#of being a victim of your circumstances at every turn

[picaroroboto]

(guy who is perpetually a single Canto behind voice): I think Nelly from Canto 6 might be my favorite single-canto NPC so far. When I read the book Wuthering Heights I spent a lot of time thinking about her role as narrator of the story retelling it to Mr. Lockwood - at the point where she's telling it both Cathy and Edgar are dead and Heathcliff is pretty far along a downward spiral, so she's the only one who knows the complete story of the manor from the beginning (iirc she's only slightly older than Heathcliff and Cathy, so they basically grew up together) almost to the end, from a perspective close to the action but not part of the central drama. When reading you have to suspend your disbelief at the fact that she remembers conversations and scenes from years ago, but even so she's far from a perfect narrator, and sometimes not even a good person (one of the fun things about Wuthering Heights is that there's no "moral center", no completely innocent victim - even Mr. Lockwood, who's barely a character, is a bit of an asshole). There's times where you think that if she'd been kinder and more understanding to Heathcliff and Cathy things would have turned out better, and other times where you feel sorry for her and the fact that servants couldn't change households/careers easily in this era because oh my god girl you need to get out of that place. But being the only one who knows a story must be a burden, that's why a story must be shared so the burden can be shared. And the story of wuthering heights is equal parts tragedy, horror, and the most fucked-up romantic gossip you've ever heard in your life so it's the kind of story that demands to be told to someone else.

Limbus's Nelly, when she looks through the Mirror Worlds and sees herself in every one get dragged down by Heathcliff and Cathy's drama, she's essentially reacting to that role of narrator and passive participant that she has in the novel, and trying to escape it. The circumstances that cause everyone to forget Cathy means that she no longer knows the full, correct, story, in a way granting her the escape she wanted - but in betraying Heathcliff and forgetting Cathy the cost was breaking relationships that she had for years. Now the only ones who know the story, who know that Cathy even existed are Dante and Heathcliff himself, sharing that burden of knowing. I think there's a trend too of Dante being an observer to stories that others don't know or forget, like how they're the only one unaffected by the memory wipe that caused the Sinners to forget the Tearful Thing at the end of Canto 4.

[kait-bait8]

The thing I love the most about the Hunger Games is Katniss’ character arc.

Katniss Everdeen in book 1 is like Harry Potter in book 7. That is to say, the Katniss we follow in THG is the strong and resilient fighter. She is brave and selfless and tough and she digs deep despite tremendous pain. She has already overcome the loss of her father and the dire circumstances of her youth. And the 74th Hunger Games should have been her boss fight.

The end of THG shows us a Katniss who is a champion, a winner, a Victor. It feels like we are at the triumphant end of a story. Until she is told that the Capitol is not happy.

In Catching Fire we learn about Katniss’ nightmares. We learn that she sometimes can’t look at Prim without seeing Rue. We see her relationships begin to strain and change.

Katniss finding out that she will be going back into the games is one of my all time favorite scenes. Because in THG Katniss is in Survival Mode from the second she steps onto the platform. She holds back her tears and tries to look indifferent for the sponsors. But in CF she shatters. She flees. She cries and drinks and screams. She isn’t strong or resilient or even a little brave. And you just don’t see heroes react like that in other stories. But you can’t tell me it’s possible to read that scene and not feel your own stomach twist at the thought of that reality.

When Peeta hits the barrier and his heart stops Katniss loses it. It’s clear she knows about CPR from watching her mother, the same way she knew about blood poisoning and tourniquets in the last games, but it doesn’t even occur to her until after Finnick starts kissing Peeta. She isn’t sharp and quick and able to think on her feet. She is desperate to keep Peeta and the rebellion alive and that is it. People say that the victors keep Peeta alive because “if they didn’t Katniss would kill everyone and then herself” but Katniss knew her fate. She knew she wasn’t going to survive the arena. And she knew a life without Peeta was pointless. She would have “stopped living” like her mother.

When Katniss is rescued and Peeta is not, there was no “what is the plan? How are we going to get Peeta back? How are we going to save him?” There was only enough energy and emotion to try to claw Haymitch’s eyes out.

And then we get to Mockingjay. I’ve heard people complain that they couldn’t get through the book because it was just Katniss sleeping all the time. But of course she is sleeping all the time. Of course she can hardly qualify to be a soldier. Of course she finds solace in Finnick and his rope tying.

She doesn’t assassinate President Snow on her rogue mission. She gets her friends killed. She can’t even save Prim. Katniss gets knocked out and wakes up with the War already won. She secures the safety of Panem for a time by killing Coin but even that is the act of someone who no longer cares for her own safety and well-being.

I’m not saying she doesn’t do anything, she does an incredible amount for her mental/emotional state. But she isn’t Strong or Brave or Resilient. She doesn’t dig deep because even if she did there wouldn’t be anything left. She is completely broken.

That is what makes her epilogue so beautiful. Because at the end of her story she isn’t a Victor. She isn’t The Hero. She just, learns to be okay. She falls in love and finds peace and happiness and safety. I don’t know if I would say that she ever becomes unbroken but she picks up the pieces she can salvage and does her best with them.

Katniss Everdeen’s character arc is not one of Strength. There are many strong characters. It is a study of weakness and the beauty and love and community that comes from weakness.

[darkmatilda]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: two years ago, completely by accident, you helped catch a serial killer. now, as mysterious events start to pile up around you, you begin to suspect that someone is after you, seeking revenge. terrified, you're willing to do anything to save yourself—even if it means reaching out to your ex, who wants nothing more to do with you.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: [these warnings only apply to part 1!] spencer reid x criminal(thief)female!reader, stalking, mention of dismembered bodies, serial killer targeting women, mention of abduction, mention of mental issues and addiction of the victim, reader is kinda morally grey

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

𝐚/𝐧: HUGE THANKS to my beloveds from the server who have been listening to me yap about this fic for the past few days!!! a few of my dear girls show up here as characters, in this part it’s @esote-rika i hope you like the role i chose for you <33

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

You hadn’t dreamt about it for almost a year now.

Before, that image had returned to your dreams regularly. A small, wooden vacation cabin in the woods—far enough from the bustle of the city to feel like a retreat, but close enough to avoid the unease that comes with complete isolation. An operation that had required you and your then-partners to meticulously study the owner’s weekly routine, gathering as much information about him as possible. There was no pressure of time—it was a place for vacations or lazy weekends, not for everyday living.

You had no trouble breaking in without even damaging the lock. You had your methods. The owner was due to arrive soon and discover that the painting in the small living room was gone. You wondered if he even understood its historical value. Wealthy people often liked to fill their properties with expensive works of art to catch the eyes of their guests and dazzle them with their price tags. But they rarely cared about the context or the circumstances of their creation. Often, if the artist was foreign, they could barely pronounce their name.

You liked labeling every person you robbed as ignorant. It gave you more motivation.

Your partners had immediately located the painting, while you started looking around the interior yourself. There could be more valuable items—jewelry or antique furniture. Once, during a robbery, you had been about to retreat when you found a hidden door leading to a basement, which turned out to be practically a vault. That year, you booked your dream vacation.

This time, you were heading down the stairs again, shining your flashlight ahead. The beam of light didn’t fall on a bust, a leaning painting, or an Art Deco dresser. It illuminated the battered face of a woman, bound as though she weren’t a living being, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

The waitress set a plate of pancakes in front of you, but you suddenly regretted ordering them. Your stomach was still in knots after seeing that image again in your dreams. You’d gone out for breakfast because you had no plans for the day and didn’t want to spend it entirely cooped up in your apartment. You adjusted yourself in the leather booth. The place had a 90s vibe, with its black-and-white checkered floor, red seating, and curly straws poking out of milkshakes topped with double whipped cream.

A cop slid into the booth next to yours with a sigh, ordering waffles with bacon. Out of habit, you tensed up slightly. As a member of the criminal underworld—a thief and active dealer of antique goods—you weren’t a fan of even fleeting interactions with people who carried handcuffs on their belts. You much preferred gold bracelets.

"...abandoned body parts of an unidentified woman were found along the shore of Neabsco Creek in Prince William County. This exceptionally brutal crime immediately sparked panic within the local community, following a series of murders that had occurred here just two years earlier. It was right on this riverbank that the limbs of the last victim of the killer were found before his capture…”

“The Waterside Butcher,” the cop to your left muttered, mouth full of waffles. “I don’t know if you heard, but that guy’s a real piece of work. Fuckin' psycho. But it ain’t him now—they got him locked up good.”

Thank you for sharing that unsolicited nugget of information I didn’t ask for, officer, you thought, as you remained silent. You didn’t want to engage in any confrontational interactions with the police. In fact, you couldn’t physically speak—you had a chunk of pancake stuck in your mouth, swelling up like a soaked sponge, and you had to spit it out onto your plate.

The cop shot you a look of disgust before turning his attention back to the waitress, bragging about his knowledge of the crime details. He even mispronounced the killer’s name. Robert Miller, not Roger. The man whose vacation cabin you broke into two years ago. The one whose basement you found a woman imprisoned in. The one you reported to the police, even though that meant exposing what you’d been doing in his house. Your case quickly ended up in the hands of the BAU profilers, who used your testimony and connected it to a serial killer they had been hunting for a long time, one who always dumped his female victims along the banks of water sources.

They even offered you a deal. Your testimony, and in exchange, you were only charged with one burglary, one attempted theft. They completely ignored the dozens of others that had happened before.

So, it could be said that you helped them catch The Waterside Butcher.

The cop was right about one thing. Thirteen murders, and he was locked up for the next few lifetimes. So, it had to be either a copycat or...

But if someone like that escaped from prison, would the public even know about it?

Your nightmare hit again. Right on that night. A bad feeling?

Your phone rang.

"Hey, Mrs. Hemingway," you greeted your older neighbor from the floor below, the one you’d swapped numbers with when you were helping her settle in after her hip surgery and taking care of her poodle. You were surprised she was calling you. "Everything okay?"

"Sweetheart, I told you to just call me Erika," she said gently on the other end, her voice carrying a note of tension. "I’m just calling to let you know you're flooding my floor again. Haven’t you fixed that sink yet?"

"Shit," you muttered under your breath. "I’ll be there in a sec. Sorry, Mrs...Erika, that this happened again."

You left the almost untouched pancakes on the plate and walked out of the restaurant, heading toward your building. You’d been moving around a lot because of your line of work, and this place had been home for maybe three months now. For about two weeks, something strange had been happening with the sink in your kitchen. You’d return late at night to find the floor completely flooded, leaking down to the apartment below, where Mrs…Erika lived. It happened every few days, almost regularly. After the second time, you hired someone to fix it, but he said everything was fine with the faucet. Either you kept forgetting to turn it off, or…you just couldn’t come up with a better explanation.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t what occupied your mind on your way back to the apartment.

Your thoughts were consumed by the murder case. You couldn’t help it; everything related to it made you uneasy. During the trial, you’d heard all the details of the crimes he’d committed. You’d seen photos of torsos of women, abandoned in various places, along with their legs and arms. You’d listened as the handsome profiler explained the psychology behind it all. How he lowered his voice with a comforting care, assuring you there was no chance he would ever get out of prison. You nodded, having no reason not to believe him. It was him who proposed the deal you took – keeping your earlier crimes under wraps in exchange for your testimony.

You made a mental note to check in on how Rebekah was doing later. You were the one who saved her, though you didn’t particularly like using that word—after all, you’d ended up there by accident. You kept in touch, but it was hard to call it friendship. You were bound by the situation in which she almost became just another limbless victim. You didn’t have much in common, but she had struggled a lot after that event, and you wanted to make sure she was okay. It was kind of like womanhood. 

The first thing you did when you got back to your small but quite stylishly furnished apartment in a nondescript neighborhood was to turn off that damn sink. And then, you offered a heartfelt apology to Erika. In return, you promised to walk her poodle for a week.

“No need, darling,” she assured you, standing in the doorway of her apartment. She was an elegant woman, a fashion enthusiast. Dressed in a gray plaid skirt and a cleverly cut blouse with a tie at the neckline, large black earrings dangled from her ears. Sometimes when she went out, she wore a matching black bowler hat. Behind her, the poodle was frantically wagging its tail, excited to see you. “The doctor recommended I get plenty of walking. I take Coco out every day at eight for an hour. Just the cost for the flooded ceiling is fine.”

You agreed, silently promising yourself that you’d order her a massive bouquet of flowers in the coming days. But for now, you headed back to your apartment, walking straight to the bedroom where you kept a locked chest of drawers… and inside, an album of photos. And within those photos, a substantial amount of cash. Since your income didn’t come from legitimate sources, you steered clear of banks like the plague. You counted out the sum you planned to give Erika—more than she probably expected. But before you could lock the chest again, your fingers automatically grabbed the album. It wasn’t just money in there; you liked to capture moments in photos, and you had plenty of them. You always took them with you when you moved.

The first page showed several pictures from your early childhood, chubby cheeks, dreamy eyes. You quickly turned the page, then another…

Your fingers clenched tightly, even though your mind hadn’t fully processed what you’d just seen. You shook your head, thinking it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

A photo of a little girl on her first bike. Her face should have been expressing joy, a toothless smile. Instead, all that was there was white, emptiness. A cut-out section.

With furrowed brows, you continued flipping through the album, almost in a trance. If every photo had missing pieces like that, it would’ve been easier to understand. But this was just one photo out of hundreds, one little girl without a face…

A graduation photo. You should have been smiling, hugging your friends. But your face was missing. Your breath caught in your chest. A trip with friends—your face cut out. A beach day, devoid of your face. Not every photo had been altered, but almost every stage of your life captured in that album had at least one case like this. It was as if someone was trying to erase you completely.

You stopped at the point where you had stopped taking as many photos. The last few were from your previous relationship. It hadn’t lasted long, but you had particularly enjoyed taking pictures of Spencer Reid, the profiler who had worked on your case. His brown hair, wide eyes in surprise because he hadn’t known you were sneaking up on him with the camera, the dimple in his cheek when he smiled, filled several good pages. There weren’t many good photos. He looked amazing in spontaneous shots, but in posed ones, his smile was always awkward, stiff.

That photo wasn’t one of your favorites. It had been taken by some stranger during your little vacation in Rome. Spencer had been wearing a light linen shirt, his arm wrapped around your waist. You remembered exactly how you’d stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, only to cringe a moment later—having just slathered him with sunscreen, you tasted that bitter aftertaste in your mouth. A smile flashed across his face at that, and he adjusted his arm around you, smoothing your heat-fluffed hair behind your ear. So many perfect angles for a picture you could have stared at for hours, but that stranger had only snapped one. You both looked like an engaged couple who had never spoken to each other before, and to make matters worse, it looked like the family expected six kids from you both.

Your face had been cut out of it.

You slammed the album shut and tossed it into the drawer. A gust of wind blew the money meant for Erika onto the floor, but you didn’t care. What did you care about? There was nothing in your mind. A temporary, filling emptiness, growing with every beat of your heart.

Your body moved toward the window on its own, discreetly peering behind the curtain. A black car pulled away from the driveway, followed by a red one, and then a gray one. Could it be…?

No, you hadn’t looked at that album for several days. At least not to review the pictures. They might have been damaged before, and you only noticed it now. You didn’t know which version of events scared you more.

The voice of the news anchor played in your head like a true-crime podcast, describing a recently discovered body with far more gruesome details than in reality. The return of The Waterside Butcher, the one you helped catch. A break-in at your apartment (you hadn’t done it yourself, had you, in your sleep?) almost at the same time?

