completely speechless and devoid of any human emotion. Like some fucking statue.

“All the fucking left her braindead huh.” Will whispered and then he leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss against you cheek. He shook your body lightly and there you were.

Staring at him, with your innocent eyes and his heart clenched. You still had remnants of who you were, just like all of them but he knew this would change you.

“There you are.” Hannibal said, a wave of relief washing over him. You stared between the two men and finally gathered the courage to reply to their question.

“Comfort.” Both their gazes narrowed in on you when you spoke, voice strained and almost gone from all the moaning you did. “You a-asked me what I believed I would ac—” You coughed out before continuing, “achieve from this. Comfort.”

Will’s jaw tightened.

Hannibal found you even more endearing than before. How foolish yet adorable of you to think being with them could bring you comfort. He caressed away the drop of nearly dried blood from your chin, watching it taint your skin further.

“Let's go, we're going home.” The blonde said — as Will nodded his head. He liked the idea of taking a broken person like you home, especially when you had chased them only as a means to seek comfort. He didn't know whether to think of it as something sad or something sweet.

But both of them had plenty of time to decide that, as they were taking you home.

[nemisuki]

Just Smile

Idol AU | Attending yet another group signing event has developed into a routine. But what you’re looking forward to most is speaking to your favorite member of the group. And seems like he expects you too. Being a fan since his debut has always been so rewarding.  

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, protective bkg, minor jealousy, silly moments, extroverted reader, open to interpretation, can be just platonic or romance, 2.1k word count 

"Next!"

The smile on her face brightens as she approaches the table. Clutching the brown gift bag in her arms as she follows the staff member. A routine she’s gotten used to by now. 

She takes a seat in front of the desk, her gaze landing on the person across from her.

Unable to hide her emotions, she begins to laugh at his facial expression when he sees her.

"What's with the giggles huh?" he rolls his eyes, already grabbing a sharpie and twisting the cap off with expertise. 

"Well hello to you too! And I'm laughing because you look extra grumpy today. Hang in there Bakugo, you still have about an hour left or so!"

"I ain’t grumpy, stupid. Just that a extra gave me a plushie with a damn camera in it, creepy fucks" he mumbles with furrowed brows as he starts signing group merchandise for her.

Obvious disgust in his tone at the whole situation. 

Her eyes soften in a sympathetic gaze at his words, "Gosh I’m sorry about that. But I'm glad you found out quickly, who knows if they put a tracker in it."

"Don't apologize for the freak, we're used to it" he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand, giving her the signed goodies a few seconds later. 

He stares at her as she takes the items with a bright smile, "You know I watched the music video like 100 million times when it first came out a week ago! Your stylist did amazing for the other members, but that jacket you had? Stunning!"

"Hmph piece of shit was hard to dance in though. So…. you gonna hand over whatever is in the bag or what?"

Deciding to tease him a little, she shrugs her shoulders and hums, "Sorry but this isn't for you it's for someone else."

For a split second, she can see surprise take over his face. She could only watch as his facial reactions grow more sour at the implication of her words. 

"The fuck?" he crosses his arms, mentally listing off possible reasons on why she didn't get him anything this time. Unknowing to the bitter facial expression that just took over him.

If it's one thing he's confident in, it's that she'll bring him gifts at every fan signing event.

Sure she always brings the other idols of the group some goodies too but, Y/N always brings him extra.

Because he's her bias.

Of course he’s her favorite.

So what gives?

His red eyes are practically drilling holes in that brown bag she's holding. As if it committed a crime right in front of him.

Seeing a clear sign of jealousy from the blonde, she bursted into laughter and began pulling the items out.

"I'm just teasing, relax! I got you some spicy snacks, and yes before you ask, the spiciest level I could find."

She slides over the assortment of chips and candies towards him. To which he takes and analyzes them, not forgetting to send a mini glare her way due to her little joke.

Despite that, the previous tension in his body seems to fade away.

"Oh guess what! I finally managed to collect every one of your photocards, can you sign my album?" she says, proudly taking out the small book with her prized collection inside.

"Do I even wanna know how much you wasted on all these?" he grumbles, flipping through the pages.

Frankly he is shocked she managed to get them all. He constantly refuses to do such ‘outrageous’ things. But his contract always manages to be used against him. 

He wasn’t one too back down however. 

Hence after many arguments with management, he settled by having his specific photocards become harder to find than any other member. Only releasing a limited amount to the public. 

The blonde takes notice of the small decorations she put throughout the small binder. Stickers and past ticket receipts glued onto some of the pages. Even some confetti from their concerts were stapled on there.

It's the thought of her picking up confetti from the stadium floor that has him stifling a laugh in his hand. His shoulders shaking from hidden amusement.

Her eyes slightly widen in shock, it's not often he's so carefree like this. Especially driven to the point of laughter.

But she's thankful to whatever deity is on her side today.

Before he seemed a bit irritated due to the prior fan experience. At least now he's lightened up.

"Wha- hey don't laugh! I had to fight someone on ebay for the special christmas edition card you know!" she adds on, hoping to prolong his cheerful attitude.

"You're so stupid" he mutters under his small chuckles, finally getting a grip after a few seconds. His neutral expression back on his face, but his relaxed posture says otherwise.

His fingers point to the reason for his good spirits, "Why the hell did you staple these flimsy pieces of confetti in here? The color is starting to fade."

"Oh thattttt, it's from your group's first concert when you debuted! I had to keep something to remember that day!"

As he listens to her words, he flips back to the first page, beginning to sign the album with extra precision. Making sure it looks neat in between the silly decorations. 

She's the first one to achieve the completed album after all.

Y/N was definitely one of his first fans since the group debuted.

It's been years since they met at the group's earliest fan events. Honestly it has gotten to the point where he looks for her in the crowd of every concert and event they host these days.

He knows she'll be there. She always is.

Hell, the girl even made a fan account for him. He even dropped a follow a long time ago. Which to this date, is the only other account outside of his group members, that he follows.

Bakugo can still remember the way she showed up to the fan event the next day, practically bawling her eyes out and thanking him.

Her eyes were so puffy and it was a hilarious sight to him.

Somehow everything she does was unpredictable.

"1 more minute"

The group manager reminds everyone.

Bakugo simply rolls his eyes at the pestering voice nearby. Y/N now pouting at the reminder, "I swear the time gets shorter at every fan event!"

"The more fans, the shorter the time. You know this already."

"Hmph I remember when it used to be 5 minutes not 3!"

He hums in acknowledgment. Today was a rare occasion, usually he’d outright refuse to join the other members in events like these.

Though he doesn't mind the time being shortened, some fans are too much or don't even talk at all.

Too intimidated to speak one on one with him compared to the other members.

Not like he was much of a talker in the first place. 

But Bakugo would be lying if he said he didn't want more time with her specifically, "You're coming to the next concert right?"

"Of course!" she shouts out, giving him a look like he’s crazy for even thinking she wouldn’t go.

He gives her a small nod while grabbing the snacks from earlier. Putting them under his desk to save for later, "What row?" 

"Front row this time~" she says squealing with delight, taking out her phone to show him. 

He looks at her screen as she leans over the desk so he can have a better look. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices his bodyguard tensing, clearly wondering if he should intervene.

The blonde simply lifts his hand up to stop him. To which the guard obeys and stays put. 

His gaze goes back on her phone, taking a mental note of what seat number she was gonna be in, "Best view huh?"

"Mhm gotta film for insta! All your fans want me to do a close up fan cam for the new songs. So do your best!"

"Tch I always do amazing, ya idiot" he huffs in her direction.

"30 seconds"

Y/N's smile returns as she holds up her phone, "Before I go, can I get a photo with you Bakugo? It's for your fans, pretty pleaseeeee?"

He groans at her request, he frequently denies such demands from fans but for her-

"Then open the damn camera already. We don’t have much time" he grumbles towards her.

She giggles at his blunt response and quickly scrolls to open her camera app. Clicking the front facing feature and holding up the phone so they can both fit in the frame.

He doesn't move to pose at all. Just sitting there as he stares at the camera with crossed arms over his chest.

Looking like a statue. 

"Aw c'mon, what's with that stoic look? No smile?" she teases while holding in another laugh.

"You're a damn pain" he says, seemingly annoyed but leaning over the table, much to her surprise.

He is considerably close now, staring at the camera as he sticks out the middle finger.

She takes the photo before she can register his pose, then dramatically gasps, "Bakugo! You'll get in trouble! Do another pose, I can't post that!"

"Tch the fuck else am I supposed to do? I ain't doing no damn peace sign."

"Oh! Here, do this!" she uses her other hand to form half a heart, looking at him expectantly to copy her moves.

He stares at the hand gesture, clearly confused, then copies it while staring at the camera, "the hell is this?"

She puts her hand against his, making a full heart as she shines a bright smile, then snapping pics not a moment later.

He finally seems to notice the shape and gives her a small frown, "You're a piece of shit."

"Pftttt this is why you need to be on social media more, or you wouldn't have fallen for it!" she begins cackling as she looks back at the series of photos. His confused look morphing into one of irritation.  

"Take another one, dumbass!"

"Aghhhh fine fine!"

She cuts him some slack and goes to take another one. Now posing with a small finger heart aimed towards the camera.

He stares at her for a few seconds, seemingly in thought.

Then abruptly, deciding to rest his chin on her shoulder. Looking at the camera with a calm expression.

Y/N clicks the button and snaps the photo.

Frankly a bit shy at his pose selection. 

She didn’t even have time to address it since the fans who'd been seated, already began getting up to rotate to the next idol.

He seems to notice how quiet she got and bites back a knowing grin, lifting his head off her shoulder and ruffling her hair.

Guess she’ll always be a fangirl at heart huh. Despite how long they’ve known each other. 

"I'll see you at the concert then" he mutters in a softer voice, that only a rare few get to hear.

He's not a man of many words at events such as these, but his eyes speak for themselves. Those red eyes are so piercing that she has to look away for a second to register her words.

A bashful smile takes on her face as she nods, "Mhm I'll see you!"

She slowly gets up and waves bye to him before walking away, sitting at the other spot with another one of the members.

His gaze lingers on her for a moment, the sound of approaching footsteps making him snap out of his daydream. 

The group manager speaks from behind, "Bakugo, you already know the rules. You should refrain from touching your fans-"

"Her name is Y/N" the blonde swiftly states, interrupting whatever nonsense the other man was gonna say. 

"And no need to lecture me like I'm a rookie. I never touch fans in the first place” he looks back at the guy with a harsh glare, threatening him to continue.  

"Yes I am aware. But with that girl.."

"She's the exception."

The manager's eyes immediately filled with disbelief, looking at Bakugo for further clarification. He was always a bit softer with that girl in particular. But he never confronted the blonde about it till now. 

Bakugo simply gets his sharpie out for the next approaching fan, seemingly unbothered by his previous statement.

"Oh and don't call her a fan either. She's more than that."

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

“-and post!”

A yawn escapes her a few seconds later and she soon decides to call it a night.

She lays down in the comfort of her own bed, resting her head on the plush pillow. Sleeping with a peaceful expression on her face.

Unknowing to the uproar happening on social media.

Katsuki Bakugo was trending online.

The reason? You’re photo with him.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| This is inspired by my current fixation! Recently I’ve been trying to get into kpop to see what the hype was about. Someone recommended TXT for a beginner like myself so I started binge watching their videos for about 2 weeks now. I’m still a massive newbie tho so I’m unfamiliar with lots of stuff regarding kpop. But all the members seem so sweet omg I already love them hehe (also they’re all so pretty like what the hell are those genetics? I’m jealous asf)

[junedenim]

to say good night

sleep can happen anywhere

warnings: fluff, smut, blowie, piv, and raspberries

word count: 3.6k

You watched him make the bed. He was always slow and careful with this kind of thing. It was rhythmic, second nature to tuck the duvet under the mattress and fluff the pillows just right. It was weird for a man to be so careful after sex. The sheets had been a mess covered in each of you. He still spills out of you now, trapped by your underwear. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself but got trapped in the doorway watching this meticulous routine as he changed the navy blue sheets to baby blue ones. You wonder if he has any different coloured sheets or if they are all blue.

He's fixing the nightstand now. His alarm clock that your hand pushed off when he was going down on you. His spine curves, little rivets showing through the skin of his bare back. You get to drag your hand down it tonight when you lie side by side and go to bed with one another. Not just fucking bed but sleeping bed.

And he's so lovely. You're not sure you've ever seen something, especially a man so lovely as he sits down on the bed to fix the time on the clock. His eyes shine back at the glaring red digits. Your hand curls around the doorframe, trying not to give yourself away to him. He's so cautious when he knows he's being watched, but here, he's loose, uncaring, and serene, so serene.

His hair is a fluff mess. One that swirls and makes cascading waterfalls as it tries to fall forward on his face. He slightly jumps at the beeping noise the clock makes and a giggle escapes you, impossible to hold back at his cute, jolting, meticulous, lovely, serene self. No hand covering your mouth hides the giggle. His eyes snap up with the fear he's been caught out like you've accidentally caught him masturbating in his childhood bedroom, not fully grown fixing his alarm clock.

But then he releases, not everything, but just enough to lightly chuckle. "You snooping on me?"

Part of you wants to shrink behind the bathroom door and hide but his laughter is solaceful. "I'm just going to the bathroom," you say as you slowly shut the door.

He laughs, this time more boisterous. It's easy for him to let go when he's making fun of you. "Uh-huh, yeah, right."

"I swear!" You yell back through the closed door as you drop your panties and wipe him out of you (disgusting but not and that almost disgusts you more about how you can be so affected by a person that you start to cherish their semen) and dispose of it. Your cheeks are flushed red in the mirror and you splash water to temper the fire burning its way out.

Exiting the bathroom, he stands by the dresser having covered that gracious bare back with a T-shirt. It makes you want to yell at him for the crime he's committed. It was horrible that he covered his butt with his boxers but this. "Why'd you put a shirt on?"

Alex once again jumps at a surprising sound. He turns around and smirks. "Why'd you put a shirt on?" He counters.

Fair. But it's his shirt and your underwear, isn't that what most guys find sexy? He's in his pajamas, very cutely, but five minutes ago he was coming inside you so a tad more explicit behaviour tonight shouldn't be out of the question. So, if he needs something from you then you'll trail your hands down the shirt, fiddle with the bottom—teasing, of course—and take the garment off, dropping it at his feet as an offering.

His lust-filled eyes work as encouragement, straying you from an insecurity. His hands move from his side and meet the bottom of his shirt. He's slow, much more than you were. You ripped the Band-Aid off, and he's easing it slowly away from the skin. He nearly gets trapped in its collar and has to twist his head back and forth to withdraw from it. Then, he tosses it at your feet, a slight chuckle of embarrassment rippling through him. "Now get in bed," he tells you.

You look toward the pristine sight, something off of HGTV or an Ikea catalogue. "But I don't want to ruin it," you candidly reply. It even has one of those small useless pillows sitting there for merely display purposes.

He walks toward you. "Get in bed," he says with a smirk. He pats your ass giving a light squeeze to your right ass cheek before heading into the bathroom. You look behind you at the closed bathroom door and inch your way to the bed, carefully taking off the small useless pillow. You pull back the duvet and slide into the sea of blue and then you wait.

You see the light spilling out from the bottom crack of the bathroom door. You hear him turn on the sink, the sound of him brushing his teeth. The water shuts off but he doesn't come out immediately. He takes his time and you wish you could peek in on whatever he's doing. Washing his hands, styling his hair, psyching himself up in the mirror, whatever it may be you want to be witness to it.

The door clicks open and he walks out, making his way to the bed and under the covers. He pulls the blankets over both of you and moves close by means of huddling for warmth. Your nipples rub against the blanket, shielding them from his view, but not his imagination. "Are you cold?" He asks.

You shake your head but tighten your hold on the blanket. You are a little cold but mostly nervous, just a tad. He nods and you can see the hesitance spilling from him. There's something intimate about sex but in comparison to this, it's nothing. The personal laying of your figures side-by-side. Your boobs are exposed and his chest is so close your palm can almost touch it. Instead, you two sit in silence, scared to be the first to speak because it's the first time you've done this with each other. 

Because it's not just spending the night or a hook-up, it's something far greater that you can't name. Something you want to work so badly it could kill you. Because he's looking at you like that: eyes warm and shiny, perfect for falling into. Him. Him. Because he's right up against you without touching you and now you have to relinquish yourself to him in a far more vulnerable way than sex. But the idea of falling asleep in his arms seems so nice that you can't bear any distance, even if it is small. 

"Do you always make the bed like that?" You ask him. You relax down into the pillow, turning onto your side to face him more clearly.

His smile grows warmer and it makes your insides feel less cold. "No. I'm neat but I'm not that neat."

"Why'd you do it that way then? Special occasion?" You smile back knowingly. He's always been one for silent gestures. Only the little things you notice way down the line. The little things you know now and the ones you have yet to discover.

He blushes, turning bashfully away from you. "Maybe. Yeah. Thought I'd make it look more homely."

You giggle, not because it's very funny, but because he's very charming. Enough to make any girl giddy. "It looked more like a display room to me but it was very pretty to watch."

Alex turns onto his side now, smirking in such a delight that it pierces through you. "Yeah. And you like to do that stalking thing?"

You bite your lip from mild embarrassment and in an attempt to hide to smile he's forcing increasingly on your face. "You're very cute to watch. I'm sure you know that."

"Well..." He trails off but his hand moves under the covers, landing on the curve of your side, just under your ribs. He's delicate, not trying to make a big deal out of it, the same with everything he does. But you notice. It's hard not to notice that warm touch.

"I don't even think I made my bed this morning," you tell him. Not that it matters much when you're lying in his.

