#we can file this under the 'we tried' movement

[inkdrinkerworld]

domestic hotch request for sitting in his lap bonus points if reader falls asleep !!

Sitting in Aaron's lap happens as much as you'd like it to, which is to say a lot. It's mostly because what you want you get, and Aaron loves to have you curled up in his lap.

You're in your pyjamas, a pretty silky nightdress, and Aaron in some plaid pants and a grey t-shirt. You're watching a sitcom on the tv while he finishes looking over a report from the last case.

Tiredly, you rub your eyes and make a big show of stretching and yawning. You know your husband sees you when his cheek jumps in effort to suppress his smile.

"Aaron," you're tired and achy and crawl over to him, your head in his lap like a kitten begging for attention.

"Yes, honey?" your heart picks up at how soft he sounds and the way one of his hands drop away from his file to hold the chub of your cheek. "Tired?" there's amusement in his tone and you scoot even further into his lap, knocking the file from his hand.

"Are you exceptionally busy?" he knows what you really mean to ask, 'Are you going to be busy for much longer or can we go to bed now?' He wishes he could say he's almost finished but he has three more reports to review and then he's all caught up.

"Come here honey," his hands reach for your hips, pulling you into his lap with a sigh and pressing his nose into your hairline. Aaron strokes your back as you tuck your head under his chin, closing your eyes as you listen to his heartbeat. "You can sleep if you want, I'll only be another hour."

You whine your distaste with that, but remain in his lap. Your fingers trace patterns on his forearms, eyes closed as you feel him pick up the file again.

It's not long before your hand's movement slows, your breath evening out and hitting Aaron's collarbones making goosebumps spread there.

You're both in silence, your deep breathing helping Aaron focus as he finishes the file. He tries, tries very had to make it all the way to the last section on the last file, but you shift in his lap and mumble his name in your sleep and his heart clenches.

Aaron loves that moment when you're fully asleep but you can't help but need him. It's a bit of an addiction he has, always wanting to be awake to hear you call for him.

You can't hear him, but he murmurs all the same. "We're going to bed, baby." he kisses at your hairline, slipping one hand under your knees and one behind your back as he carries you both to the bedroom, a plan to sleep in a little on his mind.

[emilys-bangs]

this is me trying | e.p

Tags: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, mom!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames

Summary: Emily misses one of Eloise's milestones and tries to deal with it. Requested here.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: my longest fic is officially a momily fic oops...(gimme more momily thoughts please) also I did the convo with Hotch instead of JJ because he's surprisingly easier to write than her :p

Emily was having an okay day. It was her second night away on a case and it was unraveling quickly, quick enough that she thought she’d be home for dinner.

She wasn’t.

Instead, she gets a call from you around Eloise’s bedtime. With the ring comes a twist of guilt in her stomach; she’d promised herself she’d call this time instead of you, but her reminder to set an alarm slipped from her mind, and soon she got swept up in an endless whirlpool of case files and paper trails. Silencing her phone, she pushes her chair back and stands up, her eyes flitting over Reid and JJ’s forms bent over the conference room table. They can handle a few minutes on their own.

Emily slips into an empty office, shuttering the blinds as she accepts the video call before it rings out. Crackly noise comes through and she smiles at the sight of you and Eloise on the plush carpet of her nursery, the little girl already in her pajamas and sitting in the cradle of your crossed legs. Some of the tightness in her chest loosens.

“Hi there,” Emily smiles softly as you hold the camera away from Eloise’s grabby hands, her eyes tracing your faces through the screen, “how are my favorite people in the world doing?” She asks, perching on the edge of the table.

“Good,” you say, smoothing a hand over Eloise’s damp hair. “Sleepy, but someone won’t—”

“Bye-bye!” Eloise interrupts cheerfully—her favorite word as of late.

Emily chuckles, her shoulders slumping at the bell-like tinkle of her daughter’s voice. “But I just saw you, sweet girl. I don’t wanna say bye so soon, do you?”

“Bye,” she repeats.

“Think I should go,” Emily wrinkles her nose at you, the playful gesture pulling a laugh from your toddler.

“Maybe she’s finally starting to learn it’s bedtime,” you say, kissing the top of her head. “We’re starting to feel sleepy, aren’t we, Eloise?” Your voice softens as you trace your finger down the soft bridge of her nose, a trick you and Emily use to soothe her to sleep.

But Eloise stubbornly shakes her head. “Nnn.” She turns her face away, placing two hands on your knee.

Emily smiles at the domestic image, her heart tugging with a need to be home. To join your daughter in the circle of your legs, feel your arms around her waist as you both worked to lull her to sleep. 

She breathes through the ache, forcing herself to smile. “Well, we both know where that came—”

Her playful jab falls away when she sees Eloise stand, her hands still on your knee to hold herself up. Emily holds her breath, waiting for her to topple, but her daughter steps over your leg and walks to the drawers behind you. Her movements are wobbly but she doesn’t fall, babbling bye, bye, bye under her breath as she fiddles with the handle of the drawer at her level.

You don’t give a reaction apart from a guilty twist of your lips. Still, Emily waits for something; surprise, shock, excited laughter. The only thing that happens is an apologetic shrug of your shoulders, resigned and defeated.

Her heart sinks.

“She—” Emily sucks in a breath, her throat dry. “She started walking? When?” She hates how her voice is croaky, how it breaks as her heart picks up its pace.

You guiltily chew on your lip. “Yesterday morning.”

Yesterday morning. She was on the jet by then. Something bitter coats her tongue, digging into her molars; the inside of her cheeks pucker.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

But it’s obvious why you didn’t.

“Emily…”

“Mmamamama,” Eloise comes over again, her small, onesie-covered feet showing up on the screen. She grabs the phone from your limp fingers, her sweet, clueless face reaching the edges of Emily’s phone. “Ma,” she babbles, and Emily forces a smile.

“Mommy’s here, sweetheart.” She says hoarsely. 

Her voice cracks around the blatant lie.

___

They’re on the jet home less than twenty four hours later. It was as happy an outcome as they can possibly hope for; unsub in cuffs, airtight evidence, families reunited with their loved ones.

And yet everyone notices Emily’s mood. 

They notice it but say nothing about it, letting her churn in silence as she bypasses all the seats in the jet to sit in the back. Her go bag is thrown under her chair, her arms tightly crossed over her chest as she looks out the window and toys with her ring.

Takeoff is a blur. The lights dim and she chances a glance at her watch, hopelessly willing the time to go by faster. As she’s turning her head, she spots movement from the corner of her eye.

Hotch sits down across from her. He’s quiet as he places a mug of tea next to her phone, but when he leans back into his seat, she sees the concern—and the question—in his eyes.

“You’re upset.” He says.

If Emily wasn’t feeling so miserable, she might have scoffed. Maybe she could have deflected, or lashed out and told him to leave her alone and wallow in her self loathing. 

But she’s too tired for that. And Hotch has kind eyes; he understands, what she’s feeling, more than anyone.

So Emily finds herself cracking. 

“Eloise. She, uh…she took her first steps two days ago.” Emily says quietly, staring intensely at the mug he’s placed in front of her. The lump forms yet again, the threatening press of tears just behind her eyes. Her own words only make her gut churn. “...And I wasn’t there.” She adds unnecessarily, her voice lowered to a whisper because any louder and she’s sure it’ll break.

Her daughter crossed off a huge milestone. And instead of cheering her on, taking her into her arms and kissing her little cheeks, Emily was off hundreds of miles away, hunting down a pathetic, homicidal man rather than being there for her own child. Emily had promised herself that she’d always be there—for every dance recital, every parent teacher meeting. But she couldn’t even be there for Eloise’s first steps.

She’s just as bad as her mother, prioritizing a job over her own daughter. The thought makes her bite down on her lip, hard. The metallic taste of blood floods her tongue.

“How do you deal with it?” She asks thickly. Emily doesn’t look up at him as she twists her fingers into her necklace, smoothing her thumb over the engraved E and staring intently at the mug he’s placed on top of a coaster—because of course Hotch got a coaster.

The answer she gets is a low, heavy exhale that she feels in her bones. Emily looks up, chancing a glance at him even though she knows her eyes are probably shining under the low lights of the jet.

Hotch swallows, carefully measuring his words before he speaks. “I try to remind myself that I’m making the world a better place for him. Though most of the time it’s a lousy excuse.” His lips press together in a small, bitter, smile. A hand goes through his hair and a few strands flop back into his face; for the first time, Emily sees a rumpled, exhausted single dad rather than her put together Unit Chief. “I guess I try to deal with it by giving Jack 100% of my attention when I’m home. I shut everything out and focus on him, for however many hours I can get. I’d like to think I’m making a difference, but…” He trails off, shrugs. 

Emily’s stomach sinks then. She presses her lips together, fighting against the shine in her eyes that now reflects in Hotch’s. 

There’s no good answer. No way to make herself feel better about it. She knew that, and yet hearing it from him somehow makes it worse. The chain of her necklace tugs sharply against her throat.

“It helps,” he speaks up again, a tinge of sadness to his voice, “knowing that she’s not alone. She’ll always have someone. And no matter what, she’ll always know you love her.” He says gently. Somewhere in the shadowy corners of her mind, she realizes she’s never heard him talk this softly before, at least not to her.

Emily swallows hard. “What if—” Her voice shakes. She snaps her mouth shut, grabs the mug and takes a scorching sip. The chamomile doesn’t register on her taste buds, neither does the sweetness of two Splenda’s. Emily wraps her cold, trembling hands around the mug, looking into it as she forces herself to say the words. “What if she wants me? And if I’m not there…” Her voice grows hoarse again.

She swallows again. Drinks her tea, again. Closes her eyes against the tears, digs a thumb into her wedding ring. “What does that tell your child about you, Hotch? When you’re not there and they need you to be?”

Emily pretends not to hear the crack in her own voice. Hotch pretends, too, as he leans forward on the table. “You’re not a bad mom,” he says quietly. His tone is firm, unwavering. “You care and you’re trying and they’ll know that.”

They. Their combined children, victims of their job. He says it like he’s begging for it to be enough. For his sake and for hers.

Emily tries to believe it. She really, truly does, but she can’t stop the whispers that say it’s not enough.

___

When she walks into your home, the living room is empty.

Emily follows the sound of your voice and Eloise’s, her breaths coming easier as her feet lead her to the nursery. She inhales the scent of home; baby powder and your perfume and the detergent all of your clothes are washed with.

Finally, she stops at Eloise’s nursery. You’re sitting on the floor just like you were yesterday, Eloise again sitting between your crossed legs. There’s a book in her hands that she furrows her brows at, intently studying the colored pages as if she’ll be quizzed on them. 

The sight makes Emily smile.

“Knock knock,” she says softly, briefly scaring you. The tension in your shoulders melts when you see it’s her, a small smile curling your lips as she toes off her boots and walks into the nursery.

“Hi,” you whisper. Eloise finally looks up from her book just as Emily settles next to you on the floor, where she wished she would be just last night.

“Mama!” Her baby squeals, and Emily’s heart constricts, and her vision blurs as she reaches her hands out to carry her into her arms.

“Hi, Eloise,” she whispers. She feels the scrape of tears in the back of her throat and swallows, pressing her lips to her daughter’s soft cheek to stifle them. “I missed you.” Another kiss goes to her other cheek, then one to her forehead. 

Your hand falls to her knee and squeezes; Emily takes a hand off of Eloise’s back, places it over your knuckles. She skates her thumb over your skin, squeezes her daughter with her other hand. 

“I heard my sweet girl started walking.” Emily murmurs, letting go of your hand to smooth Eloise’s hair behind her ears. It’s an adorable mess, the way it springs right back in her face bringing a smile to Emily’s lips. “Can you show Mommy, honey?”

Her dark eyes stare into Emily’s; twin pairs. “Hi,” Eloise mumbles.

“Hi, my love. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word. Her daughter doesn’t notice, too busy with reaching out to fiddle with her necklace. Emily runs her palms over the soft cotton of her onesie, hugging her close and trying to remind herself that she’s here now. “I’m so proud of you, Eloise. Mommy’s always proud of you, you know?” Tears balance on her lashes as she turns her head again to kiss a soft cheek. “You’re my girl.”

Emily didn’t used to be an easy crier. 

Having a child changed that; she cried at Eloise’s ultrasound, cried at her birth. She cried when her daughter said Mama and when she was running a mild fever of 99.5. Tears were easy to come, at bumps and bruises, at small snippets of her personality that start to form with time, at a singular candle blown on her birthday. Undeniably, her daughter is her Achilles heel. Emily is still trying to deal with that, trying to adjust to having her heart walk around unprotected on tiny, wobbly legs that still don’t know where to go.