A twist of fate? A stupid coincidence?

For a moment, you paced around the apartment, thinking. Robert Miller was a serial killer of women, whose capture had been made possible by a woman who broke into his home. If—purely hypothetically—he escaped prison, wouldn’t he be driven by a certain kind of hatred directed specifically at her? A desire to destroy her, more important than anything else?

But that was absurd. You hadn’t cut ties with the case, but surely someone would have informed you if he had escaped. Though…Spencer had been your source of information, and you hadn’t spoken to him since your breakup, over a year ago. You hadn’t been in touch at all since then. So maybe…?

You realized you were standing in something wet. The floor was still flooded from a tap that had been left running.

For the second time this week.

The self-turning sink, this tension, this dream, the cut-out faces, the next murder.

Another brutally killed woman left on the riverbank.

The thought was improbable, yet it refused to leave you alone. It was far more likely that you were dealing with some deranged copycat—after all, it wasn’t uncommon for serial killers to have their admirers. However, that prospect didn’t fill you with nearly as much dread as the idea of being in the crosshairs of this particular man. 

You had to find out if there was even the slightest chance that he was out there, free.

*

“Hands up and turn around, slowly.”

Quick disclaimer—you and Spencer Reid didn’t break up on the most peaceful terms.

Aiming at your head was a bit much, though.

Without a hint of fear, you calmly closed the cabinet in his kitchen, from which you had just taken out a package of brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts. You immediately shoved one into your mouth, chewing the sweet bite while staring into the eyes of your ex, who was pointing a gun at you from about four steps away. His hair was longer than you remembered, and there was a trace of stubble around his mouth that caught you off guard. Or rather, how good he looked with it.

“I preferred your old place,” you declared, leaning back against one of the kitchen cabinets. Another bite of Pop Tarts, and a crumb fell onto your clothes. Oops. “Do you even have a microwave here? I could warm this up.”

“How did you get in here?” he asked, clearly irritated.

He still hadn’t lowered the gun, and you were starting to suspect he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you.

“It’s always how did you get in here?” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Never what’s up? how are you? your hair looks amazing, did you know that? and that outfit?”

"You wouldn’t be yourself without all that pretentious talk, huh?" he scoffed, finally easing up a bit. His stiff posture, caused by holding the gun, relaxed, and after a beat, he lowered it and tucked it into his waistband. He accidentally pulled back part of his black blazer, revealing a dark purple shirt underneath.

You shoved the rest of the snack into your mouth, wiped your hands off, and swallowed.

"I’d be boring without it. And you wouldn’t be yourself without this overdramatization, right? Aiming at my head like I’m some criminal..."

"You broke into my apartment," he interrupted, folding his arms. It was evening, and if you hadn’t turned on the light before coming in, the place would have been drowning in cold darkness. A little of it slipped through the window that wasn’t fully covered. "I think that’s a pretty good reason to point a gun at someone. So what are you doing here?"

"You were right," you said softly, helplessly spreading your arms. "The path of crime doesn't lead to anything good. I should have listened to you, thrown it all away, and become a model citizen."

Spencer gently nodded, listening to your words. Then, he let out a laugh.

"And seriously?"

"Was I not convincing enough?"

"Did you get yourself into something again and need someone to cover your back? Because there's no better alibi than the words of an FBI agent?"

"Stop acting like I ever forced you into it. You did it on your own."

"Because I didn't want my girlfriend ending up in prison."

A tired sigh escaped you, not expecting it to take just three minutes from the start of your reunion to begin bringing up things from your relationship. Well, the fact that you even got together two years ago still seemed incredibly absurd and enigmatic, especially to outsiders. Let's be honest. An FBI agent and a criminal caught during a break-in for theft. Then, still a criminal, though with good intentions.

You couldn’t help that you didn’t see an end to that career, and you were pretty sure Spencer secretly hoped you'd give it up. During the less than six months of your relationship, you felt as though you were constantly on the police radar, even though he’d never turn you in. What’s more, once or twice, he vouched that you were somewhere else when you weren’t. To put it simply, he gave you a fake alibi.

That was roughly when everything started falling apart, as it slowly dawned on him that he couldn’t change you. Things got even stormier, and one day, after one of the many unpleasant exchanges of words at that stage, you just walked out, slamming the door behind you, and you hadn’t seen each other until now.

 End of the story.

"Listen," Spencer began after a moment of silence. "You broke in here for a reason, and I highly doubt it’s to reminisce. I should just tell you to leave, but out of some remnants of respect for you, I’ll let you say what this is really about."

"Oh, look at you, how gracious," you scoffed bitterly. Remnants of respect. He was right, though. You hadn't come there to reminisce; you were only interested in getting an answer to one specific question. You cleared your throat. "I’m assuming you’ve heard about the discovery on the shore of Neabsco Creek?"

Spencer took a step forward, furrowing his brows slightly. He still kept more than a necessary distance, as if you were the one pointing a gun at him.

"Your assumption is correct," he replied slowly, cautiously. "I just don’t understand the purpose. Do you have any information related to the case?"

Although it didn’t quite fit the topic, the corner of your mouth twitched.

"Are you hoping I’ll help you catch another serial killer?" you asked, immediately shaking your head. "No, I don’t know anything that could be useful to you. But I do have some bad feelings about it."

You saw him gently press his lips together in thought. Almost immediately, he understood where you were going with this and gave a slight nod. His eyes were still analyzing you carefully and distrustfully. You also noticed how carefully he chose his words, as he always did in the presence of someone who could mean trouble.

"Spencer," you said his name for the first time during this conversation, pausing for a moment to think about how it felt on your tongue. You’d almost forgotten. "Is Robert Miller still in prison?"

 "He murdered thirteen women, of course he’s still in prison," he replied with conviction. "And he’ll stay there forever. The body we found... the modus operandi is the same, but only because we’re probably dealing with a copycat."

 "Copycat," you repeated. "And not an accomplice?"

"He didn’t have an accomplice. We figured that out during the investigation."

 "Are you sure?"

 "What exactly are you getting at?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine confusion, his brow furrowed deeply.

You set the Pop Tarts box down on the counter. You’d thought about it a lot. Few knew about your involvement in the investigation, it hadn’t been made public, just like the exact circumstances surrounding the capture of the suspect. He, however, knew. He’d seen your face in court, heard your name. The entire previous day you had been obsessed with the fact that he probably had the right to correspondence in prison. He might have found a way to inform his potential accomplice about your identity, convincing him to take revenge on his behalf.

"Someone's stalking me," you said casually, as if you were telling him about what you had for lunch that day. "It started right when that murder happened. Just before the body was found on the shore. Someone...cut my face out of photos in my album."

Spencer stood still for a long moment. A look of concern briefly flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something else—skepticism.

"No offense," he began, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "but are you sure it’s not just someone from your circles?"

"Even if it is, so what? I'm still being stalked."

"Then, that’s not my problem”

Okay, that was cold.

“If someone from my circles wanted to kill me, they’d just do it. They wouldn’t be sneaking into my apartment, cutting my face out of photos, and turning the water on in my sink. The Waterside Butcher, as the media's calling him,” you tried to sound calm and logical, but your heart began to race as the memory from the dream you’d had two days ago—and the one that came to you last night—hit you. This time, however, you hadn’t found Rebekah in the basement of the house, but yourself. “Something’s not right. I can feel it. You guys should look into this. I mean, BAU. But not as a copycat. As someone connected to Miller."

You could see Spencer mulling over your words. His jaw tightened slightly as he processed what you said.

“Are you getting any real threats?” he asked. “Or is it just a busted sink and…”

“It’s not busted! Someone’s turning it on!” you cut him off, irritation creeping into your voice. “And not just someone—a serial killer I put in prison.”

“And who’s still there.”

You could feel yourself losing track of your own thoughts. Well, you’d barely slept the night before, and your brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

“Or his accomplice,” you corrected yourself.

“Or?” Spencer picked up on it, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, frustrated by his calmness.

"Well, sometimes you catch the wrong person," you said uncertainly.

Spencer exhaled deeply, briefly staring at the ceiling. You didn’t see the seriousness, the readiness to act, that you’d expected when you showed up at his apartment. There was no declaration that they would take another look at the case, maybe reach out to Miller again and try to get more information from him. The thought crossed your mind—if something like this had happened two years ago, would he have reacted with more urgency?

“I interrogated him two years ago,” he began. “Personally, for many hours, even days. He confessed to everything, nothing in his behavior suggested he was trying to manipulate us. He had a motive—he selected his victims based on their resemblance to his mother, whom he also murdered by pushing her off a boat during a family trip. At the time, it was considered an accident.”

As he spoke, memories of the courtroom and the police station resurfaced, when everything was just starting to come to light. And as he slowly moved closer to you, probably unknowingly, you also recalled the first time you really interacted, when he drove you home. You weren’t innocent, but that day, you had heard some truly horrifying details of the crime, and you felt a distinct unease. For the first time, you talked about something other than the investigation. I’m like Robin, but not like Hood. I rob the rich, but I don’t give to the poor you said, making him laugh.

"Our profile didn't include a partner. Trust me, we've handled plenty of cases where there were two or more perpetrators, but this isn't one of them. One person is responsible for this," he continued, trying to catch your eye, making his words more direct, wanting to make sure they reached you. "If someone's stalking you, it's probably not even connected to this case. And normally, I'd recommend you report it to the police... but I get the feeling that's not really an option."

You scoffed, because he was right.

"Highly unlikely they'd do anything about it. You know, the faucet could always be broken, and the photos...that can be explained away," you said, sitting up suddenly.

"Are you calling me paranoid?" you asked sharply.

"You always have to label things so harshly," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, I’m not saying that. I’m just suggesting that the previous murder and the media panic could have influenced how you're perceiving things, making you more susceptible to suggestion. Your mind has connected it with past traumatic events and added..."

"So, you're saying I'm paranoid. Just in scientific terms," you shot back.

Spencer sighed in frustration.

"Call it whatever you want."

For a moment, you just stared at him in silence, a rush of angry words pushing at the back of your throat, but you realized they didn’t make any sense. Why had you even assumed from the start that he would believe you? Leaving aside the fact that your argument was admittedly a bit stretched, the truth was, you weren’t the person he chose to trust anymore.

You briefly lowered your gaze, letting out a sigh, then lifted it back up as you got closer. Spencer tensed, almost moved to pull away, but quickly realized you weren’t threatening him. You simply reached for his purple shirt, slipping something into the tiny pocket on his chest.

"My current phone number," you explained, tapping that spot on his chest. "In case you find out anything. Oh, and one last thing. Do you remember what shape my birthmark is?"

He tilted his head, surprised by the question, the sudden shift in topic. Without waiting for an answer, you pulled at your shirt slightly, exposing a patch of skin just below your collarbone.

"It’s in the shape of pi, like you once pointed out." It hadn't reminded you of that at all before, just a vague shape, but ever since he'd mentioned it, you'd seen it only that way. And from then on, every time he kissed you, he'd always lingered at that spot for a moment longer—it was his personal, favorite point. You let go of your shirt, and Spencer immediately locked eyes with you.

"I just wanted to make sure you remembered," you added, before turning to leave. "In case I end up dismembered on some shoreline and they need to identify my body."

Spencer’s mouth fell open, unable to say a word.

"You knew it very well," you added casually as you made your way out.

You didn’t need him to escort you. You had gotten there on your own, too. 

*

Three days later, when poor Erika was flooded once again, you decided to take action. You contacted the right people to have the locks in your apartment changed and to secure the place in a way that would make breaking in nearly impossible—at least for an average burglar. You knew, however, that someone with the right skills, like you, could still get in. With difficulty, but it was possible.

You also made sure to refresh your knowledge of handling a gun. 

And you called Rebekah.

You didn’t like scaring her, but you preferred her to stay vigilant. If someone was targeting you, they might just as well try to go after her too. The problem was, she wasn’t answering your calls, despite you trying every hour throughout the day. Shortly after being freed from the murderer’s grasp, she hadn’t taken up any work, and since you were doing relatively well, you had been supporting her financially. Recently, however, she had managed to find a steady job, and that could explain why she wasn’t responding.

Spencer was right about one thing—you were slowly becoming paranoid. That’s exactly why, later that evening, you decided to head over to her address to make sure everything was okay. It wasn’t just about outside threats anymore. It was simply that… Two years was a long time, but not when it came to rebuilding a life after being abducted by a serial killer. Those years had been especially hard for her—there was the added struggle of addiction—and you just wanted the reassurance that she hadn’t done anything to herself. At least then, you’d be able to sleep more soundly—as much as the circumstances would allow.

Her apartment was located in a truly awful neighborhood, on the second floor of a stairwell covered in graffiti. You knocked on the door several times, pausing between knocks, trying not to panic or come across as aggressive—you didn’t want to scare her.

"Rebekah, are you there?" you called out when no one answered.

You spent a moment leaning against a spray-painted cock on the wall, letting out a sigh as you reached into the pocket of your jacket. The lock on her door was a simple one, requiring only the most basic tools—tools you carried out of habit. You made a mental note to send someone over to replace it.

Even if she wasn’t home, you wanted to take a look around and gauge how she was doing based on the state of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly ethical, but sometimes our surroundings say more about us than words ever could. Besides, there was a good chance she’d never even know you were there.

You stepped inside, calling her name again. The light was already on. Her jacket was hanging on the coat rack, suggesting she was home—but it was also possible she’d just worn a different one. You slipped a wad of cash into the pocket of her jacket. She’d find it later and probably think she’d just forgotten it was there.

The interior had dark green walls, and the apartment consisted of three rooms: a modest living room, a tiny bedroom with just a bed and wardrobe, and a bathroom you’d never been inside before. When you glanced into it, your face reflected in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. You looked really sleep-deprived.

Finally, you headed to the bedroom, clinging to the faint hope of finding her asleep in bed. The fact that all the lights were on worried you—if she’d gone to work, she would have turned them off. Anyone mindful of their wallet would’ve turned them off!

The bedroom door creaked softly as it closed behind you, leaving just a narrow gap that provided a sliver of a view into the living room, specifically the apartment entrance. That was when you saw it swing wide open.

At first, you wanted to leave the bedroom, assuming it was Rebekah and that you could greet her. But it wasn’t the petite, feminine figure of your short friend—it was a tall man, or so you guessed from his stature, despite the hood obscuring his face. Instinctively, you leapt back from the partially open door, making sure you were out of sight.

Heavy footsteps cut across the apartment, heading, by the sound of it, toward the kitchen area. There, they paused for a moment.

You didn’t even try to convince yourself it was some friend of hers dropping by for a visit. Deep down, you already knew—instinctively felt—who it was. And that thought paralyzed you so completely that, despite the gun tucked under your jacket, you quietly slid open the wardrobe door and squeezed yourself inside.

The door creaked as it moved, and you cursed silently.

Whoever it was, you hoped they were too focused on whatever they were searching for to have heard it.

You listened closely to the footsteps in the room next door, your mind spinning with one relentless question: Where was Rebekah in all this? Was she at work, completely unaware that someone was in her apartment during her absence? You tried to recall the last time the two of you had spoken. Certainly not in the past few days—perhaps not even in the past week.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing your breathing to quiet, to steady.

Theoretically, her apartment could’ve been empty for days now.

But who was this man?

The footsteps suddenly grew louder. The bedroom door creaked open. You drew in a sharp breath and froze, halting your breathing altogether. You had no idea how much the tight, dark confines of the wardrobe muffled sound.