He chuckles and gradually leans closer and closer. "I like to be organized." That's plenty nice under these nice sheets but his lips are far greater as he comes toward yours. He hovers before latching on. It's a smooth grip, nothing harsh as you lock lips. Everything about it flows.

His hand moves up your figure, his thumb lightly caressing the bottom of your boob. Your hand steadies on his shoulder. He feels firm as your hand grazes down his arm before shifting over to his chest, feeling him beneath your hand.

The kissing becomes harsher, not aggressive, but determined passion from both sides. You were drawn together and it felt impossible to ignore, even as things became more rushed. You rolled over and he followed with his body on top. His hand massaged your side and your bodies smushed together, your boobs stuck in between each other in that small space.

"You just changed the sheets," you mumble in the chaos of attached lips.

His lips strayed, moving down from your lips, kissing your chin, and down the column of your neck on that tender part of your throat. "Fuck that. I don't care," Alex kissed into your skin. He paid tribute to your right collarbone, briefly sticking out his tongue and running a line across it. He kissed your shoulder and moved down further to your breasts. 

He licks his way to the nipple, already sensitive from the cold and rubbing up against him. Suddenly, he makes a loud smooching noise and blows a raspberry on it. It's ticklish, erupting impossible to avoid laughter as you push his head away from the affected spot.

"Stop it," you manage to get out. "So much for being sensual."

Alex kisses one of your ribs like it's him and it may be what created you. "I never promised sensuality."

"I thought you making out with my breasts implied that." He laughs and kisses the untouched boob. His lips hover like he's threatening to do it to the other one. "I'll leave if you do it again. What if someone did that to your dick?"

He thinks about it, tossing his head back and forth. "It'd probably feel good." His eyes look away like he’s imagining the pleasure.

Your hands reached down, snaking in between your two bodies. You grab a hold of the waistband of his boxers, snapping it against his skin. "You want to bet?" You push him onto his back, gazing down at him.

"You don't know men very well if you think the threat of a blowjob is gonna scare them off."

Still, you descend him. Your fingers dance on his hip bone. He delightfully protrudes onto you. He conflicts with himself whether to revel in the feeling with his head on the pillow or watch you as you tease him. His eyes remain on you as your pointer finger grasps onto the elastic of his boxers. Edging him in anticipation. A dance between the dainty and the robust. 

You send him a mocking grin, displaying your teeth, latching onto that waistband, dragging it slowly, revealing the bottom portion of his stomach before stopping. You kissed the newly exposed skin as he sucks in a breath like he hasn't taken one in minutes. You press your face into him. Your nose inhaling him into you, the smell of him plain, only a simple bar of soap has passed this area. Yet, however plain, it calms you. You wish to rest your head here for a little while, maybe fall asleep here because he isn't restless here. This is where things calm.

You resume. Your hands drift further down, dipping into his boxers, giving a slight touch to him. Your hands are cold against the warm skin. It might turn him on even more. Finally, you pull his boxers down fully, letting his erection pop out on display. Your hand grabs a hold of it. He shivers from the cold, anticipation, and the soon-to-be relief.

You hold him carefully in your hand like you're observing him scientifically. You need to cover every surface with your eyes, every vein needs to be noted, and the way he twitches should be put in the records. "Come on," he just barely mutters.

It's the complete opposite from earlier when he was quick with you. When you were messy with each other. When alarm clocks were pushed on the floor and sheets were left with no choice but to wash. You're careful now, if not, torturous. Alas, you lick up the side of him to the tip. Your tongue grazes over the slit, enjoying the way it makes him stiff. 

You seal a kiss on it before your mouth covers the top of him. You suck on him, pleasurable for both him and you. Then, you blow a raspberry on him. You wish to capture the way he wiggles around and groans but you're too busy laughing at him. "How was that?"

Alex brings a hand to his head. He rubs his fingers between his eyebrows to calm that distress in him. "Not very sensual." You share a laugh before taking him off guard with how quickly you return to the task at (or in your) hand. 

You stroke him, moving the salvia from the top down to lubricate the bottom. Your mouth covers him again, but this time takes him fully in a slow controlled manner. The pressure pushes against your throat as your nose rubs that spot on his stomach again. You pull yourself off, wiping the string of spit that connects you. Your hand continues its work as you kiss his hip, then the top of his thigh, then his pelvis, then his penis.

His hand stops you from taking him completely in your mouth again. "Get on me."

"What?" You question.

"Let me fuck you again." He's almost begging, his eyes fluttering shut and his grasp on your upper arm strengthening. "Please."

"What about the bed?" It was so nice moments ago but the blankets have been thrown and the sheets exposed, a trace of your spit already covering them.

He shakes his head on the pillow, trying not to lose the moment. He pinches that glabella. "Let's just fuck on the fucking floor."

You hesitate on the bed but he's quick, already has his knees pressed on the cold wood floors. He reaches a hand up to you, which you take, kicking your feet out and meeting him on the floor. "I'm gonna get a splinter from this."

He laughs, placing his hands on your waist, his thumb stroking up and down. "How do you want to do this?" He doesn't hesitate, dragging your panties off as soon as he can.

"I don't know. It was your idea. Just fuck me, I guess."

"Okay," he mutters like he's still trying to figure it out himself. He looks around, trying to place the space on the floor, and then kisses you, overpowering you. You're on your back, your shoulders grazing the floor's rug. You could start a fire with the way your skin brushes against it. You clutch his neck to grasp on something desperately as he moves himself through your folds, soaked up in you.

Now, it's sensual as he eases slowly into you. It's barely anything but then it's barely nothing. Everything is touched and you were just like this less than an hour ago but it already feels different. The way his eyes land on you is much softer and his touch is caring. There's no rushing, roughness, or scratching. It's tender, graceful, and clutching. He's powering but not overtly. His hips snap but not aggressively.

It's fulfilling. He kisses every nerve ending in you. It's making love in all those stupid, cheesy, romance movie kind of ways but it's him and it's you, something yet to fully be explored and you get to be a first-hand witness to every touch he lands on you. His thumb strokes you so carefully but it lights you up completely. 

You arch up into him and you know he's much closer than you are, so, you reach up and smooth your hand over his cheek before wrapping your arm around his neck. You whisper into his ear for him to let go and give himself over to you. It's late and tiring, it's like falling asleep in each other's arms as he lets go into you.

Everything in him is sensitive. He shudders as everything comes over him. He buries his head into your neck, rubbing his nose against your jugular. Your hand runs through his hair as he groans the last bits of relief into your skin. It's content. Your heart rates settle against one another as if you're beating in time with one another. 

Alex starts to move again, even slower than before, but he's not willing to let this go. He doesn't like it just being about him. He doesn't like all that attention. So, he gives it, gives it all over, fucking you with the remnants of him still inside you. 

His overstimulation settles as he begins to rush forward. The thumb stroking picks up right over your clit and it's cold hands on warm flesh. It's so divine, an enhancement. It's not just a regular touch, it's an imprint as the cold seeps into you and he drives himself into you. He groans and you moan but it's all whispers for just one another. No soul will ever hear each other this way because it's never been like this before and you're not sure it will ever be like this again, even with him. It's a sliver of time for just the two of you.

Each of your breathing grows heavy and your hips lift. It all moves quicker and you can feel the rug burn forming on your skin as you come. It overrides anything. You clutch onto him in any way possible. Your hands in his hair, your legs around his waist, him still sitting inside you. It's a release. Completely. 

When everything relaxes just enough, your grasp loosens and he rolls beside you onto his back. You tilt your head slightly up to look at his profile, even with barely any light in the room it's scenic. It's like looking out at the ocean from the cliff. 

He has steadied himself when he turns his head over to meet your eyes. "Good?" It could mean a number of things. If you're okay, if the sex was okay, if you're alright staying here on the floor forever.

Either way, you are. "Good," you answer in the affirmative. You reach out to him, pushing his hair back so you can get the best view of his eyes. "You?"

Alex nods. His eyes are obviously tired, fluttering with the wind. "We should get back in bed."

"Or stay here for a minute more," you suggest because the moment will be gone, ending forever, the second you stand up from this small cocoon of space.

He doesn't reject the idea. His body is so relaxed against the wood. "When I was younger," he tells you, "I used to sleep on the floor because I was scared of my bed."

It's a privilege to know these small stories about him. To run your fingers through his hair as he tells you a childhood story that has him smiling. "Why?" You ask.

Alex shifts closer, his arm landing over your waist. He tugs you closer to him as if he wants to absorb you, live in one body with you. It almost feels like that in this small space where your breaths duel one another. "I don't know. It was my first big kid bed. I think I thought monsters lived in there."

You squint. "So you slept closer to where they lived under your bed?"

He chuckles and gives a light squeeze to your side. "I was four, I had no logic."

You recall, "I used to just sleep in my parents' room. Might've caused their divorce." Your hand drifts away from his hair and down to his back, at long last rubbing down his spine, feeling those notches in him. If he sleeps on his stomach, you might wake him up tomorrow by kissing your way down those vertebrae.

"Why?" He questions just like you.

"They could never have sex 'cause I was in there all the time." There's laughter shared, an increased amount, maybe because you just had sex and you'll have plenty more sex but for now you'll lie here. You want to squeeze him in between your fingers, pinch a piece off of him, and carry it around with you in your bag, in your pocket, in your skin.

His hand moves to your back, moving along your spine, massaging the muscles around it. "I walked in on them once. I think I'll take your side of things," he said. He pulled a disgusted face before dusting a smile. "I thought they were wrestling."

Your laughter is loud, infectious and it makes him laugh too and you'll get up off the floor at some point but for now, you'd like to stay here in a world with just the two of you.

*

a/n: i like this one. maybe because i was more relaxed when i wrote it. excuse yet another 'perfect sense' title, it just fits so well. thanks, bye.

[lovexjoe]

In Love With A Stripper Part 1 

Synopsis: what happens when a big time cartel meets a stripper? Warning: drugs, language, mention of death, prostitution 

Xiomara was turning 19 today. She’s been stripping since she was 18 and no this isn’t one of those “trying to get to the bag” stories. She doesn���t have a choice. Her boyfriend at the time was killed during a bad drug deal. Which left her to raise a son all on her own. Stripping pays the bills and teaching during the day allows her to save up. She’s trying to move back to the States, if she was by herself she would just pick up and go. But Ricky needed stability and daycare cost a lot in the US on top of housing. 

Tonight was a big night at the strip club as the cartels are celebrating a birthday today. Ricky was with his grandma, who truly felt sorry that Xiomara had to do this. Her son passing the way he did wasn’t ideal but he made his bed and now he sleeps in it 6ft under. Xiomara still provided money to her because her late boyfriend always helped out and it was one of his last wishes. Plus she really was the only family she had. 

Her stage name was Luna. She had one rule, never sleep with anybody. Her friend Chichi at the club informed her she might have to give it up for one night, cause these men pay. They were currently in the alley way grabbing some cocaine and other pills for the girls back at the strip. It helped numb the pain from the heels or whatever reason they had to do it. Spinning around on a pole looking like a fucking Barbie doll will do it to you. She never judged, she just never participated. 

“Chichi dale! I don’t want the rest of the girls getting the best poles. I got stuck on the loose one in the back yesterday and almost busted ass” Xio grew impatient as they wait for the plug to pull up. She acted a certain way around these girls to blend in. During the day she was squeaky clean for the kids she taught. They waited another minute when a man showed up, his eyes meeting Xio’s immediately. She stared at him back as she watched their transaction. He looked filthy rich yet here he was making a quick buck off of women. Disgusting. 

“You doing sum of this?” He looks at her and she shakes her head. 

“Nah not for me.” Interesting he thought. It wasn’t for him either. Her Bambi eyes making her look innocent. She’s still a stripper after all….

“We’ll see you inside Aretas! Move ya ass Luna we’re late already!” Chichi walked as fast as she could in her heels with Xio trailing behind her. 

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” He calls out to her. Xio turns and salutes him. 

