#mr cop

[deadpoolsmom]

as far as one piece antagonists go Crocodile truly gets absolutely scooby-doo’d at unmatched levels

He immediately falls for a phone scam and from basically little garden to rainbase he doesn’t even know the strawhats are alive (and clowning towards him at incredible speed). As soon as he does, they’re in his house tearing at his walls and bringing marines into his villain lair.

He uses a literal floor trap door over a gator pit to catch them, gets phone scammed again, full scooby-doo chase scenes after Chopper through the streets while still missing him, and suddenly his prisoners have escaped his impossible cage, and his giant bananagators are dead. and Nico Robin saw it all happen.

He then spends rest of the arc complaining about those meddling kids and their dog “strawhat pirates and their weird pet” and at no point does he even know how many strawhats there are.

Like yeah he keeps having plans on top of plans to stop everything Vivi can do but also she keeps coming up with a new thing to do (Tom and Jerry ass dynamic).

Part of it is that he’s underestimating them and keeps grandstanding villain monologuing but also teens keep killing hundreds of his grand line bounty hunters and he straight up does not know what is happening.

Cause he IS trying to kill them he’s sending top assassins after them and ripping out luffy’s organs, the whole time he’s yelling HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?? DIE. as whack-a-mole Luffy keeps inventing new ways to hit him.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[burins]

I know this is the Take Personal Responsibility for Systemic Issues website, but I keep seeing weirdly guilt trippy posts about libraries and ebook licenses, which are a labyrinth from hell and not actually something you personally need to feel guilty about. here are a few facts about ebook licenses you may not know:

in Libby/Overdrive, which currently operates in most US public libraries, ebook licenses vary widely in how much they cost and what their terms are. some ebooks get charged per use, some have a set number of uses before the license runs out, and others have a period of time they're good for (usually 1-2 years) with unlimited checkouts during that period before they expire. these terms are set by the publisher and can also vary from book to book (for instance, a publisher might offer two types of licenses for a book, and we might buy one copy of a book with a set number of uses we want to have but know won't move as much, and another copy with a one year unlimited license for a new bestseller we know will be really moving this year.)

you as a patron have NO way of knowing which is which.

ebook licenses are very expensive compared to physical books! on average they run about 60 bucks a pop, where the same physical book would cost us $10-15 and last us five to ten years (or much longer, if it's a hardcover that doesn't get read a lot.)

if your library uses Hoopla instead, those are all pay per use, which is why many libraries cap checkouts at anywhere between 2-10 per month.

however.

this doesn't mean you shouldn't use ebooks. this doesn't mean you should feel guilty about checking things out! we buy ebook licenses for people to use them, because we know that ebook formats are easier for a lot of people (more accessible, more convenient, easier for people with schedules that don't let them get into the library.) these are resources the library buys for you. this is why we exist. you don't need to feel guilty about using them!

things that are responsible for libraries being underfunded and having to stretch their resources:

government priorities and systemic underfunding of social services that don't turn a profit and aren't easily quantified

our society's failure to value learning and pleasure reading for their own sake

predatory ebook licensing models

things that are not responsible for libraries being underfunded:

individual patron behavior

I promise promise promise that your personal library use is not making or breaking your library's budget. your local politicians are doing that. capitalism is doing that. you are fine.

(if you want to help your local library, the number one thing you can do is to advocate for us! talk to your city or county government about how much you like the library. or call or write emails or letters. advocate for us locally. make sure your state reps know how important the library is to you. there are local advocacy groups in pretty much every state pushing for library priorities. or just ask your local librarian. we like to answer questions!

also, if you're in Massachusetts, bill h3239 would make a huge difference in letting us negotiate ebook prices more fairly. tell your rep to vote for it!)

[lederfrank66]

Frank K.

Leder66

[angrycommiedyke]

Can't stop thinking about the cop chase scene in this episode compared to what Agatha imagined in her head. She really though of herself as a this super detective running after the thief and get him (thanks to Mrs Hart being a bad driver), while Sharon Davis actually catch Teen on purpose in REAL LIFE. And Billy omg, the way he stops running and apologizes, asks if Agatha's okay this is so chaotic i love it

[moodyvoid]

Imagine the police trying to arrest Mr. Compress… like he’s a magician. He keeps escaping the handcuffs and disappearing from the back of the police car.