The footsteps stopped.

You could only imagine the figure standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room, taking in every detail. Did he sense someone else might be here? He couldn’t know for certain. But it was possible—likely even—that he subconsciously felt another presence, much like you did in your own home every single day.

Fragments of the nightmare that had haunted you over the past few days came rushing back. It felt as if you were descending those stairs into the basement again.

And then a smell wafted through the air—faint but distinct.

It was the same scent you’d inhaled back then.

Two years had passed, but you still remembered that mixture of dust, decay, and sweat.

Were you really smelling it now? Or was it just a cruel projection of your terrified mind?

The footsteps began to retreat.

You listened with your eyes closed, straining every nerve to track the sound. Your legs felt weak, and it took everything in you not to slide down the back wall of the wardrobe.

The sound of the apartment door slamming shut echoed through the silence. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

And then your phone rang.

The sudden, sharp sound shattered the fragile quiet, making you choke on a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Your fingers acted on their own, quickly answering just to silence the noise.

“Hello?” someone said hesitantly, your name hanging in the air like a question. “...It’s Spencer. I’m calling because... something’s happened. And you need to know.”

No.

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could block out the reality creeping in.

The silence on your end must have encouraged him to keep talking. You heard the faint sound of him swallowing, the nervous gesture twisting your stomach into knots.

“Robert Miller escaped from prison”

You pressed the phone to your face, even though it was already on speaker. Words tangled in your mind, refusing to form. Spencer said your name twice more, his voice edged with concern, before you finally forced yourself to speak.

“You need to come here,” you croaked, your voice barely recognizable. “Please.”

part 2 soon

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @nachrosas @angellic4l @awordsmith

[genderless-naper]

muddy problems

trafalgar law x gf!reader

warnings: fluffy law

sfw, wc: 1k, lowercase intended !

helping your tired law through shower time

law walks through the halls of the polar tang tirelessly. he didn’t expect the most recent encounter with another pirate ship to be such a headache to handle. the captain of the opposing crew was was a devil fruit user: the user of the mud-mud fruit.

needless to say, it was hard for anyone to contain their laughter when law walked passed looking like he just got out of a mud bath. he wouldn’t usually be this forgiving, but he was simply too tired to deal with them. he kicked off his shoes before entering his room.

he saw you laying in his bed reading a book without a care in the world. his gaze softened slightly while drawing a loud breath to release some tension. you looked up at the raven-haired man.

you stared. he stared back.

you hold a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh. it took every fiber in your body to restrain yourself from rolling on the floor in laughter.

you cleared your throat to greet him, “who knew the tough trafalgar law would fall victim to a mud bath in the middle of a fight?”

law doesnt reply to your statement. instead he focuses on discarding ed his current wear to avoid getting the place more dirty. he had bigger problems to worry about than some rhetoric questions. he needed to get clean fast. the mud on him started to make him feel suffocated.

he looks for a clean pair of clothes to wear for post shower. you close your book and put it on the bedside table so you can follow him. still fighting back laughs you continue to ask, “how many shampoo rinses do you think it takes for that mess to get out your hair?”

law sighs in his tired state and mumbles, “hopefully no more than 3”

you cant help but let a laugh escape, “just 3?? don’t you think you’re being s bit too generous captain? i was thinking at least 5!”

he groans quietly. it was clear the doctor was more exhausted than he would like to admit. you felt bad for your poor lover. as much as you would like to pick on him and his unusual circumstances you knew that wasn’t what law needed right now. he needed your support.

you ran to the bathroom to get his shower started for him. you made sure the temperature was just how he liked it. he followed momentarily; throwing his clean clothes on the shelf of the bathroom as a yawn escapes his lips.

he continues to discard the remainder of his mud soaked clothes while carefully placing them in a bag. he checked the temperature before getting in. another sigh escaping his lips. you smiled contently watching the way the water rolls off his skin, his muscles stretching with every moment, and how his lips part perfectly.

his rinses his hair with shampoo over and over. each wash just made him feel like the mud would never get out. after a few more moments he gives up. he decided to sit for a moment and let the water hit his strained body as he rubs his tired eyes.

you sympathize with you poor boyfriend. you turn the water off and rub his tense shoulders, “maybe i should help you baby? you see like you’ve had a long day”

law, being too prideful to accept your help, shook his head and responded lowly, “i just need a second..”

you hum, “you take a second and ill work on getting this mud out your hair.” you lathered the soup onto your palms and massaged it into the raven colored hair. you were on your knees to match his height as he sat. you massaged his scalp in order to clean every strand.

law’s senses of alertness slowly slipped away. he closed his eyes, and tried his best to keep his head up straight. after swaying from side to side you decided its best to rest his head on your chest as you worked through his hair. he created a soapy mess on your shirt. the man was too engulf in his own drowsiness to notice. you hum a sweet tune into his ear and watched as most his tense muscles relaxed with your touch.

he would never let anyone close like he has with you. sometimes he feels stupid to let his barriers come down for you, and feeling too afraid that something bad will happen to you as well. as much as law protests against himself he still finds himself sharing cherished intimate moments with you.

you guide the heavy-lidded man through the rest of his shower while reciting words of encouragement. getting your shirt wet in the process was a small price to pay to help your lover. once the shower concluded you turn it off and hand him his towel.

the tattooed man dries himself with it slowly. he slightly furrows his brows and points to your shirt, “why are you all wet?” completely oblivious to the consequences of his actions. you shook your head and giggled, “no specific reason baby”

he gave you an apologetic look after realizing he was the reason for your current soaked state. you quickly disregarded with lines of ‘it’s okay’s and ‘don’t worry’s. you gave him his clothes once he’s ready.

he grabs your arms and holds them up to pull your drenched shirt off. he wore his clean shirt on you, “i dont want you to get sick y/n, especially if its because of me.” you were going to protest against, but after seeing the look of anxiousness taking ahold of him you decided its best to accept his acts of kindness.

he always does everything in his power to make sure you are well; afraid to live in a world where he has to grieve you along with other which were once present in his life. it shows very much during moments like these. you place a few kisses on his lips feeling luckier than a lottery winner. you helped your tired boy navigate through the rest of his routine before he fell into bed. he lifted the cover up to make sure you followed in his steps. the mud-soaked version of himself from earlier that day became a part of the past. he enjoyed what he had at that very moment, and that was your beautiful self with a smile that lights your face. it was truly able to cure any disease of his heart. that night law had no trouble falling into an imaginative dream where you two lived together without a care in the world

[ultravi0lence14]

All I Want Is You

demon!dean winchester x fem!reader

1.3k | angst

summary: as dean finds himself turned into a demon, the only thing that seems to be on his mind is getting back to you. but did you really know the extent he would take to achieve that?

dean was in a frenzy, and all he wanted was to get back to you.

the memory of your skin on his kept him awake at night, tossing and turning until the sun rose and his hair was a crazed mess in his fingers.

it had been weeks since metatron had killed the eldest winchester. awakening the mark on his arm and turning him into a black eyed devil. he had left in a rush with crowley, not even saying goodbye to you or sam as the older demon whisked him away to go have some fun.

but his mind was a constant replay of your face, your voice, the feeling of your lips on his. all dean wanted was to have you back in his arms, and the weighing feeling on his demonic heart had him springing up in the middle of the night and ditching crowley to go and find you.

wherever he went, a line of bodies would follow behind him. his bar outings never stopped, and sometimes he just needed to blow off some steam by driving the first blade into some poor man’s chest.

he never got into bed with anyone though, for the thought of having anyone but you made him sick to his stomach. even as a demon, dean was forever loyal to you and only you. he hadn’t slept with any other woman in the three years you’d been together, and he wasn’t going to change that just because of the circumstances he was in now.

when he’d finally made it to the outskirts of the bunker, dean knew he couldn’t just go barging in. sam would try to save him, would try to keep you and him apart. he needed to find you first, needed to talk to you before sam tried to do anything.

driving into town, dean looked everywhere for any signs of you. when he noticed your car outside of a quaint bookshop, he didn’t hesitate to pull up in the spot beside yours, instantly making a beeline for the store.

dean lurked around the corners of the isles, trying to look for you while also attempting to keep his cover. he didn’t know if sam had joined you or not, and he didn’t want to be spotted by his brother before he could even see you.

turning a corner, dean finally caught sight of your long hair and defined side profile. even though he was a demon, he could still feel the air escape his lungs and the mood change around him. seeing you for the first time in weeks had him feeling things he’s never felt before. all dean wanted to do was run up to you and wrap his arms around your body. though his actions were halted as another man came into view from the other side of the isle and walked right over to you.

an instant feeling of rage took over dean’s senses. how dare this man talk to his girl? how dare he even be near her. little to dean’s knowledge, the man was simply just a customer. his only reason for talking to you was that he noticed the book you held in your hand was the one he was looking for, and he was wondering if there were anymore copies left.

the demon inside of dean didn’t understand that. so after the man left the store, dean followed him outside and brutally stabbed him with the first blade in a nearby alleyway.

something wasn’t right. you could feel that something terrible was happening, you just couldn’t place your finger on it. the recent murders in town had startled both you and sam, but you didn’t think that was what had you all worried.

that was until you started to think a little deeper.

turns out, each and every victim was someone you had encountered not even 24 hours before their timely death. the man from the bookstore, the cashier at the supermarket who made a gross comment on your outfit, even the nice old man who helped you at the flower shop had turned up slaughtered in a gruesome way.

you couldn’t understand why people you had interacted with for no more than a mere five minutes were being found dead in such graphic ways. if it wasn’t for sam suggesting that dean might have a play in all of it, you wouldn’t even bat an eye in his direction.

no, you didn’t want to believe it. why would dean do this? to taunt you? dean was your boyfriend, the man you had loved for three years now, and nothing was going to change that. you and sam wanted to cure him, make him human again. him going around killing men who just talked to you had tears welling in your eyes, for the thought of how dean would react when he became human again broke your heart.

it had been a week since the murders started, and you tried to keep a distance from any men when you went out. it was for their own safety, for you knew that if dean noticed they’d be dead by sunrise.

but sam had an idea, and with his idea came you flirting with a random man in hopes of luring dean out.

unsurprisingly it worked. after the man had left you bar, you and sam followed him outside to where dean promptly ambushed him, almost landing a stab on his gut if it wasn’t for sam tackling him to the ground and knocking the blade out of dean’s hand.

the two brothers fought for some time, and when you made sure that the stranger was long gone, you grabbed the first blade and made a deal in shouting loudly to get dean’s attention.

instantly at the sound of your voice, dean pushed sam aside and stared longingly at you, pleading heavily to give you the blade back. but you weren’t budging, the only way you would give dean winchester the first blade was over your dead body.

“dean.” you started, moving slightly closer to where he stood. “i know what you’ve been doing. killing men i’ve talked to. but that’s not going to get me back dean. it’s just going to push me away.” your words had dean deflating, an angry look taking over his eyes as he now started to circle you.

“push you away? are you kidding me Y/N! i did it for you! all of it was for you! how can’t you see that?” at that point you’d realized that in dean’s demonic hazed brain, he believed that killing any man that got in his way to you would somehow have you crawling back to him.

that wasn’t going to work on you. all you wanted was your dean back. the dean who still watched scooby doo and wore punny socks, not the man who slaughtered innocent people just to get your attention.

somewhere deep down, you knew that dean’s love for you was still there. he wouldn’t be doing all of this if a part of him didn’t still care for you. but saving dean was you and sam’s number one priority, and getting dean back to his actual self would be all you wanted at the moment.

smiling softly, you whispered ‘i know’ just as sam hit dean over the head with a wooden beam, knocking him unconscious on the ground.

you knelt down beside him as sam put the demon cuffs on his wrists, allowing you to help him haul dean into the back of the impala, starting your journey back to the bunker to cure him.

turning around in your seat, you looked at dean’s closed eyes and parted lips as you stroked his cheek. smiling sadly as sam started the car. “don’t worry, dean. we’re going to help you.” a kiss was landed on his forehead before you turned back around, placing your head on the window as the journey towards his recovery came to the end.

[supercrazyangel4]

The thing I've always loved most about aa4 is how much darker the tone is than the rest of the series in a way that isn't just edgy for the sake of it, but subverts your expectations from the original 3 games in a really interesting way. The trilogy was built upon the trust Phoenix had in others, and it was something we as players could almost always feel certain in. AA4 flips this on its head and makes it so Apollo effectively can't trust anyone but himself.

Your mentor, who the in the trilogy was a paragon of wisdom you could always turn to no matter what, gets revealed to be the culprit and sent to jail in the first trial and by the end of the game his list of crimes has stacked high but you still have so few answers on why he did any of it.

Your boss, the goofy protagonist of the trilogy, is now inexplicably a washed-up, disgraced, cheating poker player with an implied drinking problem who seemingly found a new hobby in evidence forgery and jury rigging.

He has a codependent relationship with his daughter, your assistant, who usually is a completely innocent and hapless victim of circumstance. She sees herself as the provider for the house and will help her father cheat at poker, or forge evidence, or guilt trip the poor attorney they knowingly screwed of out of a job into working for them for dirt cheap.

The detective, the only other returning main character, a previous assistant, is completely changed since we last saw her. In the trilogy she was chipper and bright despite the hardships she faced, and now she's unfriendly and burned out, turned bitter by the world. The scene we're first properly introduced to her in Apollo genuinely spends several minutes thinking his boss is making him bribe her with cocaine.

Every single defendant is a criminal guilty of something other than what they're charged for. Each case centers around an underground black-market poker ring, a mafia family and medical malpractice, a smuggling ring, and a family of forgers and an incredibly shady troupe of magicians. The one thing all of these people have in common is that none of them will tell you literally anything about what's happening, half of them clearly reveling in being as big of cryptic assholes as possible.

The only person who doesn't fit this description is, for once, the prosecutor. Usually your biggest obstacle and the most morally corrupt of the main cast, he's the only person who's both 100% on the side of truth and on the same page as you for the entire game. He's just as clueless as you, being used nothing more than a chess piece just like you are.

But the truly masterful thing about AA4 is how morally grey it is. These characters aren't just one note villains. They're not even villains at all. Most of them aren't even malicious.

Your boss, for all the low levels he stoops to, is underneath it all the same guy he's always been, doing everything he can to bring a criminal to justice and protect his family. Your assistant is a sweet girl who truly cares about you, she's just prioritizing herself and her fathers safety before anything else. The detective is the same passionate and kind woman under everything else. The rest of the defendants are genuinely well-meaning young people who got involved in shady stuff they didn't fully understand.

The game is filled with good people trying to make the best of bad circumstances. The game has just as many fun moments as the original trilogy. For all it's rough appearance, the game has a similar heart. For every unanswered question or unrighted wrong, there's a smile or a hope for a better future. For every bad action, there's usually someone trying their best behind it. The game is melancholic and dark, but isn't afraid to let good shine through. It knows there's no shadows without the light.

[valkyriexo]

Do Not Answer | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Joker Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Thriller, lightly Suggestive

ᑉ³warnings; lightly suggestive , knives, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of murder, darker theme overall,

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @linocvp1d (sorry it took so long :((( ) Thank you for beta reading @kisskissbanggang ! i appreciate you so much

The television flickered in the dimly lit room, the chaotic hum of the nightly news filling the space. You sat cross-legged on the worn velvet couch, your head tilted with fascination as the anchor recounted another crime spree. The footage cut to a shaky video of a man standing amid a scene of mayhem—cars ablaze, shattered glass strewn across the pavement, and panicked faces blurred in the background.