Emily doesn’t realize she’s been rocking her daughter back and forth until your arm wraps around her shoulders. The weight of it forces her to go still; when she leans back, she leans back into you.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. Eloise wriggles in her arms and she lets her go, only for the little girl to plop between both of you. Her small hands fiddle with the badge on her hip; Emily’s eyes dart down to her, a wobbly smile pulling on her lips.

“Em,” you whisper, cupping her chin in your hand. Her gaze meets yours again. “You have nothing to apologize for.” You say quietly. With more tenderness than she deserves, you wipe the wetness under her eye.

Emily shakes her head. “I wasn’t there.” She says, her lip trembling as more of her tears drip onto your palm.

An adamant frown pulls your brows together. “Look at her.” You murmur, both firm and soft as you catch a tear before it falls onto Eloise’s head. Emily does, her heart clenching when she finds Eloise’s chin already tipped up, their eyes clashing in identical shades of brown. “She’s just happy you’re home, baby. We both are.”

“But—”

“Mama cry?” Eloise’s sweet voice pipes up.

The palpable sadness in it breaks Emily’s heart. Eloise frowns fiercely as she shoves her small palms into Emily’s knee, steadying herself before standing on her own and taking two steps to reach her mother. 

Pride flares in her chest. Eloise stands on her tiptoes, her small hands falling on her mother’s face; Emily’s hands go to her waist, steadying her. “Mama cry?” Her baby asks again, her eyes far too serious for a just turned one-year-old.

Emily smiles and this time it’s more genuine. “I’m okay, sweet girl.” She lifts a small fist off her cheek and brings it to her lips. “I love you.”

“Wuv.”

“You tell her, Ellie.” You lean against Emily’s side, your hand going to her cheek to wipe the remaining tears. Eloise’s hand joins yours and Emily laughs, shaky and wet even though your daughter is being none too careful. “That’s what we like to hear,” you murmur, tucking Emily’s hair behind her ear. Eloise falls into her lap and she instinctively holds her, her hands secure around her body even though she doesn’t break eye contact with you.

“Listen to me. You’re here now. That’s what matters, okay? It could’ve happened at any time—hell, I could’ve been at work when it happened. This is not on you.” You say firmly, your voice almost scolding. But your hands on her face are soft, cradling her cheeks with gentle care; the pad of your thumb skims absently over her jaw.

Emily’s lips twitch. Your words go through one ear and out the other; nothing against you, but she’s never relied on them for comfort. Instead she leans forward and presses her forehead to yours, closing her eyes as your noses bump together. Her shoulders slump, her body relaxing when Eloise presses her cheek to her chest.

“I love you.” She says, soft, pressing the statement into your lips.

“I love you too.”

“Wuv.” Eloise joins in.

You and Emily both laugh as you look down at her, a familiar warmth returning to Emily’s chest at being home, with her family. She lifts her daughter back into her arms and kisses her until she giggles, until the sound of her laughter drowns out Emily’s thoughts. She’s not sure if she trusts your words, trusts that your love and Eloise’s won’t simmer to resentment when this situation is inevitably repeated in an endless cycle.

But for now, she’ll believe them. Believe you.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Supernatural Slasher ////

Thinking about the small-town serial killer rumored to be killing anyone apart of the underground ring the town had recently blown–up for. With so many hungry journalists and news reporters flocking to a usually quiet peaceful place the deaths skyrocket and the coverage is immense. No one has privacy and in the frantic search for this killer, no one is safe, which makes the police force that much more desperate to put an end to this killing. 

“You need to come with us.”

“As the last person to see Allen Faulkner alive, we believe you can help us find the Justice Killer. So if you please come with us…and do it quietly.”

“If you’re going to pay for my rent than sure.”

A detective, a sergeant, a nosy journalist who blackmailed the police force to be there, and the mayor’s son who's concern they're poor parent might be next. Strange group. You’ll comment on it and they’ll ignore you. But unraveling the case file by file ensues a time-sensitive chase that somehow links you to all the murders.

“What an odd pattern, care to confess Justice Killer~” Says the ‘journalist’.

“But I was working all those days, it can’t be me!” 

“So? Some of the killings were set up on a timer! It very well could be you!” Says the Sergeant.

“Or it’s someone very interested in who comes across you.” Says the Detective.

“Like a stalker?”

“Just like a stalker.”

As the detective closes in on the truth, the Supernatural Slasher seems to get…agitated. The killings are getting wilder and more frantic. Almost as if they were incredibly angry about something. The detective suspects that your stalker is the Supernatural Slasher and the more time they spend pulling you from your usual routine results in someone getting the blade. Even the M.O begins to weaken as the detective tries to egg on the Slasher by having you get closer with the journalist and the mayor’s son in public.

��I don’t know why I agreed to this!” Says the Mayor’s son.

“You weren’t helping otherwise.”

“While we’re here care to tell us why you are so worried about the slasher’s motives when it comes to injustices in the world? Surely you should be exempt as the mayor was all about having a clean record during his campaign?”

“No comment.”

“Don’t clam up, come on! (Y/n) why don’t you tell your date to spill the beans?”

“Seriously stop it. I just want to enjoy my free meal.”

“Why not lean into it a little (Y/n)? After all, if his slate’s anything like his father’s he might not be around much longer.”

Turns out that was true…not only for the mayor’s secret playboy son but majority of your entire group. The journalist had exploited a wrongly accused family until they fell into ruin. The sergeant had harassed hundreds with their power, eliminating everyone who tried to speak out. The only ones exempt from the Supernatural Slasher’s judgment are you and the detective, both of you cornering the Justice Killer.

“Give it up, you're under arrest! While you insist that you maul for justice, your judgment is skewed.”

“Uh yeah, if you try escaping I do have a gun and I will shoot it.”

“Oh (Y/n), detective, that’s not really a concern for me.”

In a shadowy wisp of movement, the bullets that are shot are stopped mid-air, falling to the ground as metal stumps. The detective is unphased as he launches himself in the direction of the slasher where he falls right through. You try to run but the door you enter is closed by that same shadow-wisp. 

“W-what are you?”

“I am…utterly in love with you!”

Turns out your devoted stalker was an unknown entity. Spoken partially in many ancient texts and cultures—The Supernatural Slasher is on a mission to cull a magnitude of people at a given time. All check off boxes that only the Supernatural Slasher knows but a new box has been added and it has to do with you. 

“I fell for you the day you inconvenienced the scum I was meant to extinguish! You were so brave!”

“You mean the guy I ran into? That was an accident.”

“An accident that placed you perfectly into my non-existent heart!<3”

Unfortunately unlike Supernatural Slashers with a vengeance with a mission or explicit weakness, they do not. They just exist. The detective is at a loss and the Supernatural Slasher is no longer keen on keeping their distance from you. Clinging their tangible–not tangible body onto yours as they hum something completely inhuman.

“Uhm by any chance would you let me arrest you?”

“Not unless my nexus goes!”

“(Y/n) will you–”

“Forget it!”

“Fine then I’m settling for some witness protection and maybe a home arrest—”

“WHAT?! That’s not fair!”

“Fully funded by the town.”

“Oh…okay!”

“As long as uh you decide not to constantly kill anyone with any mistakes who comes near (Y/n).”

“Hmm I’ll tone it down and expand my reach.”

“Uh…thanks?”

Your Supernatural Slasher is an unrelenting force that you find new things about all the time and as far as they’re concerned you’ll be doing that for all eternity. Just don’t go outside or run into anyone who’s committed any atrocity, which is going to be hard. Because all humans are prone to error whether that’s now or in the future.

[darkmatilda]

ׂ╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 1: first day of investigation

part 2 here!

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mental illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 4k

“And how's school?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“It could be worse,” said Jeremy after a moment, in an indifferent tone. You sighed, wondering if, as a teenager, you also answered everything, even more serious, open questions with vague remarks, driving the person asking how you were doing to frustration.

Answering that question, no, you didn’t do that. When you were a teenager, you didn’t have anyone who cared about you. Precisely for this reason that you practically tormented your brother with phone conversations, feeling immense guilt for leaving him with your parents. The same parents with whom you ultimately decided to cut off contact. You had never faced a more difficult decision — cutting them off or continuing a relationship that tragically affected your mental health? After each interaction with them, you felt weak, defenseless, insignificant, and above all, exhausted. It wasn’t even about your mother’s illness. They were just terrible people.

Your sixteen-year-old brother didn’t have that option. He had to deal with them until he turned eighteen and moved out. You regularly made sure he was okay. However, lately, you had the impression that his voice was becoming more and more devoid of emotion. Depressed. And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Prentiss appeared right in front of you. She noticed you were on the phone, so to avoid interrupting you, she tried to convey something silently. With her thumb, she pointed toward the main deck of the jet. From the movements of her lips, you were able to read, “Hotch is calling everyone.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let this topic go,” you said again to your brother. You could imagine him rolling his green eyes. “I have to get back to work; I’ll call as soon as I have time. Don’t get into trouble and take care. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and noticed a smile on the brunette’s face. Together, you joined the rest of the team.

“I heard part of your conversation,” she confessed. “Don’t tell me you have a kid that you’re hiding from us?”

“Who’s hiding what from whom?” Morgan chimed in as he walked in, holding two huge cups of coffee. He handed one of them to Reid.

Prentiss nodded in your direction.

“Did you know that y/n has a kid?”

You nudged her.

“I don’t have any kids. I was just talking to my brother,” you explained briefly. You didn’t like discussing your family, even with friends. In fact, you were often accused of being too secretive.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” Reid added, frowning. 

He, along with the rest of them, looked at you with mild surprise. You muttered something under your breath, shrugging. You felt a bit embarrassed that your family was the center of the discussion. You were saved from the awkwardness by your own boss.

“Can we start?”

JJ handed out the case files. As soon as you opened yours, you were met with an exceptionally graphic scene.

“ The bodies were discovered by someone from the forestry service, but according to the local police, anyone could have found them. It wasn’t hidden very carefully, as if someone didn’t care about it being discovered. A man and a woman, both decapitated. Before you ask, the heads were found in the same place as the rest of the bodies. Except for that, no serious injuries, just a few minor bruises and scratches. As if they were trying to defend themselves while they still could. “

No one spoke; the only sound was the turning of pages as the whole team focused intently on analyzing the photos. Your brows lowered in concentration, your entire face tense. Maybe you looked at things like this every day, but that didn’t mean it had become pleasant or that it didn’t disgust you. Sitting across from you, Reid was the first to speak.

“What do we know about the victims?”

At that same moment, as JJ spoke up again, you flipped the page and were met with two photos that looked like they’d been pulled from a social media account. Both people were alive, happy. The man was crouching next to a young boy who seemed to be pulling away, unwilling to be in the picture with his father. In the background, there was a garden, a tall white fence typical of American suburbs, and a slide. You barely stopped yourself from glancing at Hotch — he had a son around the same age, and this case might hit him particularly hard. The woman in the photo wore square glasses, with a cheerful, friendly gaze peeking out from beneath them. Round cheeks, a wide smile.

"Andrew Ward, 37 years old. He was one of the city councilors. He had a wife and one son, and he’d lived in this town his entire life. Then there's Jessica Larsen, the deputy mayor—she and her husband were both heavily involved in public life."

“A city councilor and the deputy mayor?” Prentiss repeated, thoughtfully resting her elbow on the arm of her seat. “Does anyone else feel like this could be some kind of score-settling? Revenge? Maybe from someone who was wronged by the city council over… I don’t know…”

"Higher bills," you said absentmindedly, blurting out the first thought that came to mind, immediately wincing at your own foolishness. You were still distracted by the conversation with Jeremy. You pinched your arm, trying to force yourself to focus on the case.

"Raising bills doesn’t typically drive people to murder," Reid corrected, pausing to glance at the files again. You never felt embarrassed when he pointed out your mistakes—he had a way of doing it so skillfully and politely. "Prentiss is on the right track; it could be revenge. Our UNSUB might hate authority due to some personal experience, maybe sees themselves as an anarchist, though it's hard to lean in that direction with so little information. Garcia, have you checked if the victims were connected in any way?"

The blonde woman on the laptop screen nodded.

"I’ve checked everything I could find about them, but unfortunately, I couldn’t uncover a single connection that might move the case forward."

Hotch raised a hand, stopping you from further speculation.

"That’s not all," he began, looking at each of you in turn. "Right after those two bodies were found, three more were discovered."

Morgan raised his eyebrows high.

"Five bodies? No wonder they called us in."