“Thanks jefe!” Xio says before laughing to herself. To think that’s what Andres was doing before he left this earth left a sour taste in her mouth. An interaction like that cost him his life. 

~~~~

The girls dove into their choice of drug before heading out on the floor. Xio touched up her lipgloss, sprayed her perfume and headed out on stage. Armando entered the strip with a group of his homies. Tonight was a night for celebration. What’s being in the cartel and committing crime if you can’t celebrate right? His mom’s escape is set for next week, so they have to blend and do their usual shenanigans which is going out. Laying low would cause some suspicions. 

The girl from earlier caught his eye. She seemed pretty young to be working in the strip but then he remembered Mexico wasn’t all it was made out to be. Yes, it’s beautiful but you get caught up with the wrong crowd your future vanishes in an instant. The strip club had a scent of perfume, hookah and sweat. Not the greatest pairings. He saw Chichi his regular, they usually vibe together but tonight….he wanted her. After drinking and vibing out with his friends they all disperse to their private rooms for a dance. 

“Alright lover boy. Who you picking tonight. It’s on the house.” Armando glances around as the manager of this place follows his eyes. He saw her, rotating the pole so elegantly, her eyes alone could make a man empty his pockets. He nods his head in her direction. 

“Her.” 

“Luna! She’s the youngest one here. Have at it pal!” Armando tensed up wanting to punch him in his shit but realized this environment comes with that type of fuckery. He walks over to her, admiring as she spins her way down from the top of the pole to the bottom. She started to dance around the pole, working her body to the beat. They both lock eyes as she walks over to him like a pretty little kitten. 

“May I have a dance? Birthday boy is owed it.” She looks him up and down, taking his hand and leading him to the back. She was thinking about their interaction earlier. So the drug dealer that was outside was Aretas not some random. Well….at least the bills will be paid for months for these girls. He is what everyone says he is: handsome but those looks definitely killed.

He sits down as the music changed to Persian Rugs by PartyNextDoor. She closes the curtain, walking over to him, touching from his shoulders down to his thighs her hands slowly glided. If she was gonna go against her rules for one night it was going to be worth it. She’d rather it be him then some old fuck anyway. Turning around, she starts to give him a lap dance and he’s completely in a trance. 

He’s come in here a handful of times and nothing left him satisfied, but this one she has him hooked. He hoped she was new because if he has overlooked her this entire time he’d be annoyed. Simply because she doesn’t try too much as if she’s just trying to slip under the radar. She worked her waist line and he couldn’t help but touch her as she grinds her ass against him. His hands falling on her waist, he took control, making her grinds slow and pressed up against his bulge. 

You’re usually not suppose to touch, but the way his hands steered her body she didn’t want to object. His cologne and natural scent just gave off money and gave her stomach butterflies too. He made her slow down, her pussy completely pressed up on his bulge. She started to feel herself getting hot. She hasn’t been with anyone since Andres passing a year ago. What’s up with her and drug dealers anyway?! 

He pulls her backwards so she’s completely laying against his chest as she starts to ride his thigh. Her body was so sensitive she could feel every movement against her clit. What the fuck is happening right now. He caresses her cheek, tilting her face to look up at him. 

“Fuck mami, can I kiss you?” Their foreheads touching. 

“Yes” she says breathless. Without hesitation their lips touched, Armando didn’t know what came over him tonight, but it was his birthday after all and she seem to be the only girl that didn’t throw herself at him. She turns her body around to face him. Her hands pulling his body as close as she could have him. Their bodies just melted into each other like as if they were made for this moment. Two puzzle pieces. Armando feels her shaky breaths against his lips and knew this wasn’t an occurrence on a daily basis or probably ever. Most of these strippers were numbed down to the bones yet this Bambi eyed princess has nerves. 

They slowly pull away, but he holds her still. She shouldn’t be cooped up in the club and ogled at. She seemed too delicate to be working here, her skin so soft but her hands had callouses. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“Get dressed, you’re coming with me.” 

“I-I can’t I have to stay here or else-“ 

“I’ll handle it. Just get dressed for me and I’ll pick you up out back.” She agrees and heads out to the dressing room. She didn’t think she had a choice in that decision. She texted Andres’s mom letting her know that she’ll be out for the rest of the night. She changed into her cargo pants and t shirt with sneakers and heading out back.

She has no idea where this night will take her. 

Taglist: @yeahnohoneybye @cardi-bre91 @onlysarang @romanreignsluver1 @minwn

@armandosbabymama @dyttomori @bbyplutosblog @vergilnelosparda @believeinthefireflies95

Let me know your thoughts below 🤍

[samsno1]

Hi, idk how often you do requests but could you do a mid season Sam fic. The reader is with the FBI with the unexplained cases and she meets the brothers. It would be funny if they tried to convince her that they are also with the FBI and she somehow catches them in their lie. They work together in the case and Sam and the reader end up falling for eachother. Thanks you so so much!!!!

Caught

Sam Winchester X F!Reader

this took me so long to write i'm so sorry. i don't reeeeally like the ending but i did the best i could. i hope this is what you expected bby <3

Summary: You were assigned a complex case and you end up meeting two very weird men who were, apparently, also FBI agents but...why are they named after famous rockstars?

Warnings: FLUFF, descriptions of murderer, murder scenes and violence (usual supernatural shenanigans), sam is an 'intimidating woman enjoyer™', use of Y/N, the writer (me) has no idea how fbi works because she isn't an USA resident, NOT PROOF READ, english is not my first language

W.C.: 8,8k

enjoy!

You had climbed the ladder in the world of criminology considerably fast considering your age. Getting into the FBI in your late 20s was probably one of your biggest achievements and, of course, men tended to make disgusting comments about how such a young woman got such a difficult job – including claiming you opened your legs to get this far. You didn’t mind, actually, it added to your ego to be above those guys – as if they even deserved to be in a job that required empathy towards the victims.

Still, even your superior was shocked at the case he found. A couple had been killed inside their room without any signs of forced entry. All doors and windows were locked and nothing inside the house had been stolen; the bodies seemed to be torn apart from the inside out since there were no knife or bullet wounds and he put you on the case. He thought you would have the abilities to deal with something like this – ‘you’re a prodigy’ he had said – and the guts. The crime scene was absolutely vile; there was blood everywhere and their faces had the skin peeled off to the point their cranial bones were visible. You had seen some stuff, but nothing like this.

The first thing that you did when you got to town was talking with the local police so that you’d learn more about the town’s history with murderers – especially the unexplainable ones. They told you something close to an urban legend: the house that the couple was renting was cursed according to the locals. Decades ago, three kids got killed by their parents in rage, who committed suicide afterwards. They never found the kids bodies and the case went cold after a few years, the police giving up on finding their remains. You found that absolutely unacceptable, giving up on children like that should be a crime, but it wasn’t up to you. Ever since the assassination, every person that rented or bought the house died in unexplainable ways and the police had started to practically ignore or do the bare minimum on the case.

“We’ve been having problems with that house for years” Said the sheriff, a man with a grown out beard, deep eyebags and average height. Not what you would expect for a sheriff given his dismissiveness towards you and the mess his office was. “The previous sheriff also received complaints from townsfolk regarding the place but we could never find out anything. There were no clues, no suspects, just…nothing” He finished, his arms waving around tiredly.

“This is probably why they put the FBI on the case” You said to yourself, guaranteeing the man wouldn’t hear you. You took notes on your notebook, your legs crossed as you sat in front of the sheriff, his table between both of you. You could sense his eyes on you and feel his unasked question floating around in the air. “Anything else, Sheriff?” You asked, looking up from your notes.

He seemed to wake up from his thoughts, shaking his head lightly at you. “No it’s just…Why do you need three FBI agents to work on this?” He asked, on edge, a worry line prominent in his aged face as he squinted at you. Three? You furrowed your eyebrows and leaned back on the chair, closing your notebook.

“I’m not aware of the other two working alongside me” You say. You thought about what your boss had told you and didn’t remember him saying anything about partners, especially two. You usually worked alone most of the time, functioning better on your own. Then again, this was a difficult case, maybe they thought it was better than one federal agent working on this.

“They came by earlier today, asking about the same house and the murderers. They were tall, one of them was…very tall and had long hair. The other one was less serious and, honestly, unprofessional. I think they said they were agent Page and Plant” The sheriff filled you in and now this seemed like a joke. You raised an eyebrow. You had a peculiar taste in music considering it was the 2000s and your father barely listened to anything further than the 90s, resulting in you growing up to know most of the rock bands that were at their highest from the 60s to the 90s. That included Led Zeppelin. And it would be too big of a coincidence for both guys to work together with last names such as those.

“I’ll talk to them about the case, thank you very much Sheriff” You say, raising yourself from the chair and extending a hand to politely shake his. You walked out of his office with a question in your mind and thought about looking up Page and Plant on the database to see if anything showed up when you got to your room tonight. For now, you had to take a look at the crime scene while it was still daylight.

–

Your car’s engine died down as you turned the key. You opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting your suit over the white button down you wore underneath. You shoved your car key in your pocket and, when you looked up, you saw another car that easily stood out from the others around the street – a black Chevrolet Impala which you couldn’t guess the specific year just by looking. It was a very beautiful car and you secretly praised in your mind whoever owned it – it seemed well taken care of.

You walked to the crime scene, taking your badge in hand to show it to the police officer that took care of the place when you saw two men, also in suits, talking with one of the officers – two tall men, one had longer hair. The officer approached you as you got closer and you simply showed your badge to him before he nodded and lifted up the ‘crime scene’ tape for you to go underneath. You ducked down and mumbled a thank you as you made a beeline towards the two guys.

You wondered what you were going to say and how you were going to question them about their identity without seeming like you’re assuming anything. As you walked closer, they were finishing their conversation and were turning to leave making you almost bump right into them. They stumbled back and you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Who are you?” The shorter one asked you and you took the badge out of your pocket again with a sigh, making sure he reads your name and sees the picture of you that clearly stated you were a federal. He hummed and looked towards his partner, a silent conversation going on between them. You interrupt.

“And you?” You ask and they get their own badges out. You extend a hand to the taller one, silently asking you if you could take a look at it. He gave it to you willingly, which was one less red flag to take into consideration. You looked through everything and it all seemed alright…until you looked at the name on the bottom. Jimmy Page. Is this serious? You look up at them with a judging look and you see the tallest swallow harshly. “Your parents were big Led Zeppelin fans I assume” You say.

“Yeah, yeah they– ha– they were” Jimmy says in a way that’s not believable at all, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The shorter one closes his eyes and shakes his head discreetly in disappointment – which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You give Page his badge back and turn to – apparently – Plant.

“I didn’t know that I would have partners in this case, but maybe it’s for the better. What did you find out about the case? Just so we are on the same page” You look between both of them. Plant nudges his partner in the ribs and, before mumbling somewhat of a curse to Plant after practically jumping in place, Page starts to explain to you about their side of the investigation. He seemed professional enough, with a notebook in his hands as he told you everything they could make up from what they knew so far, even sharing with you his assumptions. You were impressed as you started telling him about what you thought – a weird case, too many murders, few clues…Plant stayed quiet most of the time until about halfway through your conversation he said he was going back to his car and you took that as a hint to call it a day.

“Well, I think we are going to work well together, Agent L/N” Page says with a polite smile and you nod, smiling yourself. You took one of your cards where your professional number was written on along with your name and offered it to him. He gently took it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Just in case you have anything else to share” You said and he nodded, a strand of his hair falling over his face, which he mindlessly put back with a brush of his hand. “It was great meeting you, Agent Page”

“You too” He said and, sensing the end of the encounter, you started to walk back to your car. You still couldn’t shake the thought of those two being too suspicious for your liking and you were determined to look them up and see if Agents Jimmy Page and Robert Plant actually existed. You walked fast, your heels knocking against the concrete and you didn’t notice Page’s eyes on you, lost in the movement of your hair as you walked away. What woke him up from his trance, though, was his partner honking and signaling for him to hurry up. He rolled his eyes and walked to his own car, stealing one last glance at you. You turned your head back right on cue, giving him a polite smile and a small wave. He awkwardly waved goodbye back and started to walk to the honking Impala.

You had assumed the unknown car belonged to them and you had written down the plate in your notebook discreetly – just in case. You were impressed by their ability – well, Page’s ability – to analyze crime scenes but you weren’t stupid. You couldn’t just erase the fact that you had no idea who those two were and you were determined to find out, one way or another.

–

Meanwhile, in the Impala, Sam got inside the car in the passenger’s side, almost hitting his head on the roof – like he did most days. Dean was impatiently waiting for him to get in until he saw something clasped in his brother’s hand, his eyes quietly scanning the white paper. In Sam’s distraction, Dean reached for it before he could react. “Hey!”

“You got her number? Wow Sam, never thought of you like that” Dean teased as he looked through your name written in cursive writing and your phone number right under it. Sam snatched the small card back from his brother and shoved it in his pocket, glaring at Dean.

“Shut up man, this is her professional number, she gave it to me so we could talk” He defended as he put his seatbelt on. He mindlessly brushed a hand through his hair again, getting it out of his face as he heard Dean chuckle to himself as Baby’s engine roared to life. Sam looked back to his brother and waited for more teasing to come – as it always did.

“Yeah, talk.” He said, the double meaning in his words floating around in the air but being ignored by Sam. Dean pressed his foot on the pedal so the car would start to move as he shifted into gear. “Besides, she’s an actual FBI agent, don’t you think she’s going to suspect that we aren’t?”

“Dean, I did go to law school, I can manage my way out of this” Sam said with a mischievous smile. He really thought he could, he knew he was smart and he was a damn good liar – he lied in college for a very long time about who he was and what his family did. Not something to be proud of but it came in handy, especially when both him and his brother were in trouble. He had practically lied his whole life about who he truly was, not entirely giving away specific details – especially those who involved his family. Sometimes he regretted it – like he did with Jess – but it was always safer not to know, for both parties. Or so he thought.

“Don’t think she’s stupid–”

“I don’t think she’s stupid–”

“Let me finish” Dean scolded, raising a hand to silence his brother, his eyes still on the road. It was often funny to pay attention to their brotherly behavior and how anyone could know who was the oldest just by these simple interactions. Dean raised his hand and Sam silenced, listening, like how it was when they were kids. “Don’t think she’s naive, she is in the FBI, working alone on a case. I don’t know much about federals but I’m sure that’s not for everyone”

Sam stayed quiet. He knew Dean was right but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Still, he really didn’t think you were stupid, it was impossible to. The way you talked about the case in detail, relating your point of view and what you could gather in a few hours was more than enough evidence to show him you deserved this job more than anyone. He wasn’t used to seeing women in this field, but everytime he did he was convinced that men were definitely unfairly placed higher. Yet, he still didn’t want to get arrested again so he needed to convince you that he and Dean were legitimately federals.

The conversation drifted away in another direction as Sam stared out the window and replied to the small talk Dean made with him every now and then – when he didn’t crank up the volume once Metallica came into the radio playing Creeping Death while they were talking. With a chorus of ‘Die, die!’ being sung by Dean while he beat his hands on the steering wheel to the drum rhythm, Sam’s mind drifted away and he fell asleep with a head against the window, the tiredness of sleepless nights catching up to him.

–

These fuckers. You thought to yourself as you stared mouth agape to the pictures of who you learned were actually Sam and Dean Winchester – not Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. Two brothers, presumed dead a couple years ago.

Your coffee sat cold over the wooden table of the hotel you were staying the night at. You had already changed into your pajamas and taken a hot shower when you decided to take a look at the case again. Two hours later you remembered the two men you encountered and, when you looked a bit deeper in the police files, the results were horrifying. It actually wasn’t that hard to find out about them, a quick look through the FBI database and you found their exact faces – even if Pag- Sam’s hair was relatively shorter then now. You were beyond pissed, especially at yourself, how could you not have known this? How could you let yourself get played like this? Just because the tall guy was a bit of a nerd and kind of cute? Ugh!

You started pacing around your room, not knowing what to do. Confronting them could kill you, they were murderers after all, according to the database, they had killed civilians and federal agents equally as much. You were strong, both physically and mentally, but there was no way you were escaping two guys that were over six feet tall and weighed about two hundred pounds each. You had to play smart, you had to catch them in a weak moment and then. Bingo. You stopped in your tracks and – like a lightbulb lightened up above your head – you had the perfect plan. You had to wait until the next day for you to execute it but it was going to be worth it. You sent their mugshots to your phone through your e-mail and any other evidence that you could use against them.

You still felt slightly weirded out about them. They didn’t seem dangerous, they didn’t freak out the moment they saw you and they were confidently adding to the investigation with actual useful analysis. You were looking deeper through their files and found out they lost their mother in a fire at a very young age – the youngest wasn’t even one year old yet – and their father had died a couple years ago, in ‘06. They had a pretty sketchy life, living off stolen credit cards and fake identities but something interesting you found out was that Sam Winchester actually went to college, he went to Stanford and your eyes widened at that. You wondered what made him quit, maybe his father dying and his brother needing him, maybe he got kicked out, still, going to college after having a childhood like that was more than impressive.

You kept reading about them until the late hours of the night and you only noticed you fell asleep over the papers you left on the table and your computer when a phone ringing startled you awake. The noise echoed inside your head and, as you lifted your head, the sunlight getting into the room through the curtains hurt your eyes. You only noticed how bad you’d slept when you felt a pain shoot through your neck and down your back as you turned your head to look for the phone – great. You groaned and felt around the table with your hand until you felt the square shape of the device and its humming. You clicked to answer after slightly clearing your throat so you’d seem less sleepy and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello, Agent L/N speaking”

“Hey Y/N, how are things going?” The voice of your boss made you unconsciously straighten your back and swallow harshly. You looked at the time on your computer and your heart fell to your stomach. 11:36AM – shit! 

“Hey Sir, everything is running smoothly. I’m currently collecting evidence and later I’m going to the morgue so I can look through the autopsy”