He stood out against the chaos like a twisted masterpiece, his lanky frame wrapped in mismatched layers that defied logic yet demanded attention. A deep violet blazer, scuffed and torn, hung loosely over his narrow shoulders. Beneath it, a bright green shirt peeked out, its garish color streaked with dark stains. The golden tangle of his hair fell over his forehead, sticking to his pale skin, streaked with what looked like sweat—or maybe blood.

But it was his face that held you captive. Pale as porcelain, the corners of his mouth curled unnaturally high, splitting his expression into an almost painful grin. Dark rings encircled his eyes, smudged kohl blending into streaks of grime, making the wild gleam in his gaze all the more unsettling.

His presence was magnetic, the kind that drew you closer even as every sane fiber of your being told you to run. He turned toward the camera, cocking his head in a gesture that felt like both an invitation and a threat.

“They’ll never catch me,” his voice crackled through the speakers, low and smooth, laced with deranged amusement.

You tilted your head to mirror his, a slow smile creeping across your lips. There was something… fascinating about him, something that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

The anchor’s voice pulled you back, but this time it was tinged with barely concealed fear. “Authorities are urging all residents to remain inside. Lock your doors, secure your windows, and under no circumstances should you engage with strangers. This individual is considered extremely dangerous.”

The screen cut to footage of the aftermath of his latest crime—a burning building, emergency lights flashing against the smoke-filled night, and paramedics rushing stretcher after stretcher into waiting ambulances. “He’s been known to target random victims, often at night,” the anchor continued, her voice cracking slightly. “And—” she hesitated, glancing off-screen before swallowing hard and regaining her composure. “There are reports of him taunting his targets before striking. If you receive a call from an unknown number, do not answer. Repeat: do not answer.”

Your gaze remained locked on the screen, the anchor’s panicked words a distant hum in your ears. They didn’t understand him. Not really.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, jolting you out of your thoughts. 

It sat face down on the coffee table, the vibration rattling against the surface. You froze, your pulse quickening, but you didn’t move to pick it up.

The ringing continued for a few seconds before stopping, leaving the room in heavy silence. You exhaled shakily, trying to steady your breathing. It was probably nothing. A butt dial call. Or—

The phone buzzed again, breaking your train of thought. This time, you reached for it with hesitant fingers, flipping it over to see the name glowing on the screen:

Mom.

You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you watching the news? It’s terrifying. Please tell me you’re home and have the doors locked.” Her voice carried that familiar mix of worry and love that she’d perfected over the years.

“Yes, I’m home,” you said, moving toward the kitchen as you spoke. “Doors are locked. I’m fine, Mom. Promise.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right? I just—these things are happening so close to home, and that man…” Her voice trailed off, and you could practically see the way she’d be wringing her hands, pacing the living room.

You balanced the phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled open the fridge. “I’m fine. Really. I’m about to make dinner. Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, okay. Just… call me if you need anything. And don’t answer any strange calls, okay?”

You bit back a smile. “You’ve been watching too many horror movies.”

“This isn’t funny, honey. Just be safe.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and you set the phone down on the counter. With a small shake of your head, you turned your attention to dinner, pulling ingredients from the fridge and cabinets. The steady rhythm of chopping vegetables and the sizzle of oil in the pan brought a sense of normalcy to the evening.

The man from the news lingered at the edges of your thoughts, though. His image seemed burned into your mind—the wild glint in his eyes, the way his crooked smile exuded both danger and charisma.

You stirred the pan, letting the aroma of cooking fill the room. And then, just as you were plating your food, the phone buzzed again.

You glanced over, expecting another call from your mom, but the screen read:

Unknown Caller.

Your hand froze on the fork, your stomach knotting. The words of the anchor came rushing back:

 Do not answer.

The buzzing continued, persistent and jarring in the quiet apartment. You licked your lips, wiping your hands on a towel as you moved toward the phone.

You hesitated, the warnings running laps in your mind. Your fingers hovered over the screen, but before you could decide, the call stopped. The screen went dark, leaving an eerie stillness in the room.

You stared at the phone for a moment, your breath shallow. 

It’s nothing, you told yourself. Probably a mistake or a spam call.

But then, it buzzed again. The same Unknown Caller.

Your heart raced as you watched it vibrate on the counter, your feet rooted in place. You didn’t move, didn’t answer, and after a few seconds, the ringing stopped again.

The silence that followed felt heavier this time, pressing down on you like a weight. You exhaled shakily, wiping your palms on your jeans, trying to dismiss the growing unease twisting in your chest.

And then it buzzed a third time.

The screen glowed, Unknown Caller staring back at you like a challenge.

Your hand trembled slightly as you picked it up. Something inside you stirred—curiosity, defiance, or maybe something darker. Whatever it was, it overrode the warnings in your head.

With a deep breath, you swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end. And then, a low, smooth chuckle, warm and unsettling all at once.

“Well, well,” the voice purred with amusement. “Third time’s the charm. I was beginning to think you’d never pick up.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the voice sending a shiver down your spine. It was unmistakable—him.

“I don’t usually make house calls,” he continued, his tone playful but laced with malice, “but you… you’re an exception.”

You gripped the phone tighter, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Who is this?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though the crack at the end betrayed you.

He laughed again, the sound rich and unnerving, as though he was savoring your reaction. “Oh, come on. Don’t play coy. I think you know exactly who I am.”

You were silent.

 “Oh, come on now,” he purred, as though savoring your confusion. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize the voice.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. Was he toying with you? But it was impossible—how could he know who you were?

“Why are you calling me?” you demanded, trying to regain control, but your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Because you’re so… interesting,” he said, dragging out the word, the tone heavy with meaning. “You’ve been home all day, haven’t you? Just sitting there, waiting for something to happen. Nothing ever changes, does it? Same routine, same quiet apartment.” His voice lowered, almost whispering, sending a chill down your spine. “I can hear the silence. It’s deafening.”

The panic surged in your chest. “How—how do you know that?” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Another laugh, sharp and unnerving, echoed through the line. “I told you. I’ve been paying attention. It’s… entertaining, watching you go about your little life. You get so comfortable, so predictable. But that’s about to change.”

Your blood ran cold. He was right. You had been alone all day, just the television and the hum of your thoughts. But how could he know? There was no way he was here… no way he could have been watching.

“You’re making a mistake,” you snapped, trying to hide the fear rising in your throat. “I don’t know who you are, but—”

“Oh, I know you’re scared,” he interrupted, his voice turning colder. “I can hear it in your voice. But you don’t have to worry. I’m just getting started.”

The line went silent for a moment, and you held your breath, your pulse thundering in your ears. The words didn’t make sense—none of this made sense. How could he possibly know all this?

Your knees threatened to buckle, but you forced yourself to stay upright. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re intrigued,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “Why else would you still be on the phone with me?”

Before you could respond, there was a faint sound in the background—a door creaking open. Your blood ran cold as you spun toward your front door.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he drawled lazily. “I’m not much for formal invitations.”

The phone slipped from your hand as the doorknob turned slowly, the lock you thought was secure clicking open.

There he stood, a twisted smile curling across his face, the same one burned into your memory from the screen. Up close, he was even more unsettling—the gleam in his eyes alive with chaotic energy, like he was drinking in your shock.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him. “Dinner and a show. How thoughtful.”

You backed up instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs. “How—how did you get in here?”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tattered blazer. “You’d be surprised what doors open when you knock hard enough.”

Your eyes darted to the kitchen counter, where the knife you’d been using lay within reach.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, noticing your glance. His voice dipped into a mock pout. “I came all this way to see you, and you’re already thinking of cutting me out of the fun?”

“What do you want?” you managed, your voice trembling despite the defiance you tried to muster.

He grinned wider, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “Now that,” he said, taking another step toward you, “is the question, isn’t it?”

He moved closer, the heavy silence of the room pressing in around both of you. His eyes gleamed with excitement, watching your every twitch, your every nervous breath. He didn’t need to rush; he was savoring this moment—this perfect mix of fear and control.

"You don't have to say anything," he purred, his voice smooth as velvet. "I already know how this goes." His words dripped with a mock sympathy, the kind that made your skin crawl. "You’ll beg. You’ll plead. But that won’t matter."

His steps were slow, deliberate, like a predator circling its prey. Every footfall echoed in the quiet, reminding you that there was nowhere to run, no escape. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the touch cold and deliberate.

"Please," you whispered, your voice breaking, trying to hide the tremor that rattled your body. "Don’t… don’t hurt me." You couldn’t stop the pleading from slipping out. It was instinct, raw panic clawing at you from the inside. You wanted to disappear, wanted to be anywhere but here, but your body refused to listen.

He stood inches from you now, close enough for you to feel the heat of his presence, his breath warm against your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he said softly, almost mockingly. "I don’t want to hurt you. Not yet, anyway." He let that hang in the air for a moment, like a question you didn’t want to answer.

You flinched as he took another step, your back hitting the wall behind you. The tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming sense of helplessness seeping in. "Please," you sobbed, "just leave me alone. I’m begging you."

He smiled then, a cruel, twisted thing that sent ice through your veins. "Begging. There it is." His voice dropped lower, more sinister, a soft laugh rolling off his tongue. "I could watch you beg for hours. It’s almost too easy."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm on your ear. "Do you know what happens to people who beg?" His lips brushed your skin as he spoke, sending a shiver through your whole body. "They break. They start losing themselves. And once you break, there’s nothing left to stop me."

Your heart pounded harder as his hand rested on the side of your face, his fingers lightly tracing your cheek in a gesture that should have been comforting but only deepened your terror.

But then, just as you felt the breath leave your body in a sob, something inside you shifted.

You stopped crying.

His fingers stilled on your cheek, sensing the change in you. You met his gaze, and for the first time since he'd walked in, you weren’t afraid. At least, not the way he thought you were.

You smiled, but it wasn’t the terrified grin of someone who had given up. No, this was different. It was sharp. It was knowing. And in that instant, his cocky, dangerous demeanor faltered for the briefest moment.

"Oh Hyunjin..," you said, your voice steady, almost affectionate.

The moment his name left your lips, everything around you seemed to freeze. His breath caught, his eyes wide, locked on yours, and for the first time, he was the one who faltered. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. His fingers, still resting on your cheek, remained perfectly still, as though the very mention of his name had shattered the illusion he’d so carefully crafted.

His gaze flickered, confusion clouding his features as he took a step back, the momentary vulnerability in his eyes like a crack in his carefully constructed façade.

His grip on your chin tightened, and he leaned in, his face inches from yours. "What game are you playing, huh?" His voice was low, threatening, but the edge of uncertainty had crept in, making it even more unsettling. "You think you can scare me back?"

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "I’ve been waiting for you to find me."

His breath hitched as you leaned even closer, your lips just grazing his ear, the intimacy of the moment sending a jolt through him. You could feel the tension thickening in the air, the battle between control and the unsettling connection that was forming between the two of you.

"I've been waiting for you to find me," you repeated, your voice soft, almost like a lover’s whisper.

The words sank into his skin, and for a split second, he pulled back just enough to study you, eyes narrowing, trying to comprehend what you meant. But there was something in your gaze—something that unnerved him, something that spoke of obsession.

He'd known women like you before. Women who thought they could twist themselves into something he would desire, something that would draw him in. But as he watched you now, he realized it wasn't just imitation. It was a deep understanding, a disturbing knowledge of him that made his skin crawl.

"Oh?," he muttered, but even his voice was strained, as if he was both fascinated and horrified by the truth he was starting to uncover. "What... what are you trying to do?"

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, your eyes wandered over his face, studying every line, every scar, every little detail as though you were committing it to memory. Your gaze was unsettling—intimate in a way that only someone who had watched him for too long could achieve.

"You think I’m just like the others," you said, your voice flat but somehow laced with something darker, something dangerous. "But I'm not. I know you. I know exactly what you like, Hyunjin. I know who you choose. And I knew if I made myself like them..." You paused, the ghost of a smile on your lips, "you couldn’t help but find me."

His eyes widened in disbelief, but then a twisted smile slowly curled at the corners of his lips, as if he were finally seeing you for who you really were. "So that's it," he said, the words slipping from his tongue like venom. "You thought you could lure me in? Make yourself a perfect little victim? Pathetic."

Your gaze never left his as you shrugged, unphased by his harsh words. "You came right to my doorstep, didn't you?" Your voice was a low hum. "You always do when someone like me is waiting. You can't help it. You’re drawn to what you don’t understand."

His grip on your chin tightened again, and this time, there was no pretending. He was beyond the point of merely intimidating you. He was starting to lose control, the realization that he wasn’t the one in charge anymore sinking in.

"You're out of your fucking mind," he hissed, but there was something about your quiet smile—something unsettling in the way you leaned in even closer—that made him pause. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. Instead, you pressed in even closer, until your faces were mere inches apart. His eyes searched yours, desperate to figure out where the line was, where he could draw it and finally break you. 

But the truth was, there was no line. You had crossed it a long time ago.

"I’ve always known, Hyunjin," you whispered, the words dripping with something far darker than admiration. "I’ve always known what you needed. And I’ve been here, waiting for you... just for you."

His grip on your chin tightened again, but his movements were no longer about power. There was a flicker of something else—something almost... excited. “You think you’re some kind of challenge, huh?” His words were laced with a hint of amusement, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. You didn’t even blink.

His lips curled into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was more a test now—seeing how far you’d go. He took a step back, dropping his hand from your chin, and without saying another word, he moved toward the far wall of the room. He reached for the knives lined up on the counter nearby, the cold steel glinting in the dim light. The air between you two felt thick, charged with something dangerous, something raw.

You didn’t move, didn’t even seem to acknowledge him as he grabbed the first knife, expertly flipping it in his hand, his eyes still locked on yours. With a flick of his wrist, the blade flew through the air, embedding itself into the wall just inches from your face. It would’ve been too close for anyone else, but you didn’t flinch. 

You didn’t even blink.

He threw another, then another, each one grazing the edge of the wall near you. The room filled with the sharp thuds of metal hitting the hard surface, but still, you remained completely still. Unshaken. Your eyes remained fixed on him, watching, waiting, almost... entertained.

"Are you done?" you say.

Hyunjin’s breath grew heavier, the fascination in his gaze deepening. No one had ever dared to remain so calm, so unmoved in front of him. Most people were terrified by the chaos he created, by the danger he so freely wielded. But you? You were something else entirely.

He took a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving your face. The silence between you both was suffocating, a heavy tension that only seemed to grow with every passing second. He wasn’t sure if he was testing you or if he was just trying to understand you. Could someone like you really be real? Or was this all just an act to survive?

You broke the silence first, not with words, but with a simple gesture. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you turned toward the TV, flicking it on with a calmness that only made his heart beat faster. As the screen lit up, the news anchor’s voice cut through the silence of the room.

“Breaking news tonight: a series of brutal killings in the city have been linked to an unknown assailant. Authorities are urging citizens to remain cautious as they investigate the disturbing pattern...”

The screen flashed a picture of the victims, the same faces he had seen on the news before. But now, there was something different. Something far more intimate. 

They were your victims.

Hyunjin froze, the knife in his hand trembling slightly as he turned to look at you. You met his gaze with a knowing smile, your eyes now gleaming with something dangerous—something he hadn’t expected.