[rainbowwatermelon7]

Did some spooky month from episode 1-5 I really hope this cheers ya'll up.

Red is the kids orange the adults green is workers who work or have a job blue is the police and thieves and purple is the cult members and demonic people like moloch and eyes

[eatyourmaker]

Pssst

Would you draw mr clown making a balloon animal for a terrified jack?

Sensitivity training for Jack's trigger happy ass

Also—

This brings up a memory for me. I might draw it as these two cause it fits

[cherrywhite]

One thing I love about Hayward in s1 is ya, sure, he's a cop. But most notably, he's not even a good cop. 

Hear me out. This isn't saying Hayward does not have the intuition one would associate with your typical, glorified cop from tv shows (in chapter 40, Hayward is absolutely right in that he immediately figured Carpenter out the moment he spotted her in Marcel's Crossing) and other instances, like chapter 43, shows that he has good reflexes for moments under fire (is the first to notice Brother Philly and co. at the door and pushes Carpenter out of the way). Not to mention that Hayward was on the force since he was 19, and to survive on the force for that long means he surely had plenty of solved cases under his belt, regardless if pressure has slowly built up by the time we're introduced to him.

No, when I say he's not even a good cop I mean in the sense of: he's not good at what cops actually do. 

One of the very first things Felix reminds him is to not "forget his gun this time." Implying that this has happened before, enough times for Felix to sound audibly tired about it (and he does have to go back for his gun at least two times in season 1). When Mr. Finch points a gun at him, he sits on the ground for a conversation. When asked, Hayward is confused as to why Daggler would need a knife when they find Carpenter and Faulkner's abandoned car, the thought of slashing the tires never even crossing his mind. And instead of immediately taking her into custody with no warrant whatsoever aside for his hunch, he sits down with Carpenter for an amicable conversation and a meal; only later showing his hand long enough to warn her that he's a cop and he's on to her. He's a cop and he has the Stink on him; because s1 Hayward is a bad cop. Because he does not immediately resort to violence. 

(And this isn't to dismiss his role as a cop entirely, something we're never fully privy to; chapter 3 alone shows us how his mere position as a cop was enough to cause a death that could have easily been avoided, because that role prevented Hayward from providing Mr. Finch with the actual help he needed.)

Daggler is such a ridiculous, exaggerated character but he's also the picture perfect cop. The Lieutenant-Colonel sends Daggler of all people, when they think Hayward can't solve the case. And, look, we don't really know what Daggler's position on the force is compared to Hayward, but he's clearly trusted enough to be sent, to be the exception to personal gods and keep a rhetorical god. Clearly trusted enough to close the case efficiently. Yes, Daggler is utterly ridiculous when put next to Hayward but that's because Hayward is a bad cop. Daggler is the ideal: he gets results quickly (by losing patience and immediately assaulting the bookseller), he takes perps to court and wins (with the use of The Coiling Speaks, not a liar's god btw), and he knows how to tell a compelling story (because of course Carpenter tried to attack Hayward. And of course the Good Cop shot and killed the Heretic to Protect His Partner). Good publicity all around.

S1 Hayward shows that there is no "good cop;" because being "good" is antithetical to what's expected of cops. There was no way he could continue being good and being a cop, it's why the Stink was beginning to creep up on him. "You're one of them nice coppers." says Mr. Finch. Nice. Not good. Because so-called good cops are probably the first to get sacrificed; because these institutions are not built with morality in mind.

[max-the-silly-guy]

this scene is literally them

[love-laugh-lobotomy]

one time I thought it would be funny to spray paint Mr Nobody on a piece of cardboard.

it was funny. however

sometimes I forget about him

and sometimes a housemate will move him

so you can image the shock I felt when I got in bed and saw this

[leosulfurous]

Hi underpantsposters

I thought this would be funny

[nibeul]

my favorite theory rn is that hobie killed the cop captain that was a part of his "canon event".

[lederfrank66]

Frank K.

Leder66

[lipglossanon]

Hey You, Would You Help Me To Carry The Stone?

