#i want to kidnap him and take him to a therapist's office

[goldenapplefortune]

because you're right

i love him he's the only normal person in this no fourth wall meta world and he's just like "what the fuck are you people fucking talking about" at all times 😭

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it.  After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin.  You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it.  It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read.  Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it.  Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed.  Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything.  “Green tea, right?  With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you.  You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you.  “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip.  He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind.  His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh.  “Thank you,” you finally said.  So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea.  That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness.  You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side.  He found it so irritating— that confidence.  Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically.  You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all.  Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie.  For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file.  But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you.  You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time.  No, it was the drugs finally kicking in.  You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited.  He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance.  He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply.  He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

~

You woke up on the floor.  You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard.  And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers.  You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t.  You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own.  You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move.  The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you.  “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things.  One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment.  Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them.  “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear.  “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous.  He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least.  As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing.  You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist.  This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist.  And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued.  “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault.  Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved.  In fact, you were horrified.  He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes.  Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there.  You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man.  He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women.  Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.  

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there.  It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares.  You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do.  And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace.  But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent.  You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently.  “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected.  You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating.  God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field.  It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged.  You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him.  And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted.  He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added.  “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it.  It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with.  Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg.  It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t.  “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly.  Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak.  Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes.  He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.  

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear?  Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused.  He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it.  You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it?  Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase?  Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words.  “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth.  Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right?  But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed.  Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted.  “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers.  You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly.  But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare.  You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you?  Letting all kinds of guys use you�� just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked.  But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.  

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy.  You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone.  But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before?  Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl.  “Did he know exactly how to touch you?  Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly?  Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor.  “I think you wanted to be put in your place.  You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else.  You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true.  He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once.  “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed.  "I only gave you a small dose.  Can you move at all?  Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan.  You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided.  "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized.  "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street.  He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you?  Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you.  You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled.  "You think you're so fucking smart, and special.  But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better.  Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy.  Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before.  Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this.  They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat.  What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt.  He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it?  You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust.  You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut.  It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his.  “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure.  Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.  No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting.  “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered.  “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded.  “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.  

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again.  “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed.  “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck.  “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there.  Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again.  So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder.  "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck. 

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air.  You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face.  "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock?  Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately.  "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster.  "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you.  “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body.  You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.  

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him.  Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong.  Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time.  Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all.  He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules.  Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please.  He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away.  “‘Please’ what, honey?  You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted.  “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for.  You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away.  He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare.  “This isn’t about me.  This is what you wanted.  This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.  

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip.  “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you?  You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away.  Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work.  His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead.  His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark.  His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you.  He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured.  Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner.  You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask.  This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you.  “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected.  Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come.  I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse.  “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.  

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment.  For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually.  “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you.  “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered.  "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you.  "Shh, it's alright.  I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close.  Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace.  You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped.  He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed.  Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.  

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on.  “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was).  “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

[queenie-the-court-jester]

HII, saw your post on wanting asks, well here 🫶 I love talking so, and specifically on playboy yandere!! I'm a sucker for angst and yanderes falling into insanity honestly, so let me ramble a bit

- imagine if reader graduates highschool and gets an overseas scholarships!! They also convince their family to move together with them so Kameron can't hurt or use them to blackmail reader. So with only a break up text saying like "bye manwhore 😍😍", blocking and deleting all their social media, I wonder how long and how far would he take to get reader back again? Would he inherit his parent's riches, hire some private investigatiors to find reader and find the country they're living in, expand his business over to their country in order to gain power to trap his darling. And I wonder how deranged his reaction would be to reader's text and be like no way, they're joking right, and runs to their house and whatever usual spots they're at normally, and just break down into insanity. would he try to use substitutes for reader to maintain his sanity or go fully devoid of emotions and start working hard to gain power and influence to find reader again!! I'm also curious how he would process his darling leaving him, would he become delusional first, saying they got kidnapped or something, or some ex or fling of his hurt reader, and then proceed to anger, depression, grief and then finally accept the reality!!

Ok that's a lot of rambling 😭😭 hope it's okay. I rlly enjoyed that fic, was rent FREE in my mind for a whole day

you know luci, you just gave me an idea. So have a part TWO of THIS DUMBASS HOE 🤝

Yandere playboy x reader

Tw: mentions of murder, kameron being delulu, yandere and obsessive behavior

💋kameron was having another breakdown. Sobbing pathetically on the floor of your old bedroom. Just how did you run away? And on such short notice too!? Didn't his love mean anything to you!? WHY DID YOU ABANDON HIM?

💋a million thoughts swirled through his head, until he finally got one that just... stuck. He had to get you back. No matter how long it takes. Getting up and dusting himself off, he kicked the front door open and quickly left the empty house

💋it was a shame really. The once sane and popular boy was struggling to keep his image. So he got help. Not professional as in therapists and medication. Just hiring other students to cover for him Incase he slipped up. all while snooping through the head teachers computer to see if they had any notes on where you might have gone. He almost got caught a few times

"shit that was close.. i can't believe these idiots leave their passwords just anywhere"

💋he knew he shouldn't be back at the school, especially since he graduated but he needs all the information he can get. Eventually moving onto private investigators and online stalking through multiple other accounts. He'd try anything just to see what his darling was doing without him. Were you enjoying making him suffer? You're so cruel..

💋hiring other people to befriend you and lower your guard, gathering any Information they can

💋 kameron who spent a while convincing his parents to let him take hold of the company. He had a degree, a bright mind, responsibility. He's perfect for the job! Oh if only they knew where his 60% was going.. funding multiple businesses across the world in exchange for keeping a careful eye. Making him quite the celebrity

💋look darling! He's on the news-! ...oh right you're not here.. one evening, while working in his office, a new secretary comes in to introduce themselves. They look just like you! He could only stare in shock.

"my love..? Is that you!?"

"..who?"

💋turns out it was just a doppelganger. But with enough time he'd delude himself into thinking it was you. Courting them with the same flowers, chocolates and jewelry he'd given you. It worked like a charm! Now you were back In their arms again. They felt whole..

💋he married your lookalike a year later, the poor fool being too naive and oblivious to think. He was happy for awhile.. or until one of his P.I's came in to show him they found you. His reality started to break.

💋no.. how could he do this to you. Replacing you with some cheap street whore. That night, when they went to bed, he gave them a cup of water and smiled sweetly. Watching as their face went red and they started to cough for air after gulping it down. Clawing at the sheets and staring at him with wide fearful eyes. Begging him to help them

"...slut."

💋 burrying the body in his backyard, he paid people with underground connections to cover for him while he was away. Claiming they suddenly vanished, having run away with a small fortune. How idiotic are people, to actually believe him..

💋kameron disguised himself and went straight for the country you decided to flee too. 5 years apart from you.. he had no idea how he managed to live so long without his beloved, but it was all worth it. Because now you'll be back where you belong. In his arms.

💋you were busy working at your job, running a small business was no joke but atleast the people in the area were friendly. So you didn't notice the suited figure Infront of your cash register

"thank you, please come again-"

💋you froze, looking up at the terrifyingly familiar face. He stared back at you with only glee and love

"hello my darling~ you've been on a naughty streak for a while Haven't you? That's okay, I'll just set you straight when we go back home."

💋big burly men all blocked you from escaping by guarding the doors. Dragging all the other customers out so you both could have your moment. Now you could never leaver leave him. Ever.

[mo0nfairy]

Bro when they remade the game of re4, Leon made me want to just....do anything for him. He's just- so- AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.....You know? And thinking of him as a yandere made me giggle and kicking my feet

part 2. part 3. part 4.

tw :: yandere!leon, obsessive!leon, alcohol, kidnapping, drugging blood, being chained up, insinuations of suicide.

⸺ ommgggg !!! i've been playing the game bit by bit in my free time and im actively going batshit over this man. so here are some of my thoughts……………….

you met leon during the events of RE2 in raccoon city. you ever heard of scary dog privilege? that was basically him with you the entire night. your personal bodyguard, your guard dog. he saved your life over and over and over again until you both practically lost count. however, once you both survived the night and the sun arose, you went your separate ways (much to his dismay). law enforcement and the government were attempting to track down survivors, due to their theories of them having links with umbrella. you had absolutely nothing to do with it, obvi. so, to avoid it all, you vanished. and for 6 long, insufferable years, leon has lived without you. countless therapy sessions, solace in alcohol, and numerous partners who didn’t last longer than a month, nothing could make him forget you.

now (knowing your luck), you just so happen to be one of the missing hikers the police officers speak of in the very beginning of RE4. you were taking a daily stroll through the woods to meditate before you were kidnapped and brought into the los iluminados cult. fortunately for you, you managed to evade being infected. however, you have still spent the last week in sheer misery. running from the village-folk, dodging hidden bear-traps, and scavenging for any crumbs you could consume. you can only dream of the shower you'd take after this nightmare, where you can scrub your skin of the grime, blood, and god knows whatever substances have stained your form. you did befriend a lone wolf, however, so that's a plus!

leon just so happens to be in the same area you're in, only with intentions of saving the president's daughter. he had hoped that by becoming a secret agent, he would be able to manipulate the provided resources and find you. before he knows it, leon soon wakes with a gasp, finding his hands above his head and his wrists chained together. he yanks the chain down, only to hear a quiet voice whisper "hey, quit it!" that voice. leon springs to his feet and turns to verify his suspicions, the sudden movement behind you scaring you into doing the same. he gasps your name in disbelief, before he falls into awed silence while staring at you in complete captivation. you have no fucking idea how much he missed you. all these years of searching for you, dread satiated through him at the possibility of you being dead. leon knows in his heart he would not have the strength to live if you had truly been gone forever. but now, there are no worries. the light of his entire life is alive and by his side! exactly where they belong.

on your end, however, was a complete different story. that night 6 years ago was now an entire blur. umbrella had managed to hunt you down mere days after the event, drugging you with a variety of different remedies. their efforts succeeded and had caused you to almost completely forget that night. your brain has only been able to scrutinize the blood, the death, and the groaning and screaming of undead figures around you. weekly visits with your therapist are helping you disinter forgotten pieces, but leon wasn't present in any of these newfound memories. so, when this stranger whispers your name into the air and stares at you as if you had just descended from heaven itself, you aren’t able to connect the dots.

a smile, one that could rival the sun, breaks out on the face of the mysterious blonde. tears brim in his honeyed gaze. "oh, god. you have no fucking idea how happy i am to finally see you!” holding his hands out, he takes several long strides towards you to engulf you, to where you take several steps away from him.

"who the fuck are you?" his world shatters, "how do you know me? are you the one behind this shit?" your eyes are full of confusion and uncertainty. a major contrast to the look of heroism and gratitude you gazed at him with ages ago.

without another breath, leon pulls the chain towards him, causing you to spring forward. your wrists are tied above your head and your feet are practically dangling off the floor. there are now mere inches in between you and this man. and the look of sheer horror on his face is unforgettable.

"look at me…” his eyes feel like bullets stinging into you, tears spilling down his cheeks. “it- it's me, angel! it’s leon! leon scott kennedy, i worked in the RPD that night 6 years ago.” his breath hits your face as he desperately recounts the worst night of your life. “y/n, i saved your life. and you saved mine. don't you remember?"

leon’s hand cups your face, skin hovering over yours, almost as if he were afraid to fully touch you. his face scrunches up from the sobs racking through his body.

“don’t you know how much i still love you?”

you finally have the revelation that whoever this 'leon scott kennedy' is was with you that night in raccoon city. you also conclude that you are most definitely not getting away from him so easily.

n e ways.... i went wayyyy to overboard with this, but like i said, i've been having some THOUGHTS about re4 and our golden boy. also some other characters too, hehe…………

if you'd like to see more, pls don't be afraid to send some asks in !!

[propertyofkylar]

crawls in covered in blood

Harper 19 👀?

doctor's orders - m!harper x gn!pc

tags/warnings: 19. kidnapping, drugging, dubcon, medical kink, reader's genitalia left ambiguous

word count: 1810

note: wow....i hope THE harperfucker enjoys this...

“Mhm. And how has your mood been lately?”

You shifted slightly in your chair, sitting on your hands. Dr. Harper was a strange one. He was something of a therapist and psychiatrist. But he also treated injuries, and you had heard he’d even done gynecology work, so you still weren’t entirely sure what kind of doctor he even was. But the pills he prescribed worked well, so you came every Friday to see him. 

“Um,” you hedged a bit, but Harper’s encouraging smile urged you forward. “I mean, it’s not great. You know? Things kinda…suck.”

Harper nodded as you spoke, looking the perfect image of a doctor as he jotted down something on his notepad.  

“So I guess I’ve just been kind of…down. If that makes sense?” You offered. 

Harper nodded again. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Huh?” You hadn’t expected that. Harper offered you a warm smile. 

“I’m experimenting with more herbal remedies,” he explained. “I’ve purchased some tea leaves that claim to help with feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought you might like to try some. I know you like the pills, so this would just be a supplement of sorts. It may help lift your mood, even just a bit.”

Something made you feel a little uneasy. But your doctor had never steered you wrong before. And it was just a cup of herbal tea. What’s the worst thing that could happen? It would taste bad?

So, you nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Harper gave you another smile and stood up, busying himself with an electric kettle in the corner of the room. You watched idly from your seat. Maybe a warm cup of tea would be exactly what you needed. 

Several minutes later, Harper handed you a steaming mug. An herbal smell of chamomile, lavender, and something else you didn’t recognize wafted towards you. “If you like it, I’ll send it home with you along with your meds.”

You thanked the doctor and took a sip. It was warm with a mildly sweet taste. “It’s good,” you said, going back in for another sip. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harper said. 

At the very least, a warm drink would make you feel better temporarily. The doctor made idle chitchat with you as you continued drinking. By the time you had emptied the mug, though, your head was feeling a little fuzzy. 

“Are you alright?” Harper asked, only seeming mildly concerned. “The herb blend does have a relaxing effect. It may be that it’s making you tired. 

“Mm…yeah…” you rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling groggy. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately…”

“Don’t worry,” Harper was leaning forward in his chair, almost in anticipation. “Close your eyes. My next appointment isn’t for a while. You can sleep here for a bit, no worries.”

“‘Kay,” you murmured, your eyes shutting of their own accord. “Just a lil bit…”

You were out like a light. 

When you came to, you had no idea where you were. 

It didn’t feel like you were still in the hospital, though it still seemed like a doctor’s office of sorts. But the light was harsh and artificial, and you got the feeling this room wasn’t used too often. 

Also, your arms were bound to the bed, which wasn’t great. 

“Mm?” You were still quite groggy, so actual words didn’t come out of your mouth. You suddenly became aware of a figure looming over you, smiling. “D-doctor…?”

Harper undid your arm bindings, inviting you to sit up. “Sorry for that! I didn’t want you to move around or get violent in your sleep. The…tea effects are a little unpredictable.”

You rubbed at your sore wrists - how long had you been like this? - as you took in the surroundings. “Where did you take me?”

Harper rolled a chair next to the bed, stroking your hair in a rather unprofessional manner. “This is my private office. You need a more intensive therapy.”

You blinked. “I do?”

Harper nodded. “Yes. Your depression and anxiety is rather treatment resistant. I want to try some different things with you to help you get better,” he slid his hands to hold yours. They were cold and smooth. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

There was something wrong. Something was off. But your brain felt so, so fuzzy. “Yeah…that sounds nice.”