“Did you think I was just waiting for you to find me?” you asked softly, your voice almost teasing now. “I’ve been watching. I’ve been planning... learning. Everything you’ve done, everything you’re capable of... I’m not afraid of you, Hyunjin. You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

He swallowed, the words getting caught in his throat as he took another step back, his eyes flickering between you and the TV screen. The truth was right there. You were real. You were every bit as dangerous as he was, and maybe, just maybe, you were even more unpredictable than he’d ever imagined.

His smirk returned, though this time, it was something darker, a mixture of amusement and raw desire. "Well, well," he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. "You’re insane. But damn, if that doesn’t make this interesting."

He dropped the knife onto the table, and for the first time since he'd walked in, he didn’t look like the predator. Instead, he looked like someone who had just met their match.

Hyunjin's heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. It was something far more thrilling, something that tightened in his chest with every word you spoke. The way you watched him, the cold calculation in your eyes, sent a shiver down his spine, but also made something dark stir in the pit of his stomach. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

But instead of backing off, you stepped closer. You didn’t even flinch at the knives, didn’t even seem to acknowledge their deadly proximity. Your gaze was locked on his, not with fear, but with anticipation.

You reached up, your fingers trailing along his jawline, the touch almost gentle. He leaned into it, despite himself. There was something about your proximity, the way you were pulling him in, that was impossible to resist.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, voice low, almost a growl. “But you’re also exactly what I wanted.”

You smiled, that same knowing, dangerous smile that made his pulse race. “I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, the words heavy with meaning. “In fact, I think I’m starting to enjoy this... maybe even more than you are.”

And before he could say anything more, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hungry, desperate—two predators finally giving in to their shared hunger. His hands flew to your back, pulling you in closer, deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough. You responded with equal ferocity, your body pressing into his, hands threading through his hair, pulling him in until there was no space left between you.

His mind screamed at him to regain control, to pull away, to remind you who was in charge. But the heat of your kiss, the wild, untamed energy that sparked between you both, left him speechless. It was a game now, but not one he had planned. He had underestimated you, and that, more than anything, turned him on.

As he pulled away from the kiss, both of you breathing heavily, the moment seemed to stretch, thick with tension and something more primal. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to decode every part of you that he hadn’t yet understood, that still eluded him.

He smirked, his voice still low and rough, a trace of amusement dancing in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head, considering the question, your lips curving into a knowing smile. There was something unsettlingly confident about you now, like you were no longer trying to hide who you were—who you had always been.

“Harley Quinn,” you answered, your voice sweet, but with a dangerous edge.

He froze, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of that name.The look in his eyes was a mixture of intrigue and caution, as though he was beginning to understand exactly what kind of monster he was dealing with.

"Harley Quinn," he repeated, testing the name on his lips. The idea of you being a version of him—crazy, unpredictable, and dangerously charming—was a twist he hadn’t expected. You weren’t just some fragile victim. You were something else, something much more volatile.

"You like it?" you teased, watching him with a playful glint in your eyes, completely unfazed by the weight of the moment.

He chuckled darkly, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never left yours. "I think I’m starting to like you, Quinn." The way he said your name, with both amusement and an underlying hunger, made it clear he wasn’t talking about anything as simple as affection.

You smiled, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his ear once more. "Careful, Hyunjin... you might find out I'm more dangerous than you think."

He exhaled slowly, his smirk widening as he pulled you back into another kiss, a kiss that promised there was no going back.

And just like that, the Joker had found his Queen.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

ઇଓ networks

@skzstarnet @supernovanetwork @k-labels @straykidsland

ઇଓ Taglist

@stayceebs97 @everythingboutkpop @velvetmoonlght @ririwhiskers @ch4nn13luv

@stellasays45 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @changbiddies0325 @ayyonoona @mellhwang

@bowsnbang @theodorenottgf @jisungsbff01 @miin17 @Lyracarvahall

@sunoosfavsposts @Kayleefriedchicken @yougottobekittenme @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@intrikatie @chrizzztopherbang @catlove83

join my Taglist

[quasi-normalcy]

I know that this is the "Turning social problems into matters of individual virtue" website, but here's one change that you can make to yourself as an individual that I honestly think will have beneficial collective effects:

Stop Thinking You're Better Than Other People.

Do I mean that you should go through life thinking that you're the lowliest and most wretched scum who's ever lived? No. I mean that there exists no meaningful criterion by which one human being can be said to be absolutely 'better' than another. And even if there was, you don't know enough about other people's circumstances and interior thoughts to meaningfully judge them in these absolute terms. So don't even try! It's a futile endeavour.

"But what about fascists? Surely I'm better than them!"

Okay, so let me preface this by saying that fascists are dangerous, they're misguided, their acts and intentions are evil, and they need to be stopped, including through physical violence. But you're not better than them. I know that this is a difficult pill to swallow; I myself used to pat myself used to pat myself on the back because, well, at least I wouldn't have been a Nazi. But you know what? If the circumstances were right, I could have been. We all could have been, just as we all could have joined a cult at some point.

Looking at myself, for example: there was never any serious possibility that I could have been swept up into the alt-right movement. Why? Because I'm transgender, and I was raised to be a socialist. How easy it is to *not* become a fascist when you're one of their scapegoats! How much harder it would be to avoid if you're one of the people they flatter and groom, if you're raised by people who are sympathetic to fascist ideals, if you grow up in a community where such ideals are common! The fact that fascist movements can seemingly emerge amongst every nation and people--including those who have historically been victims of fascism--confirms this. What if I had lived a hundred years later, at a time when transgenderism was a complete non-issue, and they'd moved on to some new scapegoat? What if they had approached me on my absolute worst day and told me that all of my problems were caused by moochers and parasites, and that I could fight back and claim my birth right by joining them? Can I really say that I wouldn't? Can anyone?

But even beyond that, what is a fascist but the ultimate example of someone who needs to feel superior to others? What is scapegoating but the act of selecting an entire group of people and declaring them to be inferior to you? And if you just refuse to believe these things; if you refuse to accept the premise that some people are better than others, and call it out whenever it comes up; then you're cutting these movements off at knees! The ideological force of fascism comes from imagining humanity as a strict hierarchy, with the master race on top and the degenerates on the bottom. Simply refuse to believe in such a hierarchy! Refuse to even entertain it!

"But then how can I feel self-esteem? How can I feel that I matter and have value?"

You have value just by existing as a person! But if that's not enough for you, then try this: instead of trying to increase your sense of self-worth by finding people to feel superior to, increase it by being of value to others. Help them! Make their lives better! Contribute to society! Not even in a way that you can (necessarily) put a dollar value on, but in any way you can! Create art! Plant a pollinator garden! Tell a joke! Make someone happy! If nothing else, you can at least give someone love, and I guarantee you that that will be of value to them. The universe is so vast and we're all so small that any value we can ever have will only ever be to each other. And surely it beats spending your life trying to be king of the microbes.

[bloodandthestars]

HOLY FUDGE NUGGETS!! Why is Miguel so beautiful.. 😭

Can I request a Miguel O’Hara x Madam-Web reader? Like maybe she’s well known for being the “Mom” on campus in the Spider-Society, with her and Miguel having a “will they, won’t they” flirty vibe going on?

And she verbally beats his fine a$s for how horrible he treated Miles (who was undoubtedly a victim of circumstance, just like most all Spider-Men) but Miguel can’t really focus on what she’s saying because he just finds her “Mama bear” attitude Hot as hell.. and she can sense it..

Reader: *blank stare*.. horny a$s vampspider~ 😒

Miguel: … 😏

Petter B: guys PLEASE! Not infront of the kids!!!

⸗ 𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄

tags: NO SPOILERS!, spouse! spanish speaking! gn reader

author’s note: hello lovie! you’re my first request ever! i hope you’ll enjoy this, since i had to tweak it due to me not seeing the movie yet and having a few ideas that made me want to write this IMMEDIATELY. translations at the bottom of the post!

wc :: 1.4k masterlist

Spider-man 2099, Miguel O’hara to differentiate him from the rest. The leader and creator of the Spider Society. In the protection of the multiverse, he’s dedicated his life to it. Unwavering, unmoving, if there was an obstacle, he intends to removes it.

“No! It’s not up for discussion.” He snaps back to the group behind him. Peter B., Miles, and Gwen follow behind him in his furious stride to his control center. His voice could echo amongst the society’s campus. Some of the spider-people wince at the boom of his voice. It was easy for them to conclude that it was another day, another problem to handle.

“Oh come on, Miguel.” Peter B. says with a groan. “It’s not a big deal. You can let him off the hook!”

“Having someone watching over like some kind of-” Gwen sputters to find her words. “-parole officer isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Well you said it, not me.” The larger man huffs, causing the trio to roll their eyes.

The doors of his control center slide open with a hiss. Miguel can’t help the scowl on his face, all the more natural with his work. He continues to walk, head turning over his shoulder to speak to them. “I told him and you, if he wants a spot back here he had to earn it-”

Miles frowns. It feels like they’ve been going in endless circles about him coming back into the society and leaving him close to exhausted. “But I-”

“Enough, he’s doing it my way or not at-”

“Uh…Miguel…?” Peter B. trails off with a finger pointing behind him.

“What-?!”

Turning to his vast data center, he stops immediately in his tracks just to practically feel his heart fall into his ass.

You had your arms crossed, a crease to mesh your brows together furiously. Peter B. grimaces at the stern look on your face, knowing it all too well from his own spouse back in his universe. Miles is surprised to witness Miguel drop his hardened expression and voice in an instant. Your husband lets go of his startled state, arms out as he walks towards you. “Dios mío- ¿mi amor? What’s with that look on your face?”

“You went after Miles?!”

The boom in your voice causes the trio to cringe back. Behind his intelligent mind that oversaw the Spider society, you were right beside him in every step. It was a large part of both of your lives, with highs and lows and plenty of difficulties. But it was for the greater good, for a connection of people who’ve been the victims of circumstances. You’d defend your fellow heroines with your heart, including from the wrath of your husband’s stubbornness. Miguel goes up the small step with a sigh. “I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for good reason.”

“Good reason? Right, go ahead. Tell me.”

“It was for protecting you! Protecting everyone!”

“At the cost of some of someone so young?!” Your tone shifts. “¡Vas a lastimar a alguien! O tú mismo!”

Miles’s wide eyes shit to the floor. Your switch reminded of his mom, going into Spanish on the phone to let others around her know that their conversation was not for them. You were more charged than her in these circumstances.

He feels eyes on him, and turns to see Peter B. and Gwen spare him a glance from their awkward stance. Peter B. motions with his head towards the couple, eyes darting back and forth with an muffled cough. Miles eventually gives in and sighs. “…they’re saying that he could have gotten someone hurt, or himself.”

“¡No, no lo estoy! El destino del-” Miguel implores.

You groan. “I swear to God if you mention-”

“-the fate of the universe-“ The three spider people behind him join you in unison.

“-one more time-”

The two of you drone on for a bit, with Miles trying his best to whisper translations to Gwen and Peter B.

“This is serious stuff, [name]. And I mean that with my body and soul.” Miguel grabs both your hands at his emphasis, holding them gently despite your heated discussion. “Eres mi vida, él lo puso en riesgo.”

Miles’s eyes go down to the floor, eyes saddened along with his voice. “He said I put them at risk.”

Peter B. and Gwen soften, eyes going back to you both. You look at your hands together. Gold bands shined in the various blues and reds of the room, the diamond on your ring leaving fluorescent reflection on skin. He watched as your lips press together. You look up to him, “He wouldn’t do it on purpose.”

“You don’t know that-we didn’t know that-“

You shake your head, snatching your hands away to point a finger in his face. “No zip it, Miguel!”

He leans back with his eyes wide. The others react in shock as well as you fall back into Spanish to speak to your husband. Peter B. didn’t need a translator to know the man was being reprimanded, cringing back when your emphasis got aggressive. Gwen looks to him, then to Miles— too speechless to keep translating. Peter B. looks to Miguel, slowly squinting at his demeanor. The longer you spoke, the shock dissipated into something else. His eyes were softer, arms holding one another as he leaned further to listen. You didn’t take notice, still chewing him out.

“-esto es ridículo, Miguel! Eres un hombre maduro, no tienes que actuar así. ¿No crees que puede haber un malentendido?”

When you ask him the tantalizing question, he’s in a moment of pause. The man takes a step further to you. You look at him with unwavering eyes, expecting another long speech about your protection that you were all too familiar with. Instead, his fingers curl to brush under your chin, voice dropping to speak to you. “Eres guapa cuando estás enfadada.”

You’re beautiful when you’re angry. Your eyes widen, heat creeping up your back. Was he even listening to a word you said? You know he wouldn’t just ignore you or your opinions. It only took you a minute to realize that distant look on his face the whole time was to focus on your lips as you spoke. Your brows furrow, muttering to him in attempts to hold on to your reprimand. “…No cambies de tema.”

Don’t change the subject. He gives you a slight smile. With a tilt of his head, Miguel brushes his fingers under your chin again, stepping closer. “¿Por qué, no cuando cada uno de mis pensamientos gira en torno a ti?”

You give him a look, though your shoulders loose their tension. “Cabrón descarado…”Despite your words, the ends of your lips quirk up without thinking. His smirk only widens at the sight. “Y todo el tuyo también.”

Peter B. looks between you both with an expression of confusion. Weren’t you just- fighting? He takes his attention to the way you both look at each other. His brows loosen, raising to the sky when the realization hits. Turning to Miles and Gwen, he grabs both their shoulders and turn them around. The pair are forced to walk towards the entrance, eyes in a perpetually widened state.

“Alright!” The father explains. “Time to go, yep, let’s just-”

“But what about-”

Peter hunches down to aggressively whisper to them. “Guys. This is a free get out of jail card.” His head drops for a moment before looking back up. “A scarring one but nonetheless.”

Miguel thought them as out of sight and out of mind, eyes attentive to your frustrated look. How could he pays attention anything else with the way you got? The determination in your eyes and voice, how you would step to him knowing that many rarely could. You were passionate and he’d fall for it every time. The man wouldn’t have anyone else with him. He understood your words, took them in, but god did your lips too good not to take.

Your lips were captured in a plush embrace, eyes fluttering shut when he does so. The fingers under your chin turn to cup your cheek. Your hand goes to his side to invite him to come closer. Tension in your body left in an instant. Your husband lets out a soft sigh, mind enthralled in your presence. He pulls away with a slow blink of his eyes. Your eyes open, your smile now soft.

“Esto no ha terminado.” You mutter with a hand on top of his, thumb brushing over the back of it.

He chuckles darkly, caressing your cheek with a look in his eye. “Cuento con eso.”

translations: “¡vas a lastimar a alguien! o tú mismo!” (you could have gotten someone hurt! or yourself!)

“¡no, no lo estoy! el destino del-” (no i’m not! the fate of the-)

“eres mi vida, él lo puso en riesgo.” (you are my life, he put that at risk.)

“-esto es ridículo, Miguel! Eres un hombre maduro, no tienes que actuar así. ¿No crees que puede haber un malentendido?” (this is ridiculous, Miguel! you are a grown ass man, you don’t have to act like this. don’t you think there may be a misunderstanding?)

“¿por qué, no cuando cada uno de mis pensamientos gira en torno a ti?” (why not when each of my thoughts revolve around you?)

“cabrón descarado…” (cheeky bastard...), “y todo el tuyo también.” (and all yours too.)