꧁ ஜீ✿•.¸¸.•*`*•.•꧁꧂•.•*`*•.¸¸.•✿ஜீ ꧂

Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

This is part ii for Mr. Sinister ☽☪︎⋆ Remix

Warnings: 18+ so minors DNI, dark!leon, yandere!leon, threats of bodily harm, vomiting, obsessive!leon, stalker!leon, just Leon being absolutely bonkers insane 👌

Kinda looked over but not really proofread 😅

Title from Hey You by Pink Floyd (really fits Leon in this part)

꧁ ஜீ✿•.¸¸.•*`*•.•꧁꧂•.•*`*•.¸¸.•✿ஜீ ꧂

It feels like you’re swimming in molasses; your consciousness is fighting to the surface in fits and starts. The first thing you notice is a slight ringing in your ears followed by the realization that you passed out. You open your eyes and squint at the low light saturating the room.

Trying to move your body leads to nowhere. You’re sitting in a chair with your legs tied together at the ankles and thighs; you can feel the constriction of rope wrapped around your middle, pinning your upper arms in place. You look down at your wrists and see them tied together in front of you with what looks like cloth, almost like a handkerchief.

“Oh good! You’re awake.”

Your attention snaps to the cheery voice on the other side of the room; you didn’t see the door before when looking around, but to be fair you’re still slowly coming to grips with where you are and what has happened to you.

The officer walks into the room until his boots are inches away from your own flats. Crouching down to be at a more even level with you, his lips tick up into that charming grin that tricked you in the first place.

“Sweetheart, don’t look so down. You don’t know how lucky you are,” he chastises, nudging your chin up with the knuckles on his thumb and forefinger.

“If you hadn’t have run, why we wouldn’t be here right now,” his full mouth turns down with faux sympathy, “such a shame you got caught so easily though.”

“Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone—“

He laughs, “I know you’re not. And I’m not letting you go just yet. Want to make sure we’re clear about some things first.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to stave off the tears threatening to spill.

“Please, officer. I just want to go home.”

“Aww,” he coos, running a thumb underneath your eye to catch what tears fall. He sucks the thumb into his mouth and hums at the salty taste, eyes hungry and dark.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he leans forward and nuzzles your cheek before giving it a soft kiss. “Gonna take care of my sweet girl, give her all the love she deserves.”

At that admission more tears fall from your eyes. You can feel a panic attack hovering, ready to sweep over your senses. Your fingers feel numb and your chest’s tight.

“Baby,” his voice low and soothing, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I just want to go home,” you tiredly whisper, voice clogged with tears.

“For now you are home,” he kisses your cheek again, tongue darting out to lick the tears dripping from your eyes.

Your vision goes woozy, bile rising in your throat so fast it makes your nose run. 

“‘m gonna be sick,” you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, “really, I-I’m—“

You gag and thankfully Leon pulls away from you with soft words of sympathy. He pulls a knife from the holster on his side and quickly slices through the rope binding your chest and arms then the one circling your thighs. 

“I’m going to pick you up and bring you to the toilet,” he slips the knife back to his side, and eases you from the chair. 

He picks you up bridal style and carries you out of the room; stepping into a short hallway, he takes you into the door directly across from you. 

He eases you down onto the floor next to the toilet, ankles and wrists still tied limiting your movement. Quickly, you flip the toilet lid up and retch into the bowl. 

“There, there,” he rubs your back, making you flinch and gag harder, “you’ll feel better once it’s all out.”

Tears splash into the dirty water, snot running freely down your face as you retch again, stomach acid coating the back of your throat leaving a sour and bitter tang on your tongue. 

He continues touching you, petting your hair or rubbing your back while you puke up what little dinner is in your stomach. After you dry heave a few times, your body slumps back in exhaustion. 

“I hate that my pretty girl isn’t feeling good,” he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss on your head. 

You’re so wrung out that you can only feel despair at the situation, no tears left to shed. Leon leans past you to flush the contents down the toilet. 

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he stands then bends down to scoop you up in his arms bridal style again. 

He takes a few steps to set you down on the sink countertop. You watch in numb dissonance as he wets a cloth under the tap. 

“Close your eyes for me, sweet girl,” his lips curl up in a facsimile of warmth.