Harper beamed and clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Now, let’s begin,” he pulled his notepad out and studied it closely. “You say you’ve experienced rape and sexual assault. Is this right?” 

You shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…yeah.”

He nodded again and checked something off on the notepad. “Good. Then we are going to have sex.”

“What?!” Your ears were ringing. Did he just say that?

Harper set down the notepad and looked closely at you. “You say the assaults cause you trauma. Correct? I can show you how sex can be pleasurable and it will sort of rewire your brain.” He smiled placidly at you. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.”

It was weird. Something felt off. But…you trusted him. So you found yourself agreeing.

“Good!” Harper smiled warmly at you, standing up in front of you. Despite the smile, there was something oddly intimidating about him. But he was a doctor, and you weren’t. So it was probably okay. Right? 

The doctor sat next to you on the bed, moving closer then he’d ever been. “The first step is foreplay. This usually begins with kissing. Are you comfortable with that?” His breath was warm on your face. You nodded. 

And then the two of you were kissing, Harper’s mouth surprisingly cold, much like his hands were. “Very good,” he murmured. Harper practically tugged you into his lap and your patient gown rode up, making you suddenly very aware that there was nothing on underneath. Wait, weren’t you in a therapy session before? Where did your clothes go…?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized you could feel Harper’s cock rubbing against your most sensitive areas. The feeling drew a whimper out of you, which sparked Harper to reach under the gown and grab at your back. 

“P-please,” you whined, grinding down on Harper. 

But he did not relent. “Please what?” He asked. “You need to be specific.”

“Please…” you sucked in a deep breath. “Please, fuck me.”

“Very good,” Harper pulled away and beamed. “You’re a very good patient. You learn quickly.”

He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small tube. As he squeezed the slimy fluid onto his fingers, you realized what it was - lube. “This may be cold,” Harper said before slipping two fingers into your hole. You bit down on your lip and groaned as the doctor scissored his fingers inside of you. It felt good, but it also felt methodical and practiced.

You pawed at the bulge in Harper’s pants, which he was not expecting judging by his sharp intake of breath. “T-that’s enough,” he stammered, momentarily losing his cool composure. “I think you’re ready now.”

Harper pulled his hand back and unzipped his pants. With one movement he tugged down his pants and boxers and you were suddenly staring directly at his thick cock. It was flushed and twitching, and the bead of precum on the tip gave you the sudden urge to lick it. 

But that wasn’t what was going to happen, at least not today, as Harper was stroking his dick with additional lube, and the way he was looking at you - no, leering - was decidedly unprofessional. You were too far gone at that point, though. The only thought in your head was how badly you needed that cock inside of you.

Your doctor grabbed you by the hips and, ever-so-slowly, lowered you down onto his cock. Harper practically hissed as you sunk further and further onto him, until your hips were flush with his. 

“V-very good,” Harper managed to get out, his face turning red. This was an act you were quite familiar with, and your instincts kicked in. You started moving up and down, Harper’s hands still gripping you tightly, and he began rocking his hips in unison.

Harper seemed practiced in every aspect, with his cock managing to hit every sensitive spot inside of you. He was consistent, too. Every thrust was almost rhythmic. It made the hospital bed creak and squeak, and if you weren’t almost entirely fucked out of your mind, you would’ve worried about its stability. But all you could focus on was riding Harper and how fucking amazing it felt. Maybe it was that tea you had, or maybe your doctor was just that good at fucking.

His grip on your hips only added to the pleasure and you quickly began feeling heat intensifying within you.

“I think,” you tried to start but were cut off by your own moan. “I’m gonna…” 

“Cum,” Harper said plainly, though clearly struggling to stay calm. “You can cum. It’ll - haa - be good for you and your…fffucking treatment.”

You didn’t need Harper to tell you twice, his hips slamming into you. You grabbed onto his shoulders and cried out as the orgasm wracked your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut, but when you opened them, you noticed Harper was staring intently at you. It felt as though he was staring into your soul.

After several more thrusts, you could tell Harper was about to hit his limit as well. Never easing up on his grip, Harper held you down as he came, filling your insides with his hot cum. The two of you stayed connected for a few moments before he gently pulled you off, you letting out a whine at the loss of contact. Harper quietly studied his cum leaking out of your hole and dripping down your leg, then jotted down a few more notes in his notebook. You wondered what he was writing.

“Well,” Harper smiled at you, straightening his clothes out. “You did a great job. You’re a fast learner. I hope that was pleasurable.”

You could only nod in response.

“However,” Harper looked down at his notebook with a slight frown. “I’m afraid you still have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. I’ll need to keep you here at least for a few more days for further studying and treatment.”

“Oh…” you mumbled. In your post-orgasmic state, you struggled to understand what was going on. But maybe a longer stay wouldn’t be so bad.

Harper stood up, clutching his notebook to his chest, and gave you a few soft pats on the head. “No worries. I’ve already communicated with your guardian and school, so everything will be just fine.” He gave you another grin, one that felt a little less genuine, and made you feel a little uneasy. “Trust me. There is no better place for you to be right now than right here.”

And with that, he left the room.

[sakuraryomen01]

His Unhinged Mind.. /Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Reader/ [Trigger Warning]

#warnings: crazy! gojo . yandere themes . dub/non-consented sex . Stockholm syndrome . kidnapping . emotional and narcissistic manipulation . tied up . ex-gojo x female reader . gojo being toxic . mentions of stalking . soft-to-rough fucking . "a good dicking-down" as punishment . gas lighting . mentions use of medication and drugs/alcohol as a way to cope with anxiety . cliffhanger ending! [OLD DRAFT]

#reader: female reader

#plot: gojo, your ex-fiance, comes to 'collect' you from your appointment with the family therapist and takes you to his home..

#words: 3.186k

#a/n: I was really on the fence about posting this, but I was wanting to write something dark lol. make sure to read the next authors note at the end!! ^^

. . .

Thank you for reading this bit! Enjoy!

You sat in that office, waiting for hours for your therapist to show up. Family was asking for you to go to these appointments after what happened with your fiance: just to make sure you were in a good place.

Everything that happened with him was like water down the drain for you. You didn't care anymore, he was gone. He couldn't find you after you had moved countries, getting an apartment and working a medium-waged job until you were positive that you were safe.

But that feeling of being watched never left you: feeling like there was someone watching you every moment of the day.

A set of eyes watching your every move twenty-four seven, all the time— constantly. You never could shake that feeling, and today your anxiety about it was only worse. The therapist, Naoya Zenin, wasn't answering your calls or texts as you sat and waited in his office.

It was nerve-wrecking, so you got up and left.

Opening the door only to bump into a large chest. You apologized, trying to quickly slide by but the person standing in front of you wouldn't move. Looking up at them, you started to speak when a rag was placed over your mouth and the smell of chloroform filled your nose.

You yelped, trying to not breath in the chemicals until the stranger pulled you into a hug and held the cloth to your face. The strength was familiar, though you couldn't pin where it was from as you slowly fell limb and fainted.

Nothing but black filled your sight as your mind went blank.

It wasn't until a while later that you woke up and you soon realized that you were strewn across a bed— wrists bound at the posts and ankles done with the same at the bottom. Your sight was fuzzy, but you could make out the small room you were trapped in.

You didn't recognize the small space: cold, grey walls with only one window that seemed to let light pour into the room.

There was a table on the opposite side of the room, with a chair to join it and a bookcase that was filled with books (obviously). You didn't know who brought you here, but you were scared.

Terrified, even..

That's when the door that was armed to the teeth with locks clicked and you saw it swing open. The cold steel door creaked open as a very familiar silhouette appeared and made your eyes wide with fear.

It was him. The man you left before your wedding..

Gojo fucking Satoru. Your ex-fiance.

"Oh, good morning, baby," His sweet voice cooed as he strutted into the room with a smile on his face.

Gojo didn't bother closing the door as he pulled himself up an extra chair and sat in it. Making the back face you as he sat in it backwards, spreading his legs and letting them rock from side to side as he resting his head on folded forearms. Your frozen body couldn't react: How in the hell did he find you?

You cleaned everything. Wiped all the data from your last phone, made sure to block him on social media before destroying it and purchasing a new one.

You even made sure that your passport and bank account had no connection with him. There was no possible way for him to know that you moved to the States. So, why and how was he here?

"Such a cute face, sweetie!" Gojo's smile was as bright as you met him during your first date. "I'm so happy I get to see it everyday from now on."

"How.." You started, trying to sit up only to be stopped by your binds. Looking from the ropes to Gojo, you sighed and stared at him in confusion.

"Satoru, how?"

The angel-faced male didn't respond, but instead stayed silent until you asked again. Only then did his smile leave and he looked over his sunglasses at you.

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked, his baby blue eyes shined in the light pouring through the window. "I followed you all the way here."

..You sick, sick man..

"What the fuck?" Your voice was laced anger as you tugged on your restraints again. "You did what?"

"Well, actually, I followed your mother.." Gojo said, ignoring your annoyance. "Such a sweetheart, forgetting to delete her Facebook account was the first thing she did wrong. The second thing was accidentally letting me in the house to 'collect' my things when I was really just copying your new address and phone number."

"You crazy bastard.." You muttered, feeling your heart beat thump in your ears as blood pumped through your body.

Gojo's smile returned at your words, balling up his fist as he rested his cheek against it. "I'm not the crazy one. You are, sweetie."

Scoffing, you sat up and rested against your shoulders. Glaring at your former husband and best friend— seeing that sheer amusement that was on his face when he was in a smug and happy mood. You wanted to slap him so bad, curse at him and spit in his face.

Even if your heart screamed differently..

"I'm not the one that left at the altar on my wedding day," Gojo said, scooting the chair he sat closer to your bed. "I'm not the one that used medication like sleeping pills to forget the day."

You know that feeling of helplessness? That sad and twisted feeling? It was starting to set in, feeling the walls of that small room close in and crush your lungs. Unable to breath as you started to panic.

Satoru, on the other hand, was smiling and explaining how he found you.

"After I managed to get your new location, I simply bought a ticket that next day and got here. Finding your new apartment and job— getting myself one too, of course— and just staking out the joint was easy too."

You pulled at the ropes weakly, pulling with all your might as you began to tear up. It was like the last year was playing through your mind all over again..

"After that, I found your therapist's office," Gojo piped, bringing you back to Earth. "I remember booking Naoya as a family therapist— sucks I had to knock him out in the janitors closet of that fancy office he has now."

You tensed, hearing those words. So that's what happened.. Gojo got to him before I showed up..

Gojo giggled, watching you turn to look up at him and smiled.

"Don't worry, he's just sleeping."

He stood up from the chair he once sat in and took two steps before resting his bottom on the mattress next to you. His angel blue eyes sparkled with glee as he looked down at your horrified face. Reaching up, you could feel the warmth his hand graced your cheek once he began to palm them gently.

Pressing his thumb against your chin and lips as if to prod them to move. To smile again. Anything.

"Sweetie, I don't know why you look so upset," Gojo cooed, letting his hand slide down your side and rub affectionate circles with his thumb against your hip.

"You're finally home again! It's been how long now since you decided to 'leave me', as you put it?"

"..A year and a half."

Gojo gave a surprised laugh, getting more comfortable in his seat and smiling widely. He's too proud of himself.

"See? I think you've had plenty of time to think about ditching me," Gojo said, crossing his legs and resting his elbow against his knee to prop his cheek against it.

"That hurt me for a while, watching you pack and get your things to leave. But I realized quickly that you were joking! You'd never leave me, after everything we've been through, right?"

You could feel your tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. Shifting in your spot as Gojo climbed up and pressed his hands on either side of your head, smiling down at you with that handsome grin you've loved for years.

"Your anxiety attacks... those sad episodes... we've been through it all. And knowing you're going away would've been so terrible to me if I knew differently."

You could smell that minty shampoo he used all the time, knowing he'd never change it. Even the glow of his skin was like it always was, despite the obvious eye bags underneath his eyes.

"You can't leave me," Gojo said, his voice lowering as he began to lower himself. His face getting closer and closer to yours as he continued to speak.

"I'm too important to you, Y/n. Even if your brain doesn't want to believe it, your heart still does. I know it does, seeing as you let me take you back home."

Feeling something grip your wrist, you looked up and saw Gojo's large hand firmly gripping your forearm. His fingers just barely grazing the ropes that confined you to the bed, feeling a sudden sense of unease wash over you.

"Do you know how long I've waited to bring you back?"

The feeling grew, looking up at your former lover and seeing that sudden darkness washed over his face. Eyes were wide and boring right into yours, a grin that hasn't broken still written across his face as he gave your wrist a squeeze.

"Months," He finally answered himself, blinking quickly as tears began to form. "I've been waiting so long after I found you, wanting to just steal you away and hold you forever again, but I couldn't. You were too obvious to take away from the outside world."

A chill was sent down your spine, trying to ignore that crawling feeling inside your gut. Desperate to leave and go back home, to where you were safe from him.

Gojo had always been controlling.. manipulative.. scary.

He was so sweet and kind, but always could have a switch flipped if he was triggered. There were times that his possessive nature got so bad that he was restrained at home from following you around to work and your additional work classes. That was actually a week or two before the wedding, when you should've noticed the signs..

"I missed you so much, Y/n.." Gojo's voice lowered just as his head did, his eyes glued to your lips.

That fluttering in your heart made you sick. Hating the fact you still found Gojo attractive even now. It was so hard to resist him, even after the shit that's happened between you both and the dark route Gojo has taken. Feeling that curl in your tummy as Gojo's pink lips pressed against your neck and cheek, warming your skin up as if it wasn't before, and making your body react almost immediately.

"I miss your smell, your looks, your clothes and smile.." Gojo's sickeningly sweet tone made your heart skip beats. His tongue runs over your collarbone as his teeth graze it, working his fingers down your arm and towards your front.

"There was so much that I wanted to do to you, but you were off being an adventurous little kitten. But, I finally managed to take you away and you're staying this time! I'm not taking any chances of you leaving or escaping me! Then again... you wouldn't want to escape.."

Gojo's large palm kneaded your chest, rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple and kissing down your neck. Managing to open up your clothes and sighed, a smile on his pale face.

"Waa.. I miss these cute tits of yours, baby..~" Gojo bent his head down, kissing one of your erect nipples as you let out a pained whine.

You shouldn't be feeling so good.. You didn't want this..

"Mmn.. God, you still taste amazing up here," Gojo cooed, licking around your rosy nipples and suckling gently. The feeling of his soft tongue against you made you mewl quietly; you shouldn't be feeling this good.

Not from him. Not because of him.

"Haa.. Can't wait to fuck you," He mewled, his cheeks becoming rosy as he sat up on his knees. "It's the least I can do, seeing as you're all defenseless on the bed. Maybe this is why you ran away? To be bound and tied up for me? Oh~ you're so kinky, Y/n.."

In moments, Gojo was taking off your shirt, pants, and your undergarments. Leaving you exposed underneath him and cold. This was so wrong, so embarrassing, so crazy..

So why were you hot and bothered..?

"Oo~ Someone's been getting off to this, huh?" Gojo cooed, his hand dipping to your heat and running a fingertip up your slick opening.

It made you shiver and mewl, biting your lip immediately as if a wave of love and affection was given to you from two years ago. You shouldn't feel so good over a few touches, no matter how sensitive your slick clit was. How it throbbed and twitched under Gojo's fingers while he cooed.

"Aww, it looks like your pussy misses me, hun~!" He smiled, biting his bottom lip and creating a dent.