“esto no ha terminado.” (this isn’t over), “cuento con eso.” (i’m counting on that)

taglist: @manchuria @mezzke @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @coleseyebrows @deputy-videogamer @vegas-writing-den @m150-50up

[dkmbookworm]

The more I think about it, it really isn’t out of the realm of possibility for Odysseus to say he loves calypso. Victims of abuse can still end up loving their abusers to a degree. Even if it doesn’t always make sense. Because there were likely moments where they were able to talk and bond. When he was going through a bad day with his thoughts and she helped him get out of it. It doesn’t mean that he forgives her for holding him hostage and keeping him from his family. But he only had her in that time when he’s at his lowest point.

I think at times that the fandom can underplay how much just being on the island is a torture in of itself. Even without calypso there. It represents a point where he is left only to his own thoughts. To replaying every single mistake, every selfish decision. Thinking through a million and one what ifs that could have kept them alive. Thinking of the 600 families out there that won’t get to see their men come home. Thinking of everything he did to get home only to be here. Like really think about how much that is running through his head, every second of every day. And the only person who you can talk to, who could take your mind off of those thoughts for even a second. Is your captor

“I’m not sorry for loving you” shows that Odysseus doesn’t truly get the satisfaction of being able to hate her. He likely even pities her or cares for her despite what she’s done

He does see her as a friend because of the circumstances they exist in.

He isn’t going to only remember the bad times. He will remember moments on the beach looking at the stars. Learning about her in those conversations. Maybe even finding her funny or charming. Moments of respite from the well of misery that he’s drowning under every single day.

And that’s the worst part of when you see the person hurting you as a person. And he is a monster, so who is he to judge. He has done horrible things in the pursuit of love, and maybe he can recognize that kinship in her.

Don’t forget about how “Monster” shows Odysseus finally going down that path of realization. Rather than it simply stating” I’ll be as brutal as any of my foes”. It starts with him humanizing them.

Is the cyclops struck with guilt when he kills, is he up in the middle of the night

Or does he end my men to defend his friend and then sleep knowing he has done them right

When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs is she going insane

Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain

We can see that Odysseus is able to give a strange level of empathy and understanding to his enemies while he becomes a monster. And there’s nothing to say he wouldn’t do the same with Calypso.

She is a lonely, isolated woman who has been imprisoned on this island longer than he can comprehend. Someone deeply naive and emotionally stunted from her life on the island. Desperate for love and companionship that he is unable and unwilling to give her.

Is it right? Absolutely the hell not. And as detailed in a previous post, still deeply insidious in the long term.

But this is Odysseus after he had sacrificed 6 men to get home, and then the remaining 36 after. Where he is constantly weighed down by those actions and seeing what becomes of someone who chooses to be a monster. To try and play the gods games and fail terribly.

They’re simply two monsters trapped together

[red40overdose]

hey baaabe, can you maybe write tae or jimin falling for oc whos also an idol but they cant really show it to anyone? 🥹

A/N: I will write Tae with a proper secret relationship but for now I present to you……

IDYLLIC

IDOL!JIMIN X IDOL!GN!READER

Synopsis: Jimin has a rule. A code if you will. Under no circumstances will he ever date another idol. He's lived by it for many years. Not once has he ever been close to breaking it. Until he met you that is.

W/C: 2.2k

WARNING: Jimin struggling with his feelings slight angst

REQUESTS: OPEN

It wasn't ideal. In an industry like Jimins you don't have time for relationships. A lot of the time you don't even have the mental energy. There was too much to work around.

You don't want to date a fan. They already have a version of you built up in their head. One that would quickly prove itself untrue.

If you do manage to find someone who doesn't know who you are that too can become a disaster. Paparazzi lurk behind every corner. The whole relationship is forced into secrecy. It could ruin your career, it could ruin your partner's life. It isn't good for a relationship. Most people need more. They want to go out on dates. They want normalcy, not to be hidden deep in a closet like dirty laundry.

There were other idols… one look at an idol of the opposite sex and the media would be pumping out articles about a secret love affair. Every week someone would come up to Jimin asking about an idol he hadn't even spoken to.

That was only part of it. Companies would clash. Some companies would push a narrative to try and profit off it.

In the Idol industry, two idols dating was taboo. Some sort of curse that ran rampant through the industry. People would talk behind their backs. Send sympathetic looks to the poor souls that fell victim to it. It was hard as an idol not to fall for another. Idols ended up being around other idols quite a bit. People have needs and when you're surrounded by attractive people it's hard not to go seeking comfort.

Another idol would know what you're going through. They could understand things regular people never could.

But it always ended badly. The media loved it. It was a drama that kept people clicking. So the cameras kept flashing.

So Jimin did the sensible thing. He swore off dating. Of course, every now and then he would find himself in someone's bed. But it never was more than that.

He would risk his and his members career on a scandal. Jimin knew he wouldn't be able to balance a relationship and everything else like Namjoon does. He would slip up when he knew he would. It was easier to just not even try. It was better this way.

For a long time it worked. Jimin managed. He wasn't tempted. He was good.

Until you waltzed into his life. It was at a photoshoot. You were also set to get photographed by the same photographer.

Your shot was before his. As luck would have it, Jimin had arrived early and the staff invited him back.

He had seen you before. Your face was plastered over posters and billboards all across Seoul. None of it could compare to you in real life. None of them, not even the best photos that got the front page of magazines, came close to capturing all of you.

Jimin couldn't tear his eyes away from you as you posed. Your eyes strayed from the camera and settled on him for one brief flickering moment and that's all it took for Jimin to know he was a goner.

Then as if you hadn't even seen him at all your eyes settled back on the camera. Jimin hightailed it out of there and into the break room.

Water. He needed water. That's it, he was probably just dehydrated. Jin was always getting on his case about drinking more water. Something to drink and he would be just fine.

He had just cracked open the bottle and was about to take a sip when he heard you.

“Hey it's Jimin right?”

Slowly almost like a scene out of a movie Jimin turned. Only a few feet behind him there you were. Still in all the glam required for the photoshoot, obviously you had just finished. Jimin swallowed dryly, wishing he had drunk the water already. His tongue was sticking to the rook of his mouth. He managed one shaky nod.

“I'm Y/N.”

“I know.” Great, he had finally managed to say something and he sounded like an asshole.

You took it in stride, or maybe you just hadn't noticed

“Sorry for making you wait. Had some wardrobe issues so we went a little over time,” You said sheepishly.

Then as if it was the most natural thing in the world you reached around him and grabbed one of the water bottles on the counter.

Instantly your scent surrounded Jimin. His breath hitched before he settled on just holding his breath. This close he could see the rise and fall of your chest with each breath. He could see the smallest crease in your eye makeup, probably from laughing.

You leaned back like nothing had happened at all. Like you hadn't just thrown Jimin's code and way of life out the window. You hadn't noticed a thing at all.

Jimin's photo shoot didn't go as well as they usually did. His mind was elsewhere, his poses a little sloppy as he tried to listen to the staff. But everything just felt like static noise.

Ever since then you seemed to be everywhere. Or maybe Jimin was just now noticing your presence.

You were at every party. Every formal event. Always dressed exquisitely. Always looking perfect. Always distracting him.

The rest of his members took notice. They would cast each other looks every time Jimin's eyes strayed back to you.

Jimin tried his hardest not to think of you. To cast every thought of you from his mind. He would turn off the T.V if you came on screen. He would turn off his phone every time you were trending.

Yet everywhere he went. You were there. When he got seated next to you in a fashion stone all he could do was sit stone still. He listened to you gush about the pieces with your friend and it just made everything ten times worse.

Occasionally you would turn to Jimin and try to make small talk. Everytime you two were in the vicinity of him you tried to talk to him. Maybe you were just being polite but Jimin couldn't help but relish in it.

It was so unnatural for him. Jimin was used to making others flustered, not the other way around. He just had that effect, yet this time all of it was turned around on him.

All of it came to its peak on New Year's eve. Hoseok had insisted on throwing a party. Only certain people were invited. Mostly other Idols the group trusted and some personal friends.

You made an appearance. Something Jungkook who had made the guest list failed to mention.

You were beautifully done up and hanging off the arm of one of your friends. The two of you looked so comfortable together. You fit into that spot so perfectly Jimin started to wonder if the two of you were dating.

The thought made him so uncomfortable that he had to turn away. Jimin just missed the look Jungkook gave him.

Jimin poured himself a drink, the first one of the night.

“You alright man?” Jungkook asked.

“Yeah why?” Jimin took a sip and winced at the sharp taste of alcohol and way to sweet juice. Damn Taehyung and his strange drink concoctions.

“I dunno. Lately you've seemed…” Jungkook paused, not sure how to put it, “Strange. You know you can talk to me right? Any of us?”

He wanted to. So badly. He wanted to ramble endlessly about you. How you always managed to look so perfect. How you helped the staff that one time you spilt a drink. How you always kept a calm composure when something clearly ticked you off. How he thought about you every waking hour.

But he couldn't. They all knew about his code. How he felt about dating, especially dating another idol.

Jimin was afraid that he would agree. They would tell him it wasn't a good idea. Not worth the trouble. And then he wouldn't. Because he respected the options of his members, even if it killed him inside.

Yet he was also afraid they would tell him to stop being stupid. To go for it. That even if it ends horribly at least he had you. Even if it was for a little bit. If they held that opinion… Jimin didn't know what he would do.

So he settled on “I'm fine, just stressed about this next album.”

Jimin could tell Jungkook didn't buy it. Not even for a second. Not wanting to be questioned, Jimin slinked off to go find Jin and to avoid you.

He managed well. Jin was in the kitchen over seeing Taehyung's new drink ideas.

You were easy to avoid. Jimin could easily spot your form in the crowd. Pick out your laugh in the cacophony of voices.

Halfway through the party Namjoon came and found him, “Hey Min can you go grab the bottle of tequila I left out on the balcony? My hands are kind of full.”

Namjoon gestured with an arm full of coats. Jimin didn't even notice that most of the coats were the groups, which had already been started away in their respective closets.

“Oh so it's a tequila kind of party?” Jimin said with a smirk before he pushed himself away from the counter.

He worked his way through the crowd before he reached the glass doors leading out to the balcony. Jimin spotted the bottle, sitting on the patio table. He slipped out to quickly grab it.

But what he failed to notice was you, arms crossed and leaning over the balcony. Gazing up at the stars.

Jimin noticed you only a split second before you turned around.

“Oh hey Jimin,” you greeted. It was too late now for him to scamper back into the party.

“Hey. What are you doing out here?”

“Oh you know. Just needed a break from the party.”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgement.

“Care to join me?” You turned back around to look at the night sky once more.

“Well Namjoon asked me to-” Jimin looked over his shoulder back at the glass doors. What he saw cut his sentence short.

Yoongi was staring at him with a devious little smirk. When their eyes met Yoongi reached forward and turned the lock on the door.

God damn him. Jimin gestured widely at Yoongi, willing him to unlock the door. It's not like he could yell out and demand him to. Not with you standing there.

With a cheeky smile and wave Yoongi slinked off into the crowd. Leaving Jimin stranded on the patio with you.

“Do I bother you?” You asked.

Jimin swung back around so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. You hadn't turned back around but there was a noticeable tension in your shoulders.

“What?” Jimin said bewildered, “No? What makes you say that?”

“It just seems like you've made it your life mission to avoid me.”

Jimin was starting to wish he had accepted the third drink Tae tried to shove into his hands. He could really use the extra liquid courage right now.

Damnit. Jimin thought to himself. Get it together. You're a grown man. Jimin Park.

Jimin breathed out a deep breath and came to rest against the railing with you. His eyes focused on the cityscape in front of you two. He couldn't trust himself to look directly at you. He might jump onto you and never let you go.

“I don't…. Dislike you.”

“Well it sure seems like you do.” You said quietly.

Jimins heart panged. This wasn't what he wanted.

“I'm sorry…”

“Listen. I know we don't know each other. And we don't have to. Let's just be civil? It's hard in this industry.”

No no no. This is NOT what he wanted. Not how he planned this to be. Jimin didn't want to be civil, he wanted to be yours.

“I want to… know you.”

“You don't have to spare my feelings Jimin.”

Jimins head whipped around. You still hadn't looked at him. Your jaw was clenched and your bottom lip was quivering as if you were about to cry.

“I'm not! I'm really not, Y/N I-” Jimin took a deep breathe “I like you. I really do.”

You were silent.

“I don't date…” Jimin said after a moment.

“Oh….Jimin…I really think I like you too… But I don't do hookups.” You said slowly.

“That's not what I meant… I mean usually I don't date. But I can't stop thinking about you. You make me want to throw that rule away and never look back.”

There were some cheers from the party. Then the countdown started.

You turned to face Jimin head on. Your eyes met his for the first time since he came out to the patio.

“Three!”

Jimin swallowed and his eyes flickered down to your lips.

“Two!”

“Jimin. Will you kiss me?”

“One!”

He pressed his lips to yours as cheers echoed out from the party.

[woeswrites]

Yandere Will Graham

Warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessive behaviors, Brief mention of rape/rapist, Dubious consent (mention of sex while under the influence), etc.

Notes: I am trying to be active again (fingers crossed). Little posts like this are a really easy way for me to get the creative juices flowing. Don't be surprised if a few more come out after this one lol.

You were a recent survivor of an attack

No, it wasn't the Chesapeake Ripper

It was just some other wannabe serial killer trying to get his rocks off

He had a dumb, stereotypical name too

The midnight slasher? midnight butcher?

Something like that

The media wasn't very creative with it

Whatever his name was, he'd clearly had a type

Young men

All of a similar stature

With the same hair and eye color

All known to be up at all hours of the day

It was a pretty open and shut case in Will's eyes

He was a plain and simple lust killer

Most likely white and in his 30s-40s

Classic closet case turned homicidal

He hadn't seen why the FBI was so stumped on the whole thing

The only real trouble was the lack of DNA evidence

He'd been real good at cleaning up after himself

Will knew he'd slip up eventually

This wasn't the type of guy to be so well organized for long

Well--

Does being murdered by your most recent victim count as a slip up?

Because that's exactly what happened

He was called to the scene with the rest of the team

The sight of you trembling, covered in blood, and standing over top of that creep was his first impression

You met his eyes and he was unable to pull away

Something about your tear blotched face held him captive

Jack tasked him with asking you questions about the events at hand

Normally this would have annoyed Will

He wasn't the talking type

Let alone someone sensitive enough to make such a traumatized person feel comfortable

But something in him didn't mind so much

Maybe it was the way you looked so vulnerable

Or the fact that no matter how much he pushed the idea away, he saw himself in you

An innocent man turned murderer under the right circumstances

"I'm Will Graham and I'll be asking you some questions."

"God, okay. I'm Y/n. Can't really say it's nice to meet you."

Will tried to start off slow

Ask the basics before moving onto the more pertinent information

You'd answer to the best of your abilities (considering the circumstances)

It took Will a second to jot down your responses

He'd get a little too caught up in your features to notice you'd stop talking

"Sorry, what was that? You got off work at 9?"

There was something admirable about your attempts to infuse your story with a bit of dry humor

Likely a coping mechanism

But Will found himself smiling a bit at your quips

By the time he'd finish up with you he'd felt a little attachment form

Sure the case was over on his end

But it didn't stop him from asking Jack about you

At least a couple times a week

"How's things going with that self defense case? Y/n's...?"