Not really having a choice, your eyes shut bathing your thoughts in darkness. You feel as Leon gently wipes your eyelids with the warm damp cloth. He diligently cleans up your face, making sure to clean off any traces of snot and vomit. 

You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see his crazed eyes anymore.. not wanting to deal with the reality of this situation. A few small tears drip from your closed eyelids making Leon tsk at you. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his low voice humming in your ears. 

Eyelashes fluttering open, you watch as that crooked smile slides over his face. 

“There she is,” he coos, “just one last thing, okay?”

You flinch at the sound of plastic cracking open and look down at his hands. He pulls out a new toothbrush from its package. Reaching around you, he runs it under the hot tap again. He pulls it back and after squeezing toothpaste across the damp bristles does he offer it to you. 

You stare at it, mind blissfully empty for a moment before Leon’s sigh jerks your attention back up to him. 

“Well I guess it would be awkward for you,” he pushes closer, titling your head up and holding your jaw, “open up for me, sweetheart.”

Keeping your mouth shut, you press your lips together more firmly. His eyes narrow down at you, a mean pinched expression coming into his face. 

“Don’t be a brat,” his thumb presses on the pressure point in your jaw making you open your mouth to stop the pain.

He slips the toothbrush past your parted lips, “See? Behave for me and everything will be just fine.”

As the minty flavor hits your tongue, humiliation bubbles up in your chest paired with white hot indignation; in this moment, you hate Leon with every atom of your body. You’ve never felt like this about anything or anyone, but you hope you convey how you feel with your eyes as you watch Leon focus on brushing your teeth. 

He lets go of your jaw to grab your chin and open your mouth wider. 

“Gotta make sure we don’t miss any spots. Don’t want my pretty girl getting cavities now, do we?” 

Before you can even think about it, you’re spitting in Leon’s face. You watch with slow dawning horror as toothpaste and spittle slide down the straight line of his nose. His pouty mouth thins, eyes darkening instantly. 

He sets the toothbrush on the counter and takes the cloth from earlier to quickly wipe down his face. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” his deep baritone makes you draw in on yourself, “apologize. Now.”

“S-s-sorry,” you finally stumble out, lips clumsy, “I-I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”

His demeanor softens, but his face stays unreadable, “If you keep up the attitude, I’ll be forced to fix it. Do you understand?”

Fear seizes you by the throat so you nod jerkily, tears pricking at your waterline again. 

“Good girl,” he pets your hair back, “I’m going to finish what I started, but if you act up again I’ll backhand that pretty mouth, okay?”

Hands shaking in your lap, you wilt under his intense gaze, “I understand,” whisper sounding loud in the small bathroom. 

“Good,” he picks up the toothbrush and rinses it off before reapplying toothpaste. 

He holds it in front of your lips and you open your mouth without any prompting. 

His lips tick up into a mean smile, “Good girl.”

You stare at the wall just past his shoulder and let him brush your teeth. He tilts your jaw as needed, the silence so loud you can hear your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. 

You start when you feel cool plastic touch your bottom lip. Your eyes jump to his face, his own darkened gaze watching you. 

“Need you to rinse, pretty girl,” he raises an eyebrow, “not going to have any repeats, right?”

You softly shake your head no, mouth too full of foamy toothpaste to answer. He angles the cup up, water trickling slowly into your mouth. You swirl it in your mouth and angle your head to the sink and spit it out. 

“Good girl,” he praises, hand stroking your side.

You stiffen as he picks you up again, quickly carrying you back into the bedroom where you woke up. This time he sets you down gently on the bed, bypassing the chair he had you tied in earlier. He kneels in front of you, similar to earlier, and checks the bindings on your wrists and ankles. 

“Why are you doing this?” hands twisting in your lap, you bring your gaze up from them to look in his face. 

He frowns at you, “Do you really not know?”

Anxiety spiking in your chest, you frown back at him, “No, I don’t. I just want to go home. Please.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “You know I can’t do that. You really don’t know why? Or recognize me?”

That draws you up short. Your lips part to ask, but you pause, trying to think past the horror of what’s happening to you, to think back on any time you may have run into this crazed man. 

He watches the emotions flit over your face with rapt attention. 

“I-I don’t rem—“

“Sure you do,” he gently massages your calves, “there’s that one time at the grocery store.”