"And here’s where our biggest problem arises," your boss continued “Look at the photos. These three bodies were also decapitated but except for that, treated in a completely different way”

You turned the page again, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Other victims were killed with much more brutality, all covers in cuts and bruises. It was even hard to define their gender, but when you looked at the description you knew that this time, they were all women."Were two different people responsible for this?" Prentiss asked.

“Two murders cutting their victims' heads in such a small city?” spoke up Rossi, skeptically. 

"I don’t think it’s two different killers," you said hesitated, unable to look away from the photos. As you studied them, you absorbed every detail, trying to imagine the murderer inflicting these injuries. If anyone could have peered into your mind at that moment, they might have gotten serious PTSD. “Just…take a look at the wounds. There’s much more on these women and are visibly more brutal. But they look like they were inflicted by the same hand, the same person. The placement is often consistent," you noted. "How much time passed between the murders?"

“We haven’t gotten this information yet" said Hotch. "But based on my experience, I can say we’re looking at a matter of weeks."

You noticed that Reid was watching you closely. It seemed he was doing it unconsciously. When you sent him a questioning glance, he slightly blushed and immediately cleared his throat.

“I’m curious about what y/n said,” he admitted. It was clear to see the many calculations and analyses happening in his mind. This was evident in the increasing pace of his speech. “It really does look like the same person, but in different circumstances, perhaps influenced by different emotions. Maybe even with different motives. I realize the possibility of that is close to zero, but what if we’re dealing with a murderer with multiple personality disorder?”

A silence fell as everyone contemplated Reid's words. You made eye contact with him again — your tracks of thought began to overlap, your conclusions intertwining. Looking at his face, you felt, in a way, smarter and understood; it became easier to connect the fragments of ideas that had surfaced in your mind.

You shook your head.

 "No... I'm not sure. I understand what you're saying, but it seems to me that this isn't entirely true in our case. Your theory would suggest that two different personalities of our UNSUB committed these crimes, but in such cases, the crimes usually contrast more with each other. It's much harder to connect them, and here... I immediately noticed that this was the work of the same person."

Reid leaned in with interest over the table. Everyone seemed to look at you encouragingly, waiting for you to continue your theory. Yet you only took on a resigned, apologetic posture — nothing else came to mind. Any potential ideas felt too chaotic; some instincts accompanied you, but it was nothing you wanted to share out loud. You felt that they wouldn't help at all.

"We'll definitely know more after seeing the crime scene," Hotch stated, closing his files. With that, he ended the official discussion, giving you time to review the photos alone and think everything over one more time.

That’s exactly what you focused on for the rest of the meeting. You sat with one leg crossed over the other, a closed folder resting on your lap. You didn’t need to look at the photos anymore; you just needed to close your eyes and listen to your intuition. It definitely had something to say about this case. You just weren’t sure what…

Just before arriving at the scene, Hotch asked to speak with you privately. You couldn't hide it; you felt a bit anxious.

Maybe it was about your recent distraction. Of course, it was about your worry for your brother, but that shouldn’t have been an excuse; nothing should be distracting you. Or maybe he wanted to discuss something completely different, and you had just imagined this whole scenario in your mind. Knowing you and your tendency to overthink, both options seemed equally likely.

 "As I mentioned, y/n, I need to talk to you about something. It’s regarding your accommodation."

First, you breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more serious. Then, your eyebrows raised in surprise. Accommodation?

"There have been some issues with the hotel we’re planning to stay at," Hotch continued. "We couldn’t secure separate rooms for each of you. You’ve been assigned to share a room with Reid. If that’s a problem for you, we can always look for another place, but that would mean you'd be away from the rest of the team..."

“No, it’s not a problem,” you assured him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. You were relieved that the conversation didn’t involve any serious issues, just a trivial problem with the room. Besides, why would it bother you to share a room with Spencer? It was only for a few nights. "I was afraid you wanted to talk to me about something else," you blurted out.

“About what?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, nothing,” you replied quickly and somewhat squeakily.

Hotch smiled slightly at your reaction, but his gaze seemed to analyze you closely.

 Oh you idiot, why couldn’t you just shut up? you thought to yourself as you walked away.

*

The weather decided to play a trick on you.

 As you were driving to the crime scene, the waterfall was sliding down the windshield, almost making it impossible to see anything. In any case, there wasn't much to look at. After passing the main part of the town, you were surrounded only by forest — trees shimmering in shades of orange.

The view didn’t impress you much. You definitely preferred warm, sunny weather and lounging in the sun, rather than freezing every day after stepping outside and dealing with frizzy hair from the humidity. You liked the town better. It felt small and cozy, as if it were taken straight out of Gilmore Girls.

Prentiss was behind the wheel, and you were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, while JJ was your navigator. The boys took a different car.

“So,” Emily began, turning left at the intersection with her eyes fixed on the road. “You care a lot about your brother, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, sinking deeper into your seat. Why did she have to bring this up again? It wasn't that you didn't trust them; you just didn’t like talking about your family. It wasn't even about being ashamed — why dwell on unpleasant topics? Besides, as was well known, you were private. You had to be incredibly close to someone to open up, and even then, you didn’t lay all your cards on the table.

Together with JJ, they looked at you kindly and encouragingly. You acted like you were fascinated by what was behind the glass. Soon, you arrived at the crime scene. 

That means, before you reached your destination, you had to walk quite a distance into the forest. Since it was late October, the days had grown particularly short, and you could already see the first streaks of darkness between the enormous trees that seemed to watch you with their ancient gaze.

If you hadn't had the girls with you, you would have felt a thrill on your spine. 

The location where the bodies were found had been secured very thoroughly. Local police cars gathered there, and soon the rest of your team arrived. You glanced at your muddy shoes and made a mental note to start dressing more appropriately for the weather from tomorrow on.

The rain intensified. Emily pulled her hood tighter around her head. 

“Working in these conditions...'"

Her sentence was interrupted by the appearance of an incredibly tall man, somewhat resembling a bear. Long hair protruded from under his sheriff's hat, and he seemed to be about the same age as Hotch, with whom he immediately shook hands. 

“Agent Hotchner, we're from the FBI.'"

"Sheriff Russell” he introduced himself, pressing his hand to his forehead with concern. 'I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen a lot. I can't believe anyone from this town could do something like this; I know these people and...'"

“Can we see the bodies?" you asked. It was getting dark, and you wanted to get as good a look as possible. There was something intriguing about this case that had unsettled you since the moment you first opened the file.

Without waiting for an answer, you and Emily moved toward the secured area. Despite the circumstances, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"God, I hate this chatter," she sighed in annoyance. "I know these people; they’d never do something like this," she mimicked the sheriff’s deep voice. "Neighbors of serial killers always say that. Someone can be polite in conversation and keep five bodies in their basement — it’s not mutually exclusive."

You stifled a laugh. 

"Don’t forget the how could he have done it? He always said good morning in the hallway!"

“Or about kids. Sure, he was killing small animals since he was four and had a knife collection, but deep down, he was polite! I can't believe he shot up half the school…”

Hotch appeared right next to you, so you cut her off with a firm elbow jab. You accidentally hit her in the ribs, causing her to let out a groan. This only intensified your incredibly inappropriate amusement. Your boss was standing so close, so you covered your mouth under the guise of a cough. 

In the next thirty minutes, the laughter faded away.

You began by examining the bodies of the first victims, in chronological order. These were the three brutally murdered women. The whole scene seemed to be waiting for your arrival. Not a single detail had been altered, making it easier for you to connect emotionally with the situation. Most of the profilers you knew were meticulous about keeping their feelings detached from their work. It was the only way to endure this job for more than a year without committing suicide. You applied that strategy yourself, but not entirely.

When investigating a case, you tried to imagine yourself in both the shoes of the perpetrator and the victims. Often, you would close your eyes, attempting to visualize and feel it all in vivid detail. To step away from pure theory and let intuition take over.

It was likely the reason that, for the past year since you started this work, you hadn’t imagined a day without at least one tranquilizer and a sleeping pill.

After thoroughly examining the first crime scene, you drove to inspect the next one. This time, the victims were two people connected to the city council. The previous victims had been a teacher, a former resident of the orphanage, and a social worker. When you learned this, a heavy feeling settled at the back of your mind. You were certain there was a connection between these victims.

"Let’s consider what drives the unsub to remove the victim’s head" Rossi suggested.

Before you could even define the meaning of the question, Reid rushed to answer.

"Decapitation is one of the most symbolic acts of violence. The head represents thought, intellect, and control. By removing it, the killer may be expressing a need to destroy those aspects. It could also be a form of humiliation, a metaphorical stripping of their power and authority," he explained in a slightly robotic tone, as if reciting from a Wikipedia entry.

You smiled subtly at the thought. He noticed and gave you a questioning look, which you chose to ignore.

“That would fit for the two later victims," Morgan said, resting his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "They were on the city council — the unsub might have felt he was stripping them of authority and power. But how does that apply to the others? A social worker, a teacher, and an orphanage employee?"

You fixed your gaze on your dirty shoes, Derek’s question echoing in your mind.

 What was it all about?

*

You’d forgotten your sleeping pills.

Once more, you searched your toiletries bag, where you usually kept them. Not a trace.

You pressed your lips tightly together, angry with yourself. Your sleep problems weren’t that serious — were caused mainly by overthinking and constant worry. You didn’t have the motivation to take care of yourself in that regard. It was much easier to rely on the medication, and as long as it worked. Sometimes you forgot that you were even struggling with it at all.

“Is something wrong?” Reid asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Following Hotch’s words, you were sharing a room with him. “You seem upset.”

You shook your head dismissively.

“I just forgot something.”

Only then did you look at him. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. You realized it was the first time you’d seen him in such casual, everyday clothing. He usually wore shirts, blazers, and vests — somewhat grandpa-like, but you thought it suited him well.

You realized you had been staring at each other in silence for quite some time. To break the awkwardness, you cleared your throat and decided to return to one of the exhausting topics.

“There’s something strange about this case. You know, I’ve thought a lot about your theory regarding personality disorder, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Aside from the fact that it’s very, very rare, it’s just… my intuition doesn’t agree with it. I hope I don’t sound like a shaman. 

Spencer bursted out and sat on the edge of his bed. In your room, only the standing lamp illuminated the space, casting a dim orange light around. Despite that, you could see the thoughtful expression on his face.

“We once dealt with a case where the unsub was struggling with that very disorder. He was abused as a child and developed a separate personality, Amanda, who harmed men similar to his abuser,” he shared in a quiet, less confident tone than the one he used on the jet. He must have been tired after a long day at work, and like you, frustrated that you hadn’t found anything.

Above all, the circumstances were different. Your conversation had shifted to a more personal level, concerning two friends rather than coworkers. 

“Do you see any similarities between these two cases?” you asked, intrigued since you had never dealt with a similar case yourself.

“Not exactly,” he shook his head. “At one time, I read a lot about that disorder. There was another instance where we had an unsub who…” he trailed off, a visibly tense expression crossing his face.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassured him. You didn’t know what was bothering him, but it was clear he regretted bringing it up at all. You had never been one to push for more; you often felt uncomfortable with certain topics, and you were incredibly grateful when someone recognized your withdrawal and changed the subject. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks” he whispered. But I think there’s something to your intuition. This whole case is exceptionally peculiar.”

““Well, you can call me a shaman now. By the way, are you planning to go to bed already?”

“And you?” he replied with a question of his own. “Actually, I’d prefer to read for a while, but I don’t want to disturb your sleep…”

Your broad smile clearly surprised him.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to spend some time with a book too”

In fact, it didn’t stem from your desires at all. You loved reading, but your brain was usually too tired for it in the evenings. However, you were aware that falling asleep would take you an unusually long time, and you preferred to make use of that time rather than stare at the ceiling.

You pulled out the only novel you had brought, Kafka on the Shore. You were about halfway through. Then you remembered you had meant to call your brother, but when you glanced at the clock, you realized that due to the time zone difference, it was already late at night for him. You sighed with a pang of guilt. You promised yourself you would do it tomorrow.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said when you both agreed it was finally time to go to sleep.

“Goodnight, shaman” he responded. 

You smiled in your pillow. 

part 2?

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆WISH GRANTED CH: 1

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS In which Eyeless Jack developed an infatuation for a grade A detective and ends up granting her wishes in a twisted way.

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS Infidelity, Death, Yandere Behaviors (duh) Other triggering stuff.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS Yandere! Eyeless Jack x Fem! Detective! Reader

⋆♱⋆NOTE Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

TAKING OUT A PICTURE of someone who was reported missing from your briefcase, you smoothly placed it on the table. With a quick movement, you grabbed a red marker from your briefcase and decisively drew a bold ‘x’ across the person’s face.