“That’s great, you always do a great job kid” He said and you could feel him smiling on the other side of the line. You felt bad for kind of lying but you had been worrying about other stuff last night.

“Thank you Sir, I’ll report back to you as soon as possible” You reply.

You talked for a while longer as you disclosed the case and, when he finally hung up, it was already past noon. As you got ready for your day, doing your daily morning routine as quickly as you could, you felt your stomach rumble when you got out of the shower, reminding you that you hadn’t had breakfast. You decided then that it was better to stop at a diner or somewhere so you could eat something to go on with your day – since it was already lunchtime you couldn’t necessarily call this brunch. You finished getting ready, putting on your shoes and grabbing the keys to your car while you looked up the closest place to eat something quick.

You drove to the nearest diner that had a decent rating and stopped at the parking lot. When you looked around, you couldn’t believe your luck – or rather the lack of it. The infamous Impala was parked a couple meters from you in all its glory. You audibly sighed but you couldn’t just find another place to eat as quickly, besides, you know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Maybe eating at the same place as them was actually a good strategy. You grabbed your wallet and locked your car, confidently walking towards the diner entrance.

The bells dinged above your head as you got in, some eyes looking your way with the noise – including Sam’s. Him and his brother were sitting in a booth in the far corner of the diner, Sam turned in the direction of the door and Dean facing away from it, in his brother’s direction. Sam had his laptop open in front of him as he ate a salad, Dean was eating a burger. Thay had probably been talking before you came in because when you came through the door Sam went quiet as he looked over his brother’s shoulder and Dean kept talking, hunched over his food. You couldn’t listen to their conversation but you gave Sam a slight smile and a nod, your stomach turning as you faked sympathy, as if you didn’t just friendly greet a murderer. He nodded back and that's when Dean slightly turned to look behind him and see you, nodding as well.

You started to walk towards their table, the weight of your hidden gun on your hip more than evident. Just keep calm, you were trained for this. You decided to keep to yourself that you knew their true identity, after all, you were one step ahead of them and, deep down, you knew they could be useful. Their intelligence was beyond impressive – faking your death wasn’t something easy to do. You stood above them with a gentle smile.

“Hello agents, mind if I sit with you?” You asked as politely as you could. Sam scooted almost instantly, changing the placement of his laptop to the side of the window. You didn’t miss the eyebrow raise his brother gave him.

“Hey Ms. L/N. No, not at all, make yourself comfortable” He said, smiling at you. He has dimples you mentally stated.

“Yeah, please” Dean agreed, stretching a hand to the seat beside Sam. His voice was slightly muffled thanks to the food in his mouth and you internally cringed as you could see the chewed food when he talked.

“Thanks. No need to call me by my last name, you can just call me Y/N” You simply said as you sat down, looking almost immediately to the computer screen open in newspapers that dated a couple years back. Murders in the same house all with the same time frame from each other. “I see you work even while you were supposed to be on your break, careful not to burn out Agent Page” You said, looking at his side profile. He seemed embarrassed as your sweet voice got to his ears and awkwardly laughed.

“You know…you don’t need to call me Agent Page, that is just an alias, call me Smith, Sam Smith. That’s Dean Wesson” He said. Huh, claiming aliases, smart move Winchester. “And yeah, I’ve been taking a look at the history of the place, apparently–”

“It’s timed killing” You finished. You scooted slightly closer, pointing your finger to the screen where the date of the newspaper was written at. “Every two years on the same date someone was brutally murdered in the house.”

“Yeah and inside the same room too” Dean pointed out. That you hadn’t noticed. A waiter coming to get your order interrupted the conversation you three were having to get your order. You quickly looked through the menu deciding to eat the quickest and most nutritious stuff there could be at a diner. You thanked the boy that took your order and he walked in long strides towards the kitchen. You came back to the talk you were having with the two brothers and Dean continued. “The master suite. And always couples, someone seems to hate true love” He joked.

“Apparently. Have any ideas for suspects yet?” You asked. If you were going to play pretend you might as well acquire some useful information with it. The boys shared a look between them that they thought you wouldn’t catch, but you weren’t FBI for no reason.

“None yet, still looking into it” Sam said, suddenly seeming on edge, shifting his placement on the booth. You were good at reading body language, it was one of the main qualities that got you in the FBI, interrogating criminals was easy exactly because they couldn’t lie. When you learned their behavior and played your way into their head it destroyed them because even if they were silent, even if they didn’t say anything, you knew what they were lying about – flinching when you mention a certain name or changing the leg they were crossing under the table when you named an address. So, Sam couldn’t hide from you earlier, imagine now that you were inches away.

“Really?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and turning your torso slightly more in his direction, leaning your elbow on the table. He was trapped. You thought about confronting them here, questioning them about their identity in public but you thought better – they definitely had guns on them and two beats one. Either way, you’d put him in a challenging situation, confronting him without even disagreeing verbally. He felt intimidated and now seemed unsure of his own conclusion – how you loved playing these games.

“I mean there’s barely any clues” He laughed nervously. “I was going to call you to see if you had any idea”

“I don’t either, as you said, no leads” You said. The waiter arrived with your food right then and you politely thanked him, drifting away from the conversation you were having with Sam as you started to eat. This time you weren’t paying attention and Dean questioned Sam with a look. What is she on? And the youngest shrugged. You swallowed your food with a pleasant hum, just now noticing how hungry you truly were. “I was thinking we could go to the morgue, if you haven’t already. Take a look at the bodies, see if we find anything”

You were purposefully playing right into their game, faking cluesness and at the same time taking advantage of their abilities to solve the case. It was more important to you to solve whatever was going on to bring peace back to this town than to arrest the brothers who were supposed to be dead. You’d learned that men tended to believe that you were stupid very easily, that you had no idea what you were doing and you started using that to have your way with them. With big doe eyes and feigned innocence you could get very far.

“That’s where we were going later actually. It’s good if you tag along” Sam tells you.

“I would even if you didn’t want me to” You said, joking, but not really. Your tone was humorous  but your smile was bitter. They didn’t seem to notice though and Sam even chuckled slightly at your sarcasm. You noticed the dimples in his cheeks and how boyish his smile was, full of bright white teeth and sincerity. You almost felt bad for being rude until you remembered they were killers – even if they didn’t look like it. Sam didn’t seem the type to brutally murder someone, Dean seemed too stupid to be able to get away with it for so many years, even faking his own death and walking around normally – you’d bet he was the one with the idea to put the name of famous rockstars as FBI aliases.

By the time the conversation was over, so was your food. You left enough money for the bill and a tip and stood up from the booth. “Okay, well, let’s go, we have a lot to do today boys” You said, adjusting your suit, unnecessarily dusting it off. You eyed Dean’s plate, the mess he made similar to how a child would eat. You would have laughed if you were in a more friendly situation. You looked at Sam and with a smile you said: “Don’t be late pretty boy, I’ll be waiting for you”

Then you turned around, politely nodded goodbye to Dean and started walking away, holding back a laugh. Sam stood still, stunned as he stared at you walked out the door, the bells above you ringing twice – one for when you pulled the door, the other after you let it smoothly close behind you. Dean was staring too, his bright green eyes filled with confusion. Once he turned to look at Sam he saw his younger brother completely zoned out, looking in the direction where you once were. He snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face, who immediately looked at Dean.

“Pretty boy?” Dean questioned, holding back a smirk as Sam rolled his eyes.

“Dean…”

“She’s got you man. I get it, strong and intimidating women, I understand, I understand”

“That’s not it, she seems…off” Sam points out, looking at the door once more to make sure you wouldn’t come back and leaning closer to unnecessarily speak in a lower voice to Dean. “I think she might be an it, the monster we are looking for”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”

“The way she’s acting is, I don’t know, weird”

“Look Sam I know you’re not used to having women hit on you but that doesn’t mean they are monsters” Dean teased, Sam gritted his teeth.

“Dean, I’m serious!”

“Okay, alright, we are going to investigate then” Dean said, raising his hands in fake surrender to his brother’s scolding. “But it doesn’t make sense to me. Didn’t we consider it to be a vengeful spirit?”

“Maybe, or maybe we are dealing with something completely different”

“Alright smart-ass, but if you’re wrong you owe me a six pack”

Sam scoffed but he wasn’t one to turn down any bet. He had thought your behavior was weird the moment you stepped foot in the diner. The questions you asked, the way you would constantly question his abilities, there was something going on and he could sense it. Besides, he liked betting with Dean, especially winning, so there was no way he wasn’t accepting his brother’s challenge.

“Deal” Sam said, hitting his palms against the table and standing up, ready to leave and go to the morgue. Dean followed his movements and stood up with a cheeky smile, taking out his wallet to pay for the food.

–

At the morgue, you waited about 5 minutes until they arrived. When they walked up to the entrance you were waiting at, Sam and Dean saw you in a much more serious state as you read through your notes and made annotations here and there. The noise of their footsteps made you look up and put your little notebook back in your pocket and place your pen behind your ear. You crossed your arms in front of your body and waited for them to get closer. Your heels were starting to hurt the bottom of your feet from standing too long in the same place and you were overwhelmed with different emotions – towards the men and yourself.

You weren’t necessarily scared of Sam and Dean, you were trained not to be, but it was never in your plans to be alone in a city with federal criminals, it would be downright ignorant not to be at least nervous with the situation. You were keeping yourself friendly without giving away any hint that you might know who they were, debating internally which would be the worst case: if you confronted them or stuck beside them for longer – what’s that say again? Friends close, enemies closer.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam called you and you turned your lips upwards in some-kind of a smile. He mirrored your expression and you caught his dimples again, your eyes wandering around his face. You broke the stare when Dean cleared his throat and, when you looked at him, he had his eyebrows furrowed, giving Sam a side-eye – more like a diagonal one, since, well, Sam was a big guy. In your own trance you hadn’t noticed how Sam was also looking at you like you were a beautiful piece of art – damn it, focus.

You also cleared your throat and that seemed to wake Sam up. “Hello Sam, Dean” You said, nodding to each “Shall we go inside? The longer we take the further the killer goes, come on” You turned your back to the and started walking inside the morgue. Dean waited until you walked further and held Sam by the elbow, making the youngest look at him in confusion.

“Stop that” Dean whisper-yelled.

“Stop what” Sam whispered back.

“Whatever your eyes are doing, I’m gonna puke if you keep that up”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You stop it, you’re reading too much into it”

“Hey, you are the one that said she might be dangerous and, honestly, you are kind of a monsterfu-”

“Dean!” Sam pushed his shoulder to shut him up.

“C’mon you were hypnotized, maybe that’s what she does, or you are just in love” Dean shrugged his shoulders, holding back a grin. He loved making Sam mad.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go now or do you have any other stupid remarks?” Sam didn’t wait for an answer as he followed the direction you went in. Dean mocked his brother, mimicking Sam’s words to himself in a high pitched tone and went along.

You were already putting your gloves on when they came into the room, the dead bodies laying before you - or at least what was left of them. The lower part of the couple’s bodies was covered beneath the pale blue blankets and both torsos were exposed. It was an awful sight and, if you were about ten years younger, you would’ve puked. Everything was dilacerated, they were practically disfigured, their faces barely recognizable. Huge gashes adorned their bodies that even cleaned up still looked absolutely vile. Behind you, Dean hissed.

“Wow” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, very brutal, whoever did this wanted them to feel the pain” You said, snapping the latex gloves against your wrist and grabbing the file about the autopsy in your hands. You skimmed through the words and placed it back on the table where it previously was, turning back to the bodies to see Sam already looking through them, Dean putting on the blue gloves the mortuary offered. You approached Sam’s side and crossed your arms as you watched him work, his hands roaming through the deep rips on the skin, he seemed to come to the same conclusion you did. “It’s not a clean cut, see” You pointed out and he nodded, turning to you.

“Yeah, the skin is–”

“Ripped, not cut” You paused “How can someone do this and just…get on with their lives?” You thought out loud. You discreetly looked up to Sam’s face to see if he had any reaction to your words, to see if his face faltered when you mentioned how psychotic it would be to keep going after killing someone, to see something, anything…

His face was blank.

“You’d be shocked at what…people can do” Sam replied. He seemed to hesitate before saying ‘people’, a hard swallow, a thought behind his eyes and you marked that in your mind for later.

“Sam, I work in the FBI too you know, I’ve seen shit” Maybe you were harsh, maybe you were just defensive or maybe the years of being brought down by men in your field made you snap at his words when they weren’t that deep. He seemed to catch on to your aggressiveness and stumbled over his words to try and reword his phrase.

“No– I-I know it’s just– I mean–” He couldn’t get the words out. You softened at that, noticing your defensiveness was, in fact, exaggerated. You chuckled at him and waved your hand dismissively.

“I get what you meant” You said and he seemed to calm down, giving you a slight smile. Dimples. Again. You turned back to the bodies in front of you and reached for your pocket to get your notes. You started patting with your other hand for your pen through the other pockets and when you didn’t feel the distinctively cylindrical shape of the object you started to freak out. Where’d I leave it…

Sam noticed your squirming and when he saw the notebook in your hand he knew exactly what you were looking for. He held back a chuckle as he watched you try your hardest to remember where the pen was, the concentration in your eyes almost touchable.

“Hey” Sam called and you turned your head to him. He reached his hand up, close to your cheek and you could sense the heat radiating from his body. You froze in place as you thought that you were caught, that Sam’s intelligence overpowered yours and he figured out that you knew who he was. Well, you were wrong. Sam caught the pen you had put behind your ear between his fingers and slid it off of it, watching as your hair fell back into place. You wanted to bury yourself whole inside the ground as you felt heat spread through your face. “Here” He said, with a cheeky smile.

You took the pen out of his hand, your fingers brushing lightly against each other “Thanks” You mumbled. You started writing away what you figured from the autopsy but you couldn’t get your mind off of how close Sam had gotten. The warmth that he emitted was captivating, comforting even. How could you even think that? You were a professional, what the hell! You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you had a job to do, lives to save. Sam was a killer, you put killers in jail. That’s it.

“Okay so…” Dean spoke up, breaking your embarrassment “...We can discard any murder with weapons like guns or knives, those can’t do…this” He made a face and pointed towards the wounds. You nodded in agreement as you wrote it down. When you looked up at them again they were sharing a look, having a full conversation without even speaking. You weren’t a professional in facial expressions but you could read the room, you were being kept in the dark about something. You decided against confronting them, unneeded drama in the current settings because, indeed, the longer you took to solve this case, the closer the killer was to killing other people.

“So, I have no idea if you already did but I didn’t look further in the room where the murder happened. I think I’m going to go back to the house and see if the local cops missed anything” You said, not waiting for an answer as you pocketed your notebook again and started taking off your gloves. You didn’t request their company as you were, first, still trying to figure out why they were so adamant about solving this case, second, you had to figure this murder out, and third, you needed to find a perfect moment to confront both of them. “See you around agents”

“See ya” Dean waved at you as you walked away, Sam didn’t say anything. You knew they were going to follow you, you felt their silent conversations lingering in the air as you left the room, discarding your gloves. In your head you could see them communicating with lifting eyebrows and shrugging shoulders – they were so obvious; and predictable.

–

“We are going after her” Sam said to Dean after he heard you leave. Dean nodded as he started taking off his own gloves, side eyeing his brother. Dean wasn’t stupid – he only acted like it – he knew that there was more than one reason for Sam’s eagerness to follow you.

“So…” He started and Sam knew there was something he might not like hearing coming. “Are you going to play the brave soldier saving the damsel in distress?”

Sam stopped and looked at Dean, absolute confusion adorning his features. “What?”

“Man c’mon, you can’t be thinking that she is the monster now can you? Look, I did the tests while you were…pining over her” Sam opened his mouth to argue but Dean didn’t let him speak. “There was holy water in her drink at the diner, the utensils she was using were pure silver…”

Sam was shocked that his brother thought that quickly, he didn’t even notice…Okay, maybe he was infatuated by you a little too much.

“She could be a ghoul,” Sam argued as a last resort.

“Already looked her up, no one that has that beautiful face has died around here. I’ve looked through the FBI database too, she’s there” Dean said. Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the tiniest bit of relief knowing that you were really human. You were, in fact, beautiful, stunning even. Maybe Dean was right, maybe he did like you, a lot.

“Guess I owe you that six pack then” Sam said.

“Hey, I get the six pack, you get the girl, seems like a fair trade” Dean said, raising his eyebrows tauntingly with a cheeky smile on his face. Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“Either way, we have to go after her because if this ghost decides she’s next on its list, we need to get there before she gets hurt” Sam said in all seriousness as he started walking out of the room, going towards the exit. Dean followed suit, the Impala keys already on his hand.

–

They arrived at the house a minute or two after you. You were waiting in the house’s living room as you heard the rumbling of the old car’s engine. You had your weapon ready and loaded as you heard them open and close the door of the house. As soon as they turned the corner, you lifted your gun.

“Stay right fucking there! Don’t you dare move or else I’ll actually kill you, for good this time!” You screamed at them, gun in hand pointed towards Dean’s head. They widened their eyes and stopped all their movement. Sam opened his mouth to try and talk and you shifted the gun to point at him instead. He shut his mouth again and you saw his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. You were fuming, anger making your hands shake lightly.

“Did you really think you were going to fool me? Who do you think you are– Better, who do you think I am?” They stood as still as a rock. “Sam and Dean Winchester” You said their names, venom running through your tongue as you did, your gun pointing respectively at each. “You better start talking or I’m popping your heads off, speak!”

“Okay, okay, look we can explain” Sam started.

“You fucking better”

“We are not dead” He said and you looked at him like he was stupid. “Me and my brother we faked our deaths but we had a reason, a much bigger reason”

“You killed people”

“We didn’t, at least not intentionally, we do the exact opposite, we save people Y/N”

“How? The deaths are there, if you are telling me the truth and really save people you do a terrible job at that” You countered. You admitted you only said this to get under their skin because if anyone knew that saving everyone was impossible was you, a federal agent.

“Put the gun down and we can talk” Dean spoke up, talking to you calmly and moving his hands slowly to try and reason with you. You were reluctant but something in their eyes, their actions towards you didn’t indicate any imminent danger. Maybe you were being stupid and, at the end, you’d be lying in a ditch, lifeless, left there to rot but you wanted to give them a chance.