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Unbeknownst to you, Leon’s been stalking you around town for a long time.

His shifts at work fluctuate, but he’s always clocking out in time to tail you. This past week, in particular, you haven’t really gone out much after getting home from class. Once to the grocery store, where he discreetly followed you inside.

However, this isn’t the incident he’s referring to; the first time he ever caught a glimpse of you was after a grueling sixteen hour shift. He was burnt out. Completely dead on his feet, he’s just standing in the canned food aisle blankly staring at rows of green beans. 

Laughter snaps him out of it. It feels like his soul slams back down in his body. Blinking rapidly, he turns his attention to the end of the aisle and sees... 

You.

God, he sees you. 

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

You’re not really paying attention to him, on the phone with someone as you laugh and smile at whatever they say, but it’s enough.

It’s. 

Enough. 

He feels lighter than he has in months, in years. Just seeing your face soothes that horrible nothingness that has started to blanket his life. Everyday the same gray monotony. And now?

You’re beautiful and sweet.. perfect, you’re perfect.

He watches you now, as you shuffle along pulling cans off the shelf to drop in your basket. He stands in the same spot, hoping you’ll look at him, notice him. 

Please. 

He knows he looks like death warmed over; he’s been in the shit all day today, helping this backwater town tread water a little while longer. But he has hope. 

The little thing with wings. 

His breath catches in his chest when you walk past him. You glance over at him as you’re passing and smile. At him. 

You smile at him. 

You keep walking, attention going back to your phone call and he watches you the entire time until you’re out of sight, leaving the aisle to finish your own shopping. 

From there, it’s simple to memorize your tag and get your information. It’s simple to figure out your schedule and follow you home (for you own safety of course). 

It’s simple to see that you need someone to take care of you; you’re far too trusting— too nice to people who don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you. But Leon’s got it. He’s got you even though you don’t know it yet, but one day, you will. 

He’s saving you from those plebeians. Like that annoying library aide who didn’t get the hint you weren’t interested, who suddenly resigned and moved away; kinda odd how he favored that left side pretty severely as he avoided you on his last day. 

Or the guy at the coffee shop who slipped you his number and later found himself severely beaten by an unknown assailant; funny how the cops never found any suspects for that case. The guy stopped showing up at the coffee shop and last you heard he moved back home to be with his parents. 

This last guy who invited you out to Lovers Lane is in for a fun surprise once Leon is comfortable in leaving you here alone for a long period of time. He has lots of plans for him that he’s excited to test out. 

There’s a hungry, dark part of Leon that he doesn’t let out very often; oh it helps with his job, being around the vilest scum of the earth always brings out that nasty part of his psyche, but it helps keep the trash in check. 

It’s always boiling under the surface, lurking and waiting, but now that he’s seen you—has you— it’s like a shark scenting blood. All of his senses amplify, wanting to protect you, keep you safe from the awful reality that is the everyday in this shithole town. 

He’s prepared to do everything and anything to keep you here, to himself, and show you that only he truly knows what’s best for you. 

That stupid boy you went out with doesn’t stand a chance once Leon gets his hands on him. He touched you, had the audacity to toss you to the side— Leon pushes that from his mind before he spirals.

The chase you gave him earlier in the night ignited his blood, brought him alive like nothing has in quite some time. He felt disappointment when you were so easily caught, but you at least tried to get away, tried to fight him off; that alone sent elation and arousal buzzing through his body to the point he was afraid you would slip from his grasp in his excitement.

The fear in your eyes made his heart race, although there’s no real reason to be scared of him. Leon will never hurt you in a way that matters. Correcting your behavior isn’t hurting you, it’s only teaching you how to treat yourself better. 

Leon feels like Lady Luck is finally shining a light on his life. You’re so perfect for him. He wants to sink his teeth in your body again and again— mark you where everyone can see you’re off limits. That you belong to him. 

Your quiet voice pulls his attention back to you—back to the present. 

“I think I saw you once,” your eyes are so earnest, so lovely, “I was on the phone with my mom. I remember seeing a cop at some point while shopping.”

He smiles at you all sugar sweet, “There we go. See? You do remember me.”