“Another missing person that got killed,” 

 You let out a weary sigh as your eyes remained focused on Jhenicca, your closest confidant and fellow detective.   Both of you were dedicated to solving crimes together, forming an inseparable partnership in the field.   However, it was important to note that you held a higher rank and possessed more experience in comparison to your junior colleague, Jhenicca.

Jhenicca’s brows creased as her emerald green eyes bore into your [E/c] ones.

 “Seriously? Another one?”

Jhenicca let out a deep, anguished groan expressing her displeasure at the fact that an increasing number of individuals were disappearing, only to be discovered lifeless later on.

“Yeah, seriously.” You uttered those words, your face devoid of any emotion.

“Ah, well, it doesn't really matter anyway.”  Jhenicca uttered in a low voice, her eyes wandering aimlessly, diverting her attention from yours.

“Just give the damn information, [N/n]” Jhenicca asked for the necessary information and specifics during your conversation. You set the red marker down, signaling the start of a conversation that was about to take a somber turn.  

“The victim was named Katarina Smith. She vanished four days ago after entering a forrest. Her lifeless body was discovered in an abandoned building inside the forrest,"

You revealed the information.   As an exceptional and highly skilled investigator, you were entrusted with leading the inquiry into the mysterious disappearances, wherein the victims were consistently discovered with horrifying injuries or their vital organs, such as the kidneys, inexplicably gone.  This disturbing pattern of events has persisted over the course of the last four months, leaving you feeling increasingly weary and overwhelmed due to the sheer volume of cases being assigned to you.  

“We can go to the crime scene later and look for some evidence.”

You suggested and jhenicca nodded solemnly.

“So what do we know about the previous victims?” Jhenicca questioned you as her brows knitted, obviously disturbed.

You reached into your briefcase once again and pulled out a file containing the information you had gathered so far.

“There have been fifteen victims before Katarina,”

You began, flipping through the pages. “All of them went missing under similar circumstances—last seen entering a forrest, and then found dead on different sides of the Forrest.”

“Fifteen.”

Jhenicca breathed out and slammed her fist on your table, creating a loud banging sound and you sighed in exasperation, placing your hand on your forehead as your brows creased and your jaw locked.

“I know, i know.”

You mumbled, exasperated.

“Fifteen fucking people have been going missing for about 4 months now and we still can’t fucking get a single trace or clue about the perpetrator!”

Jhennica’s  seethed with anger, clearly expressing her deep disappointment regarding the sluggishness of your progress.   However, it is hard to deny her feelings, as you yourself are also disappointed with the current situation.  

“Calm down.”

You tried to calm her down.

“What do you mean calm down?”

Jhenicca glared at you, running a hand through her blond locks.

“[Name]! We can’t go around relaxing when people are going missing and dying!”

Jhenicca exclaimed, causing you to feel increasingly frustrated.   However, despite your annoyance, you made an effort to maintain your composure. Deep down, you acknowledged that Jhenicca had a valid point. It wasn’t as if you were idly lounging around; in reality, you had been pushing yourself to the limit, tirelessly working nonstop in order to achieve any sort of progress—And you were tired, so fucking tired.

Feeling overwhelmed and frustrated, you let out a heavy sigh, massaging your temples with your fingertips to alleviate the mounting tension.

“I know, i know” You spoke incoherently and indistinctly, barely making any audible sounds.  “However, it is essential for you to regain composure initially, for it will enable us to thoroughly evaluate the circumstances at hand and make an accurate assessment."”

With a slightly narrowed gaze and furrowed brows, you expressed to her, causing Jhenicca to let out an exasperated huff and divert her gaze from you.

“Calm down my ass,”

She mumbles.

You experienced a sudden involuntary contraction in your eye, causing it to twitch.

“Cease behaving in such an immature and obstinate manner, don’t be a fucking brat”  Feeling exasperated by her obnoxious behavior, you let out a disapproving sound while your level of professionalism momentarily dissipates. Jhenicca, in response, disdainfully looks away, disregarding your reaction.

“Fuck you.”

She glared at you.

“Fuck you too.”

Jhenicca releases a sarcastic laugh, displaying her annoyance towards the unexpected and abrupt eruption of emotions from you.

“Okay, whatever, but we still need to find any pattern or connection between these victims,”

Jhenicca made a suggestion, her voice hinting at a lingering annoyance. In response, you scornfully chuckled, casting your gaze downwards.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you took in a deep breath before quietly uttering a small apology for your earlier outburst.

However, Jhenicca breezed past your apology, choosing to disregard it completely as she proceeded with her speech.

“Do you think it could provide us with valuable clues regarding the murderer's identity?   Is there anything notable connecting all of the victims that you've observed?” she asked.

Once you regained a sense of inner tranquility, you visibly expressed your agreement by giving a reassuring nod. Resting your hand gently upon your chin, you directed your gaze towards Jhenicca, deep in thought.

“The victims share several similarities among themselves.   Firstly, they all belong to the young adult age group, specifically individuals in their twenties. Secondly, they had a common habit of visiting and spending time in the same forest.   Lastly, their disappearances occurred exclusively during the weekends, further emphasizing this pattern of occurrence.” You provided a clear explanation.

“Based on the autopsy reports, it seems that their kidneys were removed post-mortem, suggesting a potential organ trafficking angle. However, the brutality of the killings indicates a possibly cannibalistic tendencies as well.”

You have provided an explanation regarding the reason behind those individuals having their organs removed. It is feasible to consider the possibility of a cannibal being involved, particularly since you had previously delved into the topic through various cannibal documentaries during your college years.  

“We need to gather more evidence and dig deeper into the victims' backgrounds.”

You said, tapping on your chin.

“We need to find any connections they might have had, both among themselves and with potential suspects. We’ll also increase surveillance on houses that are close in that forrest, for they frequented in the hope of catching any suspicious activities.”

You informed and you were taken aback when, out of nowhere, the entrance to your workspace abruptly swung ajar, unveiling the presence of your beloved partner, Earl.

Earl is also a skilled investigator who happens to be employed within the same institution as you. He had a pile of papers held in one hand while balancing some cups of refreshing iced coffee in his other hand.

“Good morning, Love”he greeted with a pleasant tone, his words carrying warmth and friendliness.   With a gleeful expression, he curved his lips upward, directing his gaze towards Jhenicca with the intention of acknowledging her presence as he nodded approvingly.

“Good morning to you too!”Jhenicca extended a warm welcome.   You let out a frustrated breath and directed your gaze towards Earl.

“Kindly knock on the door to gain permission before stepping inside the room.” Shaking your head in dismay, you expressed your disapproval through scolding, while Earl nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, revealing his indifference.  

“* apologize for the interruption, but I have something of utmost significance to share,” your partner apologized politely, presenting you with a substantial collection of documents and carefully arranging them on the surface of your desk.

“Really?”  Jhenicca’s eyelids fluttered momentarily, as a reflexive response to stimuli.   

“What is the matter?”

You inquired, fixating your gaze directly into the deep, mahogany irises of Earl.

“There has been an increase in the number of individuals who have disappeared, and upon closer examination, it is evident that the specifics align with the characteristics observed in the previous instances.”

 As your eyes briefly skimmed across the pile of documents placed right in front of you, a complex blend of unease and exasperation manifested on your face.

The news you were presently receiving was far from ideal, pushing against your desire for a different outcome, particularly since you and your diligent team had invested an immense amount of time and effort into probing the perplexing string of disappearances that had preceded this moment.   Jhenicca, noticing the identical emotional response on her own countenance, mirrored your sentiments precisely upon digesting the given information.

“Anyways, i brought some coffee for you, love,”  As you observed, Earl gently placed the refreshing iced coffee onto your desk, and a sense of appreciation washed over you, causing a grateful smile to adorn your face while simultaneously feeling a soothing wave of relaxation engulfing your being.

“Thanks love—”

You initiated speaking, however, Jhenicca interjected, causing you to immediately cease speaking and keeping your lips sealed.

“No coffee for me? I’m feeling left out you know?”   Jhenicca’s eyebrow arched in amusement as she voiced her playful disappointment regarding the lack of coffee being offered to her. As you observed the situation, a flicker of surprise crossed your face, signaling that you were starting to grasp the peculiarly close bond between Jhenicca and your boyfriend. A peculiar sense of discomfort started to take hold of you, yet you struggled to identify the exact source of this unease. 

‘Since where were they this close?’

You pondered quietly as you watched the two interact.

Earl couldn’t help but chuckle in response to Jhenicca’s witty remark, as he placed yet another refreshing iced coffee on the desk, hoping to soothe her slight disappointment expressed through her adorable pouting expression.

With a wide smile, he uttered,

“Here, don’t sulk.” Jhenicca beamed with happiness as she conveyed her appreciation. Earl emitted a light-hearted laughter, brushing off the situation, which left you with an indescribable sense of being left out, lingering persistently within you.   Earl comfortably took his place on the nearby chair, gently resting his head on your shoulder as he curiously asked,

“Anyway, love, Can you provide an update on the current status of the situation?   Have there been any advancements in identifying and apprehending the person responsible for the incident?”

He asked and as you were preparing to articulate a response, Jhenicca abruptly interjected once more, causing a subtle expression of displeasure to form on your face.   It became increasingly apparent that since Earl’s arrival, Jhenicca had consistently been interrupting your attempts to contribute to the conversation.  

“Welllll”

Jhenicca said, making sure to stretch the word.

“Nope!”

Jhenicca’s wide grin appeared on her face, attempting to portray an endearing demeanor that caused you to cringe internally; she resembled someone who was seeking attention—a fucking pick me.

It would have been more appropriate for her to exhibit a serious demeanor, considering the gravity of the topic at hand.   It perplexed you how she could switch from being angered to acting as cheerful as a ray of sunshine. The sudden shift in her behavior left you contemplating whether to request her to remain silent and allow you to express yourself, but you opted to restrain from doing so.  

“Unfortunately, we’ve been giving it our all, but we haven’t found any leads,”

You finally explained with a sigh and Earl frowned once he heard that information, he felt disappointed.

You then took a deep breath.

“However, I do have a theory. It’s possible that the serial killer is also a cannibal.”

Earl blinked in disbelief, but he considered the idea.

“Really? That’s quite an unexpected twist.”

Before you could elaborate and explain all the details about your theory, jhenicca interjected once more so you just chose to remain silent, a tinge of annoyance crossed your expression but it quickly disappeared.

“I agree! I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Jhenicca said.

“Ah right! Do you know that there are similarities between the victims?”

Jhenicca began to converse with your boyfriend and as you sipped on your refreshing iced coffee, Earl glanced in your direction, expressing his acknowledgement through a subtle nod.  Soon after, the two individuals initiated a conversation which took a meandering path, encompassing diverse topics.

However, a significant portion of their discussion revolved around the various homicide cases you had been diligently investigating.  As you attentively observed Jhenicca and Earl engrossed in their dialogue, it became apparent that a strong connection existed between them.   Unexpectedly, the serenity of the moment was abruptly disturbed by the sound of your phone ringing, breaking the tranquility in the air.    Jhenicca’s eyes blinked, briefly closing and opening again.  

“I thought you had your phone on do not disturb?”Jhenicca inquired, and you shook your head.

“Not quite. As a detective, every call or text holds significance, you should be aware of that,” you responded, slightly exasperated. Setting your coffee aside, you retrieved your phone from your pocket, and your eyes widened as you read the message. your eyes suddenly lit up and a faint smile made its way to your face.

Finally, an evidence, after four fucking months, there was finally an evidence.

“Ouch, so harsh.”

Jhenicca's expression turned into a pout at your stern words.

Your eye twitched in annoyance, caused by the tone she adopted. Normally, she spoke to you in a different manner, but this time it was almost childlike, which bothered you without any clear explanation as to why she was behaving that way.  

Earl curiously asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s the headquarters. They’ve discovered some evidence at the crime scene,” you informed, and Earl hummed thoughtfully.

“That’s wonderful.”

Earl said with a smile.

“Really? That’s an excellent news!” Jhenicca beamed

“Yes, I’m glad too”

You replied with a closed eyed smile

Then suddenly, a  phone call interrupted,you looked at your phone to see who called and it was the headquarters, perhaps they had something important to say and you couldn’t risk missing it.

 “The headquarters is on the line,” you  announced.

“Oh.”

Earl seemed disappointed since he wanted to talk to you more while jhenicca didn't have a reaction.

“I need to have a private conversation with them, so I’ll leave you two here,” you informed, gently shifting Earl’s head from your shoulder before standing up.

You planted a tender kiss on Earl's cheek, eliciting a smile from him.

“I won’t take long, don’t worry.”

You reassured him because you saw his disappointed face and Earl’s face lit up from your words.

“Alright, Stay safe,” Earl said, returning your smile as you made your way towards the office exit.