Will showed up the next day with your case fill on his desk

The sticky note stuck to it warned about annoying Jack with too many questions

He'd spend all night re-reading the details

Without noticing he began slipping in and out of re-enactment mode

Imagining you on top of him

Knife in hand

Crazed look in your eyes

He tried to shake the image away

He shouldn't be doing this

It wasn't right

You could've died that night

His guilt ridden thoughts did nothing to lessen the tent that had formed in his pajama pants

He tried to push the idea of you out of his head

Usually he'd have more control over himself than this

His resolve was strong at first

He'd hidden the manila folder away in the depths of his lower drawer

Telling himself he'd drop it

That worked for a couple of days

That was before he started dreaming of you

Events that he hadn't preformed himself took ahold of him

He became your attacker that night

He chased you

He ripped apart your clothes

He was the one who you fought off

He's the one who you thrust that knife into

And he loved every second of it

Wait--

No, he couldn't

This was just his empathy disorder

Yeah!

He was just in character

This definitely wasn't him

He would never want to do any of that stuff

And he'd prove it

He had memorized that file from front to back at this point

It wouldn't be weird that he'd known your address

He was an FBI consultant

It was basically warranted

Will found himself picking out his best clothes that night

His newest jeans, tailored shirt, the works

Not for any particular reason

And his bed was definitely not littered with rejected articles of clothing

This was just going to be a simple checkup, it's not like it really mattered what he looked like

He showed up on your doorstep with the nicest bottle of wine he could find

"Will? Is that you?"

"Uh, yeah it is. Would I be able to come in?"

You welcomed him in, albeit a little confused

"I thought my case was cleared..."

"That's not what I'm here for. I just wanted to check in on you."

You smiled at this

And Will felt his heart ache

You'd invite him to join in on your sorry excuse for a dinner

He'd never accepted anything so fast before in his life

It didn't take long before the two of you got into the wine he'd brought

It was innocent enough at first

Just drinking and talking

You'd mention how life was after the attack

Will shared a little about his experience with GJH

Its the first time he had ever felt so utterly connected with another person before

But then the two of you got a little more than tipsy

And Will found himself leaning in

One kiss turned into another and another

Will felt a sense of static overtake him

Every touch between the two of you sent shivers up his spine

He felt the strong urge to consume

Before either of you knew it your clothes were now in a heap on the kitchen floor

You woke up the next morning with a splitting headache

Oh-- and an FBI agent in your bed

Shock was an understatement

That was when the memories of the previous night flooded back

Will woke up at the loss of warmth

Last night was the best he had slept in years

You wrapped tight in his arms, bodies perfectly intertwined

His heart sank at the look of regret on your face

"We definitely shouldn't have done that. I think you should leave Will..."

He couldn't just leave now

Not knowing what he did

That you two were made for one another

He'd try to calm you down

"Y/n let's talk about this."

You weren't having it

Mentioning how inappropriate this all was

You'd shove his clothes into his arms

Will tried to console you

Not realizing why you were so worked up

You both did just have the best night of your life after all

You'd back away but he'd continue approaching

"C'mon I know you don't really want me to go. Let's just take a second before we make any rash decisions"

"We aren't doing anything. I want you to go. Now."

Something about him coming over while you were still recovering from your distress and it all leading to this...

It just didn't feel right

Will tried to approach once more but you pushed him away

He couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his face

"Push me. Go on, make it hurt."

You were absolutely bewildered

He reached out and grabbed ahold of you

His grip was almost crushing

Like he was holding on for dear life

"I won't leave you alone that easily. Fate brought us together for a reason. You feel it too right? We're one in the same. We're each other's destiny."

He looked crazed, sweat slipping from his brow

It felt just like that night all over again

The knife in your hand as your attacker bled out

Only now Will took his place underneath you

[aingeal98]

thinking of the differences in cass and bruce regarding their no-kill rules, and how cass’ rule is better in regards to the batman persona and what it stands for. death and bruce have an awful relationship, to say the least. he has gained nothing from death and murder, in fact it affects him so much that all he can do with death is just sit in its presence forever, without ever working through it (he literally refers to death as ‘a curse constantly hanging over him’ i mean that is not the most accepting mindset). with cass though? she can actively process death and even accept that it has happened. she isn’t like bruce, because she uses others dying to make her intense love and empathy stronger, while bruce just uses it to fuel anger and an onslaught of repressed negative emotions (which we all know can only last you so long before your whole body just gives out). i mean, the second bruces parents died, he separated the concept of murder from his life, (even though that is literally impossible, minhkhoa, ra’s, talia, selina, and basically anyone who has been in a meaningful relationship with bruce has pointed this out. i mean even a ghost martha wayne has told bruce there’s no avoiding death, only going through it). however, with cass? she literally was a murderer. one of the many reasons cass vows to never kill is because she actively sees herself in murderers, and thinks they all have the capacity to be redeemed, while bruce barely has an idea how to even process murder, let alone accept it or the people who do it (thinking of how he straight up denied that cass killed anyone, or was even capable of doing it, even with video evidence shown right in front of him, and im not even gonna get into the whole jason todd thing). cassandra could be a better batman simply because she can look death (specifically murders and murderers) dead in the eye and accept it, something that bruce cant even do. basically what im getting at is that, ironically, cass’ backstory of her being a murderer allows her to use the batman persona to its full unfiltered potential, something that even bruce is aware of. anyways here’s my cass should take up the batman mantle propaganda!!

I'm chewing on this like it's a five course meal thank you so much for this analysis there's so much to go through.

You're so right about their different mentalities like Bruce was ultimately a victim and his drive comes from both never wanting anyone else to suffer like that but also never wanting to be a victim again himself. And if does mean that his various complexes around death and crime can sometimes be very harmful to people he should be trying to save! Batman is a symbol and an ideal and no one, not even Bruce can truly live up to it.

Meanwhile Cass views herself as the perpetrator, the responsible party instead of a fellow victim tricked into killing a man. And her projection while again not in anyway perfect is definitely better for those around her than Bruce's because it's full of empathy and a belief for change. The heartbreaking part is that she's no less fucked up over the concept of death imo, she just directs it all inwards. Every life lost is a tragedy that Bruce and Cass both carry on their shoulders. The difference is Bruce views anyone who takes a life as having sacrificed a part of themselves they can ever get back, of ruining their life regardless of circumstances. And we really do get to see frequently in comics how that standard ends up harming innocents even as he tries to do good. Meanwhile Cass... Does actually hold quite similar views but she also stubbornly refuses to believe it's true for anyone else just because she cannot escape it being her own personal truth. They killed but they can change. They killed but they can turn their life around. They felt bad for a second there, I saw them. I'm going to help them because of that.

Part of it definitely comes down to the thematic cohesiveness of Cass's Batgirl run compared to Bruce's... Everything. But ultimately yeah Cass best Batman for multiple reasons and you can fight me on this.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

The Biggest Problem With Hazbin Hotel's Rehabilitation Mentality Is Trying To Make All Sinners Victims Instead Of Owning Up To Their Own Sins

I think the biggest problem with Hazbin Hotel rehabilitation mentality is that they focus in on how sinners are victim of circumstances rather than owning up to their problems and changing themselves. I think the biggest thing with this series is the fact that they think the problem is society instead of someone's own issues how they got into hell.

One of the first indications of this bs is making it out that Lucifer and Lilith were just misunderstood dreamers were against a strict ignoring that they caused sin in the world and caused help humanity's downfall. But the narrative ignores that fact and tries to treat them as victims of heaven, so we can have Lucifer as a misunderstood sad boy instead of how in the Bible he was jealous of humanity and wanted to bring it down with him due to God's love for them. A misunderstood sad boy wouldn't do this type of shit and Vivziepop selling it a load of it.

I know this is going to be controversial but I think Angel Dust is hindered as a character but not focusing on what got him into hell. And it wasn't just the drugs and sex, because he did kill people and some of them probably didn't end up in hell. So just imagine him being sent to heaven and his former victims recognized him for his crimes and until now showed repentance. However, the narrative even then doesn't focus on that fact but the idea he's a total victim and doesn't show part of his way to redemption is get his life back together and admit he's done shit where he wasn't the victim but the victimizer. One could say he was put through that life, but then again show his sister is in heaven and that she chose a life of virtue and made it. So, he has no excuse of his dad or brother getting himself into hell except himself and he needs to work on it. Even if he's a victim to Valentino, he still is a victimizer in someone else's eyes who recognizes him decades ago.

And I am also going to say this the Extermination is used as a way to have all of hell be turned into pitied victims that you forget a lot of them are in hell for a reason. And even more they are doing antics that got them probably into hell like murder, sex, and other types of depravity. While not all sinners are on the same level, the exterminations as a whole just i used to make you forget that they are there for a reason and erase that there is a reason they weren't given a chance into heaven. Seriously, Emily herself called them innocent souls when in any other scene they are far from innocent and the reason why Adam is depicted as a one note villain is because they can't fathom the idea that maybe the Extermination could be used to cull the worst sinners or something.

I think the biggest problem with Hazbin Hotel's every sinner is really a victim it comes ironically counter to finding redemption. A show which Vivziepop says she inspires from but she completely misses the point is Bojack. She says she's watched it but the biggest point of the show just because you are the victim doesn't give you an excuse to act like a total jackass to others and not own up to your mistakes. The problem is Habzin Hotel never lets anyone own up because they have to play victims, especially any character favored by Vivziepop. Redemption doesn't come from seeing yourself as a victim, but recognizing your own mistakes and how to reform from them. And frankly I didn't see Angel Dust want to reform from his mistakes, but just want a home away from Val. The problem is that Hazbin Hotel is about enforcing victimhood instead of owning up that you did bad things and need to change. An excuse for your behavior is still not fully an excuse and you need to own up to your actions.

[multiversewatchpost]

the mtt nation council has decided that every member needs to have a mtt vs mtt idea. time to pay up, council member multiversewatchpost........

Mtt but they're deities.

They're commonly depicted alongside eachother and feature a lot in eachothers myths, seeing their omens together is considered to be a warning of coming misfortune and disaster.

Horror is the one you pray too when you go on a hunt, when you are seeking to trap and ensnare your pray. The one you turn to when you beg for full fields and forests. He is the one you go to for guidance when your loved ones fall ill, when you have to protect and protect and protect and you are supposed to provide and shield and yet cannot find the strength. He is the one you pray to when famine strikes the lands, the one you beg for forgiveness, you do not know what you may have done to anger him but you know the widespread hunger is your fault. If only you hadn't displeased your God. This is your punishment. And everyone you hold dear will suffer with you.

Offerings made to him are most commonly food items. Grains or vegetables or fruits. Do not try to offer him meat, he wont accept it. Hates being offered life sacrifices. Will for some unknown reason accept eyes despite his aversion to being offered any other body parts.

Very strongly associated with spiders. His priests and most devout tend to purposefully blind themselves in one eye. Some consider this an outdated practice.

Dust is fickle and unpredictable. No sane person would pray to him as their patron deity. He is just as likely to turn on his followers as he is on their enemies. Fast to anger and hard to placate. Unfortunately, his few followers don't seem to get that memo, they are almost fanatical in their worship. Maybe it's because of what he offers, power, magic, it is he who the desperate turn to, those who have nothing left to lose. Those either lost in power or powerlessness. Those who either need or want more, wether it is because they do not see any other way or because they cannot fathom ever having enough. It is said that he curses those who cross him with incurable madness.

Common offerings include blood, flowers, and items with important sentimental value. Offerings are usually burned. Will accept life sacrifices in certain circumstances but it is risky to try.

Mainly know for his connection to magic, but is also occasionally prayed too for other kinds of power such as material wealth. Very easy to piss of. Followers sometimes claim to hear his voice speaking to them and see 'signs' he sends which are invisible to anyone else. It is widely debated if this is real or the result of the mental degradation a lot of his followers seem to eventually face. Mainly associated with mice but also occasionally robins or magpies.

Finally killer, the one that remains hidden in the shadows, decay itself, his presence clings to his followers, the world around them seems more dull, lifeless and dark. He is the one assassins follow, the one thieves beg for concealment, the one that victims pray too, not for freedom or safety but for vengeance. The stench of rot seems to cling to his favored disciples, their enemies die from mysterious illnesses or are plagued with pests.

He is pretty much exclusively given life offerings. Some tabboos acts, mainly cannibalism are commonly committed in his name. Will also accept roses or deaths in a more metaphorical sense such as the death of a dream or passion.

Is closely associated with animals such as rats, mosquitoes and pigeons. Just, any 'pest' really. Mostly rats tho. Also very strongly associated with disease. Is associated with the night and shadows but that is more of a recent thing, older disciples of his will scoff at you for such a thing.

Or did you mean mtt vs mtt as in mtt fighting eachother-

.....in that case I'm sorry but my idea doesn't include that.....you can make their followers fight or smth....maybe in some of the mythology they fight idk...

(Psssst, people reading this, there is now even more of this au on my blog under #moths mythology au tag)

[kel-lance]

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 2

Part 1

Warnings:- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise: Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 11 more chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

“We’re done for today.” The large man reaches for his robes. You don’t bother to move. Just breathing hurt. It was his off day and he was deciding to break you in, deciding to keep you for however long you were durable. He was amused with your reactions. He liked it. He found it interesting how you were also trying to survive. He’d play along as your god now. 

You lay in the bed and his finger prints stained your skin, each strike created blots of purple and blue and green. You liked bruises before, it showed how you fought for it. 

You apparently woke up two days later, and he lets you rest. Your body finally turns off survival mode for a second, just a second to adjust to the warm room. Four walls, the nice smell, it was just another thing you weren’t used to. Stillness. It was boring. But under these circumstances you were glad to have your own padded room to deal with this.

The time you were left alone, you didn’t know how long that would be. Another hour or so you’d think he’d come back in, hearing as you’re up. Time for more torture, though do torture victims get a bed and tended to? It felt more like you were a sacrifice, meant to appease him, though no one handed you over. 

You were brushed, scrubbed raw, and even felt a bit of shame for the way you were living compared to the two ladies who were taking care of you. But you didn’t know how long they’ve been in this line of work. Hell they honestly looked like they were born into it with the cold looks in their eyes. They could care less about your well-being, though they found and scrubbed every inch of you. Of course you didn’t want strangers to look at you, especially after such a moment that brought you here. To be real, these twins are probably the only people who knew you more than anyone you currently knew. 

Friends? You had a few, some to help you out sometimes, some to let you crash at their place. It was all fair game to the people you knew. Life was never easy for them and they knew of you being a free spirit. You didn’t leech off of them for you’d always show up with something in exchange, usually something you stole but it would never get traced back, it was either too common (but useful) or just something that would never be brought out of shown off. 

You weren’t a bad friend for it, if anything you were the perfect guest, though this time you didn’t mean to give yourself away for a few nights stay.

“I gotta get out of here, but where would I go? These people have already seen my face and I can’t tell how many more there would be. I can’t request anything to learn the layout of this place and no one will talk to me. If I leave I’ll have to run further and faster than I already have been…” You ponder more, sitting at the table placed in front of the window. 

They’re smart enough to know what I’d do if I wanted to pick a fight with their lord, of course there are guards at more doors, even under the window out your room, and it’s safe to say that there’s even a guard at each vent that’s connected to your room. 

“Why does it seem like I’m so special?” You sit and open the window, the guard below moves from his post to observe you on the same side has the other posted to view you. You look down at then and offer a wave, saying you’re not doing anything stupid, but you just wanted some air. One of them leaves, probably to get Sukuna. 

“I bet he’s just a lonely loser and I just happen to fall into his lap, or maybe I was one of many and was the newest. The girls here looked like they could be in the same position as you, though why weren’t they? They didn’t look like they were his blood, and there was no way that he could be their dad. That would make things even worse since you’re close in age as the twins. 