“B-but I know we’ve never even talked to each other. I don’t really even know you,” tears fill your eyes, making Leon ache to take you apart with his mouth but he refrains from doing so—even though it’s so hard not to. 

“Well, now you’ll have plenty of time,” he takes your bound wrists in hand and kisses your fingertips, “you’ll get to know me and see how much you belong here.” 

His chest feels full while he watches your eyes widen, anxiousness pinching your features as you fold in on yourself. Sorrow and fear enhances your beauty to the point Leon almost feels suffocated. 

Almost. 

He smiles tenderly at you, kissing your fingertips again, “Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’m here to take care of you.”

Your shoulders hitch as you sob quietly in front of him, face turned down but he can still see those glittering trails of saline caress your cheeks. That hungry want rises in him again, but he keeps it in check. 

He ticks your chin up with his knuckles and coos at your distress. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, indulging himself again by lapping up your tears, “my sweet, pretty girl.”

Your eyes cut to his once he pulls back and it makes his cock throb and kick in his boxers. So hateful. He can see how much you want to rip into him, how you’d love to take him apart with your bare hands. He tamps down the urge to let you go, to really see what you would do to him. 

He smiles widely, gleefully, at you, but your eyes are still smoldering with hate and anguish. 

“There she is,” he purrs, voice smoky, “the perfect girl for me.”

He drags a thumb from the apple of your cheek down to your bottom lip. He sees the instant you think about lashing out, biting his thumb, but you reel it in. 

He’s dizzy at your restraint. The utter lack of action makes him want to push you further, see how far he can go, but he also reigns it in; he wants you to be on the same page. He needs you to see things his way—the right way, the only way. He’s so hard now that it hurts. 

Leon glances at his watch and frowns in distaste. 

“I hate to cut this short, but I’ve gotta go.”

He stands to his full height making you crane your head up to keep looking at him. Looking down at you, he wants you so much he’s sick with it. 

“Won’t be gone too long, sweetheart,” he slips his hands under your arms and places you back in the chair. 

“No, no, please,” you tremble, “I’ll be good, officer. Please don’t tie me up again, please.”

He watches you, sea dark eyes roving over your lovely features. 

“Promise to behave until I get back? I won’t be gone long,” he narrows his eyes at you, “and if you try anything. Anything. It’s going to be bad for you.”

You nod your head quickly, “Promise. Thank you.”

That makes him pause. He smiles at you again, brushing wisps of your hair away from your face. 

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart. Such a good girl I have. Let’s keep it that way, hmm?”

You nod again, eyes wide in your face. 

He caresses your cheek with the palm of his hand and then steps completely away. 

“Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t try anything silly while I’m gone,” he laughs, a spark of excitement warming his chest, “or do. I guess I wouldn’t mind either way.”

He gives you one last lingering look as he closes the bedroom door. He locks the door lock along with the padlock he has bolted on the outside. Always better safe than sorry he thinks. 

He listens at the door for a moment and after not hearing anything except your soft crying, he steps away. Following the short hallway that opens out into the living space, he easily makes his way to the front door. 

Leon steps outside and takes his time securing the front door with a padlock on the outside as well. This place is isolated, but he’s not wanting to take any chances. Even if you did make it out of the bedroom, all of the windows have bars on them. There is no back door and the front door is made of heavy oak so there’s no way you’re kicking it down easily. 

He’s truly only worried that if you do make your way out his little hunting shack that you’re going to be set upon by a wild animal. He’s seen things like it before; careless hunters or drunk idiots coming into the precinct spouting off about the wild coyotes they stumbled across or a lone wolf, even the occasional badger or snack attack. 

You’re much too precious for him to lose in such an awful, and preventive, way. Leon tugs on the door harshly and is satisfied to see that it doesn’t budge. He pockets his keys and turns away. He whistles a jaunty little tune to himself as he takes the barely visible trail away from the shack. 

The tree trunks eventually narrow as he leaves the small clearing surrounding the place, pushing past brush and thorn bushes. Leon grins to himself as he makes his way out to the hidden area he parked his car. He’s so excited to get back to you, but first he has to make sure you’re not missed elsewhere. After all, you’re perfectly safe and content where you’re at now, he guarantees it. 

[helium-vibes]

need these two to have a slay-off