His fingers traced around your small opening, pushing his fingers inside so suddenly it burned. Your breath hitched in a quiet coo, your cunt squeezing and twitching around Gojo's fingers as they moved faster and faster. His own pants and sighs are audible as you got closer and closer to an unwanted orgasm.

"C'mon, let that orgasm out, baby," Gojo's tone is so weak it sounded like a plea, curling his fingers and rubbing your sensitive walls. Scissoring his fingers and rubbing your clit with his thumb. "So cute. Cum on my fingers, Y/n. Please."

"A-Agh.. nngh!" You cried, your back arching when you didn't want it, cunt squelching in unison with your wanton moans and whimpers, creaming on your ex's long fingers.

With a sigh, your eyes closed tight, your body relaxed as Gojo's fingers were pulled from your soft warmth. His cock already throbbing in his pants, his pink lips shiny as he drooled at the sight of your undone figure.

Why did you need to leave? He had given you a whole life and yet you left on your wedding day!

"God, seeing you like this just reminds me of our first time together," Satoru had started undoing his belt, the clicking of the buckle alerting you and making you look up towards him. "It was so hot and sexy, I swear I never thought that an ass could bounce that much on someone's cock."

"S-Sato.." Your cheeks burned as your ex continued to rant about your first with him, your eyes locked on Gojo's hardening front with a small whimper. "Please, don't do it.. I.."

"Shh, sweetheart," Gojo cooed, lifting your chin up and kissing you sweetly like his used to when he comforted you. The feeling of his plush and warm lips against your own made your pussy squeeze around the air. your eyes lidded as Gojo continued to lick and trace your hips with his fingers.

"I'll make you feel better, ok? So stop the tears and enjoy my dick like you used to."

Gojo's hips bucked against yours, his dripping cock head spilling some of his seed onto your navel. The usual sticky substance is warm and relaxing against your skin. Nerves under the small puddle of it relaxing as your hips were raised up to graze Gojo's cock against your opening. The twitching and pearled up tip rubbing against the flaps of your pussy, nudging as Gojo started to push.

It slipped without a second thought, pushing into your warm walls and practically gushing inside the stretching hole. The man that owned the needy shaft left out a weak whine, holding onto your hips with a gentle squeeze.

"God baby," He mumbled, his eyes fogging as the pleasure he was getting consumed him fully. Looking down at your shaky figure for a response as he snapped his hips and shoved it into you vigorously. "Feels so good, like always!"

You cry at this, clit grinding against Gojo's pubic bone as your toes begin to curl from the force of his thrusts. It was so good having him inside you, feeling the curve of his cock knock your g-spot perfectly and making you melt under his touch despite how much you wanted to kick him and push him away.

It was like a twisted torture you were enduring.

You wanted to run and hide, but stay and get pleasured by Gojo constantly. To feel those soft hugs and kiss his pretty white lashes each morning before he woke up and whine about how you missed his lips. Bickering back and forth about which store to go to or what things to buy when you got there.

All the soft and fluffy stuff that your soul and heart craved from Gojo's touch. Feeling him pressing you into the bed sweetly like he hadn't kidnapped you. Like he was making love to you, groping at your chest with his large hands and pinching your nipples.

Nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as he picked up his pace, grunting and moaning into your ear while he pleasured himself with your hole.

Sick and twisted, that's the kind of love you felt inside.

"S-Sato, gonna-!!" You cried, arching your back into the restraints and pulling your legs up to fold against you, tugging at the ropes binding them to the bed. "Gonna come! Nghh!"

With a whine your pussy constricted around your kidnapper's cock, shuddering as your orgasm hit you again, almost like a punch in the gut but full of euphoric feelings. Gojo let out an excited mewl, his eyes entranced with your orgasming pussy. Rolling his hips roughly against your swollen pearl, watching it shiver under his touch as he continued to abuse your stretched hole.

"Yeah, baby!" He purred, tracing his thumb over your navel and down to rest above your clit. "C'mon, keep comin' for me. Go on!"

You couldn't hear him over your whines and the rapid beating of your heart, Gojo's words falling on deaf ears as he continued to thrust until he came. The hot and sticky ropes of his come painting your walls and the lips of your pussy.

He let out a sigh at the sight, running his finger up to collect a little of the semen he had spilt.

"Look at that," Gojo cooed, leaning forward and pressing his come covered finger to his lips. "You made me bust so hard inside, it made me a little tired."

Whimpering, your eyes were blurred and hazy, weakly locked with his. Watching as he slipped his digit into his mouth and licked up the messy substance, feeling his lips press against yours after he swallowed it. After a few moments of kissing and cleaning up your disheveled body, Gojo stands and fixes his pants, his glasses returning to their spot on the bridge of his nose.

"Now, my little dove, why don't we try this relationship over?"

a/n: this was a really old draft i decided to touch up and continue recently since I haven't been posting much. i liked how toxic it turned out since i've been feeling a certain way recently lollll anyways, i hope you enjoyed this and hope to get the next chapter of Valentino posted soon! ^^

a/n pt2: There has been a serious lack of posting as I've once again been unable to get the creative juices flowing. I hope I can get back to doing some drabbles and another chapter of Valentino soon.

[enrosadiraanisaaa]

Within Session .Part Three.

Hey there cuties, do not think I forgot about y'all! This fanfic consist of Yandere!Leon Kennedy. I intend for this fic to progressively become disturbing and fucked up with each chapter. While the first few chapters will be tamed, expect the following in this series:

~Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced Breeding, Degradation, NonCon, Gang Banging, Forced Pregnancy, Somnophilia, Blackmail, Manipulation, Abuse, Pet Names, Obsessive Behavior (Duh), Torture, Constraints, Mentions of Blood & Gore, Mental Degradation, Toxic Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Masturbation, Drugged & Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Forced Penetration…

Also you will be retconned (Too bad 😏): Female Reader, 24 Years old and from Texas 💝

This story was purely written with RE 4 (Remake) Leon in mind. So no puppy dog Leon from RE2 or DILF Leon from later games & movies. The story takes place several months after the events of RE4. Yay, you’re in 2004!

I plan to make this series long and fleshed out, but I promise what you want will hit you like a train~🚂

This chapter does not contain any 🔞 material. This story will contain +18 content (NSFW) in the near future 🔞 If you’re a minor, please go read a real book or something, don’t cry to me when your mom finds your shit.  This story will eventually hit that point so don’t set yourself up.

Summary

As an on sight therapist for STRATCOM in Nebraska, you’re tasked with providing quality therapy for US military personnel and government agents. After working at the headquarters for 6 months, Hunnigan recommends you to a notable government agent, Leon Kennedy, who is in need of therapy. After a number of sessions with you, Leon notices a substantial stability in his sanity yet is threatened when you are offered a position back home, closer to your family and friends. Your choice doesn’t sit well with one particular client, who can’t fathom you out of your role as his therapist. Leon has found a means of keeping his precious therapist and realizes you are the key to his permanent solace. You were obviously destined to be his in some form. Why dream of him letting you go?

A\N: I was heavily inspired by Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue 💙, ExploreVenus’s Something Permanent and Guardian Angel by NexysWorld. This chapter was oddly hard to write, especially writing out a session on a serious topic. Once I was writing, I kept writing so you might find this chapter to be long! Expect the next chapter to be out in two weeks!

Hope y'all enjoy the third part! More to come 💝~ Anisssa أنيسة

Here is Part One and Part Two of Within Session

Cleared Mirror

When Leon finally mentioned to Hunnigan his need for help, he did not expect immediate validation to improve his mental health. After the Raccoon City incident in 1998, the horrifying experiences that had cost him a normal life had embedded as an inevitable trauma. The grueling military training that followed after he was captured by the US government and forced to become a government agent to protect Sherry. The underlying hazing that he endured in boot camp tested his abilities and mental state beyond his capabilities, yet it was a period of time that distracted him. Then the recent mission to Spain to save the president’s daughter and his fight against Las Plagas of Los Illuminados seemed to weigh in after losing Luis and confronting Ada Wong after a number of years.  His guilt was engulfing him at this point, so he looked forward to his first session with the referred therapist by Hunnigan.

        However, when he did arrive at the office for the scheduled session at 5PM, he did not expect a young woman to be assigned his therapist. He noticed she was preoccupied with paperwork on her desk before he knocked on the doorway door to notify her that he had arrived. Once her awareness of him occurred, she stood up from her chair to greet him. Leon instantly notices her red attire with black heels, reminding him of a certain woman.

     Without realizing it, Leon accidentally scrunches his face from the reminder. Even when you offer a seat on one of the chairs in front of your desk, a glare on his face remains for a moment. However, when Leon takes another glance at your face, he eases the features of his face, nearly dazed at the sight of your eyes and lips as you both sit across each other. For a moment he studies your facial features while you speak until a question from you returns him to reality. Leon blinks his eyes in realization and nods to the question, simply muttering,”Yes.”

          His heart nearly flutters when you provide a reassuring smile while nodding your head,”That’s okay, let’s get started, Leon,” He hears you tell him. 

      By leaning over the chair, you reach over with one hand to retrieve paperwork clipped to a clipboard from the top of your desk. Leon patiently sits in silence across from you, curious of the next course of actions. With a swift flip of the papers attached to the clipboard, you reaffirm all the necessary documents before leaning over in the chair to hand the clipboard to Leon. Once Leon had the clipboard in his possession, he curiously skimmed through the pages while you spoke,” Alright Leon, we’re going to take the first 15 minutes to get through all this annoying intake paperwork. Essentially review HIPAA concerns, consent forms, and ethical guidelines. Afterwards, I will ask more questions regarding your background, then begin discussing your reasons for therapy and goals so we can formulate a treatment plan along our sessions. How does that sound?” You question him, provided with a gentle smile.

       Leon follows with a head nod, content with the flow of the session.”Sounds good,” he immediately responds, eager to hear your voice more. Despite Leon never receiving treatment before, he was honestly impressed with your diligence.

     With the reassurance from Leon, you proceed on explaining the following paperwork.”Also, please feel welcomed to ask me any questions, I want to ensure you’re not leaving here confused and that my skills are what you’re looking for in a therapist,” You sincerely express, shifting in the chair to cross your legs.  

      There were several questions that instantly came to Leon’s thoughts: ‘How old are you?’ and ‘Are you single?’ 

“The first page contains a HIPAA authorization form, basically entailing how your medical information is disclosed and your rights regarding your medical information…''You explain, leaning over the side of the chair again to snatch a pen from your desk. With the pen in hand, you lean over the chair to hand it to Leon,”So just write today’s date, your full name, date of birth, social security, check the boxes, and provide your signature. Please let me know if you have questions,” You breathe out, observing him as Leon fills out the worksheet in silence, hearing the scribbling of the pen on paper.  

         After a moment, Leon glances back up to you, signaling he was finished with signing this section of paperwork. In this moment, you provide a smile in reassurance,”Sweet, now we can continue to the next section, which is simply covering ethical guidelines between therapist and client. If you flip over to the next page, it will clarify all the different points. When you’re done reading, just sign at the bottom,” You advise him, sinking back into the chair as Leon flips and reviews the next page of ethical guidelines.

      At this moment, several points mentioning friendship and gift exchange between client and therapist caught Leon’s attention. Therapists are legally required to maintain a professional relationship with their clients, thus can not accept gifts over a certain amount. Leon briefly glances at you, then instantly returns his sight to the paperwork on his lap. He would have to abide by these guidelines to receive treatment. With the pen in his hand, Leon inscribes his signature on the line at the bottom of the page along with writing the current date. 

    With all the paperwork finally reviewed and signed, this prompted you to clasp your hands together, instantly capturing Leon’s concentration from the paperwork on his lap up to you at the sudden noise,”Okay, we’re done with paperwork! You can set that on my desk, now we can finally get into why you’re here. I will ask a couple of questions, then you can tell me more about yourself, Leon,” You explain, your voice full of enthusiasm as you directly observe his blue orbs across the room. In response to your declaration, Leon nods his head. 

     By adjusting your throat, you then exhale before asking the first question: “Has your family or you have any history of substance abuse that is not limited to alcohol, illegal drugs, and abuse of medication?” 

From across the room, you notice Leon shakes his head,”I am not sure about my family, but not me…”

      To acknowledge him, you provide a subtle head nod to his response,”That’s okay if you don’t know. Another question: During your childhood, did you live any significant period of time with anyone other than your natural parents?” You question him, intently observing his expressions. Despite his file entailing he was an orphan, you needed more context.

      There was a momentary pause from Leon at this question, his gaze elsewhere but you as he ponders this question. He then returns his gaze to you, nodding,” Yes. I was in the foster care system until I became 18 years of age. There was an incident in my family that I don’t have much recollection on…” He tries to clarify. 

     ‘There was an incident?’ This thought comes to you, debating if this subject should be pressed on and explored. You veer your head to the clock on the wall, it was already 5:32PM. Session will be ending soon at 5:50PM and there is at least one important question left for Leon.

     With another head nod, your lips form a smile to Leon,”We can explore that at another time if you like… My last question is: What has brought you to therapy and what goals do you want to accomplish?” To some, this inquiry might seem ridiculous, but this direct question was for clients to explore their reasoning to receive therapy.

     An exasperated sigh escapes his mouth, tilting his head to the sides as it seemed he did not want to confess his sentiment. “Uh… I feel alone” He finally admits, his face expressionless.

     “At what point in your life do you feel alone?” You inquired, keeping your tone serious to Leon’s response.

      Over the span of his life, there were an absurd number of instances when he was abandoned by people. The initial example was during his childhood, when his family was massacred for unexplained reasons. He spent a considerate amount of years in the foster care system, unloved by blood. The girlfriend who broke off their relationship the night before he experienced the incident in Raccoon City. Hell, even when Claire Redfield deserted Sherry and him to search for her older brother after they barely survived that harrowing night together. Leon had to fend for Sherry when Claire had left them to the mercy of the US government. Then the infamous Ada Wong, who used him twice before vanishing without a trace. People were brief in his life, either from death or they left him.

     Despite these prominent circumstances, how would he express some of these details without explaining an incident that was covered up and immensely classified. His hands and tongue were tied, he would have to brush over this portion of his life. 

       With several blink of his eyes, Leon considers other reasons for his lonesomeness. There was an uneasy feeling that swept over him due to the unsettling silence in the room. You were attentive for his answer.

      “The nature of my job… I am too busy to involve myself in meaningful relationships,” Leon conjures, returning his gaze to those eyes that seemed too distant from him. 

     As Leon provides a response to your final question, you notice hesitation in his demeanor as if he is recollecting something traumatic. However, as a professional you can not dismiss his answer, but simply acknowledge him. 

    Since Leon was an agent of STRATCOM, no doubt that life threatening missions contributed to this sentiment. Similar among other agents and military personnel, coping with isolation and loneliness was common. 

      “Are there any particular aspects of your job that contribute to your feeling of loneliness?” You ask him in a sincere tone. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, there were only a few minutes of session. Damm…

Leon noticed your glance to the clock on the wall, yet continued to speak,” People are temporary in my line of work…” He admits, noticing the hands of the clock were at 5:46pm.”Session is done already, huh?” Leon comments, returning his attention to you for confirmation. 

       A faint smile forms on your lips, nod slightly.”Unfortunately…but we can continue this subject next session..” You respond, standing from the chair to retrieve another clipboard from your desk, consisting of another signature page. “Before you leave, if I could get your signature. I did check your health insurance and it’s all good to go. They require a client signature to authorize that you received treatment today,” You inform him, offering the clipboard to him with both hands. 