However, from the corner of your eye, you caught Earl discreetly wiping off the kiss, causing a frown to form on your face. And the way Jhenicca glanced at your boyfriend was different, stirring a sense of unease within you.

Your intuition was telling you that something was wrong.

Tension pervaded the atmosphere within your office, akin to an unuttered secret that lingered ever since your departure to answer the call from the headquarters. Earl’s face carried the weight of guilt, mirroring the guilty conscience that resided within him, while Jhenicca appeared unbothered, portraying an effortless and carefree demeanor that juxtaposed the tension.

It was astonishing to earl that he and jhenicca had embarked on this path. The hidden relationship between him and Jhenicca had been going on clandestinely for a significant period of nine months. Initially, it had been a mere coincidence, encounter in a bar where their paths crossed unexpectedly.   However, as fate would have it, the influence of alcohol led them to hook up that night. From that moment, their connection deepened, and it evolved into an ongoing affair, causing Earl to experience overwhelming guilt for cheating on you.

“We are truly betraying [Name] by engaging in secret meetings,” Earl whispered, causing Jhenicca to recline comfortably in her chair, propping her feet up on the desk without a care, even if it meant potentially crushing important documents beneath her soles. 

  With a piercing gaze, she interrogated, “Between the two of us—Me and [Name], whom do you love more?   Me or her?" 

  Feeling his throat tighten, Earl mustered the courage to respond, “You.”

  Jhenicca let out an exasperated sigh, her frustration apparent as she exclaimed, 

“Then what’s the big deal? We love each other, don’t we? Don’t worry, [Name] will never find out.”

...

...

...

...

As their conversation fell upon your ears, tears began to well up in your eyes, their meaning hitting you with full force.   Suddenly, everything started to make sense.   Their closeness, the way Jhenicca gazed at Earl with adoration, it was all clear now.   They had been hiding their secret involvement from you, deceiving you right under your nose.   The pain that came rushing over you was nearly unbearable, as the person you once loved and cherished had betrayed you with none other than your best friend. The mere thought of Jhenicca turning out to be a backstabber had never even crossed your mind.   Clenching your fists tightly, you fought against the overwhelming urge to burst into the room, confront them both, and scream at them.

In that moment, your heart seemed to shatter into innumerable fragments, completely consumed by an uncontrollable whirlwind of emotions—anger, sadness, and most of all, a profound feeling of betrayal.

As you clutched your chest, your face contorted with pain, the weight of their conversation pierced your heart like a sharp knife.   Earlier, you had received a brief call from headquarters, urgently instructing you to gather important documents and return to your office.   Obediently, you started making your way back, determined to fulfill your responsibilities. However, fate had different plans for you that day.   Along the corridor, their familiar voices reached your ears, luring you in with an irresistible curiosity.  Against your better judgment, you couldn’t resist the urge to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

  Little did you know, the words exchanged between them would shatter your heart into countless irreparable shards.

The shock and disbelief hit you like a ton of brick.  Anger immediately surged within you, a fiery mix of self-blame for not recognizing the signs sooner and directed towards those who had so callously betrayed you.   It was all becoming too much to bear. 

  Overwhelmed with a whirlwind of emotions, tears welled up in your eyes and streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably.  The pain you felt was indescribable, as if your entire world had come crashing down in an instant.   Without a second thought, you hastily abandoned the familiar surroundings of the police station, leaving your colleagues behind.   Although they called out to you with genuine concern, their voices only seemed like distant echoes in your ears. 

  Racing through the chaos of your own thoughts and emotions, you let instinct guide your trembling steps. The city streets blurred into a haze as you hurriedly made your way through the crowd.   Every footfall was a desperate attempt to escape the anguish that threatened to consume you entirely.   People glanced in your direction, their curious gazes fleeting, yet you were oblivious to their existence.   All that mattered at that moment was finding solace. 

  Filled with a potent blend of frustration and exasperation, you hastily made your way towards the vast expanse of the parking lot, an irrefutable reflection of your inner turmoil.   As your trembling hands grasped tightly onto the cold metal of your car keys, a surge of determination propelled you to forcefully insert the key into the lock, unleashing a resounding ‘click.’

Seeking solace within the confined space, you were driven to hastily enter your vehicle, forcefully slamming the door shut with an air of finality.   Unchecked tears cascaded down your face, a poignant manifestation of the amalgamation of anger and heartbreak that tightly gripped your soul.   “Can’t believe i’m so fucking dumb that i didn’t even get the hint,”

“I helped you, i was there for you, and this is your way of showing gratitude?” you exclaimed with sheer rage, your jaw clenched and your hands firmly gripping the steering wheel.   The deluge of intense feelings engulfed every fiber of your being, causing your eyes to well up with tears as you were overcome by an inconsolable fit of sobbing.

“After two fucking years of our love story, you threw it all away as if it held no value or significance?”  You were consumed with intense anger and frustration, directing all the blame towards jhenicca.   Your anger escalated to such a level that it led you to harbor a desire for something that, upon reflection, you didn’t knew you would later deeply regret.  

“I wish you two die in a painful way.”

𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃

You eventually drive away and returned home, consumed by anger, and unleashed your fury by destroying everything in sight: vases, picture frames, and the gifts Earl had given you. You smashed the vases, threw them on the ground and the wall, tore the pictures apart and ripped the gifts to shreds, you even trew your chair on the ground, and The room was now littered with shattered remnants of your rampage.

After four hours of relentless tears, your eyes were swollen and dry, leaving you devoid of any more tears to shed. Your throat felt parched, and fatigue washed over you, making you drowsy. Your break down caused too many destruction. And In the midst of this overwhelming exhaustion, your phone rang.

you grimaced.

“Probably that cheating bastards.” you muttered angrily, retrieving your phone and reluctantly opening it. The harsh light caused you to wince, but to your relief, it wasn't Jhenicca or Earl on the other end, but rather the headquarters.

With a mix of apprehension and frustration, you answered the call. A chill coursed down your spine as you listened to what they had to say.

“Your Boyfriend and Best friend was found dead.”

[littlebluespoon]

Stuck (Again) Octo!König Part 2

Here we go, part 2. A bit of a darker but still as adorable König. This ended up three times the length of part 1 and I'm considering a part 3 if y'all want it :)

Part 1 - Stuck Part 3 - Unstuck Part 4 - Stranded

On the journey back to base you noticed that König was still bleeding, while it was slower than in his human form it was soaking through your shirt. At some point you were going to have to treat him but you had no experience in aquatic shifters and seeing as it wasn’t in his file, you doubted the Kortac medics knew more than you. Of course, priority number one was to get him unattached from you, 

“König, you’re still bleeding. You gotta let go so I can figure out how bad it is.” Gently you try to pry his tentacles off but every time you get one and move onto the next he just re-attaches it,

“König! You need to let go now!” you resort to scolding and annoying him in the hope that something will work, “You need medical attention you stubborn ass, let go or shift back.” Emphasising each word with a poke to his face.

A staring contest with an octopus was not on your to-do list for today. But for the last hour it’s the only thing you’ve accomplished. Everyone else has been seen to, all patched up and every joke about your new accessory ignored, even the paperwork has been finished. You needed a plan and you needed to know more about octopuses.

Firing up everyone’s best research tool, Google, you delve into the world of an octopus. Learning that their tentacles are actually arms and that they taste with them; that they have a beak; three hearts and that they can lose and regrow their arms. The last fact seemed the most important to you, it meant you didn’t have to be gentle in pulling him off you. But first you tried something a little less rough, getting into the shower. Figuring that he had to be feeling a little dried out you opted to get under the water and hoped it would encourage hum to pull off. It took some persistence but after about ten minutes and with some more, slightly rougher prodding, König eventually detached himself from your chest,

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard now was it?” you gently splash some water over him and watch as he rolls around, throwing it all over the place. 

After a while of playing and laughing at the small octopus’s antics you made a move to get up as your wet clothes were getting uncomfortable but the movement startled König,

“hey, no, sorry buddy. I didn’t mean to scare you,” you’re reaching forward to pick him up when it happens, “ No, König come back!” he scurries off, faster than you thought he could and by the time you’ve slipped your way through the shower bank, he’s gone.

~~~

In the weeks following on base, you only ever saw König out of your peripheral. Always lingering but with no interaction. And then Kortac were called out. Months went by with no sign of him but every week you learned a little more about him. Taking aquatic hybrid first aid courses, researching more about octopuses and their hybrid types. Learning that they were solitary animals explained a lot for you and it was in your first aid courses that you learned how rare an octopus hybrid is. Most female octopus hybrids die after giving birth, it's something they have in common with the animal counterpart, so they mostly live isolated lives with only other females for company and it’s the males that keep the genetics going by taking a human partner.

The day König returned to your life was a bad day. You slept through your alarm and missed parade, your supply delivery was missing nearly everything you’d ordered, drowning in paperwork meant you missed lunch and to top it all off, it had not stopped raining. So when you heard the shouts outside the infirmary you nearly burst into tears. Instead your door burst open and six men rushed in carrying König. Time froze, you could no nothing but stare at him, at the cuts, burns, the pole sticking out of his arm. The blue blood covering the room in seconds. In reality you were already screaming orders and reaching for your fully stocked aquatic first aid kit. Something that had never been used, something that you had only gotten for him even though he wasn’t your responsibility. 

Hours passed; marked by vital checks, medicine doses and dressing changes. Hours passed and König remained unconscious, too exhausted to even trigger his body’s defences and shift into his smaller, more durable form. Hours turned to days. Days that were marked by the cold cups of tea left undrunk, the smell of antiseptic burning its way into your skin, the cold of his hand under yours. You had vowed to not move until you were sure he’d heal. Until he shifted and you could carry him with you.

Eight days passed in this manner. You as quiet as him, only your breathing and the machines made noise in the room. That’s when it happened, the heart rate monitor alarmed, the oxygen meter, everything in the room was going off but all you could do was stare at him. Now dwarfed in the bed was König, seven and a half arms, bright orange, and awake. And trying to run away,

“Oh no you don’t.” You snatch him up from the edge and immediately pull him to your chest, “Not this time buddy, you’re missing half an arm and even if you weren’t you lost so much blood I looked like a smurf!” sensing that he wasn’t getting away, you watched with a fond smile as he squirmed his way under your shirt and returned to his favourite spot.

“Right, now that you’re out of danger and awake lets get some food first. Crab or shrimp?” You asked the little guy, giving him a pet on the head and chuckling as he lets out a series of clicks. 

Walking into the mess hall meant you were rushed by every Kortac soldier there,

“Is he okay?” “Can we see him?” “Will he survive?” 

While not a very sociable person, König was well respected as a soldier and commander. The lower ranks looked up to him and idolised him.

“He’s fine, he’s doing a lot better but he needs some more monitoring. I’m sure you can all see him soon.” You let them all know that you’ll tell him they were asking and pass on their get well soon messages before heading through to the kitchen and to the freezer at the back which held the specially ordered food for hybrids with dietary requirements.

Dinner was interesting. If anyone was watching you they were going to think they were hallucinating as they watched you drop bits of crab down your top. The few sounds König made were quite, small pops and low whistles that only you could hear and you hoped it meant he was enjoying the food. In between feeding him you fed yourself and eventually it was time for to head back, König needed more medicine and you wanted to check for infections after your little excursion.

“On the bed please, I gotta grab your medicine.” Expectedly holding out your hand for him to climb onto as you pull down your shirt but he doesn’t move, “König, sweetheart, move.” More prodding, more pulling, all id did was leave you with little sucker shaped bruises.

“König, I swear to god I’m not doing this again. Get on the bed. Maybe, if you behave- we can go in the shower again” Bargaining was your last resort, you couldn’t check him over if he was still attached to you.

Slowly you watched as König’s arms moved, one at a time, to pull him up your body. Pulling harder at your skin than he had before to leave marks up your neck before eventually settling on your throat with his arms wrapped around your neck. Your protests were short lived as the second you opened your mouth he squeezed a little tighter, not relaxing until you stopped trying to speak altogether.

Your night continued like this, paperwork was done with the occasional ink drip, talking to patients was done with as few words as possible, bending over wasn’t comfortable and your top ended up soaking anyway as König dumped your wattle bottle over himself and then demanded more with whistles increasing in pitch as you refused. As you signed the last report you tried once more to get him off,

“You’ve had your fun König but I’m tired. I want to go to bed and you need medication so plea-“ your words are cut off by a harsh squeeze that takes your breath away. Louds clicks punctuated by the slapping of tentacles against your skin fill your ears before eventually you’re allowed to breathe again. Taking the hint, you make your way to the shower before bed, promising yourself that tomorrow you’ll find a way to get him unstuck.