“If you try anything funny I’ll claw your eyes out with my bare hands” You said and Dean, even shocked, nodded slowly – you were exaggerating but you felt the need to. You sighed and put your gun back in the waistband of your pants and saw the boys breathe in a deep breath of relief.

Sam and Dean exchanged those looks again and finally looked at you. Sam was the one you wanted to talk to, you felt deep, deep down that he was going to tell you the truth and that he was actually a good guy, that all that he did until now wasn’t just an act and he was really nice.

“Me and Dean we…We hunt monsters”

Well, now your hopes are shattered. What the fuck.

You just looked at him like he was clinically insane and waited for him to continue.

“I know it sounds crazy” Because it is “And it probably is but it’s the truth, we don’t think whatever killed that couple was a human, this is why there’s no DNA, not a single clue and why the case is hard. I assume you were assigned it because you are smart and a good agent but this is not your kind of case”

“It’s ours” Dean added and Sam agreed with a nod.

You were dumbfounded. They sounded so serious as they explained to you about the tons of different supernatural beings that existed, things you only ever heard of in fictional books and horror movies. Halfway through the talk you looked physically sick, your face pale and eyes dissociated completely and Sam quickly got a chair, ushering you to sit down. He was looking at you with such a guilty expression, like he felt bad for lying to you.

Once they stopped talking you spent a good five minutes absorbing it all as you stared at your hands folded over your lap. You thought you knew things, you thought you could solve everything, that all you needed to do was analyze everything to its minute details and you’d find a solution. Truth is, you were completely oblivious all this long, so many things that you had no idea existed causing trouble around the world, things worse than humans could ever be. You were an idiot.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Sam asked after a while, making you look up at him. “I know it’s a lot to process…” He said, carefully laying a hand over your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you.

“I’m going to be fine” You said harshly. Sam felt the slight disappointment in your voice and frowned as he looked down at you. He had seen tons of different reactions to ‘the talk’ but this one was one of the worst, where the person feels upset with themselves for not knowing about this sooner, the kind of reaction he saw mostly on authority figures such as cops and federal agents like yourself.

You stood up and his hand fell from your shoulder. You needed to make this right, paranormal or not, this was still your case and you were solving it one way or another.

“Show me how you do it” You said, turning to look at Sam. The phrase got Dean’s attention as well as a sudden tension fell upon the room. Sam looked at you with confusion “This case is still mine, I want to learn how to get rid of…whatever killed that couple”

Sam exchanged looks with his brother. “I don’t think this is a good idea Y/N, you can get hurt” He said. You rolled your eyes and stepped closer to him, less than a foot between the two of you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m a federal agent, you don’t get to tell me I’m going to get hurt when I literally hunt and kill people if needed” You said angrily pointing your finger at him accusingly “Your little Ghostbusters roleplay doesn’t scare me”

“Okay, can you two stop? Let’s get out of here and go study about the house to see if we find anything about someone who died here who might want revenge” Dean said, approaching and looking between the two of you. “Please”

–

After spending two hours in the nearby library you finally found something. The one responsible for the killings was someone named Alicia Meadows who died in the late 60s, not little kids – it seemed like even the own urban legend the locals passed around was wrong. She was a woman who lived in that house with her husband and kids. One night she found her husband in their bed with another woman and went crazy, killing them both with a shotgun and then shooting herself. Ever since then she’d been killing couples who stayed there, the trauma of the cheating made her assume that everyone who laid in that bed on the same date, every two years, she found her husband and his mistress was also having an affair.

You three soon found out where she was buried and, after the brothers explained to you and made you swear not to arrest them for grave violation, you were driving to the cemetery.

As Dean was digging up the casket you stood beside Sam. “Do you guys do this everyday?”

Sam looked at you with a smile. “No, sometimes we behead vampires too”

You looked at him wide eyed and chuckled. He laughed with you, his face looking ten times more beautiful under the moonlight and the fucking dimples, the damn dimples. Silence fell between you as the sounds of the night – and Dean’s digging – took over. You wanted to talk more, you wanted to know more about Sam because the little you thought you knew was actually a lie. He was nice and, according to the FBI files…

“You went to law school?” You asked him. He sighed. Well damn Y/N so much for breaking the ice, good job. 

“I did but…I went back to hunting soon after, you can’t run from this type of job you know?” He chuckled dryly. It was clear that was a sensitive subject for him to talk about.

“If it helps, you would’ve made a good lawyer” You smiled at him. “Besides, you look great in a suit”

He seemed stunned for a few seconds, were you flirting with him? He didn’t get to figure out because Dean made a dramatic pained sound as he straightened his back, breaking the casket open. The putrid smell of death rose and you scrunch your nose. Sam helped Dean get out of the hole and started showering the bones in alcohol and salt and you watched as Dean threw his lighter in making huge flames rise up. You jumped when it happened out of shock and Sam held your shoulders so you wouldn’t fall back, the flames roared loudly with what seemed to be the anger of the woman.

Dean started gathering their stuff and you turned to Sam. “So, is this it?”

“Yeah…pretty simple actually” Sam shrugged. He looked at the fire and you could see the flames dancing in his eyes. You found Sam handsome ever since you laid your eyes on him but now, after a whole day by his side, the light touches you shared throughout the day and the care he showed towards you you wondered if it’d be too bad if you kissed him right now.

“Sam” You called him lowly and he turned to you. You stepped closer and you could see his hands clenching and unclenching by his side, as if he was holding back the urge to touch you. Your faces were inches apart and you could now see every little detail about him. The light stubble that adorned his face and the blush of red in his cheeks that you didn’t know if it was because of the heat of the fire or because you were this close.

You smiled at him and in that moment Sam couldn’t hold himself back. He closed the distance between the two of you as one of his hands cradled your cheek and the other was gently placed on your waist.

You let one of your hands place itself on his neck as you reciprocated the kiss. It was electric and warm, his soft lips over yours felt like a sweetness you didn’t know you were craving to taste. Your heart was beating fast and Sam slowly dragged your body closer to his with the help of the hand he placed on your waist.

When you pulled away you slowly opened your eyes to look straight into his and let out a stupid giggle – like a teenager after kissing her crush. Sam chuckled back as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly.

“I've wanted to do this ever since the diner” He admitted and you bit back a smile.

“Really?” You asked.

“Really”

The moment was interrupted when Dean honked the Impala, impatiently waiting for you two to finish whatever you were doing so he could go back to the room and finally sleep. Sam showed him the finger as Dean yelled a curse back making you laugh at their stupid teasing.

“Let’s go Sam, Dean’s impatient. We can finish our talk at the motel” You said, your words full of innuendo making Sam turn back to you. You knew you got him when you felt his hand squeeze your waist for a moment before letting go.

“Oh yeah?” He said with a grin, looking down at your mouth and back at your eyes. You nodded.

“Yeah”

A/N: Likes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading XoXo

[radfemverity]

All day on Twitter, pro Palestine westerners of both sexes have been attempting to justify the scenes in the viral video of the deceased, bloodied, half naked woman, being paraded through the streets in a pick up truck by men with machine guns chanting Allah Akbar.

It's come in 3 forms:

1. saying "where were you when the IDF did [X crime] to [Y woman]?" to people they've literally never met and do not know the politics of. They're just assuming that anyone distressed at the footage is a Jewish/Israeli supremacist who doesn't care for innocent slaughtered Palestinian people.

These whataboutery addicts are disingenuous as all fuck, and completely desensitised to acts of violence, so much so that they project their own inability to extend compassion for murder victims on "the other side", onto those whose tweets they're replying to. Victims are just gotchas to them.

But they're cupcakes compared to the next 2 categories.

2. saying that these men's murders of women, abduction of elderly ladies (separate viral incident) and other crimes against civilians is a justified reaction against apartheid and/or settler colonialism, and that Israeli people have had it coming.

I cannot believe I have to say this, but regardless of your opinion on the conflict, whether you’re a Zionist or believe Israel is an apartheid state, if you believe random women, young and old, and their children, being abducted, bombed, raped, murdered and paraded through the streets by men, is a justified response to oppression, then you are dead inside. That’s not brave rebellion. It’s plain old male savagery.

There is, sadly, an academic case which could be made that such brutalities assist the war effort of a nation to gain independence – this being a reference to the fact that the most savage empires, the ones willing to commit the most gruelling acts, tend to be the ones to come out on top during wars. History shows us - think of Rome, Japan, etc.

But this type of speculation almost always crosses the line into justifying such crimes, because it was never about speculation for speculation’s sake. It was about wanting the other side - including women and children - slaughtered. Pro-Palestine Twitter have demonstrated this perfectly today.

Please let me make this excruciatingly clear, this political behaviour is exhibited by practically every male-dominated movement and ideology there is, which is… everything other than radical feminism. Zionists do this too. As do conservatives, liberals, marxists, fascists, progressives, pacifists, nationalists of all stripes – supremacist and anti-colonial, theocrats, Islamists, etc. It’s just that the issue of today is the Israel Palestine conflict, so this is the obvious example to reference.

And the 3rd form of response, much like the 2nd, is to justify these crimes against civilians as an act of rebellion, but go one step further and laugh about it. Saying things like "play stupid games, win stupid prizes 🤣🤣", "Imfao at Israelis suddenly pretending to be victims", making wojak memes and spamming them to the people expressing distress over seeing that video of the dead woman, etc. See this example from a trans-identified man:

Notice how at no point have I said my opinion on the Israel Palestine conflict? Because I have one. And it's probably not what either side would expect. And that’s exactly the problem. My disgust at Palestinian men parading a dead Israeli woman through the streets and spitting on her is automatically interpreted to be me supporting the Israeli state.

But your political view on the conflict should have a 0% impact on this fundamental principle: as a feminist, you do not EVER, FUCKING EVER, think that a woman on "the other side" of a mens war deserves to die.

To accuse someone of not caring about dead Palestinian women, as pro-Palestine Twitter have been doing all day, to random stranger who simply said "this is horrific" re: the dead woman in the truck, is:

a) to project your own heartlessness toward women on "the other side" onto them.

b) to further normalise the glorification of violent men, under this false veneer of their crimes being a necessary and justified revolt against whatever type of oppression they have in their society. As if stripping a woman bare and parading her through the streets has ever been a practically useful or ethical war tactic.

And c) to imply that those on "the other side" deserve whatever cruel fate meets them, simply because the male class of their society committed unjustifiable crimes.

I cannot think of anything less pro-woman, anything less feminist, than that.

[helluvabossrewrite45]

You Reap What You Sow - The Final Helluva Boss Rewrite

Tw: Mention of SA/R4pe

His neck itched at the golden chain wrapped around his neck. He can smell the ingested air suffocating his closed breath, wincing quietly for Satan not to hear his highly pitched voice that emulates a scared little boy. His body shivered in intense heat around him.

He can tell he was frozen by the glares from the royals deadpanned faces, as though he was a bug that trespassed their homes; waiting to be stepped on without an ounce of care or sorrow. Satan exhaled a deep fiery breath to Stolas’ tiny shrivelled face, causing him to cough the smelt of crisp flames from out of his beak. Satan’s hands snatched Stolas’ face to meet his. “You know what your punishment is, don’t you?” Satan inquired in a firm tone. 

“U-uh…execution?” Stolas squeaked. 

Satan shook his head. “Do you really think I’d let you off that easily?” He continued. “You committed an illegal act, one that violates the order of this state. One that has disobeyed and has not only tainted the legacy as The Goetia but as your own; The great prince of Hell.” His voice lowered as the aggression became stronger. “You really think death would be a suitable answer to your crime? To no longer think of the harm you displayed upon your family? Your ancestors, your wife, your daughter?”

Stolas nodded weakly. “No” He mouthed. “N-not at all…”

Satan sneered. “I thought so.” He inhaled, his tone turned reserved. “Such waste shall not decay its legacy any further, can they?” Before Stolas’ attempted to respond, Satan slammed his face down the rocky floor. He let out a muffled screamed as his face banged to the rock’s gritty texture. His body jittered out of his initial standing position as he felt something inside of him jumping vigorously to be out of his body. Satan grabbed his neck in a tight grasp, causing Stolas to choke as his eyes darkened; only seeing Satan’s icy glare with his mouth disclosing; “You reap what you sow,” before it all turned to black.

***

His eyelids slowly opened half-way as he turned around to the grand door. He sprung up and knocked firmly on it, only to be given with no response. He aggressively kept knocking with the same non-response. His teeth bared along with his feathers bursting from his skin as he attempted to transform into his demon form. Yet all that came out was tiny feathers on the floor. The pupils of his eyes widened to shaky dots as he stared at his hands. ‘What is wrong with me?’ He wondered, aghast. He raised his hands to appear his magic, flickering the same movements he was taught, and yet the magic never re-appeared as before. He gasped as he slowly shifted towards the door, his teeth gritted as his hands turned to a fist. “HEY!” He shouted. “SATAN! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME-” He got cutted off by burning coffee splashing from the back of his head to his eye, drenching his feathers with a disgusting pale brown liquid. An imp wearing a janitor uniform with one of their horns being slightly chopped off yelled back; “You suck, Stolas!” While raising a middle finger towards his direction. Stolas turned back to the janitor and scoffed. “Excuse you, I am a Goetia and Great Prince of Hell. You shall not speak to me like that-”

“Then where’s your crown then, huh?!” They cutted Stolas off as they turned their head back, cackling. Before opening his mouth, Stolas began to touch his crown, only to feel the soft feathers of his head. He froze as he stared at his clothes; No golden crown that accompanied his sophisticated hat, no fluffy posh cape, not even maintaining the clothes with of popping velvet-red. It’s now dingy with a pale red alongside a drabby texture, fading it’s life away just like his now-gone powers. His pants scruffed with cuts in some areas, making him look like those imps he saw on the streets. He coiled. Gasping in between breaths as he fixated on his hands, trembling rapidly.

A light bulb has gone off in his head. Blitz! He turned around yet didn’t see him. “Blitz?” Stolas echoed in the hallway. He takes a few steps forward. “Blitzy?” His hands quivered together as the minutes passed without a word from Blitzo. Stolas speeded out in the hallways, screaming with all of his might; “BLITZZZZZZY! WHERE ARE YOU?!” 

***

His knees were like worms, crawling itself as he kept running while on the verge of collapse. As he rummaged across the unfinished limp buildings, people from it dumped their garbage onto Stolas, chanting their insults -

“Fuck you!”

“Racist piece of shit!”

“Ha! How’d ya like being poor now?!”

He wiped off their trash as he hurried to get to Blitzo, the only one he can rely on at this point. The only imp he truly needed. He’s his imp, his doll. A doll too must take care of their owners, after all. 

He saw a demon silhouette dancing with another who looked wolf-like in a wall of an alleyway. His eyes began to lit up as he rushed towards it. “BLITZZZZ!” He tripped in front of Blitzo, panting up to him like a dog. “Oh Blitzy-I-I’m so glad to see you, I was so scared-” His bright smile faded as he saw Blitzo’s disgusted face. 

“Y-you, you're not dead?” Blitzo snarled. His eyes crossed as he backed himself further away from Stolas.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve lost…everything. My family, my powers, my status, everything.” Stolas directed his eyes to Blitzo, pleading as he began to form tears. “Look, I-I know we didn’t have the best start but please if you can just-”

“No.” Blitzo rejected with a dead-panned tone.

Stolas lips were wincing. “B-but-” 

“No.” He repeated.

“Blitzo please! I-I don’t have anyone else!” His tears streamed down his face, wettening his feathers from blubbering. “You're the only one I have!” He felt his throat closing up, burying his face in his hands as he wailed loudly in front of Blitzo and Loona. Both glanced at each other as they rolled their eyes at him. 

As Stolas continued his weeping, Loona glare tightened as she began to raise her hand and smack Stolas’ puffy face. “Shut up! God, can you ever accept a no for once in your fucking life?!” She fumed. She jumped at Stolas before he could chime in a response. “You used my dad’s own fucking body,” she took a grip of his feathered head and began punching him throughout her speech, “for your own selfish gain,” her fists became harder each punch, “always acted like were nothing but little pets to you,” stolas’ beak began to bleed, streaking down his nose as Loona continued punching him, “and NOW when you lost that power, you still treat us like your pets-fuck you!” She forced Stolas back up before kicking her leg upwards to slam between Stolas’ legs. “FUCK YOU!” Stolas whined in pain as he curled himself up to a fetal position. 

“Loona, sweetie!” Blitzo comes up to Loona as she’s seethed. “It’s okay-”

“No it’s not okay!” Loona snapped. “He’s a racist rapist and thinks he can just prey his way back-” She paused as she stared at Blitzo. “I-I’m sorry dad.” She stuttered in a regretful tone. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Blitzo gave Loona a warm smile. “It’s okay sweetie. I just don’t want you to waste time on..” He paused as he directed himself towards Stolas in a crossed glare. “Him.” Stolas can feel Blitzo’s eyes pierced through him in the same way those at the Demon Jury did. “He’s not even worth it.” Stolas watched Blitzo and Loona leave as his body remained frozen, unable to speak. Not even a whine or wail or peep out of him. Nothing. All he has now is his thoughts. The very thing he avoided for so long. And all it has been doing so far is repeated those final words; 'You reap what you sow.'

[limerencedisorder]

Yandere!(Ex?)Bf x Fem!Reader continuation

CW: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, noncon and dubcon, extremely sensitive and dark content, sharp objects, stabbing, FULL ON ABUSE AND MANIPULATION(sexually, physically, mentally, etc…), use of the r word! (r-pe), somnophilia, watersports, reader becomes JUST as insane as Yan!Husband

DISCLAIMER: KEEP IN MIND THAT NONE OF THESE BEHAVIORS ARE OKAY IN ANY WAY AND SHOULD NOT BE ROMANTICIZED AT ALL OR REPLICATED! This is not mild abuse this is full on abuse😭

original post

Yandere!Husband who started to get close to a female coworker of his, constantly going out for some reason.

Yandere!Husband who keeps coming home late with bruises on his neck.

Yandere!Husband who suddenly starts to act cold towards you whenever you speak to him, ignoring you whenever you try to confront him.

Yandere!Husband who you threaten to divorce, telling him you’ll take the kids with you. However, he shrugs it off and continues coming home late.

Yandere!Husband who doesn’t care if you get a job or if you go out anymore. He doesn’t ask about it or tell you you have to greet him when he comes home.

Yandere!Husband who you begin to cheat on once you go out, deciding to be arrogant since he is.

Yandere!Husband who locks you up in the basement where the children are forbidden to go in after he finds out you’ve been cheating.

Yandere!Husband who explains that he was trying to make you jealous, and maybe even commit a crime for him like he did for you.

Yandere!Husband who you try to apologize to, but he doesn’t listen and instead fucks you with sex toys, telling you how disappointed he is in you for fucking around with another man instead of trying to kill his coworker.

Yandere!Husband who plays with your clit with the blade of one of his knives, recording it and unblocking your parents to send them it.

Yandere!Husband who never even interacted with his coworker in the first place, he just wanted to make you jealous. :(

Yandere!Husband who tortures you psychologically and sexually, twisting the way you think the same way he does.

Yandere!Husband who pounds and breeds your tiny pussy until it hurts and bleeds, slipping sharp objects inside sometimes too.

Yandere!Husband who keeps you in the basement for almost 3 years while your children have no clue where their mother went. He convinces them that you’re on a vacation.