     Leon stands from his seat, taking the clipboard with one hand while his other hand grasps the pen attached to the clipboard. After signing his signature at the bottom of the sheet, he returns the clipboard back into your possession with a faint smile on his lips.

     You reciprocate the same faint smile on your face,”Alright Leon, it was a pleasure to meet you today. I really recommend writing any thoughts or topics you want to speak about in a small notebook for our sessions, that way you don’t forget… but other than that. You are free to go. I look forward to seeing you on Friday at 5PM. If you need to reach me for any reason, definitely reach me by email or my work number.” You mention, leaning on your desk. 

       With a nod from Leon, offering a cheeky grin,”Yes ma'am. I will see you on Friday then, stay warm...” He comments, noticeably glancing at your body up and down, implying your poor choice in your red attire. At those words, Leon turns around to exit your office, leaving you alone in silence. 

     This was definitely an interesting client, there was no doubt in Leon’s charisma and intellect. 

[dotieeee]

A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK one-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Summary: You were at the cusp of making a life for yourself when you bought a loaf of bread for a stranger, who seemed a little bit too taken with such a nice gesture.

When you were a kid, everybody around you seemed to think you got a great life ahead of you. You kept hearing them comment how bright you were, how talented, how lucky your parents were to have such a behaved, wonderful child - and for a time, it got to your head.

Until life proved you weren't really any of those things.

It started creeping in when you went away to college. You had a taste of freedom, of zero expectations, and a glimpse of a world suddenly leagues beyond yourself. It was one class at first, then another, until you started dropping out of every class and left college altogether.

Many therapy sessions, and a couple of therapists later, you found out what it was called: burnout. It just so happened it plagued you a little early in life.

In retrospect, perhaps you could've tried harder - if you had just snoozed your alarm off a little less; if you had just grit your teeth and stomached your way through a few more algebra periods instead of sitting alone in that little corner of the library, reading whatever, hidden from a world you barely knew - perhaps it all would've been different.

Perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in this small, glass cage floating in a vast chasm, in a place you hadn't thought existed even in your wildest dreams.

It was a day like any other, you supposed: the day you met him. You had to go to work, to a desk job that you actually liked, writing for a local food magazine. You were quite good at it too - it's a skill you had when you were quite young and had not had a chance to cultivate until late. Sure, you were barely making ends meet and had very little time to spare, what with taking a certificate course at a nearby university and recently moving out of your parents' house to rent your own little apartment, but you were feeling optimistic for the first time in a long while. Your boss just let it slip the other day that you were due for a well-deserved promotion soon. It was a slow process, but you were finally on your way to getting your life back together. You had a future you looked forward to.

Having already established your morning routine, you were on your way early to the office and decided to stop for coffee at this corner bakeshop you had once featured in one of your articles. The smell of freshly baked bread distracted you from a mental draft you were making for an article due tonight, so on impulse, you asked the cashier for a plain butter croissant at the counter. You looked to your right where the pastries were to see whether you wanted something else (the danishes looked scrumptious). You opened your mouth to ask the other lady behind the bread counter for a cherry danish, but her attention was already on the man beside you, clad in a thick, woollen black coat, collar upturned, his chiselled jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at the question the lady posed for him.

"Uh, sir? I asked what you'd like to have?"

He tilted his head imperceptibly and for a moment, you thought he couldn't speak, until he opened those pursed lips, and finally, came out the most velvety, alluring voice you've ever heard: "I'd like some bread, please."

"Well, we've got quite a lot of them," the lady replied slowly as if she was trying her best not to be snarky at the stranger. "Might I recommend the baguette? It's fresh out of the oven."

The man nodded curtly as the lady picked the steaming bread from the basket display using a pair of tongs and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

"That'll be one twenty-five, sir."

The man made no move to shuffle in his pockets for money. In fact, he stayed still, stiff as a board, staring at the lady behind the counter who was getting rather irritated at his dawdling, probably keeping her from attending to the growing line of other customers waiting to get their breakfast. Perhaps, he didn't have money? Perhaps, just like your first few weeks out of your parents' house, he was struggling and he had no one else to depend on?

"I-I'll pay for it."

You didn't know what it really was that compelled you to say it - maybe it was that draft you were itching to get to, maybe you found empathy in his situation, whatever it was - at that time, you had no regrets. Seemingly surprised by the gesture, the man in the black coat, with his dishevelled hair and his pale countenance, stared at you intensely through those long eyelashes of his, and for a few moments, you held his gaze.

His eyes. They were a nice shade of ocean blue. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes you had ever seen.

You would later discover they could bleed to depthless black - ruthless, vindictive, inhuman.

The cashier handed you your change and your croissant, effectively breaking the spell the stranger beside you had on you. The cherry danish all but ignored, you flashed the man a small smile and headed out of the bakeshop, going about your merry way to the office with nothing but that article in mind.

And for the next two weeks, you had already put the rather bizarre incident (man) behind you, having been assigned to another place to visit and write about.

The man, however, never forgot.

The place you had been assigned to, called the New Inn, actually belonged to a professor in your university. You've had quite a lot of fun in his classes, so this was a gig you were pretty excited about.

It was a little over five in the afternoon when you stepped inside Professor Gadling's pub. He was already there in the corner booth, grading several essays. He put them aside as you arrived and asked a waiter to bring you both coffee. You were in the process of bringing out your digital recorder for the interview when you heard a voice so familiar it sent shivers down your spine.

"Hob."

Completely taken by surprise, you dropped the recorder to the floor, and it landed just a few inches from a pair of black boots. You tried to reach for it, but a pale, bony hand picked it up and wordlessly handed it to you. You looked up, only to get lost in a pair of ocean-blue eyes focused entirely on you.

It was the stranger from the bakeshop.

You took the recorder, muttering a flustered 'thank you,' before Professor Gadling greeted him like an old friend. He then introduced you to the stranger, who oddly enough just stared at you the entire time.

"She's interviewing me for the pub. I'll be featured in a magazine, can you believe it?" Professor Gadling said to the stranger who stepped inside the booth, intending to take the empty seat directly across from you. Turning to you, he stated, "This is my friend -"

"You may call me Morpheus." The man interrupted, a ghost of a smile visible on his usually blank features. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

It was unnerving the way he held your gaze without blinking, but perhaps it was just your imagination - after all, you hadn't had anything to eat since that leftover Chinese noodles this morning.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” was all you could come up with.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with two cups of coffee and a dessert platter, and the interview with the professor went well and without interruptions. You both had so much fun, you ended up having dinner and drinks at the pub, and while it struck you odd that your third, silent companion did not partake in any single morsel of the food, by the time the evening ended at half-past ten, you had enough material for your article and were in great spirits. You thanked him for being such a gracious host and politely bid your farewell, as you were anxious to get a headstart on the draft.

The three of you simultaneously got to your feet - Professor Gadling to walk you outside, and the odd man named Morpheus trailing behind.

"Do come by again, my dear, and good luck with the article. I know you'd do a fantastic job." The professor said as he waved farewell outside the pub. He turned to Morpheus, who stood just a few feet away, watching the interaction, and gestured to him inside - presumably for them to continue their conversation - but as soon as you waved goodbye, he made a beeline for you, stopping just a few inches away and towering over you.

Too close, you thought. Wait, were his eyes twinkling? It must’ve been the streetlamp, the lights outside were pretty dim.

"I would like to accompany you on your walk home."

His words threw you off because they were so unexpected. He had no reason to do so, after all. Shyly, you beamed at him and replied, "I'd appreciate it, Morpheus, but I wouldn't like to impose...weren't you meeting with the professor?"

Professor Gadling, who apparently was in earshot of your conversation, waved you away.

"No, it's fine, dear. Besides, a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night. I'll see you some other time, my friend," he added, winking at Morpheus, who just tilted his chin in reply.

The professor had a point. You lived nearby, that was true, but the streets weren't safe on a Friday night, especially at this hour. You chewed on the insides of your cheek, nervous at the fact that you have not had anyone walk you home in a long while.

It's just a walk home. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Okay."

You would come to regret your response.

***

Inwardly, Morpheus rejoiced at the thought of you lowering your guard with him. He motioned with a hand to let you lead the way, not that he needed it - in two weeks after your fateful encounter at the bakeshop he had gotten to know every little detail he needed to know about you, including where you lived, of course. He had seen the little apartment himself when you were out at work, and while it irked him that you had to live in such a humble abode, he knew through your dreams that you had filled the apartment with love and considered it your sanctuary. It wouldn't matter once he took you home to his kingdom as his lover - for you, he'd craft an entire palace carved in precious stones in the blink of an eye, and it would be your sanctuary, just as much as this tiny home.

He did a fine job, too, of luring you into the place his centuries-old friend now owned. It took him only one dream, planted during your boss’s deepest slumber, for you to get sent right where Morpheus wanted you to be. All this planning and you were right there, with him, just as the fates would have it.

He had to ask you tonight. He has waited long enough.

***

You were just a few blocks away from your apartment building when you finally gained the courage to break the awkward silence between you two.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said quietly as you eyed him sideways. Your eyes widened at the sight that greeted you: he had a genuine, warm smile on his face you'd never seen on him before, and if his demeanour is anything to go by, you knew this was a rarity.

He looked like a prince, even with his hair sticking out in all directions.

"It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness to me at that establishment," he spoke with conviction. "I have not forgotten."

Surprised, but overall glad that he remembered, you matched his expression as best you can and replied, "You're welcome."

Nothing was ever exchanged until you reached your apartment door, but he seemed to draw closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

Your hand was already at the keys to the doorknob when you asked him if he wanted to come in.

"For tea, perhaps?" You added. "I couldn't help but notice you didn’t eat at dinner, so…”

It was a last-minute decision, seeing as he was kind enough to ensure you got home safely. He could do with a few biscuits, too, in your opinion, judging by his pallor and his refusal to eat anything at the pub.

There it was again - that captivating smile, but behind it, you see a flash of something else entirely. It was gone even before you could fully take it in, so you shrugged inwardly. The hallway’s lighting has always been too dark to see a damn thing.

“You need not concern yourself over me, I am much stronger than I look,” he said in a light, teasing tone. “However, your effort would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You waved him off and pushed the door open to your home. “I just hope you don’t mind tea without milk, I haven’t done any grocery shopping yet…”

Morpheus followed you inside, closing the door behind him, as you went off to your room to drop your bag on the bed and set up your laptop on your work desk. As soon as you got out of your room, you found him with his back to you, rummaging through the copies of the magazine you wrote for.

“Nothing interesting in those, I’m afraid. Still, not bad for a would-be writer, don’t you think?”

Chuckling to yourself, you made your way to the tiny kitchen to put the electric kettle to boil, then rummaged through the cupboards for a mug you were saving for when you had guests over. Not that you’ve ever had any - so far, he was the first you’ve had since you moved in.

“‘A would-be writer?’”

The proximity of his voice startled you, seeing as you thought he had still been reading back in the living room. It’s admittedly only a few steps away, but you hadn’t heard him approach. He was at the kitchen doorway, casting a long shadow in the dimly lit space. You had forgotten to turn the lights on, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“You give yourself very little credit for such riveting work,” he said as he closed the distance between you. The kettle had just turned off by itself, so you concentrated on pouring the boiling water on the mug and dropping a Ceylon tea bag inside. Leaning on the tiled counter, you watched the tea leaves bleed into the water, turning it to a lovely amber colour.

“I don’t know about that -”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt his fingertips subtly stroke your elbow, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

He’d gotten so close…

Scooping up the mug with both hands, you turn around to hand him the mug, only to find yourself inches away from him you almost spill the hot liquid on his woollen coat.

“Your writing has soul. I should know: I have read every word you have ever written.”

Blinking up at him, you saw him dip his head closer to yours as his pale, warm hands enclosed around yours, still holding the tea.

You were trembling, it seemed, but he stilled it.

“Th-thank you," you whispered, unable to avert your gaze from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin you to place, as was his tall, imposing form enclosing you between him and the kitchen counter. He was so close you could feel the heat emanating from him. "That means so much to me.”

Or was it the heat from your cheeks you felt?

Seemingly oblivious to your increasingly flustered state, Morpheus made a deliberate move to extricate the cup of tea from your grasp so he could set it back down behind you (it was probably already over-brewed, you thought), while you try to compose yourself and ignore his fingers softly grazing your knuckles. You didn't have much time, however, because the next thing you knew was those same hands cupping your cheeks and his soft lips brushing over yours in a chaste kiss that stole your breath completely.

You felt him release his hold on you, perhaps to observe your reaction. Perhaps, you could’ve pushed him away right there and then; screamed at him for touching you and thrown him out of your home; but you couldn’t summon your limbs to respond. He took your momentary lapse of judgement to crash his lips on yours once more - it was a more heated, more insistent kiss, and as if to seal you to him, his hands travelled to your back to encase you in an embrace and pushed you further into the counter.

This was wrong.

It was all your instincts could tell you. So you heeded them and pushed against the lapel of his coat with all your strength. It was like pushing against a wall, but you managed to wriggle free from his grasp, so you made an effort to put as much distance between you and him as your tiny kitchen would allow. You glanced immediately at his face to gauge his expression, and to your utter shock, his eyes had gone entirely black. One blink, and it was blue once more, maybe even a tad regretful.

It’s the lighting in this damn kitchen, you assured yourself.

“I understand I may have been too forward,” he began, “But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I have waited for this since our fateful meeting.” He took slow steps towards you, and unconsciously you backed away until your back hit the fridge. There was nowhere else to back into. He halted as soon as he sensed your guard up.

“Morpheus, it was just a loaf of bread, really…”

Morpheus’s eyes softened visibly at your words and simply continued, “And by that selfless act, you have saved me in more ways than you could ever understand. I have held you in my heart since, my precious little saviour.”

“I-I'm sure it's nothing...” you stammered.

“Allow me the honour of courting you, and in turn, you shall know of my gratitude, and my love, until the end of my days.”

Your heart sank at his declaration. Somehow, you knew in your heart he meant every word he said. You couldn’t have this, not when everything in your life was just starting to fall into place. You put on the kindest smile you could muster and spoke slowly as you chose the right words, hoping he wouldn’t be too downcast with what you were about to say to him.

“I'm sure you're a wonderful man, Morpheus. I just…I don't think I can make that commitment right now. I mean, I just met you, and all I know about you is that you’re Professor Gadling’s friend.”

“That can be rectified.”

You let out a sigh. This was going to be difficult, but you really didn’t like the idea of egging him on. “I know that, but…I don’t think I have time for that, you know?”

“How so?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.

“It's been a struggle just to get to where I am today… I have my work, which I love, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something right and…one wrong move could make me lose my footing. I’m sorry.”

Morpheus seemed unconvinced, taking a few steps forward to close that gap between you. “You need not worry yourself over such trivial matters. I know what you dream of. I can give you the recognition you deserve, the stability you crave and more… Come with me and I can show you.”

He offered an outstretched hand, urging you to take it. But if you were being honest, you just wanted to crawl into bed, the draft be damned. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you.

“‘Come with you…?’ I'm sorry, please don't take this the wrong way, I'm sure you mean well…but-but-th-this isn't really a good time for this…” you stammered as you crossed your arms to make a point, which you hoped he’d finally take. “I think I'd like to be alone now, please. I-I have that…thing I want to finish, and it's getting late…I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really am.”

Morpheus’s hand lowered steadily, but all the softness he had in his expression was gone without a trace, replaced with cold, hard eyes and furrowed brows. The warmth you have loved your apartment for all but disappeared, replaced with a clammy air that seemed to come from…from him.