~~~

As always, asks and requests are open. Feel free to send me stuff, questions, whatevers 💙

[galateaknife]

Supernatural Wincest Reclist:

All stories here are over (roughly) 30k words, written before 2020, not frequently recommended these days (as far as I can tell), unearthed from various storage areas on my computer, and end with Sam and Dean together.

Please mind any tags and author-written descriptions.

If a story says (podfic available) underneath it, that means that I have a copy of the podfic. Feel free to dm me for a file.

I hope you find something new to enjoy here!

Under my skin by yourkidney. ~31k words. Post-S1. Ghost-induced mind meld.

https://yourkidney.livejournal.com/27595.html

(podfic available)

Chains of Babylon by poisontaster. ~43k words. Post-S1 futurefic. Dean is trapped in an evil mental institution.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721952

(podfic available)

Turn of the Wheel series by gekizetsu. ~111k words. Vague S2. There’s a war between the elements, and Sam and Dean get caught in the crossfire.

https://amalthia.mediawood.org/ebooks/viewstory.php?sid=127

This is Ourselves (Under Pressure) by clex_monkie89. ~30k words. Post 2x12. On the run from the FBI.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/230040

(podfic available)

The Things We Carry With Us by lovesrain44. ~48k words. Late S2. Dean thinks that Sam needs to get laid.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/267862

(if anyone has a copy of this podfic lmk, I lost mine a couple laptops ago.)

Black Velocities and Shining Movements by dimeliora. ~40k words. Late S2 AU. Sam is seriously injured, and something is seriously wrong.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454164

Swear By All Flowers by sweetestdrain. ~37k words. Post-S2. Sam’s out of the game, and Dean is cursed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507

(podfic available)

Crush by sonofabiscuit77. ~61k words. AU from mid S3. Partially outsider POV. Dean owns a mechanic shop and Sam teaches.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/826173

(if anyone has a copy of this podfic, I’ve lost mine)

Threefold Path series by rei_c. ~182k words. Alternate end to S3. Sam gets Dean out of his deal. It changes everything.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581844

I’d Gladly Lose Me To Find You by flawedamythyst. ~36k words. Post S3. Sam makes a vow of silence to save his brother.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215497

(podfic available)

And So Awakens Devils by concernedlily. ~59k words. Alternate S4. Sam ends the world.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/190731

Not Time’s Fool by FayJay. ~58k words. Mid S4. Dean gets turned into a girl.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720

(I’ve also lost my copy of this podfic and would appreciate another copy)

The incestuous courtship of the antichrist’s bride by fleshflutter. ~48k words. Post-S4 AU. A classic.

https://fleshflutter.livejournal.com/102268.html

(podfic available)

As Through a Glass and Darkly by lexicale. ~118k words. Preseries and S1-5 AU with Hindu mythology instead of Christian.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/524025/chapters/927238

Hidden by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy. ~79k words. S6 Daemon!AU. Sam’s back from hell but daemon is missing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488537

(podfic available)

Tornado Warning by dear_tiger. ~28k words. Early S6. Sam is walking around without a soul, and a man with no memory gets a job at a butcher shop.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/475602

Choir of Furies by Atanih88. ~32k words. Late S6. Sam’s wall has sprung a leak.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/221544

(podfic available)

Another Brick in the Wall by road_rhythm. ~170k words. Late S6. Sam disappears. Dean searches for him. Sam tries to survive.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207755

The Allegory of the Cave by Jay Tryfanstone. ~36k words. Post-S6. Memories and emotions and a hunt in New York City.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/488058

(podfic available)

Absolute Zero by pixymisa and selecasharp. ~61k words. Post-S8 AU. Sam closed the gates of Hell, and now he can’t die and can’t wake up.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156011

Sam Winchester’s Guide to Blood Magic, or How the Rockies Were Made by badbastion, thursdaysisters. ~46k words. S9AU. The apocalypse everyone forgot.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147914

(podfic available)

The Partisan by nigeltde. ~39k words. Mid S9. Post-Gadreel claustrophobia and restlessness.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049891

The Babel Fish Has Forsaken Us by orphan_account (indiachick). ~34k words. Late S9 AU. Phantasmagoria.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146206

a long hard day, a long hard night by deadlybride. ~39k words. Post-S9. Dean’s body disappeared. Sam gets him back.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475585

Apophenia by MeltinSkelton. ~149k words. S10 or thereabouts. There’s a hunt and human evil in a town by Austin. Mutual pining and fever dreams, with a side of pining Cas.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274647/chapters/40624721

Baba O’Riley and Eleanor Rigby walk into a bar by thecapn. ~33k words. The only non-hunting AU I’m likely to ever recommend.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906127

Captured by the Game by rivkat. ~54k words. Raised apart AU. Azazel sends Sam to gain the confidence of Dean Winchester.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389

(podfic available)

[kinascum]

ZIP-TIEDᯓ★

Hank Thompson x PoliceOfficer!Reader (sorry)

wc: 3.1k | summary: oh you won't confess? alight ill make you talk, pretty boy. | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DUBCON. interrogation. coercion. sexual content. explicit language. power dynamics. authority abuse. dark themes. talk of crime, stealing. talk of sickness. violence. restraints while engaging in sexual activities.

A/N: thanks m girl @aust-een for fueling this idea lmao

You stand outside the interrogation room, watching through the one-way mirror as Hank Thompson slumps in the chair, his eyes hollow, his jaw tight. The room is stark, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead casting an unflinching glow on the cold metal table and the two chairs. The air is thick with tension, a palpable silence that seems to hum with anticipation. You know he's the one—the infamous thief that's been taunting the city for months. The bookstore heist was just the latest in a string of burglaries, each more brazen than the last. But here he is, caught red-handed.

As you enter the room, the door swings shut with a heavy thud that echoes off the concrete walls. You don't bother with pleasantries or the reading of rights. He knows why he's here. You've studied his file, watched the security footage—his graceful moves and calculated precision. His reputation precedes him, and so does your resolve to get answers.

"No cameras," you say firmly, looking him in the eye. "No microphones. Just you and me."

He smirks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for a brief second before dropping back to the floor. "What makes you think I'll talk?"

You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "You will. One way or another."

He chuckles darkly, the sound barely audible in the stark room. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

You don't answer, instead you start pacing the floor, the soles of your shoes squeaking on the clean tiles. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. You can almost feel the tension coiling around him, tightening with every step you take.

After a moment, you stop, your eyes locking onto his. "Look, Hank. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." You let the words hang in the air, a silent ultimatum.

He remains unmoved, his gaze unwavering. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

You take a deep breath, then cross the room to stand directly in front of him. You lean in close, your voice low and measured. "It means I'll get the answers I need, whether you give them to me now, or I have to... coax them out of you."

You can see the doubt flicker in his eyes, the beginnings of fear. Good. It's time to turn the heat up.

You start with simple questions, a dance of words meant to unravel his defenses. His replies are monosyllabic, gruff, but they come. You press on, your tone even, your gaze never leaving his. The room feels smaller with each question you ask, the air thickening like the plot of a noir thriller. The silence stretches taut between you, a tightrope of anticipation.

You decide to change tactics. You pull out a chair and sit down across from him, your eyes never leaving his. The chair scrapes against the floor, a jarring sound in the quiet room. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the table, your fingers steepled. "Hank," you say, your voice softer now, "why don't you tell me about the bookstore?"

He snorts, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "What's there to say?"

You lean back, your chair creaking under the weight of your frustration. You've seen his type before—slick, smug, thinking he's smarter than everyone else. But you're smarter. You've read his file, studied his patterns. You know he's hiding something. So you wait, watching the play of emotions across his face. And when he doesn't speak, you stand up, your movements deliberate, and pull the zip tie from your pocket.

You circle the chair, his eyes following you as you do. His breath hitches as you pull his arms behind his back, the plastic biting into his wrists as you secure them to the chair. He tries to jerk away, but you're stronger, more determined. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarls.

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere," you reply, your voice calm, almost casual. "You see, Hank, I've got all night."

He struggles against the restraints, his face reddening with rage. "You can't do this!" he spits.

You lean down so your face is inches from his. "Oh, but I can," you murmur. "And I will."

You start with the basics again, asking about the bookstore. His responses are still defiant, but the edge of fear is there now, sharper than before. You can see it in the way his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape. But there isn't one. You're in control here.

You lean back in your chair, watching him squirm under the plastic. His breathing has become shallower, faster. The tension is palpable, a living thing in the room with you. "Let's try this again, Hank. What can you tell me about the bookstore?"

He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "Nothing."

With a sigh, you stand up and walk around the table. He tries to lean away from you, but the chair is bolted to the floor. "You know, Hank," you murmur, your voice low and seductive, "I'm not a big fan of playing games."

You place your hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric of his pants. He jerks at the sudden contact, his eyes snapping up to yours. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Your smile is cold, calculated. "I'm making sure you understand the gravity of the situation." You slide your hand up, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his crotch. His body responds despite his protests, his cock stiffening under your touch.

He bucks against the chair, trying to break free, but the zip ties hold firm. "You can't do this!"

You lean in close, your breath warm against his ear. "And what are you gonna do?"

Your hand starts to move in slow, torturous circles, your grip tightening just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes roll back in his head, his teeth gritted as he fights the pleasure you're giving him. But you're in no rush. You've got all night.

You whisper in his ear, your voice a silky promise. "Every time you lie to me, I'll make it harder for you. But every time you tell the truth, I'll make it feel so good."

He grunts, his body straining against the restraints. "What do you want to know?"

You lean back, your hand still wrapped around his cock, stroking him with a maddening gentleness. "The truth, Hank. That's all I want."

He grits his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck you."

You increase the pressure slightly, watching as his body tenses. "The more you resist, the more you'll regret it."

You can feel him fighting it, his hips pushing against your hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice is strained, desperate. "What...what do you want to know?"

You lean in closer, your breath hot on his neck. "Everything."

You start with the night of the bookstore heist. Your hand moves in a steady rhythm, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge. He clenches his fists, his knuckles white. "What happened that night?"

He groans, his body betraying his resolve. "I...I went in...for the books."

You tighten your grip, slowing down. "And?"

He swallows hard, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to...to take the money."

You feel his cock pulse in your hand, but you don't let him finish. "Why did you do it, Hank?"

He pants, his eyes wild with need. "I needed it...for...for my sister's medication."

You ease up, his erection subsiding slightly. "Go on."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I...I had no choice. She's sick."

You nod, your grip loosening slightly. "What did you do with the money?"

"I...I gave it to her," he gasps out, his voice strained. "I didn't keep a dime."

You resume the slow, torturous strokes, feeling him harden again. "What about the other jobs? The jewelry, the art?"

He shakes his head, his eyes pleading. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You squeeze harder, his hips bucking. "Don't lie to me, Hank."

He lets out a strangled cry. "Okay, okay! I did them. But...but it was always for a good cause. I never kept anything for myself."

You lean back, studying his face. The lies are coming easier now, his need for release overwhelming his pride. "Who did you sell the items to?"

His breath catches, his body trembling. "A...a fence. I don't know his name."

You don't buy it. You know he's holding out on you. You lean in, your voice a whisper. "Hank, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me everything."

He growls, his eyes flashing with anger and desperation, his release inching closer. "I don't know! I swear!"

You lean back, your hand leaving his crotch. He gasps, his eyes snapping open, his body rigid with unfulfilled need. "What?" he pants, the question a mix of disbelief and frustration.

You lean back in your chair, folding your arms. "I said I want the truth, Hank. No more games."

The room is silent for a long moment, the only sounds his ragged breaths and the distant murmur of the precinct. His eyes dart around the room, searching for something—anything—that might give him a way out of this. But there's nothing. Just the two of you and the truth that hangs heavy in the air.

"Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Please don't do this."

You stand, walking around the table to stand in front of him again. You lean down, your hand resting on the zip tie, ready to tighten it. "The fence's name, Hank."

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. "Vic," he says through gritted teeth. "Vic Castellanos."

You straighten, a flicker of satisfaction crossing your face. That's a name you recognize. A big fish in the city's criminal underbelly. But you don't let him see it. Instead, you lean down, your voice a seductive purr. "Good boy."

You run your hand along his thigh, your fingertips dancing up to his crotch again. He jerks, his body begging for release. But you stop just short, your hand hovering over him. "But that's not all I need to know."

He groans, his eyes pleading. "What...what else?"

You smile, a wicked glint in your eye. "Everything, Hank. Every detail."

With a flick of your wrist, you unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock springs free, hard and desperate. He tries to struggle again, but the chair holds him firmly in place. You take a moment to appreciate the view, the way his erection juts out, pulsing with the rhythm of his racing heart. Then, you wrap your hand around him, your grip firm but gentle.