Yandere!Husband who fucks your brains out, not lovingly but aggressively, more animalistic. He stabs syringes in you filled with aphrodisiac and forces you to drink it too.

Yandere!Husband who collects your fluids in a jar and forces you to drink some of it mixed with his spit.

Yandere!Husband who fucks you and tortures you while you sleep, only for you to wake you up every night while he does it.

Yandere!Husband who treats you like absolute shit while you’re locked up, pounding your anus with a dildo as he pounds his dick in your pussy.

Yandere!Husband who pisses on you and forces you to lick the rest of the piss off of his dick, sometimes forcing you to drink it too despite how disgusted you feel about the kink.

Yandere!Husband who pisses and cums inside of your pussy and anus, your holes overflowing with cum and pee.

Yandere!Husband who shows no mercy when telling you how useless and selfish you are for not accepting his dick and how he’s the only one who will ever love you. He explains how much he’s sacrificed for you and how lucky you are to have him despite how filthy you are.

Yandere!Husband who fucks you and rapes you when he finds out you’re pregnant, ignoring your cries and protests of how much it hurts and how it could harm the fetus by how rough he is.

Yandere!Husband who makes you give birth to your two twins in the basement and brings them upstairs to take care of them properly. He says to his children that he visited you and ended up making more children with you!

Yandere!Husband who is so proud of himself for fucking you up in the head, but he plans to keep you locked up for one more year. Just to be safe…

Yandere!Husband who physically abuses you, hitting you with glass vases and beating you until you can’t move. When he’s finished, he comforts you and tells you it’s all for your sake.

..It’s a miracle you’re still alive.

Yandere!Husband who manipulates you into thinking that he’s the only one who truly loves you and that everybody else just uses you.

Yandere!Husband who decides to manipulate you for the rest of the remaining year, constantly being romantic and yet aggressive with you.

Yandere!Husband who makes you yearn for him whenever he leaves for work, making you go insane whenever he’s gone. It’s a good thing he soundproofed the walls!

Yandere!Husband who brings in your oldest kids one day, all of them inspecting you as he explains to them how to treat their significant others in the future. None of them seem phased or worried for you. Only then do you realize he’s been teaching them to love the way he does.

Yandere!Husband who spends time with you at all times after he’s done with work. Now that his eldest kids know, they cover for him whenever he’s gone.

Yandere!Husband who finally lets you out when you begin to show him the same affection he shows you. He praises you when you initiate sexual interactions or force him to pay attention to you. He can’t help but feel immense ecstasy fill him when you do.

Yandere!Husband who introduces you back to your children as they all hug you from the relief of you coming back despite the fact you were absent for so long. However, why would you care?

Yandere!Husband who you suck off everytime when he gets home in your shared bedroom, comforting him by riding his dick and letting him take his frustrations out on you after work.

Yandere!Husband who soundproofed the walls so that only he can hear the lewd noises you and he make, trying out various sex positions and sex toys.

Yandere!Husband who you suck off every night when he sleeps, just the way he taught you.

Yandere!Husband who you get angry at for coming home 10 minutes late. He tries to convince you he wasn’t cheating, however, you don’t believe him. You decide to slip strong aphrodisiac in his meal for dinner, wouldn’t you? Bad boys deserve punishment.

Yandere!Husband whose dick you fuck on raw until it can’t stand anymore. He can’t take it anymore and he begs you to stop as tears roll down his handsome face.

Yandere!Husband who you ride for hours straight despite his protests about having work and having to sleep. He loves hates you for not listening to him as he tries to pry you off despite the fact that he can barely move.

Yandere!Husband who you finally let go after the next day during 8:30 PM, ignoring the fact that you had no sleep for two and a half days.

Yandere!Husband and you whom are so perfect for each other, whether it’s sexual or not♡

[merakiui]

putting some skully ideas here so i can get him out of my brain!!!!

✧ skully x classical literature professor, who he drugs and kidnaps because he knows in his heart you understand him and appreciate the classics in the same way he does.

✧ making a wrong turn that leaves you stranded in an unfamiliar, mist-shrouded town at the craggy foothills. your car has suspiciously garnered a flat (slashed) tire… hopefully the townsfolk are kind enough to help.

✧ morbid dollification. skully falls in love with the corpse he’s dug up from a grave, thinking you to be his fated sweetheart. as your body rots, he fixes it up, replacing your insides with soft cotton, stitching sagging limbs, hollowing out your eyes to place two pretty marbles. your body parts are kept preserved in jars and he arranges them on a shelf that makes up a shrine dedicated to you. everyone else will call him crazy, but this is what love is.

✧ ghostface skully……… horror trivia,,, tnbc trivia over the phone… “what’s your favorite scary movie?”

✧ cult skully. small town that celebrates and honors samhain and its traditions and here you are, an outsider with outlandish ideas that do not match with theirs at all. no matter. skully will show you what real halloween is. :)

✧ pumpkin farmer skully!!! :D you visit in need of a few pumpkins for last minute halloween party preparations, unaware that these pumpkins are actually people. walking through the pumpkin patch and tripping over a thick vine, which was actually a poorly buried femur, but you’re too busy following skully to look back.

✧ i once saw a brilliant fanart of skully in a straitjacket….. you’re the nurse to this patient, who has been admitted on criminal insanity. and oh is he a unique case. (serial killer skully…)

✧ skully kidnapping idol darling after he finds out you’ve been in a secret relationship this entire time and aren’t the pure darling he thought you were.

✧ grim reaper skully.

✧ skully turning you into a pumpkin and keeping you on his shelf. kissing it every chance he gets, sometimes even lifting it up and twirling around his room with it. it really is a shame. :( he was hoping you’d understand his feelings, but you tried to run away and he just couldn’t have that. you can stay a pumpkin for now. after all, pumpkins can’t speak or flee.

✧ the best time to commit a crime is on halloween, or so skully thinks. no one will bat an eye if he’s dressed like a killer because it’s just a harmless costume. and no one will know what happened to you when you accepted that delicious apple cider from him.

✧ the horror of being kept in complete darkness and isolation (for conditioning purposes), chained and dressed in clothes chosen by skully, sleeping on a dingy mattress, only ever knowing him. at first, you associate his presence with fear and disgust. you hate him, his voice, his cold fingertips, his warm lips, his entire existence. but he’s the only company you have here. inevitably, with a brain so muddled and broken you’d think he’d lobotomized you, you’ll come to associate skully with comfort. you’re relieved he’s come to banish the shadows with his bright, gentle presence, enveloping you in a suffocating hug and kissing all over your face, cooing about how much he missed you and how he adores you so very dearly. and, rather than jerk away in fear, you reciprocate. what other choice do you have?

✧ self-aware skully in a halloween-themed otome. <3 why would you want to fall in love with mad scientist azul? or ghost butler jade? or that riddle, who is always in mourning? why look at any of those choices when you have him, the character who was only meant to be a side character and not a love interest!! but he knows you’ll understand. you’ll have to when he’s the only choice.

[gremlingottoosilly]

[If you need to be mean] chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Your date with a new guy isn't good for you. Konig is inclined to show you that. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective TW for this chapter: Drug use, Attempted date rape. Please, proceed with caution.

He can kill a person in under 10 seconds. 

Time cuts in half if he is allowed to use weapons – but it would go up to ten minutes if the victim is particularly bitchy, he has an ax to grind, and he wants to take his time with a knife to gut the person’s insides out of their body. 

All time in the world wouldn’t be enough to torture this unforgivable, terrible, disgusting son of a bitch who decided that he can just come out and take what rightfully belong to him. A man whose desires are literally printed on that stupid grin plastered on his face. He transfers it in the movement of his hand when he holds your waist too tight, when he smiles and laughs at your – adorable, funny, perfect – jokes and. 

König prides in always being the silent one, the calm, collected guy who is capable of holding his emotions inside of him until they would eventually die down and leave him without any big, terrible feelings. He uses battlefield as a way to reveal his emotions, to unveil it in a more healthy way – and sometimes he visits his therapist, explains all of the horrible stuff he sometimes wants to do to people around him, or someone from his past, and then waits for a new portion of sedatives that he won’t use because he is stronger than this, who they think he is? 

König takes pride in never talking if something isn’t right – he would simply change the situation, make it better, always the type to do stuff and not talk about doing stuff – but then he looks at the bastard who took you on something that can’t be anything but a date, and he is fuming. They aren’t supposed to kill civilians, of course, soldiers are here to protect them, to hunt for terrorists who prey upon innocent victims, just like your fragile self – but for god's sake, if he never had to restrict himself more than right now. He has to do something about it, he can’t just let his girl, his perfect future wifey to just…whore herself around to other people!

Yes, you are not yet aware of his plans, but he knows that you are faithful – just, perhaps, a bit dumb and not realizing yet who you belong to. It’s fine, he can’t just let you have agency over something that is just beyond control of your silly, fragile mind. He is fine with you being a bit too naive – he doesn’t need you to be smart or capable, or even independent, he would take care of everything as long as you are pliant and docile for him. As long as he is willing to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, of course. 

He can disassemble a body in under 5 minutes. Bones are usually the toughest part, especially if he doesn’t have a proper bone saw in his arsenal, but he can always dispose of it by using the strength of his enormously big body – he is working out for a reason, and he has done lots of unforgivable things to conceal the truth behind some of the crimes he committed in service. He isn’t proud of this, but if his skills would help him dispose of the body of this guy, he would do it in a blind of an eye. 

His size isn’t allowing him to follow you two properly – and, unfortunately, he only saw you in the end of this supposed date, walking down the street with your body already shaking from alcohol intake. This is completely unsafe, he thinks – you are so soft, so fragile right now, you shouldn’t even be walking on the street like this. You can get hurt, someone can take advantage of you, you are still wearing the dress that is too fucking short to be walking out in the street at this hour, and your makeup is adorable and nice, but he doesn’t even want to think about all that unwanted attention your wasted body can attract right now. 

If you were with him, he would call a taxi already, make sure that you are at home safely – or go with you, take you to his place and prepare some water and hangover medicine. He wouldn’t just parade you like that, allowing you to giggle drunkenly and cling on his body. He would…okay, maybe he would take your body in his hands at first, but then he would find you a nice and comfy place to sleep, so he could gently touch your hair the whole night and watch as you would sleep softly, only sometimes waking up so he could hold your hair while you are puking your insides out. 

If you were with him…but you aren’t. You’re on a date with some douchebag, smiling and clinging on his hand, allowing him to hold your waist and let his hand slip to your butt. König almost wants to laugh – he forgot how dumb civilians might be, how naive, how weak. He should feel betrayed that you, a perfect little lady of his dreams, is out with someone else – and he would be, he ought to punish you for this later, but he knows that he can’t really blame you. You are weak, docile, your pretty head has no thoughts besides sunshines and maybe rainbows – just like a normal civilian. You can’t really be blamed for not understanding yet what relationships you two have, and why you can’t break it to be with another man. 

*** You are not having fun. 

It wasn’t as clear at first, when the guy – Tomas, of course, you studied his nametag for a week at least before he finally asked you out, even though you really thought it would just be a friendly gesture. He asked you for a few drinks, said something about your colleagues also being here – a little friendly gathering with your coworkers, a nice way to relax from all the terrorist threats and that shitty manager you have. It was supposed to be a fun thing, nothing serious, and you really like that guy – maybe even in a romantic sense. He is handsome, kinda cool, your age and works with you – a recipe for nice little fling, yes? 

Then no one came and you were messaging all your colleagues who were close to you – and no one knew anything about a friendly gathering at the local pub. 

Then he proposed to pay for your drinks and you agreed – a nice way to save some money, you would repay him later, maybe in the next pub after this one, so it won’t drain both of your paychecks. 

Then the drinks started to feel too heavy. You never got drunk so fast before, only one cocktail already made your head buzz with alcohol, and you almost want to change your order to a virgin mojito, but then you would probably seem like a buzzkill. You don’t want to be a buzzkill, poor guy is sad enough that no one comes to his makeshift party. Besides, if one drink is kicking you off so hard, it can also save you money – so it really is just a win-win situation and even if his hand slights a bit too deep in your thighs, and the pub seems too sleazy and empty for a friendly date, you are already too wasted to tell. 

Then you drink, and drink, and he doesn’t seem so weird anymore – besides, you did like him a lot. Besides, he paid for your drinks and it’s really nice, he even proposed to watch over your glass while you are out to the bathroom. You would try to splash water over your face to feel a bit more sober, but that would ruin your makeup – so you just cool your hand in some cold stream while hoping that this is just a moment of weakness and you would be okay after a few minutes. 

Then you aren’t okay and you really, really don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you quietly ask him to just go home – and he is walking you to his place, so you won’t have to suffer through hangover alone. It’s really nice of him, he supports your weight and you would just call an uber, but no one wants to work so closely to the curfew, and you can’t really break it again – unless you want that creepy scary terrifying handsomely weird colonel to catch you again, but in even more guilty state. Your state of mind isn’t clear, but Tomas helps you walk and he gently rubs your waist and you don’t even listen to him, just giggle from his compliments. He asks if you want him to stay – and you laugh because you don’t really feel good, you feel out of control mostly, and your body feels too light and too heavy at the same time, but he holds your hair and asks again and you almost begin to panic but hey, there really isn’t much to panic about, he is  good guy, right, and then…

You are not sure if you want him to be this close to you, but every time you try to make a small distance between your bodies, he clings on even more, and you aren’t sure how long you can keep doing this. He is a good guy, and you don’t want to be rude, he is probably just worried about you – you are so dizzy, you can just fall any second and this will be your fault completely. He pushes you deeper in the alley and you feel nauseous – he is too much, too close, he holds you too tight and you feel like you are going to puke. Tomas holds you close and you almost panic – but you shouldn’t, it should be fine, he is just worried about you, but it feels so weird, sick, you don't want to be here suddenly. Don’t want to feel so weak in his grasp. 

— W…wait, Tom. I don’t feel so good, I…sorry, I shouldn’t be drinking so much. 

You are in front of his house – he cuts the way through the alley, basically dragging you over to the place, and you don’t like it anymore. You want to be at your home, puking in that shitty bathroom of yours – all alone, at least, drink some emergency medicine and hope that you could still go to work tomorrow. 

— Hey, are you alright? 

He is attentive and nice and you feel bad for being such a bitch about everything, you totally ruined his evening by being such a lightweight – there is something dark in his eyes, and you are scared that this is contempt of you. That he hates being around you so, so fucking much because you are nothing but a buzzkill to him. 

— I’m…sorry, I think I should just call a ride home. 

— Come on. You really think this is what’s best now? 

— I don’t feel so good, sorry, I…

—A guy deserves something for being nice, no? I paid for your drinks after all. 

You want to say that he only paid for one drink that got you drunk too fast. You want to say that this doesn't feel right, that you shouldn’t be so wasted out of one cocktail, that you feel wrong, weird, that you really, really don’t want to be with him right now. He holds you too close and you try to ge tout of his grasp, but you feel too fucking heavy. 

Something is wrong. 

Suddenly, he doesn’t seem like such a good guy as before. 

— Sorry, I don’t…I think I need to go to the hospital, I…

His grasp on wrists became bruising. You don’t want to be here anymore, you want to yell for someone to help you get the fuck out of here – but your mouth feels like its full of water and dry at the same time, you don’t want to yell because what if you are just overthinking, and he is genuinely a nice guy. What if you will only disturb people around here – his neighbors probably need to sleep already, you don’t want to be a nuisance. 

— Well, sorry I’m not that fancy army guy. 

— It’s not like this, I don’t even…

— You just love behaving like you’re too good for this place, yeah? Sorry for disturbing you with our poor vibes, princess. 

He is angry now, and you are not even sure why – you can’t even master a normal sentence when your head is spinning and your throat can’t even master a tiny breath anymore, you are barely even able to talk. 

— I…

— I’m getting really sick of waiting for your majesty to pay attention. Think I deserve something nice for my patience. 

He grabs your hands even tighter and drags you to his apartment – your body feels heavy, you don’t want to be here with him, he is talking nonsense and blaming you for someone that you don’t even know – you barely remember him by now. He is speaking, talking about something – until he isn’t. 

Then you hear something crack and this is what the curtain call for your tired, exhausted mind to shut off finally. 

*** König can kill a person in under 10 seconds – even less if he has a weapon. 

Fucking asshole who tried to force himself on you doesn’t even deserve his sadistic streak – he don’t want to waste time on killing him, precous minutes that he can spend tending to your needs. If it was under different circumstances – if your limp body weren’t lying on the ground right now, gently pushed down by his reaction when you first started to fall down – he would think about torturing this guy a bit more. 

Firstly, he would break his fingers – one by one. It’s not as effective a way of torturing someone as pulling their nails off, for example, since a person can die much easier from that kind of pain – but he would do it anyway, just so he can get the kick out of destroying the hands that were touching you. 

Secondly, he would do something with his face – maybe burn the fuck out of his filthy mouth, that dared to speak to you in such rude manner. He would pull his tongue off, slowly break each of his teeth – right until pulling them also, enjoying the sight of blood dripping from his broken lips. you would be terrified probably – so he won’t make you watch it, would just ask you nicely to sit somewhere and smile until he is doing all the dirty work. He would love doing this for you – and you could just lick the blood from his hands later. 

Guy would probably be unconscious by this point – a good way to toss him like a piece of garbage he is, leaving him to slowly bleed out somewhere secure, where no one would ever find him. Then, König could return to you – and your innocent little smile, your trembling hands and cold body in need for warming up. 

But he doesn't have much time right now – he just snapped the bastard’s head while not even caring if someone is watching. If there is someone who saw the scene and didn’t help you – he would go for them too. Protector of his country can have a bit of collateral damage, as a treat. You are his biggest priority and right now you are laying on the ground, barely moving – he only sees your chest moving up and down, the only thing that helps him not to panic from thinking that you are dead. He gently holds your body upright, making sure to support your head – like a small baby, even though he was never holding one. 

He has quite a few experiences in taking care of his drunk comrades – he would usually just toss them out of the bar and into whatever taxi was available. If he is feeling generous – and they are out of car service available in the area – he would even drag them on his shoulder, given that even with men in full gear and a wall of muscles, he is still larger and stronger. 

But he can’t just toss you around like a bag of potatoes, you are fragile! And helpless, and adorable, and he wants to kill that bastard a second time because you are clearly intoxicated and he doesn't even want to think about what could have happened if he wasn’t here to save you. You look perfect, placed in his arms like a good and obedient girl. He is almost caught in fantasies again, but the weight of your body in his hands is bringing him back to reality. 