“You have no idea what you've just turned away…nor who I am, and what I can do,” came Morpheus’s voice, lowered to an unrecognisable timbre. “I will give you this final chance to amend your answer, my little saviour.”

“E-excuse me?” you said, fighting the urge to run away from him and hide. This was your home, you had no reason to. Who the hell was he to threaten you in your own home? “I'd like you to leave, please, or I'm calling the police…”

He was only a few feet away from you now, and the wind somehow grew stronger, you could feel its rough caress on your skin.

Sand.

The light in your kitchen turned on without a warning, and your eyes widened at the sight of the man you had so carelessly allowed into your home:

A dangerous man - now a being transforming right before you - with chilling black eyes, a heavy flurry of sand circling him, and waves of black smoke emanating from his growing form…

Paralyzed in utter fear, your heart pounding in your ears, all you could do was hold on to the fridge as you watched him approach your cowering form on the floor. Gone was that princely face you shared a gentle kiss with, replaced by a bony, skeletal mask with hollow cheekbones, his mouth contorted in a snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

His voice echoed as he spoke, raspy and deafening:

“I am quite disappointed in you, my precious saviour. No matter: I am not unmerciful.” A pale hand, now with blackened, sharpened nails, made an appearance before you. “Take my hand, my beloved, and I shall forgive your error.”

In your terrified state, all you could muster was an adamant shake of your head.

This can’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m dreaming, I'm-I’m dreaming this, this can’t be real, you’re no-not real…” hunched on the floor, hugging your legs, you muttered to yourself.

“Very well,” he thundered. “You have made your choice. ”

You would later discover just how real dreams could be, and that they weren’t that much different from the nightmares.

***

Morpheus released a small sigh as he watched you in your spherical compartment, deep in troubled slumber. He had not meant to frighten you that much with his nightmarish form. Admittedly, he could’ve done a much better job with reeling himself in, but the pain of your rejection felt to him like a thousand daggers being plunged into his heart. All he wanted was for you to be happy with him. He could’ve given you everything he had seen you dream of - he still could, but not before he heard from your sweet lips an admittance of your guilt, and a vow never to spurn him again. 

He held the tiny sphere that contained your form in his palm and drew it closer to his face to get a better look at you. He had fashioned you a dress that brought out the colour of your eyes and soul: you looked ravishing, even in imprisonment. In his mind, he had played the memory of the kiss you had shared with him in your home a thousand times over. You were intoxicating, and the thought of kissing you again and finally marking your skin cemented his decision of keeping you in this space he crafted in his kingdom. You needed time to consider his proposal, that was to be expected. He would allow you the time you needed. All he had to do was assure you of your safety and well-being, seeing as scaring you even further might prolong his wait.

He knew you would wake soon, and he would explain his actions when you do. You would have no reason to refuse him, then.

***

You woke with a start, rubbing the sleep off your eyes, just to sit up and think.

You had lost count of the number of days you had spent in your glass enclosure, and there was nothing much to do except to observe your surroundings - nothing but a vast space, where distant stars glittered in the black tapestry that was space, with a single source of light in sight, like the sun, only that it offered no warmth. That, and to ruminate on the events that led you to this situation.

You remembered when you first came to, locked in this glorified cage. You still thought you were dreaming then, so you did everything you could to try waking yourself up, only none of it worked. That was when he appeared.

Dream of the Endless, he had called himself. The King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.

He claimed to rule the place he had taken you to, which he called the Dreaming. He had then explained that everything humanity (‘your kind,’ you recalled him saying) had ever dreamed of in its sleep was as real as everything it sees, hears, and feels in its waking hours and that he presided over them since the first living creature dreamed, and will do so until the end of all life.

He had revealed that he had watched over you, your dreams and your waking hours, since your first meeting, and that he had not meant to scare you, only that he wished for you to accept his advances.

That was the first of his many attempts to get you to say ‘yes.’

He would ask in many ways: a long walk in this garden he called the Fiddler’s Green; a sumptuous dinner in one of his many grand halls; an adventurous tryst in one of the humans’ dreams. He had promised that if you agreed to be courted by him and be with him, he would take you out of your enclosure and release you, allow you to roam his kingdom as his lover, forever wanting nothing and lavishing in all the riches and trinkets he could offer.

From then, you knew you would never be allowed back into the life you had worked so hard to build, humble as it may have been.

At first, your response to his attempts of coaxing you into a relationship with him was a string of incoherent curses and screaming. After a while, they were plain ignored - his face would remain blank every time, if not a tad disappointed, or hurt.

You didn’t care.

But you were also lying if you said it hadn’t worn out your resolve. This day was one of them.

You missed food. Not that you were ever hungry - he had removed hunger from you in your imprisonment. He had given you the gift of dreamless sleep as well, but in your time alone with nothing to do except wake and sleep, you’d give almost anything to have dreams again. You had no other company except him and the vast, endless space beyond your cage that he had conjured for you. You being sealed away from everything was driving you closer to insanity every day, and that was his design: to make you desperate enough to submit to his will.

Without warning, your hair stood at the back of your neck, your senses on high alert.

Dream of the Endless had arrived.

“My precious little saviour,” he greeted in that deep, velvety voice you had grown to hate and find comfort in at the same time. “I have come for you.”

Your captor had a warm smile on his regal features, one that didn’t match his true intentions. You stared at him with a blank expression and let his greeting go unanswered.

“Will you join me for a walk in my garden?”

He kept his eye contact with you as he waited for your response. It unnerved you to no end, the way he held your gaze with those ocean-blue eyes of his, knowing a single ‘no’ from you would instantly turn it to the black ones you have known to fear. When you opened your mouth to speak, it actually hurt your throat - you hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Will you be locking me up again, after?”

He grinned at you and tilted his head slightly. “If you behave and do as I say, I will not.”

Only a single tear that escaped from your eye betrayed that gnawing feeling of defeat in your gut. Finally swallowing whatever pride you had left, you made a decision.

“Yes.”

You should never have bought him that damned loaf of bread.

***

Just a little one-shot I wanted to write to get myself out of a writing rut I've been stuck with wanting Comatose to be perfect it stressed me out too much :// I will still work on it, I promise! I just need to get this out the way to get my writing mojo back :D

PART II here!!!!

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that it's really appreciate iiiit

***

[pureblisswrites]

A guide to getting kidnapped and escaping 101

Chapter 1: The Schrödinger's Kat

Prologue

"Alright then. If that's what you want." He sighed again before his eyes went dark and he leaned in closer towards you. "I should warn you beforehand though, curiosity killed the cat."

"And satisfaction brought it back." You reply.

Pairing: afab! Psychologist! Reader x Bang Chan

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Crime, mafia au, eventual romance, slow burn, comedy (an attempt was made)

Summary: You are a fairly renowned psychologist and therapist but definitely not renowned enough to be getting kidnapped in the middle of the night. Is it one of your past patients with a criminal record? You don't know what the kidnapper wants but now you finally find out.

This story takes place in the same universe as "A guide to accidental murder and cover up 101" but with a different reader. I suggest you can read that too if these kind of stories are your type. But both can be read as standalones too.

"Going somewhere doc?"

"Um no?" You try to lie. It was like your brain had turned into mush now that you were face to face with this scary unknown man.

He sighed deeply at your poor attempt at lying. "Please follow me." He said to you politely and started going into the direction you had come from. He didn't even turn once to see if you were following or not. You could try to run away but you doubted it would be useful in any way. So your best bet for now was to follow him. You saw as he removed his blood stained gloves swiftly and just dropped them on a table in the hallway, seemingly not bothered at all by the fact that he was staining the table in the process too. After many turns and taking a fucking lift to the 3rd floor, you finally reached the apparent destination as he opened a door and stepped to the side. "After you." He bowed lightly.

You stepped in to see the huge room. From the walls to the furniture, everything was the darkest shade of black. It had a huge glass window through which you could see the view of the city. The room was designed like an office of a rich ceo or something. A black table in the middle. With chairs on both sides. And a bookcase on the wall parallel to the window. It definitely did not have the kind of books you'd read because you could see a thick file with the word 'contracts' stamped on it with red. Another one was labeled as '0325 blueprints' with a black sharpie in messy handwriting.

That was all your eyes could take in before he cleared his throat and gestured for you to sit on a chair and took a seat behind the desk. "I apologise for staining your shirt. I'll have your clothes delivered to you soon." He said while folding his jacket's sleeves till his elbows. And oh his hands are very veiny for some reason.

"Uh... my clothes?" You ask in perplexity. Talking about clothes though, you notice he's wearing a black jacket with a red rose on it over his plain black shirt. You are just grateful his clothes aren't splashed with blood now.

"Oh right. I'm sure you would have many questions." No shit sherlock. "Please ask away whatever you want. I'll try my best to answer as long as the questions are appropriate." Appropriate? What did he think you were gonna question him about? His love life? Egoistical bastard. You wanted to roll your eyes but you would rather not test him for now.

"So... who are you?" The most important question. And the first one you asked your clients, although you had their information files with you. Oh how you wished you could have his information file.

"You can call me Chris." He answered with a slight and what you could only call proud smile. Did this guy really think he gave you a good answer? This was not some introductions meeting, you wanted to know what he did. Guess you'll have to be straight forward with him. Afterall he did say you could ask anything.

"What... work do you do?" You make sure to not say anything he might find offensive. Because you should be worrying about such a thing after seeing him literally splattered with blood.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. It's... confidential, let's just say." Yeah you kind of knew he wouldn't tell you about him possibly committing murders just yet.

"Fine. Why am I here?"

"To cure me." He says while fidgeting with the two silver chain bracelets he's wearing on his wrists.

"Of what?" You question with furrowed brows.

"Uh I- I think I might be, and I don't know for sure of course, um going crazy." He mumbled nervously, a contradiction from the way he appeared in front of his men.

Now that interested you. Okay so maybe you were writing a potentially illegal research paper on criminals and their psychology but you couldn't agree to this, right? You did have access to talk to a handful of criminals but always under the surveillance of a camera with guards there. You couldn't ask the questions you wanted to. Not without raising suspicions about if you, yourself were a bit crazy. Plus he didn't look too threatening now that he wasn't covered in blood. And what will he even get out of hurting or murdering you? Atleast he wasn't one of the psychopaths whom you had reported to be sent in an asylum and he screamed "I'll kill you one day" and a bunch of other stuff you didn't wish to remember again as he was dragged away by the guards. And it wasn't like this man was hard to look at. Yes pretty privilege and the halo effect were very much really. You were a mere human afterall.

"That still doesn't explain why I'm here." You knew exactly why you were here by now but hearing what he had to say wouldn't hurt.

"Aren't you a doctor specifically for that?" He asked as if you were dumb. Maybe he was thinking you were stupid. Which is great. You don't want him thinking or rather, knowing that you're too smart, too soon.

"So... you need help?" You ask as if you are still confused.

"Whatever way you wanna put it I guess." So he couldn't even accept the fact that he needed help yet. Great.

"And you couldn't come to the hospital I work at like a normal person for that?"

"What do you think?" He raises an eyebrow and you have to accept he looks ridiculously attractive while doing so. Get it together, you scold yourself. "Look I can't tell you what it is that I do. But I think you're smart enough to know it's not something that allows me to just walk into government owned institutions." Oh you knew.

"I don't see how that's my problem? You couldn't find a private therapist or something?" Now this is something you hadn't actually figured out yet. Surely just hiring a private psychologist would be lot easier than whatever he was doing.

"Unfortunately for you and fortuantely for me, I don't settle for anything less than the best. And no private people were as qualified as you." Oh?

"How do you even know that?" You ask, now in actual confusion.

"A friend of mine attended your seminar on psychodynamic theory last year and he was thoroughly impressed by you. He was actually the one who reccomended you." Okay what the fuck? Only top detectives and goverment officers were allowed to attend that event as you had to go through some truly disturbing and stomach churning cases to explain your points. How did he even have friends there?

"How lucky for me." You remark sarcastically.

"I know this might be a difficult situation for you to adjust to and I'm deeply sorry for that. But please understand that there was no other way." He explains while brushing his dark hair out of his face.

"Oh sure, as if you couldn't just, I don't know drop by my home for a few sessions? Why do I have to be held captive to help you!?" Now you have to put your 2 years of being in drama club in high school to good use. You have to let him think you are just so distressed by this situation, as any normal person would be.

"What? No, no. You're not 'held captive' as you put it. I just needed to get you under my protection if I wanted to do this." Just as you think this man can't surprise you anymore, he says something that makes no sense in the image you are trying to put together of him.

"Why?"

"You don't think I've got people who are just dying to know my secrets that no one else does and the ones you'll get to know soon enough? They can kidnap you and not with the intention of getting... 'help', but with the intention of hurting you, unlike me. And I can't let that happen just because I'm an idiot who thinks there's something wrong with me." As soon as you heard the sentence "that no else does and the ones you'll get to know" your brain was overflowing with serotonin. In a world where everything was already discovered and no one kept secrets from you anymore, this sounded like the best reward you could get after hearing people's mediocre stories about their trust issues because that one boy broke their heart in 5th grade.

"'Think'? I haven't even talked to you that much yet and I already know there's a lot wrong with you. You don't think you can just murder people or do whatever it is that you do and live with a healthy conscience do you?" The fact that he "thought" there was something wrong with him was laughable at the best and downright sad at the worst.

He sighed again. "Right. But I want you to know that I'm not gonna force you to do this. If you don't want to do this, you're free to go. I mean you'll definitely need atleast a month of protection by my men because I know the news of you being here would've already reached to my... rivals, let's just put it that way."

"That reminds me, care to tell me how long have I been here for?"

He looks at his expensive looking watch before answering. "Somewhere between 20 to 22 hours." So it hadn't even been a day yet and his 'rivals' already knew about you being here? Just who was this man? He was like a messily wrapped present flowing wtih intrigue and enigma. So there was only one right answer at this point right?

"Kat and Nemo." You say, finally telling him the decision you made a while ago.

"Huh?"

"My pets. Get them here as soon as you can. They haven't eaten all day today, Oh my God."

"So- wait- does- does that mean you're doing this?" He asks in disbelief.

"No I just want to leave my pets here." You roll your eyes. "Of course, are you really that dense? And while you're at it, get my phone and laptop too." You could finally talk to him freely now that he had said he wouldn't hurt you... you think.

"Oh sorry I just still can't believe you agreed and-" he says incredulously.

"I'm sure we can talk later after you get my pets here." You get up to go to whatever room it was you were in.

"Where are you going?" He questions, standing up too.

"Back to that dungeon." You turn back to look at him.

"It's not a dungeon okay. If you don't like it, you can have another room." He stands right in front you.

"Fine then let me stay in your room." Yes he was hot but that wasn't the reason okay. Atleast not the only one. Maybe you would be able to study him more if you spent more time with him. For research, of course.

"What?" He asked dumbfoundedly. You were sure if he was drinking something right now, he would've choked.

"You heard me."

"Alright then. If that's what you want." He sighed again before his eyes went dark and he leaned in very close towards you. "I should warn you beforehand though, curiosity killed the cat." He whispers to you. So afterall he wasn't as dumb to not figure out your motivations yet. Yeah you didn't really do good in the drama club anyways.

"And satisfaction brought it back." You reply.

"Unfortunately nothing that is killed ever comes back to life." He says as if he's experienced it himself.

"Schrödinger's cat." You reply and watch his brows furrow. Of course he wouldn't know what that means.