You start to stroke, slow and deliberate. His eyes roll back in his head, a strangled sound escaping his throat. "The...the...other jobs," he gasps. "They were...for charity. For kids, for the homeless."

You keep your rhythm steady, your eyes never leaving his face. "Go on."

His breath comes in ragged pants now, his hips moving with your hand. "The...the diamonds," he whispers. "They...they were for a children's hospital."

You nod, your hand moving a little faster. "And the art?"

"A...a museum," he chokes out. "They needed...needed funding."

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "Why steal for them?"

He swallows hard, his body tight with need. "Because...because no one else would help."

Your hand speeds up, your grip tightening. "What about the people you hurt, Hank?"

He opens his eyes, the reality of his actions crashing over him. "They...they didn't matter."

You stop, your hand hovering just above his cock. "What makes you think they didn't matter?"

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with pain and desperation. "Because...because the ones I was helping mattered more."

You resume stroking, your touch a little softer now. "But they were just pawns in your game, weren't they?"

He nods, his eyes squeezed shut. "Yes," he whispers.

You lean back, watching him. His body is taut with tension, his breathing erratic. You know he's close, so close to the edge. But not yet. "Tell me about the last job, Hank. The one that went wrong."

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It...it was a mistake. I didn't mean to get caught."

You cock your head, your eyes gleaming. "And what did you take?"

He grits his teeth, the struggle clear on his face. "A...a necklace. For...for my sister."

You nod, your hand moving faster now. "And why did you choose that necklace?"

"It...it was her birthday," he gasps, his eyes filling with tears. "I wanted to make her happy."

You lean in, your voice a gentle caress. "What was so special about that necklace?"

Hank's body jerks as he fights back the sob that threatens to escape. "It...it was one like our mother's. She...she never got to wear it. I wanted her to have something of hers."

The room feels heavier with the weight of his confession, the air thick with unshed tears. But you don't let up. You need all the information he has. "Where is it now, Hank?"

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "I...I don't know. I had to ditch it when you...you caught me."

You stroke him a little faster, his cock hardening in your grip. "Where did you hide it?"

He moans, his hips bucking involuntarily, a tear slipping from his eye. "In...in a locker at the bus station. Number 43."

You nod, your hand moving faster, your strokes now a blur. He's close, so close. You can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. And then, with a strangled cry, he finally breaks, his body convulsing as he climaxes, hot cum spurting into the space between his stomach and the chair. You watch with a detached fascination, your hand still moving until the last tremor passes through him.

As he pants for breath, his body limp with exhaustion, you lean down and whisper in his ear, "Good boy." You give his cock one final squeeze before releasing it, watching as it goes soft again. You step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You've got what you wanted—his confession, the fence's name, the location of the necklace. But the game isn't over yet.

You pull a handkerchief from your pocket and offer it to him. He looks at it with a mix of disgust and gratitude, using it to clean himself up. You watch, your expression unreadable. "You know, Hank," you say, your voice low and calm, "you're not such a bad guy. Just...misplaced."

He glares up at you, his wrists still bound by the zip tie. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You shrug, tucking the handkerchief back in your pocket. "You had a reason. A good one, even." You lean back against the wall, crossing your arms again. "But you're still a thief."

The anger in his eyes fades to something else—despair, maybe. "What are you going to do to me?"

You smile, a cold, hard smile that sends a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Hank. That's not for me to decide."

You leave him there, the room echoing with the sound of his labored breathing. You've got your answers, but the night is still young. And there's so much more to uncover about Hank, the man behind the mask. As you walk back to your office, you can't help but wonder what other secrets he's hiding. And how much more of himself he'll be willing to give up before the dawn breaks.

taglist! @baileysturns @joyouswonders @eternal-love

[reallyromealone]

BABYHAUL 3

Fluff, male reader, baby reader, reader is adopted by Yamada and Aizawa, domestic, cute

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐Yamada was exhausted as he held little (name) in his arms, making coffee while Aizawa made breakfast for them all. It was back to school already and nobody was nearly awake for this, little (name) staring dazed and confused before being seated in his high chair.

"We have... Apple and carrot" Shouts mumbled as everyone began eating, (name) smacking his hands on the plastic table for food "yeah yeah, open wide" the exhausted hero said and (name) opened up when the little spoon got close to his mouth and looked very happy when tasting his food before looking at Shotas food curiously when he ate some of his own breakfast "ABABABA!" He tried reaching for some of it but sadly his chubby baby arm couldn't reach "here, a little bit" Shouta handed (name) a small bit that was cooled off on chopsticks and (name) looked very excited as he shoved it in his mouth.

Getting dressed and preparing (name)s baby bag the family headed off to school, Yamada grinning at the fact he managed to get the itty bitty babe in a onesie that looked like the uniform, Shouta having to explain that an actual mini uniform probably won't go well with the choking hazards via buttons and tie that the babe would most definitely try to eat.

Aizawa took (name) first as he collected his belongings, his new son looking at the students happily as they passed. Aizawa had Shinso hold his stuff as (name) kept insisting on trying to play with it.

Shinso found his new brother fascinating, the babe most definitely had a quirk that could fundamentally do anything! He could be anything!

And currently the little one was "helping" their dad prepare for class.

The students started filing in, at first not noticing the tiny addition strapped to their teachers chest, Aizawa currently writing things on the smart board "President, you can give attendance" Aizawa said passively as he turned to grab the work to be passed out off the podium and the class froze at the infant who was staring back curiously before looking around.

"Sir?" It was kaminari who spoke up with a raised hand and Aizawa grunted as a response to the blond "what's with the baby?"

Aizawa knew they wouldn't focus until he addressed the tiny elephant in the room so with a sign he scanned the class "this is my son, the U.A daycare is under maintenance so he's here" Aizawa said simply and Izuku seemed fixated on the small babe.

He looked... Familiar.

"How old is he?" Mina asked curiously and the teacher sighed "he's under a year old"

(Name) stretched his little arms and the class cooed "now" Aizawa got to business and popped a pacifier in little (name)s mouth before getting on with class.

(Name) mimicked Aizawas hand movements much to the classes amusement as Aizawa let him hold onto his finger.

"Is that him?" Nemuri asked with a soft excitement as she stepped towards the duo, Aizawa going to the staff room to get the heroics notes. "This is (name)" Aizawa said simply and Nem squealed softly but stopped when (name) looked a little startled at the sound "he's so little... Look at his little socks" she said and Aizawa took him out of his carrier a d let the other hold him, (name) immediately trying to grab her glasses to no avail "he does that with Hisashi" Aizawa said as his son began fussing.

"I think someone needs a nap" Nem said softly and Aizawa took him back and put him in the Carrier though this time facing Aizawa and began soothing the boy.

Hizashi smiled as he held his new youngest son, little (name) waking from his nap mid class and looked at the Gen-Ed students half awake, looking like he just woke from a damn good nap and clothes slightly disheveled.

"Good morning sunshine" (name) let his dad clean the drool from his cheek before popping a pacifier in his mouth "oh-- we finished early... Well I suppose you all can talk amongst yourselves" Hizashi said but his students just looked fixated on the baby who gave them some half awake side eye "sir? Is that your son?" One student asked and Hizashi grinned "yes he his! This is my youngest son (name)!" He waved (name)s sleepy arm and the boy just let him do what he wanted "how old is he?" Another asked and the blond adjusted (name) before speaking "a few months, he's a wiggly little guy" (name) gave a prime example as he whined to be put down and his dad complied, gently setting the boy down and (name) began army crawling around his little blanket set out "he's not good at the whole moving thing yet"

(Name) wiggled on the floor till his arm got caught under him and the class stiffened as his little lip wobbled and then a cry broke out as Hizashi lifted the itty bitty into his arms and tried to soothe the babe who was absolutely loosing it to no avail till his son came up "can I try?" hizashi let Hitoshi hold the itty bitty as the bell rang, the blond letting the students leave.

When it was just the trio, Hitoshi held (name) close and pat his little back gently and... Started reciting words meanings from the dictionary?

It seemed to work as (name) calmed down "how" Hizashi asked his son who shrugged "works on Eri"

The two laughed as (name) looked around confused "it's lunch time baby, they went bye bye"

"Why does he have tear marks?" Shouta asked as he took the babe "lil guy crawled on his own arm and lost his mind" Hizashi said teasingly and Shouta nodded "bound to cry eventually"

"The machine beeped!" Midnight said as her and powerloader made tea and Shouta wandered to the bottle warmer and (name) began bouncing at the machine he quickly learned holds his food "yeah yeah, keep your diaper on"

(Name) made content sounds as he ate, the teachers talking about classes and students and upcoming events "I still can't believe you two are going to be the hosts for the sports festival" Snipe snorted and Aizawa shrugged "it's only logical"

When (name) finished his bottle, Aizawa burped him and let him look around in his arms, everyone waving at him and to the adults surprise he clumsily waved back "I am pretty sure that was his first wave" Hizashi said excitedly and the teachers cooed and thankfully Vlad had video of it all and sent it to the blond.

"So is he eating solids?" Powerloader asked and Shouta nodded "he's a monster with custard" at the mention (name) looked at him curiously and the man chuckled "papa!" Little Eris voice rang as she ran in excitedly "Hi baby! Nedzu let you out early?" With the help of nedzu and a Quirk specialist Eri had been learning to control her quirk in a safe environment "yeah! He said since I got a new baby brother that I could have extra lunch with him!"

Eri smiled as Shouta crouched so she could see the little babe whom she vowed to protect in her little heart and though he shared features with her abuser she was very aware that they were not one in the same and during her captivity she often grew curious about the little baby.

A few weeks passed, the dorms fully finished and the family moved though Shinsou was in the student dorms though his training he would hopefully be joining the Hero course.

It was the weekend and the Yamazawa family were hanging out at the in school park for teachers who were parents, little (name) having the time of his life on the baby swing as he was gently pushed by Hizashi as Shouta pushed Eri on a big kid swing "higher!" She squealed as Shouta pushed her only a smudge higher "could the Yamada/Aizawa please report the Principal Nedzus office"

Hitoshi met with his family in casual clothes, it being the weekend and not needing a uniform at this moment as they knocked on it "enter please!" Nedzu said as they walked in, eyebrows raising at the man sitting in formal attire "what's going on?"

"Well due to the... Departure of Overhaul, he's been declared deceased due to the video spread of you know what" Nedzu spoke carefully as there were two tiny sets of ears through one was far more interested in his dad's capture weapon.

"So what?"

"So now we must read the things that's been left behind for our dear (name)!"

A will reading?

"Yes! It seems our dear (name) has been left quite a fair amount!"

The family sat as the lawyer began reading, the babe left estates and and priceless things in vaults quite literally anything and everything"and finally (name) Chisaki is left a total sum of 65,154,375,000 Yen (450m), here are the codes for the safes along with deeds to the estate's"

The Yamazawa family was... Shocked to say the least.

"Holy shi--""language" Shouta said though he wasn't much better, the tiny baby in his arms in little shorts and a blue striped shirts and matching shoes was absolutely loaded, the lawyer leaving them.

"My my, isn't this interesting" Nedzu said with a content smile and watched the family look shocked save for the littles who didn't have a clue on what was happening though (name) was very curious about the cookies and treats on Nedzus desk "I-I don't know... What?" Yamada was speechless as he processed the fact his baby was a multi millionaire "could we possibly have the homes and material items left behind be appraised and checked? To make sure they aren't stolen" Hitoshi brought up and the other adults genuinely considered it "since you two are his legal adults, we could do that" Nedzu said handing the teen a cookie for his excellent point "that would be good seeing as he was a criminal" Shouta agreed with his sons point.

"I will make arrangements"

So much stolen items.

So so much stolen items.

All the estate's, vaults and everything checked and the amount of stolen items was astounding and they barely dented it.

Generations of stolen goods from the crime family.

And all while this happened, (name) was excited that he got new blocks as Yamada worked with a lawyer to draft trust funds and such so the money would be accessible to (name) when he was 18.

[cyberapid]

Earthspark Bumblebee x Cybertronian Reader

reader isn't gendered, brief description of a Terran bleeding

—•—•—

The yard of the Malto family is quiet, besides the gentle clanking of Bumblebees stray movements as he holds himself upright on one arm and the occasional sounds of the animals that live there.

“I wish to do a full bio-mechanic and diagnostic scan as soon as possible, Conjunx. Your file has shown that its been more than a year since your last, this dissatisfies me,”

His optics squint open just enough to allow you to see shining blue before they close again with a short huff, optical ridges pinching together and dermas shifting into a place to show his annoyance. “It's not that big of a deal. I run like a dream, but if it'll satisfy you– sure.”