You smell like alcohol and something sweet, a nice fragrance that you used for this day – jealousy is eating him from the inside, because his adorable little lady didn’t put perfume for him. For that asshole instead, but at least he is dead now – neck twisted and head snapped, quick and silent job. He just tossed his body in the nearest trash can, knowing that even if police did try to find him as a convict, they would be forced to look away if they don’t want to have problems with the local military. 

König remembers the path to your house like he came here every day. He wants this to be true, but this rathole isn’t safe for you. He needs to get you out of here, to place you in the safety of his lap, where he could hug you and cherish you and worship the paradise you are keeping between your legs, waiting for him to come and ripen you. No one is out in the streets at this hour, and he moves fast enough that he covers the ground fairly fast. 

You stir slightly in his grasp and he moves his hands a little, hugging the curve of your ass a bit more. Your thighs are soft and he pushes his fingers deeper in the plumpness of your flesh, enjoying the sensation – you are wearing some skimpy dress and a short jacket, once again not being dressed up to the weather. He almost wants to give you a good spanking, bend you over his knee and beat the flesh of your ass until you learn his lesson. The image of your adorable crying face, begging him to stop and meowling about being a good girl for him makes his pants tighter – and he drags you closer to him, heating your body with his. 

You are addictingly small in his hands, he has to use all what’s left of his self control to not grab your body in inappropriate places. He pushes you closer to the door of your apartment once he is trying to search for the keys in your pocket – it’s hard when you are still unconscious but still moves in his hands, trying to resist even if he is not doing anything. He wants you to cry under him, to get crazy from stimulation as he slams his hips in yours, breeding you like a good little puppy you are – but he wants you to beg him to do this, to allow him to. He almost manages with his anxiety over the years, but the deeply rooted fear of rejection makes him self-conscious. 

— W…wait, don’t ‘ouch me…

König almost freezes in place. Your voice is small, broken, he can sense the tears in your tone as he gently rocks you in his hands. Your place is even worse on the inside, and he absolutely can’t have you staying here for long – but he also doesn’t want to drag an intoxicated and probably drugged girl to the base, leaving his reputation to become even more monstrous. He can invite you to his quarters later, when you both would have time for a very harsh conversation about safety – and why you are a dumb little civilian who shouldn’t ever be thinking for herself if she knows what’s good for her. He can be there for you, and deliver the well-deserved punishment on your body. 

— Quiet, mein Schatz. It’s alright now. 

— No, wait, I…wait…

You are still half-asleep when he gently moves your limp body to the couch, touching your hair even so gently. You are so pliant right now, so docile – afraid of him, of course, it breaks his heart, but it also makes his pants tighter. König enjoyed having you so weak in his arms, just like a good sweetheart should be – not making him feel anxious with the possibility of rejection, not making him angry for not listening to his demands. 

He can have you now – not like you would be able to resist. 

His large hands moving your head to the pillow, softly placing your face to the side so if you would feel sick, you won’t choke on your own vomit – he has too many experiences of very good soldiers almost dying from such mundane reasons, and he can’t have his little bunny suffering from such disgusting fate. He can’t help but touch your hair constantly, enjoying the feeling of it under his fingers – he tangles up with the strands of it, massaging your scalp only to make you let go of a small groan and frown in your sleep, unaware of the stimulation. 

Your apartment is tiny, even more so – for him. The ceilings are dangerously low above his head and if he wasn't hunching down constantly, trying to make himself smaller, safer for you, he would already bump into your ceiling lamp a few times. He smiles under his mask, happy that even if you were awake, his expression is concealed – he has a wide, scary grin on his face and it only grows larger every time you shift slightly in your sleep, but ultimately allows him to touch your body as he seems fit. 

He can lose control - so easily. You are helpless, limp on the couch even as your eyes are fluttering awake and you take in your surroundings. Your dress is dangerously short, and he can’t help but stare at your curves – your legs are making him go crazy with desire, fantasies about spreading them and burying his face in the sweetness of your cunt are flooding his mind. It would be so easy, just make sure you wouldn’t be able to resist and…

— Wh…what happened? 

You are so fucking fragile – like a fine porcelain doll that his mother liked to collect. All wrapped up in your own weakness, face flushed and eyes filled with tears as you realize that you are laying on the couch in your home, and he – the man who scared you more than any terrorist or war ever can – is softly touching your hair, playing with any loose strands. 

You want to panic – but he softly pushes a finger against your lips. König doesn’t care what your neighbors would think if you cried or screamed, but the walls here are thin, and he doesn’t want to deal with the police and showing off his military badge to any corrupt scum that lives in this country. Your eyes darted to him, terrified – and he doesn’t want this, no, he can’t have you afraid of him. A little bit of fear is okay, it’s normal, he can train that out of you – but he would prefer his wifey to be madly in love, not madly terrified. 

— It’s okay. I took care of that Arschloch for you. 

Your mind is still dizzy, your throat is dry as you try to master at least some meaningful words. Drug is still not out of your system completely – you understand that it was a drug now, you couldn’t be so drunk from just one cocktail, no matter the alcohol content. Tomas tried to do something to you – but you blacked out before he even got you to his apartment, and now you are home, at your favorite shitty couch, with a monster of a man holding you close. 

You want to cry, but his hands are oddly warm and you lean closer to his touch. 

You want to panic, but he pushes his fingers against your lips and you slightly calm down. 

— Tomas? Is he…

— Ja, meine Liebe. He’s dead. 

You are feeling sick. The knot in your stomach, anxiety mixed with alcohol and drugs is making you nauseous, you are scrambling on your feet as you try to get out of the couch – your place might not be the best choice out here, but you pride yourself in at least keeping it clean. He helps you get on your feet, supporting your limp head as you desperately try not to puke on the carpet. 

He killed him? How did he die? Did he do something to you while you were asleep? Did he…

— Let me help you, ja? 

— I picked up a shift in the morning…

— You are not working here anymore. 

— But…

— Don’t fight me, lamm.

He drags you to the toilet and holds your hair as you empty your anxieties away, and the scene is disgusting – but he can’t help but to relish in how adorable you look. All helpless, your body is barely holding together when he tries his best to be gentle, rubs circles in your back and pats your head softly. 

König has a lot of experience in dealing with stuff like this – mostly for himself, when his nerves got the best of him and he couldn’t shit them off. He used to be drunk – one of the reasons why he isn’t taking his meds is just so he could drink enormous amounts of alcohol, enough for his body to finally get drunk. He knows how terrible the intoxication feels when you’re alone – so he wants to take care of you, brings you a glass of water as you hug the corner of your bathtub and tries your best to calm down. 

He looks at your trembling form and fights the desire to kiss you. He knows that he can, you won’t be able to do anything against it – but he wants you to like him, wants you to be as into him as he is. If he wants his proposal to be perfect, you have to like him – so he gently rocks your body from side to side, allowing you to cry on his shoulder. 

You feel terrible – dirty even, weak, afraid of what else might happen with you while you can barely control yourself. Thoughts of what might happen if Tomas had his way flooded your brain – but the gentle hands on your back supported you, warming you up. Your head is still dizzy when you drink water that he bringed, cold liquid helps you a little. You feel his hands on your body, as he takes off your dress – you try to panic, to cling onto your clothes, but he is too strong, too large, too…

He moves you to your couch, placing you on the sheets softly. 

He is tucking your blanket over your body and opens the window for better ventilation. 

He roams through your medkit and places Ibuprofen and a glass of water on your bed stand. 

He moves his body slightly so he can kiss your lips – not even caring that you are not exactly in the best condition for kisses. 

You fall asleep right when he moves you to the side again and closes the door behind him. 

König can only thank your intoxicated state that you didn’t even notice how he took your underwear when he undressed you – a small prize for his help, no? Perhaps, the only thing that can keep his hands off your adorable, precious body. 

He should start looking for rings already.  (Comments and asks are appreciated. Tell me what you liked about this work!!) ---------------------------------TAG LIST--------------------------------- @shigbby @honeeybeezzz @herefornanami-s-cake @pendalikespasta @lucylou302 @yxllowtxpe @sunbathed-sweetgrass @sarah-ardini @teenagegever2k22 @lastwordsofadyingstar @lavenderskye29 @karrotsforyou @inlovewithcodmen @onegami @keithehe @lilahbunny @ameneminimo @beepyboopbop @ms-munchkin @dinonacho @undeadgod @dizeesstuff @mingkiiii @midwesternwitchery @yxllowtxpe @flammenwerferpanzerkampfhund @keithehe @iytatsworld @r02eg0ld @cumikering @ysljoon @m1ndbrand @captain-heebie-jeebie @bluenredndeath

[monvante]

persona non grata ╱ myg, 𝟏.

per·​so·​na non gra·​ta: unwelcome or unwanted. not popular or accepted by others.

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: suspense / noir / detective au

rating: mature | 18+

chapter word count: 3,067

content warings: crime, blackmail, missing person investigation, themes of violence and murder, 90's cult references, corrupt cops, mentions of physical fighting, cockroaches, depictions of dementia, substance abuse & addiction, reader is grieving a breakup;

next chapter | series navigation | masterlist

chapter i. goodbye, kanan.

Tuesday night, March 18th @ ViCAP Unit, Missing Persons Dept.

Your hands don’t feel clean. They just never do. 

“It’s that same nightmare,” you rub them together, finding comfort in the heat.

Yoongi looks at you. He says nothing, because of course he doesn't. He already noticed the dark circles under your eyes this morning, how you looked at your cup of coffee with a bit more disgust than usual.

He admired your hatred, your devotion to your spiteful heart.

“Cockroaches.” Your sad chuckle is but self-mockery. Your gaze is crestfallen.

He’s left to calculate within the machinations of his mind whatever meaning there is in your nightmare. 

Yet, Yoongi finds none whatsoever.

“Have you eaten?” 

“Why?”

“Just asking,” he shrugs. “Take tomorrow off,” Yoongi hides his hands inside the pockets of his trench coat. His concern is disguised in his eyes, looking out the foggy windows of the department office. “You need it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Let it go.”

“He was eight years old! He was a child!”

The air tightens in your lungs and your throat thickens with silence. You didn’t mean to sound so exasperated, you didn’t mean to sound like anything, but you’ll have to be the first to face your emotional ties to the cold case of a young boy whose face is ingrained in the back of your mind.

Yoongi gulps ⎯  it’s the first thing he does when the truth’s engulfed in his stomach. You glare at him, but he doesn’t budge. Not for a few seconds at least, taking a few steps back as he still refuses to look you in the eye. All cops are cowards.

“You wanna know why we got this case?”

Your brows perk. 

“It’s not because we’re good,” he scoffs. “Last year... I confronted McKinnon about the money. He called me a snitch… I didn’t- I didn’t tell him you were in on it, but I figured he knew. That bastard just.. kept looking at me with those filthy eyes and I- I hit him, okay? I got him good. He deserved it.”

“Is that why you kept avoiding me all those months?”

“Kind of. He said we wouldn’t come out of it alive if the ACU so much as dreamt of it… So I kept quiet. He gave us a case full of dead ends and shit evidence to keep us busy… Said we deserved it.”

The Anti Corruption Unit had been onto the agents’ tail that month. Not that it matters. Nothing was found.

“Why– why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, slowing down his breath. In the same second, he fails himself and his fury comes out in full force.

“Fuck’s sake! And risk you being dead? Or worse?!” 

There are drops of sweat down his temple. You can see them because the yellow street lights glisten against his skin and you figure he’s telling you the truth. Even if he wasn’t, you’d be inclined to believe him. 

No one else in this godforsaken unit has a commitment to the truth like Yoongi. 

Thursday morning, March 20th @ ViCAP Unit, Missing Persons Dept.

Agent Gerwig gives you a warm, tight-lipped smile when you pass her down the hallways. You hurry past the agents down the coffee machine, avoiding small talk and nearly tripping down the stairs on your way to Yoongi’s desk. 

The insides of your stomach are twisting and turning as you rush inside, uninvited and breathless, waiting for him to acknowledge you behind his incessant typing and the meaningless emails he reads everyday. 

Yoongi seems as still and lifeless as ever, which somehow comes as a comfort to you. 

“Days off are supposed to make you look better, not worse. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He types as fast as he comes up with witty remarks. 

“That’s because I have!” You spit back, fists closed tightly around the newspaper in your hands.

He quirks up one brow, enough for you to know you’ve got his attention.

“Here,” you toss it onto his desk. “Read it.”

November 27th, 1991. Solved case: Thanksgiving kidnappings linked to man apprehended by police.

“That’s Adam Bowen. He got arrested a night after Kanan went missing,” you huff, catching your breath. “They never considered him a suspect because… the timelines didn’t add up, apparently.” 

Yoongi looks up at you from the large frame of his glasses.

“And?”

“Police always suspected he worked with his brother… but they never found enough evidence to prove it. They never even found said brother, the guy disappeared out of thin air and Bowen never told them anything. Not a word.”

He leans back, stretching his arms. His gaze diverts away from you or the paper altogether and he’s staring into space, seemingly at a loss for words.

“They got one brother, huh? Looks like it was enough for them to settle it,” Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Sloppy as all hell.”

In your heart, there’s some feeble hope, but most of it has been filled with despair and a fierce jealousy towards anyone who still maintained a sense of normalcy. Your last seven years have been haunted by nightmares, tainted by the faces of all the missing person reports hanging on your walls.

“We got a second half of the story to figure out.”

Yoongi nods. He closes off his laptop and puts his hands around his gun belt.

Friday night, March 21th @ Agent ___’s home.

Circe’s orange tail swirls around your leg before she’s meowing next to her empty bowl, with cute and threatening eyes glaring into your soul. You can barely catch your breath on the couch ⎯  you got shit to do. 

Her paws trail happily after you once you’re pouring the pack of Whiskas onto her tiny plate, making a mental note to throw nearly all the home decor away before Easter comes. The apartment is filled with portraits, vases and candles Yuri generously left you with. 

Such courtesy of your ex-fiancée to have abandoned all your memories and stories behind. 

You’re running out of coffee, hope and sugar.

Yuri was not a bad man. It’s what you told yourself, once. He wanted the kids and the white picket fence life, away from violent gangs and city lights, where he’d craft the perfect nuclear family, worthy of homemade apple pies and Sunday barbecues.

But you liked the urban loneliness, your shoebox apartment and the green subway lights on your way back home. You liked the comfort of knowing every neighborhood like the palm of your hand, the ins and outs of every highway and the thought of heartless strangers passing you by, not caring for your name.

You missed him. His warm body pressed against yours and his golden, brown skin; you missed him selfishly ⎯  your comfort zone walked away and resentment grew alongside the fondness. 

You hoped he was happy without you, but not too much.

When your co-workers asked you about him, a few days after he packed his bags, all you gave them was a shrug and a poor explanation, the kind that everyone does: we were incompatible, it wasn’t meant to be, I wasn’t ready. The list went on and on.

The only one to not probe was good old loyal Yoongi. He was indifferent enough to other people’s personal lives not to ask. When you told him, he patted you on the shoulder awkwardly and placed your coffee by your desk with extra whipped cream. 

Saturday afternoon, March 22nd @ Rosefell Nursing Home.

Violet Bowen was not, by any means, what you’d call a reliable witness. She seemed pale beyond human comprehension and her words mostly consisted of hummings or muttering. The moment you saw her, you felt a sting of empathy too strong to ask her of her missing, possibly outlaw brother.

She had no other relatives nor close visitors, except for a caring ex-neighbor who’d bring her flowers every Friday. With nails painted a deep shade of red, she looked to be around eighty, but you couldn’t quite tell. Violet was in poor condition, plagued by dementia and the loneliness of lost loved ones. 

Her caretaker is a vibrant, blonde nurse. A blonde Southern belle whose name tag read in big, uppercase letters.

CAROLYN R. NURSING ASSISTANT

It’s Yoongi who interrogates Violet, remaining unaffected by her lost gaze and brown eyes. He flashes her a picture of her brothers back in the 80’s, sporting what looks to be fluffy mullets. 

She smiles then and her shaky hands point at Adam, but nothing else comes out of her aside from a gleam of life in her eyes. Even if she knew where they were, she wouldn’t tell them a word. 

Carolyn’s smile grows disconcerted. Her hands lay on Violet’s forearm as she pulls a thick chunk of her blonde hair out of her face in typical Southern charm. 

“I think my girl’s had enough here, yes?” She forces a grin, glancing over at Violet. “If you’ll excuse us, it’s tea time.” 

Carolyn helps Violet out of her seat and into the cafeteria. You’re not sure if it’s bad timing or a deliberate attempt from the nursing assistant to end this conversation, but you’re leaning on the latter. Off they go, taking slow, mindful steps away from both of you.

You refuse to look at Violet’s way. Something about her made you want to cry your heart out; the thought of loneliness being an imminent threat to you, too. 

“It’s pointless, Yoongi,” you mutter in your seat, slouching your shoulders. “She’s not going to remember anything.”

He hates to agree. Yoongi tsks, fiddling with his watch.

“Did you check her records at the reception?” He glances over at you, mind brimming with some sort of nefarious idea.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I mean- I didn’t check if she had any funds… It looks like all her properties and money were confiscated by the government, but I should run a background check on her bank accounts, to be sure.”

Monday afternoon, March 24th @ Tech Unit, Information Management Division.

Jenny’s doodles lie by her desk, making the room feel like a high school classroom. You haven’t spoken to her since December; what was once a blossoming friendship wilted away thanks to your cowardice and the desire to protect her from Deputy McKinnon’s claws. If Jenny found out, she’d jump the gun. 

And she didn’t have the best aim.

Her Naruto sketches have improved greatly since you last saw them, a massive improvement for just a couple months. Both of you used to laugh at her poorly drawn stick figures, now it looks like she’s ready to take her comics career seriously. You’re happy for her ⎯  she’ll find a way out of this hellhole.

The air is thick and humid in the early Spring, but filled with an extra layer of awkwardness when she sees you from across the room. Jenny’s strides towards her desk are heavy with grief and resentment, but she holds her gaze your way.

“Have you had enough space from me after not picking up my calls?” She slides onto her chair, scribbling a few notes onto her monthly planner. “Long time no see, idiot.”

You don’t have much to say for yourself, even when your chest pangs with her affectionate, yet sarcastic use of the word idiot. 

“A lot happened, is all,” you gesture sheepishly, hands reaching for the insides of your pockets.

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sorry, Jenny… I didn’t mean to-” 

She looks up at you, eyes drenched with irony and something.. something which you can’t name. If it’s hatred or love, you can’t tell.

“Wat’cha want?”

You swallow dry and uneasy, unfolding the paper on your hand with Violet Bowen’s name and address. It’s crumpled and a little thorn ⎯  you were ready to throw it away seconds before coming into the Tech Unit.

“I- I need a background check on someone,” you mutter, lowly. “Bank account activity… Credit cards… Anything you can find from the last… thirty years, maybe?” 

Your attempt at a chuckle fails, denouncing your regret. Jenny notices the furrow of your brows and how concerned you seem, ripping the paper away from your hands. 

“Sure.” 

The seconds fill with silence. You stand by her desk, waiting for a snide comment, a spiteful joke, anything. She looks at you like she knows you want to apologize again.

“Nice sketches!” You smile as a desperate invitation to make friendly conversation. 

Jenny doesn’t cave in.

“You’re dismissed,” she nods at the doorway and hops onto her laptop. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

Monday night, March 24th @ Agent ____’s home.

“Hey,” you mutter over the phone. “Just checking up on you and mom.”

“Finally!” Albeit sarcastic, your younger sister’s voice is nothing but chirpy, as it has always been. “We miss you, you idiot. You know that, right?”