"What does that mean?" He squints his eyes.

"Maybe I'll tell you some day." You shrug.

He rolls his eyes at that. "I'll send the contract to your room. Read it before signing." Wow so now you'll have to sign a contract? As if things couldn't get any more weird.

You were willing to do anything to unwrap the messily wrapped present that 'Chris' was. And maybe that was the first mistake you made before making many others that will lead you somwhere you couldn't even imagine yet.

A/N: look who posted finally after a whole month. I'm sorry for being late lol.

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Tags: @scuzmunkie @obeythemasters

[sasheneskywalker]

batfamily fic recs which are told from an outsider’s perspective

the city carries ruins in its heart by nex_et_nox

“Do you trust him?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” said Batman, unhesitating.

He didn’t know if he would ever like Red Hood. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to like working with him. He wanted to arrest the man. But if Batman trusted him, that would have to be enough for Jim.

Jim Gordon's evolving perspective on Red Hood.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jim Gordon & Jason Todd

playacting by nex_et_nox

“So,” Jim said, “are you one of Wayne’s new kids?” Because only siblings acted that way toward each other, and it seemed like every time Gotham turned around, Bruce Wayne was adopting more kids. It was a reasonable question.

“What?” Jay asked. “No, I’m—” He paused. Very slowly, his head tilted as he looked over Jim’s shoulder in the most obvious way he possibly could.

Jim Gordon accidentally meets the "newest" member of the Wayne family.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jim Gordon & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Finding a New Perspective by njw

“I got this, Hood.” Red Robin sounds annoyed as he arcs and twists through the air, kicking one henchman into another and wrenching the gun away from a third while simultaneously retracting his grappling line and then launching it to catch another unwary henchman. Just, how?

“I can see you do,” Red Hood says, and wait. Was his voice always that deep? Is he… Maya squints. Is he staring at Red Robin’s ass?

She blinks, then studies the line of sight more closely. Maybe he’s just checking out Red Robin’s kneecaps, in preparation for shooting at them? That seems more his style. Sexual attraction is kind of confusing and she still doesn’t totally believe Tosh that it’s actually as big a thing as people make it out to be—seriously, do other people really spend that much time thinking about it? Sounds fake but okay.

But no, Red Hood’s helmet is totally pointed at Red Robin’s ass. Huh. That’s new.

*

For the tumblr Jaytim Week 2021 Holiday Gift Exchange. Thanks, Chibi, for putting this all together!

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

seeing is believing by envysparkler

Five times Agent Padilla has the wrong idea about her neighbors’ relationship, and one time she gets it right.

(Or: Natalia knew that Gotham was crazy, but she didn’t realize it was move-in-next-to-Nightwing-and-Deathstroke-the-Terminator-crazy.)

M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

red by any other name by curiositea

The first thing Leo thinks, when she sees the guy strapped to the chair, is that cable ties aren’t going to be enough.

or, a minor gang kidnaps the Red Hood’s “boyfriend”. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Not Rated | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jason Todd & Original Character(s)

The Talking Cure by DariaHernandez

Two vigilantes and a couples therapist walk into a room.

M | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

The Horrible Lives of the Completely Sane by withthekeyisking

Three civilian looks at the goings-on of the Wayne family.

G | No Archive Warnings Apply | Batfamily Members & Original Character(s)

Training Day: Gotham City 911 Edition by Spee (birbsandbats)

“Could you at least help me out here? The mall is about to explode!”

“Meh. It’s gone downhill since the Macy’s closed,” Pilar said.

“Meh??” Eric sputtered. “How can you not take this seriously?”

“The Riddler isn’t even an A level villain anymore. I think you and Robin can handle him, newbie.”

or: Eric Richards knows nothing about Gotham City--which would be fine, if he weren't its newest 911 operator.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

Something to Last by Lawsome

Gotham City Police Department Detective (Senior Grade) Sally "Sal" Yun's most recent sting netted Internal Affairs and the FBI forty-three felony indictments against eight GCPD officers and netted Sal a promotion to Detective Senior Grade, a prestigious transfer to Major Crimes, and a quiet personal promise from Chief Vitelli that Senior Grade was as far as she would go.

Sal's caught a new case. It seems Vice has lost one of their informants and they’ve decided to dump the case on Major Crimes after the snitch told somebody that a dead rogue called the “Red Hood” was back in town.

========

Or: "The Wire: Jason Todd Edition"

T | Graphic Depictions Of Violence | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Original Character(s), Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

[hierophant-meme]

Hellooooo! May I pretty please get a Jigen x Teacher reader who helps him learn to communicate with Oto from the live action movie 🥺 Not that he wasn’t amazing with her or anything, but I want the feel like he needs my early childhood expertise 😭😭😭 I imagine he’d feel lost every now and then and not know what the best choice is when taking care of a little girl. Thank you so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hello! I am so sorry this took longer than expected. (Slight spoiler warning for the movie ahead) It's been a while since I’ve seen the movie and couldn’t remember if Chiharu the watchmaker/gunsmith was Oto’s real grandma or if she just took her in at the end. I don’t think she was full on related to her, so I’m just going with Jigen adopts Oto and thinks of Chiharu as her grandma in this fic. Also, I hope this is what you were looking for and that you like it! (and sorry for the FNAF movie reference, I'm obsessed with the movie and was greatly inspired by it, lol)

Behind the Rough Exterior

Live Action!Jigen x Teacher!Reader

Content Contains: very slight spoilers for the Live Action Jigen movie, no gendered pronouns for reader, no y/n, SFW, fluff

Masterlist

You had been working at the same school for some time now, and while there were some challenges to working with young children, you loved your job anyway. There were of course a few times when the teachers would start some drama, but overall things had been going pretty smoothly. 

Your morning routine was the same as always: you made yourself breakfast, quickly looked over your lesson plans, and made your way to the school. Even your day teaching your class was pretty typical. It wasn’t until the final bell of the day rang when things would be a little different.

You heard your voice over the intercom being called telling you to report to the principal’s office. You were hoping it wasn’t anything serious as you made your way to her office. When you got there, she was sitting at her desk as usual, but sitting across from her were a guy with a beard and a hat and a little girl.

The principal introduces them to you. The man’s name was Daisuke Jigen and the girl’s name was Oto. You had learned that he adopted her after an evil crime syndicate killed her parents and kidnapped her. After he successfully took down their leader and saved her, the authorities took notice. He apparently used to be a thief alongside the infamous Lupin the Third, but after defeating the group the police had been trying to track down for years, the government decided to pardon him of all his crimes if he agreed never to return to that line of work again. Later on, he would reveal to you that he felt it was about time he retired from that lifestyle anyway.

You wondered how a criminal of all people would actually end up helping to catch other criminals and even end up taking care of a little girl, but you were just glad that it meant that there were still good people in the world and that a child was safe. 

After the principal was done explaining their situation, she had asked if you could take her into your classroom. She let you know that Oto would need to step out of the classroom a few times a week to see a speech therapist and a counselor since she had selective mutism and PTSD, and if she needed additional help, they felt you of all the teachers would be able to provide it. You didn’t hesitate to sign all the paperwork to have her be placed in your class.

Neither Jigen nor Oto talked the entire time, but before you left, you had a chance to hear their voices for the first time.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” He turns to Oto who’s hiding behind a pillow and sweetly asks, “what do we say?”

“Thank you,” she says in a whisper.

So much warmth for a guy who used to be a criminal that it was hard to believe he ever was one.

—————

Over the course of the next few months, you found that it was difficult for Oto to interact with the other students. She would spend most of the time at her desk and instead of going to recess, she would always come into your classroom and spend her time reading in the little corner library of your classroom. You tried talking to her in the beginning but she reacted the same as when other students tried talking with her: you were met with silence. 

The reason she didn’t like going to recess was because of a group of girls that would make fun of her for her silence. You tried talking to them but they wouldn’t listen. That’s when you offered to let her come into your classroom instead. You wished that the other students were more understanding and that you didn’t have to feel the need to shelter her like that, but you told yourself this would have to do until you and the counselors figured out a way for her to break out of her shell. 

One night, you decided to watch a movie you’ve never seen before. In the movie, there was a little girl who also had trouble communicating with her peers. She would spend a lot of time drawing which was her outlet to convey how she felt. Although the reason the girl in the movie began to talk more was because she helped the ghosts that would steal all her attention take revenge on the guy who took their lives away, it still gave you an idea on how to catch a glimpse on what Oto was feeling. 

The next day during recess time, Oto came in to sit at her usual spot. You had just finished setting up the new art station in your room. It wasn’t much but it did have plenty of paper, crayons, colored pencils, and paints you got from the art teacher who happened to have extra supplies on hand. You figured that even if Oto didn’t use it, maybe some of the other students would when they had their 30 minutes of free time at the end of the day. 

“Hey, Oto. Hope you’ve had a good day so far. Just so you know, you can come and draw over there in case you want a break from reading. And as always, please let me know if you need anything.” You didn’t want to force her to draw something of course, so you hoped the suggestion was enough to gain her interest.

It looked like she wasn’t interested at all for the next few minutes. Her eyes were seemingly glued to the pages of her book, but eventually you noticed that she began to look over at the little desk equipped with the art supplies. You tried to focus on your paperwork so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with you staring at her, but when she put her book down and walked over to the art station, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that you might’ve found a way to finally get through to her.

Sure enough, she began to express her feelings and inner worries in her drawings without her having to say a word. She initially depicted some pretty dark and sad themes in her work, but over time, the number of happier drawings far outnumbered them. You noticed that she drew pictures of her, her grandmother Chiharu, and her father a lot. It was also incredible just how much you learned about her and her family from the pictures alone. 

She drew every day during recess time instead of reading now, and she drew so much that she learned how to draw many different things. Some of the other kids were so impressed by her work that they would ask her to draw things for them. This helped her warm up to them and helped her finally be comfortable enough to speak to you and her classmates. She still couldn’t talk to anyone outside of her family, you, or her class, but you were just happy that she was making progress. 

—————

A few more months passed and it was time for parent-teacher conferences. All parents were required to attend, so if they couldn’t make it, they were allowed to reschedule for a different day. You didn’t get any calls from any parents thus far, so you were hopeful that it meant you would see everyone’s parents today. 

Because Oto was the newest student to join the class, the computer system had her name at the very bottom of the roster. That kind of sucked for you since a meeting with her dad made you the most nervous not so much because he used to be a criminal, but because you were hoping that he approved of the way you were teaching her. You didn’t exactly know what kind of person he was yet but from your first impression of him and the way Oto described him both in drawings and in conversation, you hoped that he wouldn’t give you trouble like some parents have in the past.

It was almost ten minutes past Mr. Jigen’s scheduled time when he finally arrived. You were worried he wasn’t going to show up for a second, but were glad that he was there even if it was a little late.

“Um, hello. Sorry. I’m still trying to learn how to navigate this part of town and my stupid GPS stopped working in the middle of my drive here.”

“Oh, no worries. I don’t have to clock out for another hour and a half, so you’re still on time. Please have a seat.” You point to the chair in front of your desk and he takes off his hat as he sits down.

“Thank you, and sorry, I smell like cigarette smoke. I’m trying to quit but I’m kind of nervous to be completely honest with you.”

“You’re good. From what I understand, you adopted Oto pretty suddenly, no? I don’t have children but I can’t imagine what it must be like to be a new parent. And especially after everything you, and Oto have been through, it must be tough. She’s told me so much about what happened.”

“Wait, she talks to you?”

“Has she not told you? She’s started speaking to me and some of the other students. Well, it first started out with her drawing things but once she became comfortable around me and the other students, she’s been telling me about all sorts of things.”

“I see, so you’re the one who got her drawing pictures.” he chuckles. “Is that also how you got her talking to you all?”

“Yup. It’s only me and the students in this class, though. I think it will take a little longer for her to feel at ease talking to someone she’s never met.”

“You’re a miracle worker, you know that?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been trying to get her to say more than one word to anyone other than me and her grandmother. Is it really all from the drawing?”

“Well no, not entirely. The whole reason I suggested doing some art to her was so that she could have a way of expressing herself and for me to get to know her a little more. The majority of it came from the other students warming up to her. I think a lot of them thought she was a bit odd at first due to her quietness, but when the other students started asking her to draw stuff for them, they realized just how amazing she really was. Time was also a big factor, perhaps because she’s gotten used to and is more familiar in this new environment. And I understand, after all that she went through, it must be tough to trust anyone.”

“And yet, you somehow managed to get her to trust you all. I really can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just want the best for my students.”

“No, really. I- I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough to help her, or that someone like me doesn’t deserve to be a parent, you know? What does an ex-thief and gunman know about taking care of a child anyway? Sure, I have help from Chiharu sometimes but she’s already done so much for me and I feel like I need to repay her in some way.” He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I know we’re here to talk about her grades. I just… I want a bit of guidance on how to take care of a little girl who’s been through things no other little girl should have to go through. You don’t have to, but since you’re a teacher and already helped Oto a lot in such a short time, I’m not sure if it would be too much to ask if you could tell me how you approach things with her?”

You were slightly taken aback by the contrast between his appearance and past to the love and concern he had for his child. He had a gruff voice, a thick beard, hair that nearly covered his eyes, scars all over his hands and neck, and yet, his eyes were soft. Just who was this man and what had happened that allowed him to open up his heart? 

You had to put your curiosity off to the side for now and proceeded with the meeting. You gave him suggestions and discussed Oto’s strengths and opportunities to grow. You also agreed to meet with him once a month to update him on her progress and help him learn how to communicate with her better.

At this moment, he was just another parent of one of your many students that you had to maintain a professional relationship with, but little did you know, that would not be the case in the foreseeable future. For now though, it just made your heart happy to know that you were helping out a family and that a young girl who suffered so much was now able to live in a home with a loving new father. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Public Enemy: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Summary: Someone is terrorizing the public by taking their comfort away from them. You're trying to heal from being in prison, and Spencer helps as much as he can.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"Show me a hero, and I will write you a tragedy." - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tick, tick, tick goes the clock again. All you want to do is throw something at the damn thing.

"I tried. I tried so hard to think about the dream I rewrote. I tried to keep it in my head but it didn't work," you sigh sadly.

"Which dream did you rewrite?" Melissa asks and crosses her legs.

"My boyfriend was kidnapped a few years ago. I was with him and we went to talk to a witness who turned out to be the killer. We split up and he got kidnapped. He was tortured and got addicted to Dilaudid because of it. I rewrote it to make it so we never split up."

"Why did you choose that nightmare to rewrite?"

"It was the less traumatic of them all, I guess."

"Keep it up. I think you're doing a great job. It might not seem like it but you are."

"Thanks," you whisper.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" You open your mouth but nothing comes out. "It's okay, Y/N. This is a safe space. You can talk about anything you want."

"I just..." You look down and pick the lint off your clothes. "I fear I'll never be a good FBI agent again. I fear I'll never be as I was before." You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees with your head in your hands. "God, I wish I could just go back to before I went to prison."

"What happened last time to make you realize you're much more than this gift of yours?"

You sit up and go back to picking at the lint on your clothes.

"I see death every single day. Yesterday, I went grocery shopping and I saw a dead woman in the cereal aisle. They never leave me alone," you whisper painfully. "One day, I saw a woman get mugged by a man a lot bigger than her. He knifed her, took her purse, and ran away, leaving her to bleed out. It had already happened so I couldn't do anything about it. I saw their energies to help paint a picture of the event. All I could do was stand there and watch it happen. I decided at that moment I wanted to stick up for people who couldn't do it for themselves. I needed to stop letting others' fear control me. I told myself enough is enough. I applied for the police academy that afternoon."