You see the guard go back to his post, nonchalantly. “Weirdo.” You thought. Not even a second later your room door whips open. Jumping from your place at the table, you turn and see who other than the man with the unpredictable entrances. “Finally up?” He leans on the door frame. “Honestly, you’re so dramatic for that.” He teased, being strangely familiar to you.

“Dude…” You caught yourself about to tell off this stranger. All you’ve known from him is that he’s having fun taking you and making you a toy, that his name was Sukuna and how everyone seemed under his control. Not that they enjoy it, but it didn’t look like anyone, even in their numbers, would stand up to someone like him. 

It still wasn’t apparent for you. He only told you his first name, his last could tell you that you were in even more danger than any “normal” man doing this to you. It could be such a metaphor but you’re literally trapped in the best place you’ve ever been. Was that just life? all the bad comes up when you’re supposed to be happy, and realizing how good you’ve had it as it gets ripped apart in front of you? The balance of it all only comes with ignorance, which was also why you wouldn’t get attached. You didn’t run to one person for everything you didn’t need more than what you’d ask for and that wasn’t much. If they were lucky you’d be there for 3 days at most. 

You lost your voice, his presence set in, bringing you out of your (if you can all it that) relaxed state. He notices you tense up, the look in your eyes begging him to give your body a break. He huffs and saunters into the room, taking a seat at the end of the bed, the side that’s facing you. “You had some time to clear your head, now tell me what was your intention. Playing dumb suits that pretty face of yours… But that’s not why I’m here.”

You sure knew nothing about this guy. Other than his name and how his body looked. How he felt was different, it just happened so fast that you could only remember how it lingered in your belly after he left you the second time. It wasn’t something you can forget, those were the best orgasms of your life. “Sukuna… I’m serious.” 

“You expect me to believe that? Did I hit you too hard?” You almost wanted to laugh, you saw stars and colors you couldn’t before his knuckles contacted your skull. Lifting his hand from his side to place under his chin made you flinch, a bit too hard for his liking apparently.  It took a lot for you to muster standing up on your own, much less realize you had to get to the table by needing support from the wall. It was like you were in an ice skating rink and had to hold onto the walls for dear life, except there was no ice, it was just pain in your body not letting you level yourself out.

“When you’re ready to talk, I might hear you out. My patience is thin you already know.” He stands and closes your door, sent a shiver down your spine. Him not being close to you, or hurting you, having this quick visit was so unsettling. 

It haunted you for hours. He didn’t touch you. The edge of the bed where he sat still held an energy, like he left a part of him right there to keep watch over you. 

He definitely hit you too hard, you were thinking more outlandish things to go with this scenario. Like why didn’t the touch you? You thought he was going to keep a pattern, that maybe after this he would come in periodically to taunt you. That maybe his patience has worn out and he was going to get rid of you any minute now, or to use you again. 

The trauma you got from this certainly messed with your self soothing methods. Every time you catch yourself hitting your peak of your self imposed orgasms, you were almost wishing you had more than just your fingers. You didn’t want him, but seriously its already been 2 weeks. You were gonna go crazy in here. The girls kept bringing you your meals, and a bathroom is attached, though you couldn’t do much by yourself. 

You were to let the others feed and bathe you, and you honestly hated it. It was way too weird, you never talked to them, and they never tried with you so it felt like there was an agreement to just not speak about it. That none of you were here willingly. That gave you some insight. Your body healed itself enough that you didn’t need the wall to walk anymore, making your trips to the table in front of the window more frequent. 

You notice some sort of schedule Sukuna follows, as well as a few other noticeable men in this kind of gated community. Whatever he has gong on here, it felt like you were almost a stolen princess locked away in a tower or something. “You have GOT TO get a hold of yourself.” You didn’t need to see a doctor or someone, you were fully aware that these thoughts were just you daydreaming to escape reality, yet again. Though this time it was getting boring, you couldn’t help yourself, literally. 

At this point you wanted to even ask one of the guards if they wanted to come in and help you out, but you didn’t have to do that, because a day later you decided to act. Rolling around night time, you decided to open your window a noticeable amount. By then the guards usually leave one guard to patrol the grounds in each quarter. 

The ones outside your door either end up sleeping or one leaves the other for a bathroom break, some nights they both go, probably to blow each other you thought. It wasn’t any of your concern, they did it before when you could barely move, but now you were agile again, enough to move around without hissing at each moment.

 Placing your ear to the door, you heard light snoring through it. “Okay, just find his room you thought. You knew that it took about 60 steps to reach a stair case, then that would be about 24 steps down. You could hear his footsteps through the pairs of others who followed him, as his echoed with pace, and the others almost scuttled behind them like bugs.. 

You find your way slipping past heavy wooden doors, making sure it wouldn’t creak, you saw the walkway in the garden. You looked up and saw your room, you knew it was yours as it was the only one with the window open. you knew that the guard just left this fourth of his grounds. You were searching the area for his room. Peering through the windows, it would have been hard to tell if it was him, but his tattoos were honestly unique. 

None of them were him, you go back to the walkway, going down the opposite end, just blindly working your way through. You couldn’t just walk through any door, it could be your last mistake, it being Sukuna or not. But it just had to be him, you wanted so badly to find his familiar face and just, you don’t know. 

You decide to be more ballsy, there’s surely no way he’s be in the same quarters that has this many people,” you decide to take your chance with the left corridor. “I wouldn’t take him for a cuddly guy anyway.” 

Listen, you know it sounds crazy, but if you even got to escape, you’d be hunted like a fox, unnecessarily, and as a spectacle for others to watch. But if you could find him, and do it yourself, “I mean, at least I’d die with something, and what a funny way to go.” You loved to joke about these kinds of things. Anytime it seemed dark, you’d find yourself cracking a joke or going off an other tangents from the barrage of thoughts coming your way.

You hold your breath as you set your fingers around the doorknob, you pull it back slowly, and turn it, to silence any squeaks it may have. After turning it fully, you let it go back and unclenched your fingers to let it go a second time, making sure there was no noise from the metal trap, and decided to go in. 

What fucking luck you had as if you broke into another room you’d think your breathing would start to give you away. As you head towards the bed, the raising figure laying there was him. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark, so much so that you could just stand in front of him. 

Looking down at him you wondered what you should do. You’re not going to kill him, that’s one thing, though you had nothing to lose, you still liked your life and you enjoyed whatever adventurous you got yourself into. It was always just one thing after the next and you’d rest when needed, but you loved it. 

This was totally different though. Before it was like you were born into this work and have to abide by its rules. As of right now you could do /anything/. What else would you do? 

You look down at him, kneeling at the edge of the bed to face him. Looking at his face like this, completely defenseless, his harsh eyes weren’t poking at you or telling you exactly what he was thinking. No he was just, he looked human. Like if you were to have met him at any other place it would possibly be on a magazine cover or an army recruitment booth posted wherever. 

“Damn bastard is beautiful.” You thought. “I didn’t get this far to stop now. Fucking 2 weeks you keep me here and don’t do anything? Do you know how boring that is? You can’t just keep me here and forget.” All that time alone had gone to your head, did you forget how he treated you the time you met? 

Tbh it fades in and out, your memory’s cut up pieces of film that randomly plays an old memory, and since you can’t recognize it, you call it a dream. 

Nothing could take you away from where you were now. Looking over him, still not a care in the world. Nothing could wake him if he’d allow it. You cocked your head to align your eyes with his, and reach out and brush your fingertips across his jawline. 

How much of this could you enjoy before he kills you for breaking out? Just that thought had you slowly leaning in, your hand before tracing his face was leaning onto the bed to support your intrusion. 

First, you kissed his forehead. The poor fuck probably hadn’t felt the touch of a real lover in ages, he just finds and uses whatever and whoever he wants, whenever. Of course you didn’t pity him, but does he even know what being loved properly was like? You’re really one to be asking. 

You peck the smooth, hot skin, and kissed a line across his cheek, getting more sensual with the next. His touch, even sleeping was still so manly. His body was so, honestly the words seem odd, but he looked so edible. Like you almost couldn’t keep your lips off of him. He was so yummy when you get a good look at him. 

Cupping his face, your lips reach his, beginning to lightly stimulate the connection. You lean in further, applying yourself onto him, guiding open his mouth with yours as you lick his lips. This shit was getting you so excited, considering all that he’s done to you, having this moment, where you’re in control and he was at your mercy, and only you know this.

Continuing to make out with your kidnapper, you moved yourself to get on top of him. His lazy reaction of kissing back had you think he was a deep sleeper, god you really wished. 

You opened your eyes just to make sure he was still asleep, but his eyes were staring back at you, with the same look he always has. You didn’t have time to even make a sound before he had you under him. His hand grabbed your waist and turned kept you parallel to him as his leg pushed his body to get on top. 

You could feel his erection, he was basically stabbing your thighs with his head. His hands pushed your wrists into opposite sides of your head, and he has you immobilized as he sat on your legs. Most you could move was your toes and neck, but he had pressed his face up against yours. 

“I don’t even know where to start with you. If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already. Maybe I can believe you’re just some random, …but you wouldn’t have come to my room.” He lets a wrist go to reel back and strikes your face as a warning. Seriously, no sane person would just come straight back to him in your situation.

“The guard fell asleep?” Nothing gets by him. You can’t tell if he was just prepared for everything or if he planned this out. The excitement you were feeling before was being clashed with the sudden shock to your face. “Depending how the rest of the night will go will determine his punishment.” 

Keeping everything in place, he moves your chin up by his nose, giving him space to start attacking your neck. “We’ll just start with yours.” His grasp tightened around each wrist, so much so that he was pulling on the tendons in your forearms, making your fingers involuntary curl. 

Your luck may have run out, but you weren’t as scared. Trying to enjoy the moment as much as possible, knowing fully well that you’re about to be eaten alive, and god, youve been waiting. His teeth grazed your collar bone, making their way back up, making themselves a known threat to your neck. 

“Speak.” He orders. “Who sent you?” 

“You still think I’m a spy?” The spot where he hit you was pounding, but it didn’t hurt. Other parts of your body were just pulsating along with your heartbeat, you knew he was going to take that as a sign of fear. 

“Hurry up, we have a meeting tomorrow so I’m trying to be considerate for everyone else.” 

He’s still not listening. You weren’t either at this point, finding his roughing up sort of endearing. Maybe he didn’t want to get blood on his bed, or maybe he did care about that stupid meeting. All you could feel was vigorous pulsating from your wrists, your face, your heart, and more than anything else, your pussy. 

This was literally what you came here to do, this was why he even took you with him wasn’t it? Seriously whatever big shot he thinks he is… this shit wasn’t legal; You were serious on going out with a bang, raising your hips to create some friction on his hard on. 

Sukuna seemed to notice the look in your eyes and gave you another firm slap. “Focus, doll.” He adjusts his hips a few inches too far down your liking, his hands being the only thing touching you. 

“Put it back.” You got this far, now he wants to start questioning you immediately after waking up? He picked you up after meeting and ignored you for two weeks, you’re about to do what most others would. Especially if they’re in the same situation with the same circumstances.

“You’re not the one to be giving orders, much less to me.” 

You raise your hips back up to his head, having it dip into you, crossing your clit but unable to enter fully. His tip could find its way in no problem, it was just his call, and that almost drove him over the edge. You’ve stopped fighting back, for something like your freedom and what’s better for you. 

What you were after now was just one more orgasm brought by that monstrous mf. He doesn’t drop his guard, or change his face at all as he accepted “your bait/distraction”. In this position, you’re still straight legged, laying in his bed as he has you held down, arms pinned, palms up, and legs trapped as he sat on your thighs. 

He could easily kill you now, but it would honestly leave a bad taste as no one’s been killed in his room before, much less even entered without permission. You both didn’t know what to think really. 

To you he’s some strange and strong asshole who’s been unclear if you were his sex toy or if you were “invited” and he was just being a terrible host. Honestly, it felt worse to you to have everything you needed; Without your freedom, you were honestly thinking it’d be better to be dead. 

To him, you were dangerous. You got it all right. From the room, to the person to bump into, to the alley. You could have been a spy laying low, from whichever gang he thought you were from, he thought it would be good to hold you off to send a message to see who would come collect you first. They wouldn’t send someone if they didn’t have something to say. 

At first he did just want to keep you until one of them sent them back another message. It didn’t matter what happened to you, honestly he got bored. He’s a busy man, there was really nothing else to say. 

So imagine his surprise how you came crawling all over him tonight. He knew an assassin would’ve done it before he even knew the door opened, they were to make sure it was quick. The attack would have had to been fatal, whether they succeed in one shot or have them die as they’re leaving. And how quick they leave is how desperately they want to live. 

You, just came in to stare at him and decided you wanted something else. And it didn’t seem like revenge. That was a first, especially for him. Right now he was allowing it, letting you go. There was no way you could harm him, he concluded. 

Looking down at you squirm and pout, upset on how close you were to getting what you’ve been aching from and for. He won’t drop his guard, but he sure as hell was silver platter served. Really how badly did you want it?

He connects your wrists at the top of your head with one hand, the other has its index finger and thumb at the base, controlling himself with those two fingers. He raises his erection and knocked it against your clit, the strikes sent waves of pleasure from your core to the top of your head and palm of your feet, having you whimper out. 

Your aching hole needed him, it was taking him so long. Seriously you wish he’d kill you now because this so actually torture. The only thing you could do was start to cry, tears leaving their corners and running into your hair. You were more than frustrated. Angry, horny, needy, powerless, you wanted it so bad you were losing control, it didn’t matter, no one else could judge you, and who would be worse than Sukuna?

“You came in here, climb all over me, just to cry now? You’re so pathetic.” 

“Please,” You whine. “I want you to put it in.”

His face changed, from laughing at you beg, to sharpening his focus. Even after all this, getting caught, threatened, insulted, you’ve started to beg for it. He takes his legs up from pinning yours, putting them to your sides as he aligns himself to your front hole. “Say it again.”

“Please Sukuna, put it in-“ He lowers his hips and dives deep into you. He watches as your head writhes. Instantly youre spread apart, the sudden plunge casted a warm blush across your face and electricity towards the tips of your fingers. “Oooh,” 

“Fuuuuuck.” He finished for you. He continues to grind deeply into you, quickly using his now free hand to gag you from waking everyone up. Good thing too as you were messy, fucked silly couldn’t cover it. You gave up control a long time ago. He wouldn’t kill you, not right now anyway, you especially wouldn’t let him without trying to get one last nut. It was diabolical how down bad he had you. It was more of your unhealed trauma and he just happened to be the best person to help you out, willing or not.

——————————————————————————

You lay there as the base of your back ached. Every part of your body was bruised again, you could only imagine to move again as you tried catching your breath. You had lost count on just how many times he’s forced an orgasm out of you, mind numbingly rich euphoria every time. Nothing else mattered, you were more than thrilled the first 2 times but started to wonder if he ever got tired. 

It wasn’t until after your fifth orgasm that he managed to get his first one in. You were honestly almost regretting climbing into his room but his second had him pinning you on your back as he lay on your lower torso and legs. You couldn’t feel anything but your pulsating cervix, half feeling good from the pain and lingering pleasure, the other half making you know that this was a mistake and the nausea was on you. 

Raising your free arm, you weakly start to pat his head. It was over, you insatiable perverted needs were fulfilled, so what were you going to do now? It’s not like you’re in love with the guy, you don’t even know if you’ll get to wake up tomorrow with this stunt. “It was worth it.” You thought. Running your fingers thorough his hair, and tracing his back, you fall asleep holding him, accepting that this is it.