Over the phone, you can hear your mom’s laugh and a few unintelligible words. It seems she’s adjusting to your dad’s absence. Somehow, you had stopped calling after the funeral. It’s not that you didn’t miss them back ⎯  you were sick of being flooded with memories every time you’d hear her voice. Like your dad was still there too, right beside her.

“Sorry, sweetcheeks. I’ve just been busy.” The explanations and apologies roll off your tongue.

“You know you can’t avoid us forever, right?” Her voice is so sober, it’s as if she’s older than you by a million years. 

When you gaze out the window, loneliness overcomes you. The years spent playing hide and seek in your childhood home are long gone, replaced by miles of distance between you and your family ⎯  how you became so caring and so bad at expressing it like your father. You hate how much of you is made of all the people you love. And miss.

“You there?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m sorry.” 

“I swear to God, you gotta stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” She pauses. “Acting like we don’t exist. Seriously. We miss you.”

A pang of guilt flashes through your chest. 

“I know.” Your voice is small through the phone again. In between the anxiety and the seconds, you fiddle with your bracelet. “I’m sorry.. It’s been hell.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell mom about your breakup, but she keeps asking me. It wouldn’t hurt if you opened up for once.” She sounds more hurt than angry, vindicating your mother after all the months you spent avoiding calls and texts under the pretense of your busy adult job.

Even in the softness of her voice, her words feel harsh. You gulp down a threatening tear, staying silent on the phone. She was still right, though.

“Listen, we love you, okay? I don’t know what kind of shit you’re going through because you won’t tell me everything.. but dude, please, seriously just come visit us sometime. I know you’ve got your job and all, but act human for once. Please?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll try. I promise.”

“Good. I gotta go now. Mom wants to go grocery shopping for some french-whatever-pie and I promised her I’d help. Give Circe my love!”

You chuckle, sadly.

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s okay. I’ll see you guys soon.”

When the call ends, silence deepens. It’s your own doing, you know, but that doesn’t make it any less suffocating. Even when you crave solitude, you’re just plagued by loneliness. 

Wednesday morning, March 26th @ Java café.

Today, Yoongi thinks you look a little better. And by better, it means rested. Of course, your gaze is still very much zombie-like, with glimpses of terror in your eyes when you look away. 

But in this line of work, it ain’t all rainbows and sunshine.

It’s never rainbows and sunshine, he realizes.

“So,” you sigh.

“So.” Yoongi punctuates, giving you room to breathe.

Your eyes are distant, watching children play in the puddles from last night’s rainstorm. The weather has been cruel to this city, punishing sinners and saints alike with a dreadful fog in the mornings and plenty of humidity to drive your hair follicles to the brink of insanity.

“Bowen’s alive, Yoongi. There’s a big chance he just… got away with it.”

Your words aren’t met with so much enthusiasm. You suppose it’s the skepticism in this field ⎯ even the good news don’t feel like good news. Before his questioning and theorizing begins, Yoongi brings up a valid concern.

“Why didn’t his brother spill his whereabouts, though? It’s not like Adam had any reasons to protect his brother any longer.”

“Unless he did.” You counter-argue.

“Why, though? It doesn’t make sense. In ninety percent of the cases, you know what happens. So-called partners in crime turn against each other. It’s good ol’ politics.” Yoongi leans back in his chair, nodding at the waitress for more coffee.

“Maybe he had something to lose,” you purse your lips. The biting of your inner cheeks is such an instinctive habit of yours that it barely stings until you realize how much tension you’re holding in. “Or someone, you know?”

“Several someones.” Yoongi blinks. “Do you remember the Mormon Heritage cult?” His eyes narrow as he scrapes the top of his head.

Your back and forth is interrupted by the local waitress pouring hot black coffee onto Yoongi’s cup. He seems like he’s on a roll today ⎯  it’s his third cup. That you know of.

“Uhhh, kind of. They were a thing in the nineties, weren’t they?” 

“Yeah.. well… the Satanic panic might’ve contributed to that,” Yoongi nods, slipping his mobile out of his pocket. His fingers are hasty, typing up a Google search so he can word vomit every single fact possible. “But we know that the Jesus believers can somehow always be worse.”

He sounds so snarky, it earns a laugh out of you.

“The Bowens were around that time,” he says. “I mean ⎯  the connection seems unlikely, but with these people, you never know.”

You sigh. 

“McKinnon didn’t give us this case for nothing, huh?” Even with half a smile on your face, you can’t help but feel defeated.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I think we got a lead.” He smiles with his teeth for once in a lifetime, raising his eyes from his phone to meet yours. You know he is up to no good ⎯ and that can only be a good thing.

“Buttercup?”

monvante © 2021 - 2024. all rights reserved. do not copy, edit or redistribute my work.

[ladycrocy]

Comfort behind the mask of a Killer

Comfort behind the mask of a Killer

Summary: "Massacre Soldier" Killer has a past. This is just the small story of how a young killer became the pirate we know today. This is an alternate universe that still keeps the setting of one piece. I have also quoted Alexandre Dumas's book "The man in the iron mask" because I thought it fit perfectly.

Warnings: Physical and verbal abuse to a child. Reference to drugs and alcohol. MDNI. VERY SAD.

AO3

Word count: 1784

“I've worn that mask so long I don't feel safe without it.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

A boy without a face. What good was his face anyway if it only brought pain to those he thought he loved. Expressions that were just a reminder of crimes that he didn’t commit. This young blonde boy was named with revenge in mind. “Killer” Came into this world with the burden of his mother’s hatred.

His long shaggy blonde hair was unkempt, but that matched the rags that this child was dressed in.  His mother did little to keep him alive. By the age of four, he was already on the streets to steal from garbage cans. Rotten fruits and vegetables were his normal diet. This caused him to suffer from severe malnutrition. 

“A man is held to be criminal,sometimes, by the great ones of the earth,not because he has committed a crime himself but because he knows of one which has been committed.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

“KILLER! GET IN HERE, YOU CRETEN!” His mother called out to him. He was never allowed inside. He couldn’t help but feel a little excited that she actually wanted to see him. Despite his whole tiny body aching, he ran inside the shack with such vigor. 

Killer had a large smile on his face to greet his mother. He had yet to really speak yet, but he wished to greet his mother as positively as possible. With what he thought would be a warm embrace or at least a happy greeting, he found only pain.

The small boy was knocked to the ground by the side of a bottle. Blood poured from a fresh wound on his head. Dying his blonde waves pink. “How many times have I told you not to smile around me?! You disgust me! He had the same look when he burdened me with you!”

I’m sorry momma I’m sorry momma! Killer wished he could say to her but his words were not forming. If only he had learned to speak faster, perhaps his mother would know how much he loved her. Maybe he could convince her that he wasn’t his father. 

It was such a curse to look like the man that had forced himself in a fit of laughter on one’s mother. Killer couldn’t have been further from that sperm donor. With a pure heart of gold that kept believing one day, she would love him back.

 “A man is bound to make for himself in this world, that fortune which heaven had refused him at his birth.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

February 2nd was the day he found a tattered mask. This was a happy day for Killer. So happy in fact, that he deemed it must have been his birthday. He was unaware of his actual birthday as he had never actually celebrated it. Returning to his mother that night, Killer had brought her what he had stolen. Getting to his knees, he bowed his head to await her approval. It wasn’t much. There was a little food, a half a bottle of cheap wine, and a few unknown pills. His mother didn’t hit him this time. She glared down at him and his ‘mask’. She grabbed the bottle and downed all the pills in one gulp. With her foot, she kicked the food towards him. “I guess even vermin deserves a treat every now and then.”

Killer was elated. His mother had never offered to share, let alone give him all of it. He was so happy that he could cry. It was the mask! It truly was the greatest gift the gods could have given him. Surely now, he and his mother would be able to connect. He would spend the next few days practicing his words. He wished so much to tell his mother that he loved her. 

“Pain, anguish and suffering in human life are always in proportion to the strength with which a man is endowed.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

Everyday for months, Killer looked through the window of a school. He was about 10 at this time. At least that is what he assumed by his size. He had only been keeping up with it himself for 5 years. He was now able to speak very little by mimicking what he heard through the window. That is until the school guard would scare him off. Killer didn’t care. He would come back everyday until he could tell his mother that he loved her and that she didn’t have to hate his face anymore. His plan was solid. He continued to bring her the things she liked the most. Any type of liquor he could get a hold of, and pills of any kind. Now that he wore the mask all the time, his mother allowed him to sleep inside the shack. This was really starting to turn around for the small blonde boy. 

To his great joy, he had found a whole bottle of wine in the garbage dump today! This would please her so much. It took nearly the whole day but he was able to find 3 blue pills. He never knew what they were for. He just knew they made his mother happy and sleepy. The blue ones were her favorite. What a wonderful day this would be. 

He rushed home. Swiftly cutting corners through the slums. Killer dug his heels into the mud to stop himself at his own shack. Barreling into the small housing, he fell to his knees. Presenting the bottle and pills. To his horror he realized he didn’t bring her any food. How could he have forgotten something so important. “M-Mot….the…ther… S-Sor…ry..” He apologized using a voice that was rarely used. This didn’t give him any sympathy or praise or.. Anything. The woman grabbed the bottle and pills just as she had always done. “You should have died at birth, Killer..” Taking the pills she laid down on the floor in the corner next to a single candle. She cradled the bottle and began to sob.

Killer was breathing heavy. His heart breaking in ways his child mind couldn’t comprehend. He wanted to comfort her, but he knew that would only bring him pain. 

So he ran. He ran back to the dump to make up for his horrid mistake. He needed her to see that it was good that he was alive. He would take care of her forever. As long as it took for him to see his dream come true. 

There wasn’t much this time. It had been picked through by the other vagabonds. He was able to find some moldy bread but there was still a lot that was good enough to eat. Maybe this would be enough. Maybe now…

“I am strong against everything, except against the death of those I love. He who dies gains; he who sees others die loses.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

The young blonde was frozen as he saw his tiny shack up in flames. He yelled out with a cracked scream. A blood curdling scream that held the pain of 10 years. Killer ran into the small shack. He saw her still in the corner. She hadn’t moved. It was quick thinking, as Killer jumped for her. Just as he did so a piece of the roof came crashing down on his left arm. His screams fell on uncaring ears. He pulled and tugged until he was able to pull it free. 

The shack burned down around his mother as he watched. He was helpless and possibly bleeding to death. He glanced down at his arm. It was burned and mangled. Just like his heart. Thank the gods for this mask.. No one can see his tears. 

“A man is bound to make for himself in this world, that fortune which heaven had refused him at his birth.”

― Alexandre Dumas, The Man in the Iron Mask

Two years later, Killer had roamed around the East blue. Sneaking onto boats to get to one place or the next. He landed on an island that was outside the world government. Not very notable, but a place where a homeless 12 year old could find work. Or scraps. 

One day he was in the scrap yard, looking for something to sell. “AHHAA! I DID IT!” Killer heard the voice of another child. He peeked over the piles to see a red headed boy laughing. He was standing proudly over something he had just created. Killer tilted his head at the strange boy. 

The red head felt that he was being watched and turned to see the blonde. He smiled and motioned for him to come closer. “Hey you! Check this out!” The younger boy seemed so different from any other person Killer had ever met.

After the red head explained his newest creation he finally introduced himself. “AH I forgot! The names Eustass Kid! You can just call me captain because I am gonna be King of the pirates! And I am taking you with me! My first mate… uh… what’s ya name?”

Killer had still not used his voice ever since the day he watched his mother die. It was rough and raspy when he replied. “K-Kil…ler..” He looked down ashamed of his voice, rubbing the side of his mask. 

Kid didn’t skip a beat and smacked the back of Killer’s back. “My first mate Killer! What a badass name! Everyone will fear us!” The 8 year old exclaimed with a hearty laughter. He abruptly stopped and looked at the dented mask that Killer wore. “Hey.. hold on a sec…” Kid then jumped into what looked like a pile of scrap metal. He emerged with a welder looking mask in the air. It would keep his face hidden but give him more room to breathe.

Kid handed it to Killer and turned around. It was odd to see such a wild child to have such respect for 

others. Killer replaced the mask and was happy he was able to see better. More room to breath. 

And with that he took a deep breath in, and exhaled. He looked over to Kid and somehow he just knew that Kid knew he was smiling. “K-King of.. Th-.. the P-Pirates!” Killer exclaimed with his arms in the air. His new captain joined in and let out a mighty roar.

“I hope only that you have been able to find a little gold in the ashes.”― lowell blair, The Vicomte de Bragelonne

Thanks for reading! This fanfic was really inspired by my talks with @lxshoxk

[natasha-in-space]

Every so often, I can't help but think about all the dirty jobs Saeyoung had to do during his time as an agent. I'm not talking about the usual digital crime stuff he feels comfortable enough to mention openly. I'm talking of those missions he'd rather just shut up and never speak a word about. What about all the missions that went wrong for him, back when he was still young and inexperienced?

The fact that he has blood on his hands is apparent to us. But, do you ever think about whether or not he was forced to kill an innocent? Be it by some cruel accident or by direct order from the higher ups he had no choice but to obey? Have you ever thought of him having to make a quick elimination on yet another corrupt member of society, only to realize that his family, who has nothing to do with this, had seen him?

Have you ever thought about him doing everything he can to fix this: coming up with shaky lies on the spot, attempting to fabricate evidence, eventually resorting to pitiful begging that goes nowhere. But there should not be any witnesses. It's too late to turn back now. He got sloppy. His DNA is already on the scene of the crime. If he refuses, he not only puts his own safety at risk, but these people will get eliminated regardless. The least he can do is make it quick and painless. Have you ever thought of him still having to come back to his sad parody of a home and pretend like everything is fine? Like this was just another Tuesday, and not one of the most sickening things he had to do and witness?

Have you imagined him sitting down, staring at his bloodied hands with a blank and glassy look to his eyes, his weapon still in his grasp, and his ears ringing from every shot he has fired? Have you ever thought of him feeling so utterly disgusted and ashamed of himself that it almost seems like the silver cross on his neck that has always brought him a sense of security, is burning through his clothes and straight into his flesh? He won't take it off, no matter how heavy it feels. He wears it as a constant reminder of the sins these hands have committed. He knows that God has seen it all. He knows that, much like Lucifer, he will never be allowed to step foot over the Heaven's Gates. His soul is too sullied. Too dirty. Too sinful.

I feel like these are the days when he goes complete MIA. He tells everyone in the RFA later that he just slept through these few days.

He maintains contact with V, just in case. But, really, he spends these few days just... in a daze. Luciel has no remorse for selling his entire life away to guarantee his brother's happiness. He does not regret sullying his hands in the darkest sins this world had to offer, if only it means that Saeran's hands will get to do all the good things he has always dreamed about. He does not regret forsaking his own childhood, because he never thought of himself as a child in the first place.

But, in these moments... as the events of what he has done continue to unfold in his head over and over again, like he never even left, he feels it. Regret. Guilt. Disgust.

Luciel harbors a deep hatred towards his parents. He hates his joke of a mother, who has brought nothing but endless torment on her own children for ruining the life she foolishly destroyed all by herself, something he despises with all his heart. He hates his father for forcing them to live in constant fear and paranoia, just for the unforgivable crime of being born into this world. He hates every bystander who has done nothing to correct such an unfair act of pure cruelty unfolding right in front of their eyes.

But, as his vacant gaze keep drifting back to the equipment he has stashed away in one of his many drawers, a grim thought claws at his insides, tearing him apart piece by piece like a vicious parasite feeding on his flesh: is he... really that different from them?

Vanderwood ends up being the one find him, slouched in his seat, his hands still caked and crusty with blood. They just sigh, already knowing what happened. It's something they all had to go through. They just sit next to him, letting the younger agent know he's not alone. And, once Luciel's shoulders start to shake with choked, painful sobs, they don't say a word. They just let him break down into their arms.

It's one of the rarer moments of tenderness between the two.

[kingkatsuki]

We’ve been talking about prison AUs so much in the group chat lately, but I was thinking last night like imagine a Prison AU except it’s reversed. Cause we’re always writing Villain Bakugou locked away in Tartarus.

But imagine you’re the prisoner in maximum security. And maybe Dynamight is tasked with talking to you as part as a Pro-Hero program to try and rehabilitate you, or something like that. So he’s supposed to be finding out about your crimes or what you’ve done wrong.

Or imagine if you’re the reason that someone on his team (or Dynamight himself), got hurt while he was out on the field. And as part of his own healing/therapy process he’s told that he has to go and meet you. That it could be good for him, that it’ll help.

And not to mention that it’s the final thing standing between him and being allowed to return to work out on the field. Being on desk duty for the last four months has arguably been worse for him than the injuries sustained in battle with you, and he’s itching to get back out there and regain his position as the number two. Having to spend the months since the incident watching his rank continue to dip as he settles at the bottom of the top ten has been demoralising.

But he’s still filled with so much rage and hatred for you, that while you’re the one bound and shackled against the table, he’s the one that they should be worried about.

And he hates the way he finds himself easing into you, the smooth caramel to your voice has him practically melting as he finds himself drowning in it. He shouldn’t be enjoying his visit with you, he should be lunging over the table to cause you the same pain you’ve caused him.

You look so meek and innocent on the other side of the table, that he somehow can’t believe that you’re the one that caused so much destruction.

So when he leaves after your first visit together, he thinks that’s it. That somehow it’s all he needed to do and he’s cured, that he won’t have to come back or ever see your face again. And it’s all the boxes checked to allow him to go back to work and be back out in the field.

But he can’t stop thinking about you—

And it’s different now. The thoughts he once had immediately after the incident and in the following months had been so full of rage and hatred, picturing all the ways he could cause you the same pain that you’d caused him. Make you feel how he feels after you basically ruined his life, to take something from you in return. Vengeful thoughts that plagued him every hour of every day since you first tumbled into his life. The therapy not enough to quell the hatred that boils inside him whenever he thinks of you. But now all he can think about is what you’re doing, who you were before the incident, and what led you down this path.

Even when he’s signed off and now back on patrol, exactly what he’s wanted— he’s still thinking about you. But the thoughts aren’t purely innocent.

The scent of you (or your quirk) invades his senses as he tries to push you to the deepest depths of his mind, to focus on his life and his career. But he can’t. He’s damn near disgusted when he wraps a fist around his thick cock, stroking himself in the agency showers as water cascades around his broad shoulders. Leaning his forehead against his forearm as he watches the creamy droplets of his spend disappear down the drain as he pictured leaving the same stains against your skin.

And no one is more surprised than you are when you see a name appear on your visitation list, when not even your friends or family have come to visit you since you’d committed your crimes. No one had been on your side of the court during your trial, for your sentencing.

But the name is there in bold, black lettering.

Bakugou Katsuki.