"What makes this different than that?" You look at Melissa with tears in your eyes. "Why do you think you can't tell yourself enough is enough?"

You take five minutes to think of an answer.

"Maybe I've been around death for too long. It knows what to expect from me," you sigh.

"If I had to guess, I think it's because you're afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Making mistakes. Of letting your friends and family down." You look away from her and let two tears fall down your cheeks. "Of you."

"Yeah, maybe," you shrug.

"Looks like we'll have to pick this up next time. Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know. Thanks for listening to me."

"Thanks for letting me."

You leave therapy and stand outside the office building for a moment. You let the sun wash over your skin, warming it. Every time you leave therapy, you don't know if you're going to be better. It does help to talk to someone about this but you're not sure if you'll ever be the same as you once were. Your phone rings and you answer it when you see your boyfriend's name.

"Hey, Spence."

"Hey, are you done?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way."

"I love you."

It doesn't matter how much he says it to you, your heart will always flutter.

"I love you. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

You decide to walk to work since it's not far from your therapist's office. The local park isn't crowded with kids yet since it's still early so you enjoy the solitude for as long as you have it. You cut through the park instead of going around it, and you come across a thick blanket of trees in one section of the park. Two people are inside the cluster of trees, struggling. You walk closer and see a man robbing a younger and smaller woman. She has her mouth wide open and screams for help but no noise comes out of her mouth.

This isn't real. This isn't happening in real-time. The man yanks the purse from the woman and ends up stabbing her. She falls to the ground and he runs further into the treeline until he disappears.

Enough is... oh, forget it.

You turn and walk to the BAU with your head down the entire way. Everyone is in the briefing room and you quickly take your seat so JJ can begin.

"This is Captain Paul Collins." She puts his picture on the screen. "He's the third victim in two weeks in Providence, Rhode Island. He just returned home two weeks ago from his fourth tour in Iraq. He's a decorated war hero."

"Was he targeted because he's in the military?" Derek asks.

"No. Just like the first two victims, he was targeted because he was convenient. He was killed at a church during an early service. His neck was cut open and severed at the carotid artery. He bled out in a matter of moments. It happened right in front of his daughter and wife."

"Murder in a church is highly symbolic. Is there a religious agenda involved?" Emily asks.

"The detective on the case, Jake Moreland, ruled that out because of the first two victims. The first victim, Mike O'Donnell, was found under a sink in the men's room at a restaurant."

"What kind of restaurant?"

"It's a local place with white tablecloths and jug wine. The second victim, Karen Lagrassa, was killed at the laundromat. All three had their throats slashed."

"Aside from the MO, the victimology's all over the place. It's like this guy doesn't care who he's kidding, just how. He's doing it in public without compunction for who sees him."

"Do we have a sketch?" Hotch asks.

"All anyone can agree on is that it's a white male between twenty-five and forty."

"Well, that narrows it down to all of Providence," Emily scoffs.

"It's hard to fault the witnesses given how bloody these murders were."

"What bothers me is the cooling off period is getting shorter and shorter, but there are no attempts to hide who he is or what he's doing. I mean, an unsub this bold could be suffering from a major psychotic break."

"I already asked Detective Moreland to pull recent releases on prisons and mental hospitals," JJ says.

"We need to get to Providence ASAP. Whether he's suffering a psychotic break or not, this could be the start of a spree, and anyone is a potential target."

After thirty minutes of gathering what you need, you meet the team at the jet. As soon as the last person is on, the jet takes off toward Rhode Island. You're seated next to Spencer at the table, and he has his left hand resting on your thigh. It doesn't matter how he touches you, his touch makes you feel safe and grounded. It's the only thing keeping you from melting in a puddle of your own tears.

"Why is he using a knife? A gun assures the highest number of fatalities. If all he's interested in is quantity, he could be doing this more efficiently," Emily says.

"He could be training. Spree killers often do dry runs before they start their rampage."

"Most spree killers have lost control by the time they begin. They're always male. If they don't fall into the school shooter category, they're older like forties and fifties, and socially isolated. The stressor is usually the dissolution of their last social outlet."

"George Hennard was inspired by James Huberty. Between the two of them, they shot forty-three people at fast food restaurants," Spencer explains.

"Well, if he's practicing for his mass murder, he's definitely getting bolder and bloodier about it. Right now, the shock and awe of the bloodletting seems to be what he's going for. Soon, that won't be enough."

"Without a specific target victim, we need to concentrate on the crime scenes and see what they tell us. Prentiss, you take the laundromat. I'll have Detective Moreland meet you there."

"I'd like to take a look at the church If you don't mind," Rossi says. "I'd like to take Y/N with me."

"Good. JJ, you and Morgan interview Captain Collins' wife. She got the best look at the unsub. See what she remembers. Reid and I will run point from the police station."

When the plane lands, you and Rossi head to the church where the unsub striked for the third time. Father Kendellen is waiting for you two on the steps outside the church.

"Agent Rossi? Agent Y/N?"

"Yes. You must be Father Kendellen."

"Thank you for coming so quickly."

"It's the least we can do, Father."

"To be honest, I've been struggling to understand all this. It's been trying," Father Kendellen sighs.

"I don't like to see crime tape In front of church doors. I can't imagine how you feel."

"Ash Wednesday is next week. These doors should never be closed to the community."

You look around the area and think where the unsub might strike next. He's already hit a restaurant bathroom, a laundromat, and a church. He's chosen his victims not out of preference but out of favorable circumstances. With each kill, he's growing bolder. He doesn't care who sees him. Next time he strikes, it'll be more public than a church. Hotch no doubt has Penelope working on finding public places that might be his next target.

You and Rossi follow Father Kendellen inside the church and your eyes immediately go to the pew that the unsub killed the military captain in. The wave of energy washes over you, bringing you back to last night. The entire church is filled with people attending the service. Paul and his family are sitting in the way back from having been late to the service. The double doors open behind them and the unsub walks in. He gets a few stares from curious onlookers but they turn back around and continue with the service. The unsub sits down behind Paul and his family, and you pause the scene to approach the unsub.

He's just a black shadow that you hope will show distinctive features you can use to catch him. However, even when you're sitting next to him, he continues to be a black shape. You focus as hard as you can to see something more but you lose confidence in yourself easily. You rest your elbows on your knees and put your head in both hands. This is too difficult. I can't do it. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder and you snap your head up to see you're back in the present with Rossi sitting next to you.

"Don't stress yourself too much."

"Rossi, this used to come so naturally to me. It was easy before. Now it's..."

"When something traumatic happens to someone, the mind is the last thing to heal. Your physical wounds are gone but you need to give your mind some time to heal the emotional ones. You're a good FBI agent even without your abilities. Don't let it get you down. Be patient."

"You're right," you sigh.

x

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[bluejaysandblackbats]

Hair Trigger

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam, YJ98

Summary: A junior at Gotham University, Jason finds it difficult to conceal his worsening mental health from his family and his friend, Jon Lane Kent. Family secrets are revealed and boundaries are pushed as Jason and Laney struggle to navigate through school, their romantic feelings, and their trauma. Could the reintroduction of Laney Kent be more trouble than it's worth, or is it just what Jason needed to confront the demons of his past?

I will also do trigger warnings for chapters and if there is smut I have the chapter(s) tagged so you don't have to worry about nsfw in the fic if you're just here for the story itself.

Chapters: 13/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Jonathan Lane Kent, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Natalia Knight, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, Chris Kent, Bart Allen, Original Character(s)

Relationships: JayLaney, Clois, TimKon

Additional Tags: University AU, No Powers AU, Sharing A Bed, Romance, Angst

Chapter Thirteen: Self-Soothe

Lois and Laney sat in the waiting room together, and Laney knocked the back of his head against the wall. "Stop that," Lois whispered as she fixed his hair. Laney messed his hair back up. "Lane, let me fix it—."

"I don't want you to fix it," Laney mumbled.

Lois breathed and reached to fix his collar. "Just let me—."

"Ma, cut it out," Laney whispered, "I'm gonna get a soda. Do you want something?"

"Lane, sit down. She'll be out in just a minute," Lois replied, "I'm anxious too. Just sit, okay?"

Laney kissed Lois's temple. "I'll go see if they have strawberry—."

"Lois and Jonathan?" a small mouse-like voice called. Lois stood up, and Laney followed her into the therapist's office. Laney sat on the couch next to Lois and said good morning to his therapist. "How has everyone been since the last time we spoke?"

"Mom, do you wanna go first?" Laney asked. Lois shrugged.

"Sure, I can go first... Conner called Wednesday night and surprised us with a visit. That was really nice. He's still there, and I think he's trying to warm up to tell us something," Lois whispered, "And um... Sammy is giving me the silent treatment because he thinks that I'm treating him like a baby."

"Does that bother you, Lois?" their therapist asked.

"Theresa... I'm not gonna lie. I was angry at first. Then, I had to remember what it was like when the boys were his age, and I get it," Lois replied, "But it doesn't make it any less frustrating."

"Everyone wants to be a grownup until they're a grownup," Laney chuckled. Lois smiled.

"Exactly! But I bet you figured that out when you became an adult—."

"Nuh-uh. When I came home from boarding school that last time," Laney whispered. Lois pushed her hair back and pulled it up into a ponytail.

"Laney, I feel like there's a lot of things that happened to you that you haven't talked about... I sort of wanted to talk about boarding school, if that's okay," Lois fixed his hair once more.

"What do you want to know?" Laney asked.

"Why didn't you sleep in your bed that first night back home?" Lois asked.

Laney took a deep breath, and he pushed his hair back with both hands. "My anxiety was so bad I felt like I was gonna be sick the whole night, and I guess I just wanted someone to hear me if I had to get up... I didn't want to be alone," Laney whispered, "It wasn't because of what my counselor did. All he did was try to kidnap me. That was it. I was just-. I felt crazy because I did something as stupid as that. I didn't want to tell you or Dad because I thought you'd be mad at me."

"We wouldn't have been angry. We thought you ran away, and we weren't upset with you. You were so shaken up. All we wanted to do was take you home," Lois confessed, "And you really haven't been yourself since then... We didn't want you to feel different, so we didn't say anything. All we wanted was to give you your space."

Laney didn't say anything. He just bounced his leg and hid his face in his hands. "Jonathan, do you need a break?" Theresa asked. Laney shook his head.

"Cricket, come here," Lois whispered as she took his hands and made eye contact with him. "It wasn't your fault. I love you so much." Lois embraced him.

Theresa allowed them to collect themselves before asking Laney if he felt like his experience in his boarding school still affects him. Laney nodded, and he tried to put together an answer, but he found himself struggling to make sense. He stumbled over his words until he finally managed to say, "It's hard to feel close to people... It's hard to tell people when I'm struggling, or when I need to talk to someone, or even now with Jason.

We're dating, and I don't know how to-. I don't know how to tell Jason that I want to wait a while before we-. I mean, I have to wait six weeks anyway, but I think I don't want to do it right away because I want it to mean something. I've hooked up with people before, so I'm not new to that part of things, but I just want to wait."

Lois kicked off her shoes, and she sat with her feet up on the couch. "Do you mind if I weigh in on that?" Lois asked. Laney shook his head. "I think you're doing what's right for you, and that's smart. I think Jason will understand that."

They all spoke for a while, and Laney and Lois went back to the car once their appointment ended. "You owe me a strawberry soda," Lois smiled, "And you never told me about how your date went."

"Oh, we went bowling because he'd never been. He had fun... Then he took me to this restaurant, and we ate at Robinson Park... It wasn't anything spectacular. It was just okay," Laney whispered.

"Do you not want to go out on a second date?" Lois asked.

"I like dating him, I just... I don't know. It all felt like a formality. It didn't feel the way that it does when we sleepover at each other's places," Laney shrugged.

"Did you tell him that?" Lois asked. Laney shook his head. "Want to split a large pizza?"

"Only if it's at one of those fancy Italian places that serve ravioli," Laney replied. Lois punched his shoulder.

"I love the way you think," she smiled as she got in the passenger's seat. "Your dad was looking at old videos of you boys when you were little, and he found this one of you when you were three."

"Yeah?" Laney asked as he put on his seatbelt and backed out of the parking space. "What'd I do?"

"Do you remember the pizza video?" Lois asked.

"Mom, please tell me you're not gonna make me listen to that while I drive," Laney replied.

"Fine...But do you remember waking me up at two in the morning to heat up your leftovers?" Lois chuckled.

"Please tell me you didn't show that video to my roommate," Laney groaned.

"I didn't, I swear," Lois snickered. "I loved how dramatic you were as a little boy," she smiled.

"Remember when you asked me if it would kill me to wait until you were done working, and I pretended to drop dead in your office," Laney chuckled.

"Trust me, I remember. You still do that to me," Lois laughed.

"I do not!" Laney giggled.

"You just did! Remember three months ago when I said I couldn't go to IKEA with you and you accused me of being mad at you?" Lois asked.

"Because you sounded like you were—. Wait, are you mad at Conner?" Laney asked.

"Am I mad about the tattoo that he got on his shoulder? No, and I'm not mad at you for letting him borrow your ID—."

"I can explain—."

"You don't have to. Are you getting one to match Conner?" Lois asked.

Laney made a face. "Absolutely not. I can't believe he sat through that. It did make me smile to see it, though. I thought he was too little to remember," Laney grinned before slamming on his brakes. "What the hell is wrong with you? Pay attention!" He laid on his horn.

Lois chuckled. "You lay on your horn first, sweetheart," she corrected him gently.

"Oh, thanks for the priceless motherly wisdom," Laney laughed as he pulled into a restaurant parking lot.

Once they were inside, they spoke to the cashier and made their order to go. While they waited for their food, Lois gave Laney one of her earbuds. "I wanna see how Conner and Clark are getting along while the boys are at school," Lois whispered. Lois did a facetime call, and Clark answered almost immediately. "Good morning, babe."

"Good morning, Lois. Good morning, Laney... Conner, come and say good morning," Clark beckoned him on the camera.

Conner sat down next to Clark, his hair standing up all over his head, and he looked as if he was wearing one of Sammy's shirts. Laney started to laugh. "You look great... No, really, that's a look—."

"I get it... Sam kept me up all night. He said he was sick, but I think he just had a bad dream or something," Conner yawned.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Clark asked.

"Because he wasn't actually sick, Dad. I took his temperature with the forehead thing—."

"Still a thermometer, genius—."

"Lane," Lois nudged him.

"Thanks, Mom. Anyways, we watched something on tv until he fell asleep, and I carried him back to bed," Conner finished his story and asked Clark if he was going to finish his coffee. "Thanks, Dad."

"Conner, did you take the ferry by yourself?" Laney asked.

"No, I drove... Dad let me drop the boys off at their schools this morning. That was fun," Conner yawned.

"You dropped them off dressed like that?" Laney laughed. Lois got up and picked up their order.

"I didn't have to get out of the car. Are you and Mom having pizza?" Conner asked. Laney stood up and put the earbud in Lois's ear for her.

"Uh-huh. Hey, we'll call you guys later, okay?" Laney replied, and they hung up. He let Lois drive to the park, where they sat down and opened their box of pizza.

"Lane, remind me before I leave tomorrow night to get three big pizzas to take home," Lois replied, covering her mouth as she chewed.

"Mm! Mom, is Chris still asking if he can spend the weekend with me?" Laney asked as he opened his little container of ravioli.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you really meant he could stay over or not, but I know he has a half-day in three weeks if you want to keep him then," Lois replied. Laney looked on his phone calendar.

"What is that like the first weekend in October?" Laney asked. Lois nodded. "How do you do that? You didn't even look at a calendar."

"Mom powers. So, is that a good time for you?" Lois asked.

"Mhm, and if Sammy wants to come, he can too, but I can't promise you that I won't keep one of them," Laney joked.

"Be careful what you wish for. I could always send the boys to stay with you for the summer," Lois smiled as she went in for another slice of pizza.

"Maybe I'll keep them for a week or two in the summer. It'd be nice. Sylvia's probably gonna be out of town. They could have her room while she's gone," Laney replied.

"Jon Lane?" a man's voice exclaimed. Laney started choking on his food, and Lois knocked the heel of her palm against his back.

"Are you okay?" Lois asked. Laney looked on in shock as the man approached him.

"Hi, Lane. How've you been?" he asked as he reached out to shake Lois's hand.

"Laney, who's your friend?" Lois asked. Laney swallowed hard before running off to the park bathroom, leaving Lois sitting alone. He shut himself in a stall and paced back and forth as he tried to stop his heart from racing. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Clark taught him to do.

Laney mumbled his brothers' middle names from youngest to oldest and then his parents' middle names. "Samuel, Lawerence, Elliot, Lane, Joanne, Joseph. Joseph, Joanne, Lane, Elliot, Lawerence, Samuel. Sam—."

"Jonathan? Are you in here?" Lois asked. Laney took in a sharp breath and stopped pacing.

"This is the men's room, lady—."

"So are all the bathrooms in my house, buddy... Jonathan Lane Kent, I know you're in here—."

"Mom, you can't be in here," Laney raised his voice through the stall.

"Well, can we go back outside?" Lois asked. Laney opened the stall, and she gestured with her head for him to follow her out. He sighed, and she led him around the back of the bathroom building. "What happened? Who was that?"

"He—. Mr. Forrester, he's Mr. Forrester..." Lois turned to walk back toward where they were sitting, and Laney grabbed her arm. "Mom, please."

"I'm not going to say anything to him. I'm just going to hurt him—." Laney tugged at her arm, and she turned to see the tears in his eyes. "I don't know what to do. I can't—. I can't fix—." Laney burst into tears, and she embraced him.

"I really messed up," Laney cried. Lois let go and held his face in her hands, and she shook her head.

"No, nuh-uh... That wasn't your fault. You didn't know... And Clark would be so mad that I touched your face with pizza hands," Lois whispered. Laney let out a weak laugh. "I bet you if you let me go now, I still have enough time to get one good punch in."

"Mom," Laney chuckled, "Stop."

"Clark will tell you himself. I have a mean right hook. I knocked G. Gordon Godfrey's tooth out at a party once," Lois replied.

"No, you didn't," Laney laughed.

"I did, and he deserved it," Lois replied. She kissed Laney on the cheek and gestured once more for them to go.

Once they got back home, Laney washed up, and he curled up on the couch and lay his head in her lap. Lois pulled his hair back from his face and into a top knot. "I need a haircut," Laney mumbled.

"I can do it. I've given Sammy his last few haircuts," she whispered.

"Are you trying to trick me into taking a nap?" Laney asked as he turned to look Lois in the eyes.

"Oh, no, I would never... But, if I was, would you say it was working?" Lois asked. Laney nodded. She drew small circles with her fingers on his head. "Clark's a master at this. You never asked for me unless you'd just had a nightmare. Remember?" Laney made an affirmative noise as he closed his eyes. "You used to say Clark wasn't scary enough to check the closet."

"Monsters couldn't eat you. You were too tough," Laney mumbled. Lois smiled and nodded.

"That's right. Monsters can't eat Mama," Lois whispered before getting up to plug in his CPAP in the living room. "Hey, remember?" Laney sat up and put the mask over his nose, and he turned the machine on before laying his head back down on her lap. Lois went back to making small circles on his forehead.

"I feel like you tricked me," Laney murmured.

Lois leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Don't feel bad... I'm kind of an expert," Lois smiled.

"Mom, are you gonna tell Dad about what happened at the park?" Laney asked.

Lois sighed. "Laney, don't you think your dad should know you saw the counselor that tried to kidnap you in the city that you live in?" Lois asked. Laney covered his face.

"He dropped me off at that diner six years ago," Laney replied, "Mom, it's over—."

"It doesn't feel over. You looked like you were gonna throw up when you saw Forrester. What happened?" Lois asked. "Lane, please..."

Laney sat up and took the mask off. "He convinced me that he was the only person that cared about me... That he could be my new family. I spent all my free time in his office. We'd play board games, read books, sometimes he would call me son, and let me sleep in his office...

It wasn't until that day that things started to feel weird. When we were in the car, and he started telling me about my new name, I felt like I was gonna throw up. I did throw up, and I couldn't stop crying... And when you guys came to pick me up from the diner, all I could think about was how much trouble I'd be in if I told the truth," Laney explained.

"You wouldn't have gotten in any trouble... Laney, I knew something was wrong. I did. I just thought you would tell us eventually. Remember that night you couldn't go to sleep, so you woke me up and told me you felt like you were gonna throw up?" Lois asked.

Laney shrugged. "I didn't really feel sick... I was just scared," Laney confessed.

"I know. I knew then. We all sort of knew something was wrong... But then you started school with Conner, and you seemed okay again," Lois whispered.

"Mom?" Laney asked. "Are you gonna tell Dad?"

"I think we should tell him," Lois replied before handing Laney her phone. Laney nodded and called Clark.

"Hi, Lois. I was just about to call you," Clark answered.

"Um, Clark... Something happened a little earlier," Lois whispered. Laney took the hair tie out of his hair and pushed it back.

"My counselor spoke to us at the park today," Laney added.

"That must've been nice—."

"No, babe, listen. He's not talking about his college counselor. He's talking about his counselor from boarding school. Mr. Forrester?" Lois replied.

"Beg your pardon?" Clark asked, a hint of rage coloring his usually cheerful voice. Laney let out a few breaths. "What is he doing in Gotham?"

"I don't know... I just wanted you to know that we saw him," Lois replied, "Where's Conner?"

"He wanted to pick Sammy and Chris up from school," Clark replied, "Lane, I think it's best if you press charges."

"I'll think about it—."

"Think about it? Laney, he kidnapped you—."

"But he never hurt me. I just want to un-say all of this. I just want to pretend it never happened and enjoy the rest of my weekend with Mom," Laney replied, "I saw him... I freaked out, and he probably knows better than to approach me again. It's okay. I'm fine."

[croc-odette]

The famous poster in Mulder’s basement office does not say “I believe,” but “I want to believe.” A two word distinction that is imperative not only to Mulder’s character but to the progression of the show. Asked by a therapist in season one about the voice in his head that says his abducted sister will return unharmed, “Do you believe the voice?”, Mulder answers in voice-over as the episode ends with him crying in a church, “I want to believe.” For Mulder, belief in aliens, witchcraft, and other ‘spooky’ things is not for fun or without doubts; it is a willful choice that he throws himself behind. Belief in aliens, and therefore in the idea that his sister was not just kidnapped and murdered, is a modern proxy for belief in an afterlife. A recent real-life example is how people like to think there is a 'simulation' operating everyday life, a scifi-fantasy alternative to believing in divine will, rather than a series of random events on a rock in space. Mulder's interest in the paranormal is a bandage over a deep wound, originating from a childhood trauma and becoming an adult identity. 

“I want to” shows the doubt, however. Not the straightforward “I believe” of a churchgoer, but the “I want to believe” of a priest looking for answers. Much like clergy who struggle with their faith, Mulder has researched and archived various supernatural instances, across histories, cultures and the Americas. It is so ingrained into his life that his interest in the supernatural acts as his career, friend group, and hobby. But the “want to” means he does not believe, or at least that he does not do so in the complete way one would “believe” in gravity or breathing. It takes effort and a deliberate choice to believe in the paranormal, and he does so not because he can’t imagine being a gullible so-and-so who thinks there aren’t such things as shapeshifters and bigfoots, but because he prefers a life where he believes, even at the cost of (pun incoming) alienation. Mulder, even though he wants to believe, and has reason to, still has a contrary part of him that wants reassurance and real evidence. The X-files are in part fueled by his belief there is something out there but also that he needs proof, and when opportunities to find “the truth” slip from his fingers it becomes clear how exhausting the chase is becoming over the years. Mulder breaks the rule of faith, by refusing to let his belief go unproven. 

Mulder’s belief in aliens finally weakens, to the point that he casually says that he’s “not sure if he even believes in that stuff anymore”, after Scully’s brush with terminal cancer. The cancer, the result of Scully’s “abduction,” is revealed to be connected to the US government. The connection is double-edged; if Mulder accepts that the US government has been faking abductions to an absurd degree, it also means they could have a way of curing Scully’s cancer. It is one outlandish hope for another, and when an agent implies the government has answers “to the thing he wants most,” Mulder’s immediate thought is not the location of his sister, but of a way to save Scully. The desire to go back and undo his childhood trauma by finding a way to make it unfinished is overcome by the desire to save his best friend in the present. Decades of research and accepting social ridicule give way to simple, human connection. 

I want then has nothing to do with belief-- it suddenly has everything to do with wanting, flat out. Wanting a cure. Wanting a friend to live. Wanting to avoid grief in the first place rather than finding a dogma that creates a Daedalian maze around it. I want skips straight past all the crying-in-churches and searching-for-answers that faith requires.

Mulder’s obsession with the cosmic and unreachable isn’t pointless; it just can’t replace the earthly and human. The supernatural does not answer back; the earthly does, in the form of a frowning and comfortably morbid woman playing at being the straight man. The supernatural does not provide any kind of lasting relief. Scully does.

-a google doc that's been sitting in my drive for like 4 years

[famousfilmsfan]

This is a small story I made after the season 3 finale about what I thought would happen based on my own interpretations

It had been several hours since Anna and Amari got into an argument with Bryan taking Gregory out of the house saying they were dead to him, And Anna sat silently at the dining table. Amiri had been upstairs for a while.

When he returned, a large packet of papers was dropped onto the table.

“What the hell is this?” Amari said his calm face replaced by one of not just anger but anger and confusion

It was a divorce agreement, well, a copy of one.

“it’s mine and Matthews's Divorce papers..where did you?” Anna responded fearing the worst as she read on.

“I found it in the attic. But explain to me why these say that Matthew had gotten full custody of Bryan while you only got visitation.” He seemed to be getting more angry “while you told me you two have split custody?”

“Well...it’s an old version.” She defended, but it was quickly stopped when he put his hand up to shut her up. He pointed to two signatures on the paper and the state stamp.

“No, it’s signed and stamped. It was official. And I did some digging. You sued him for custody four times.” he took a breath before continuing.

“The case was thrown out twice, you lost once, and the fourth time you won because you had a therapist sign off saying that Bryan wasn't safe in that home environment. And guess who that was?” He asked already knowing what the answer was. He didn't want anymore lies.

Anna was shocked Amiri found this out in just a few hours “..well uh..” she hesitated not knowing how to answer without making things worse for her.

“It was me!” He blew up “You..you told me I was signing a nondisclosure, but you refused to let me read it.” This was years of silent protest finally coming out in full force.

“You used me. I only agreed to making him forget his dad because I thought he was going to be going back and Forth between homes,” He paused to breathe “but it wasn't that. You only did this because you didn't want Bryan to be with his father.”

“Amiri, please, I can explain-” She was cut off by her husband by him turning around and throwing his hands up.

“It all makes sense!” he yelled, “You never let me meet Matthew despite me wanting to meet him, you moved in with me so your neighbors wouldn't suspect anything.” It was her idea to do so. She said it was because Matthew had gotten the house. “And you refused to tell me why he kept calling my office during my first session with Bryan.. Did he even know Bryan was there?” he asked, needing an answer since Matthew was blowing the phone up with calls he was told to ignore.

“Well..no but-” She was interrupted yet again

This information made him slam his hands on the dining table making an electric candelabra fall over “So you kidnapped Bryan!? That’s why you made the appointment on the exact same day!”

She came to her defense very quickly “Not really, ‘kidnap’. I was allowed a visit on weekends.” but she knew that wouldn't work because..

“It was a Tuesday!” he screamed “What the fuck?! Ugh! This is what I get for dating a clients parent. I feel so...used.” he sat down and took his glasses off rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance, and trying to calm down.

She put her hand on his in a comforting way trying to calm him down. “Sweetheart, please-” she was interrupted yet again.

“Don’t, Sweetheart me” He pulled his hand away looking a bit disgusted.

“You know what I think? You were happy Matthew was dead. So he couldn't protest against this insane situation!” He stood up and began to give her an analysis of her mental state “You got rid of his existence entirely, even when I said that wasn't healthy since you needed to grieve, but you refused everything I suggested.”

She removed every photo of him and hid them all away in boxes in the attic with marker labels that said ‘Do not open ever!’

“Amari. Please, I can-” She tried to explain her actions, but he was having none of this. He wanted her out of his house.

“The only thing you can do is stay in a hotel until we get things figured out.” He sighed, putting his glasses back on and pointing to the front door not carrying it was pouring rain out there.

Anna immediately began to protest “What?! You can't kick me out!” she was close to crying; everything was falling apart for her. But it was for him as well.

“It’s my house, paid for and in my name. Remember that Prenup we both signed? Our finances and assets are separate.” He explained about their situation.

She tried to get him to change his mind. “I...I uh.” But nothing came out.

“Please...just go..” he was losing his adrenaline from earlier and was starting to feel tired as well as his voice was beginning to get hoarse.

She tried to approach him, but he pushed her away and left the room. Leaving her alone.

Anna just ran outside in the rain with a few of her things, and Amari just sat in the living room, exhausted.

Tonight wasn't a good night.

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c.10 preview.

simon riley x original character

abstract: hey this is Jude. you doing alright? you'd never guess who I saw! anyways, I'm almost happy in this chapter and then I'm angry again. I've been angry my whole life guys I swear. also, had a special someone with me that night, can you guess who my passenger princess was?

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Come a little closer, Cage the elephant.

Her eyes lingered on 'The Pilgrimage' which she kept as a souvenir from her Sherlock CIA experience with the Arash case. She fished out a lighter from her bag and opened the book in front of her. She liked reading it, she enjoyed it. She had never been much of a religious person, though she was raised catholic. She respected the idea of faith, how it guided people, how it made you feel less alone. She had a thought. A tiny one. A sneaky suspicion. The little urge to lurk. It was a little lightbulb moment, a cinematic sequence in which the music stopped and then violins started playing as she began to think.

'Hop in? I need to talk to you'. Her eyes were even a prettier colour in this light. They looked translucent. Her skin was shining and golden under the sunlight. 'Can it wait?' He tried to avoid getting in the car with her. Deeply unprofessional. Where did she want to take him anyway, couldn't they talk in his office? What was it she wanted to tell him. 'I'll take you back here when we're done, just a little ride’. She wasn't giving up. Am I being fucking kidnapped by you, Jude? Most guys wouldn't really complain to be honest, but still…

She turned towards him before he had a chance to open the door. 'I'm very sorry you had to witness that, I truly am.' She blinked a few times trying to hide her embarrassment. She messed up all her chances to get him to listen to what she had found now. 'It's fine', he said. His voice was soft. His hand was on the door handle but he wouldn't open the door yet. 'Okay… I'm sorry either way I shouldn't have… done all this.'

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