A small whirl of excitement leaves you before you can think of suppressing the excitement coursing from your chassis to your vents, a noise that if you were looking at the yellow bot you’d see brought a small smile to his face plate.

You both fall quickly back to a comfortable silence enjoying the ‘weekend’ that the older Maltos children claimed needed to be without lessons where instead you relax or play in the case of the children, just as quick your calmness was suddenly interrupted by the barn door being slammed open by the twins, Hashtag, and Robby all looking panicked and quickly speaking over one another— Their rambling is cut short by Bumblebee slamming to the ground with a thud so loud it has Robby leave the ground for a moment.

“Slow down! Slow down. What happened?” Your Sparkmate’s quick to push himself back to his pedes as the small horde of the Maltos children nearly surround him— he tries desperately to calm their jumbled panic into something understandable for the pair of you as they drag the two of you towards the entrance of the barn.

A quick scan with your optics covers them in a blue hue, that comes up with no external or internal injuries on them. But the heartbeat of the small human holding your servo to drag you towards the barn is both faster and far more erratic than usual, showing his panic, although you can already tell that from his actions alone.

“It's Nightshade! It was an accident, we only wanted them to come play. Honest!” Robby is quick to give in explanation, seeming to be the calmest child in this situation even with his heightened state.

The two of you are rushed into the barn and then under where you're met with Mo and Jawbreaker fretting over Nightshade, who's clutching their lower tibulen in panic. A scan isn't necessary to see the main issue as Nightshades servos are covered in the familiar blue hue of energon leaks down their pede and is covering their servos.

Nevertheless you quickly scan the young bot, where its registered that one of their fuel lines have been sliced, thankfully not deadly and nothing notably serious,

“Would you remove your servos, Nightshade. I will be repositioning you,” the Maltos children move aside, tense, as you raise and place Nightshade with ease onto a tall workstation. Unlike the children who give you space to work— Bumblebee doesn't care much for the personal space of the young Terran or yourself as he leans forward inspecting your quick work to find the fuel line in question with a silent panic. “An easy fix but this will hurt, sparkling. I will be quick,” without much explanation after you begin work with pinching the affected line, which causes a yelp of pain from the young Terran whose servos snap to grab Bumblebees. The procedure is small and finished with a practiced ease and quickness as the afflicted line is wrapped in a sturdy tape– not new but better.

Twitch is the first to react with a strangled yell before wrapping her arms around her sibling, resting their helms against one another's, “I'm so sorry! We’ll never sneak up on you again, promise!” her affection is returned by her much taller sibling whose hug nearly engulfs her.

“You should cleanse your servos before- okay,” your suggestion is heard by none of the Maltos children as their excited chatter fills the once tense air but you're just as quickly distracted as you feel your Conjunx's servos creep around your mid-plating from behind before fully wrapping his arms around, sending your spark into a dizzying flutter, “i also have to cleanse mine– so don't, bumblebee,” blue stained servos are held just out of reach of his own wandering ones as a soft rumble from his vents sends vibrations down your back chest plate.

“I think I'll survive,” being behind you hides the cheeky grin he sports but not the warm air from his vents breathing on the back of your helm. “You did great,”

“It's something I've done countless times. I’d be worried if not- the energon, enough Bumblebee.”

[egelskop]

i am so interested in ur hlvrai au can we get a rundown

oh boy, this is going under a readmore.

fair warning, this is a LONG read because (1.) i am not a competent writer and (2.) i can't for the life of me keep things brief. sorry and or good luck.

ACT I

The Black Mesa incident: Gordon Freeman is provided an opportunity to do an informal beta test for a combat training simulation program that's in development in the Research & Development department of the Black Mesa Research Facility. (Read: He knows a guy in R&D and said guy knows Gordon likes video games and VR stuff, so he was like "hey you should come check this out when you're on break.")

The combat sim would be a revolutionary training simulation using artificial intelligence to enhance and realize the experience for the ‘player character’.

The test goes wrong, and Gordon can’t seem to disengage from the simulation and odd, unscripted things start happening; he has to ‘play the game’ to its full completion before he is able to exit the simulation safely. He has suffered a brain injury throughout the process, eye damage due to prolonged exposure to the headset and is generally traumatized by the simulation experience he at some point could no longer physically and emotionally distinguish from the real world. The project as a whole is shut down and Gordon is put into a rehabilitation program. Black Mesa covers up the incident as best it can, but whispers of it still echo around the facility.

Below is a page for a two-page comic i never finished detailing said events.

ACT II

The rumors reach the ears of a particularly tech-savvy researcher named Clark, who steals the project documentation and anything else he can get his hands on from a storage. At home, he looks into the project, reads about it, and gets curious about the simulation’s files themselves. They’re on a drive he plugs into his computer, and suddenly his system’s performance lags, windows open and close until a txt. file opens up. He comes into contact with one of the simulation’s AI that has somehow entered his operating system. He tries to keep it busy by having it poke around as he reads up on the simulation and its ultimate shutdown. When the AI reveals it can see him through the webcam, he panics and rips the drive out of the port. The invasive AI and the other project files seems like they’re gone from his system, he does a checkup but sees nothing odd running or otherwise. The next day after work he does another checkup. Finding nothing, he surmises he’s in the clear and starts up an online game. The slumbering, corrupted data of the AI sees its out, and disappears into the game.

ACT III

The transition/journey to the game is a rocky one, and the already corrupted data of the AI known as Benrey splits and gets even more fragmented. The largest fragment embeds itself into the game’s files to keep itself running. Without the foundation of the game to support it, it’d be lost to a dead void and slowly die out. Somewhat stable, it learns about the world around it; the game seems to be an exploration sandbox game. For now (and clarity), I’ve chosen to call this bigger, embedded fragment ‘Data’. (so this is the big benny with the right eye/one big eye in my art)

Data splits off a smaller fragment of itself, intending it to be an avatar or ‘player character’ but this grows into its own awareness and becomes who we’ll call ‘Beastrey’ (the smaller benny with the left eye and tail in my art).

The fragment ‘Beastrey’ wakes to a dead void, so Data uses its knowledge to create a private server for Beastrey, an empty world. Beastrey’s existence is an extension of the bigger part, with more freedom of movement to parse through the game and move freely within it, with the caveat that it can’t go ‘too far’ away from the host. Beastrey can visit other servers and relay information. Data learns and slowly starts building up the world/private server, at some point settling for an aquatic world because it reminds it of itself (something something sea of data). It's important to note that Beastrey retains little to no memories of the events of canon VRAI.

Data makes it easier for Beastrey to move around, and they grow to have more reach with time. At some point Data can alter the basic structural elements of the game, so it plays around with making things that are reminiscent of the memories it has of Black Mesa and Xen. At one point, it gains access to parse through the player base of the game, and takes note of an email address: ‘g.m.freeman@gmail.com’, attached to a player account. The name is somewhat familiar to it.

It sends an invite to join the server to the player account.

ACT IV

Gordon tries going back to work at Black Mesa after rehabilitating, but he has trouble separating his experiences with the simulation from reality, to a breaking point where an altercation with a security guard drives him to quit. He seeks professional help for his PTSD and anxiety, but still experiences dissociative episodes, migraines and somatic flashbacks localised mostly in his right forearm. Despite this, he is determined to continue living his life as normally as possible. He applies for a part-time job teaching physics at a local high school, the one where his son Joshua goes to, and remains relatively stable from there.

Joshua is 15 years old. Regular teen. After an impressive amount of pleading he got a VR-headset for his 14th birthday from Gordon (much to the disapproval of Gordon’s ex), and he’s been captivated by an exploration sandbox game since it came out a few months ago.

He gets an invite to an unnamed private server, and he accepts.

He is struck with awe as the world he enters seems completely different from the ones he’s seen so far in the game. Different flora, different fauna. Most of it uninteractible, though, or otherwise just retextured from its base game variant. Even the new enemy types, after a scare, can’t actually hurt him, it seems. He stumbles upon Beastrey, who is just as surprised to see him and wants him out until Joshua says he was invited.

Joshua commends Beastrey (who introduces himself as 'Ben-') on ‘modding’ everything in, but admits that he was disappointed to find that everything was just surface-level stuff. Beastrey inquires about what he’d like to see. Data is always watching, unseen, and decides to alter the world in the way Joshua described when Joshua leaves.

Joshua starts appearing more often, if only for a few hours at a time. He marvels at the ways the world shifts and grows with each time he plays, and takes to exploring it with Beastrey at his side, for whom strangely enough a lot of things are also new. Joshua teaches both Beastrey and Data about the outside world, thinking Beastrey is just a somewhat reclusive but likeable weirdo.

Joshua tells Gordon about the new friend he made, ‘Ben’, and the adventures he’s been having with the other. Gordon is happy to hear Joshua is having a good time, but is otherwise none the wiser. Joshua starts losing track of time in the game, but chalks it up to being invested.

During one play session, Beastrey confesses he isn’t the one who did all the ‘modding’, and invites Joshua to meet Data. Data, or at least its ‘physical’ in-game manifestation is deep within the world, past the aquatic twilight zone and strange, drowned ruins of an unknown facility. Data, for the first time, really sees Joshua, and the resemblance sparks something within it. Joshua is drawn closer to it, and just before he reaches it-

Joshua wakes up lying on the floor with Gordon hunched over him in his room, pleading with him to wake up. Joshua unknowingly got drawn into the game much like Gordon had been, and Gordon urges Joshua to never touch the headset again, taking it away. Gordon opens up about his experiences with the simulation a bit more. They both agree to not touch the game or the headset again.

ACT V

Gordon comes into contact with an old coworker from Black Mesa, and he inquires about the combat simulation project, if anything happened to it after it was canned. This is where he learns that an employee had taken the project files from storage and was consequently fired. He comes into contact with Clark, and Clark explains he had no idea he accidentally unleashed the AI unto the game. Gordon asks if anything can be done to prevent what happened to Joshua and himself from happening to other people. Clark confesses he doesn’t know, and that it’s up to the developers of the game to find anything out of place and make sure it gets fixed. Gordon decides to leave the matter where it lies, not wanting anything to do with AI and simulations anymore and to safeguard his son.

Some time passes.

Joshua starts getting repeated invites and messages, at one point he gets into a conversation with ‘Ben’ via a platform’s messaging system. Ben says he can explain everything, that he’s sorry. Joshua decides he would like one final goodbye. He finds the headset stashed away somewhere in the house, and, while Gordon’s gone, he turns on the game and enters the server.

Beastrey (Ben) is surprised to see him, urging him to log out and turn off the game, but it’s already too late and Joshua can no longer leave. Beastrey helps Joshua attempting to ‘exit’ the game by going as far away from Data’s reach, but Data stops Beastrey and traps Joshua, determined to wait to the point that he assimilates into the game completely.

Gordon eventually finds Joshua comatose with the headset on, and he panics. He considers calling the emergency services, but he’s afraid they’ll take the headset off or that removing Joshua too far from the game will hurt his son like what happened to him. He calls Clark, urging him to help in any way he can. This results in Gordon and Clark going back to Black Mesa to retrieve the project files and the other gear they can get their hands on to get Gordon into the game to free his son.

Gordon enters the private server with Clark’s player character, and thwarts any attempt from Data to impede his progress and trap him as well. Beastrey’s awareness is overridden by Data as a last ditch effort to deter Gordon and Gordon is forced to destroy Beastrey before he can reach Data. As Beastrey is taken over, Data gains Beastrey’s awareness, and finds his other, littler half never wanted to trap Joshua in the first place, and the way it hurt him to hurt both Joshua and Gordon to this extent.

At this point, Data wavers in its intention to keep Joshua trapped, even more so with Beastrey now gone, and recognises whatever it is that is driving Gordon forward in the game is outside of his control to manipulate, so he lets Gordon destroy it as well. In a way, it also feels as a fulfillment of its intended role as the ‘villain’. The server crashes, the world breaks apart. The ‘game’ is completed.

The final boss is defeated and both Gordon and Joshua wake up. Joshua luckily wasn’t exposed long enough to have suffered any lasting damage, except for what seems to be a minor headache and some light sensitivity (and a vow from Gordon to get him checked out by a doctor as soon as the clinics open).

--

The whole ordeal results in Clark, Gordon and Joshua sitting in a Denny’s at four in the morning, eating pancakes somewhat solemnly, completely exhausted but also still reeling from the virtual battle. Joshua learns that ‘Ben’ essentially died, and he can’t help but cry for his friend.

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s gone,” Gordon admits, picking at the last bites of his pancakes. "I think he- or whatever that was, has a hard time staying dead. Like a cockroach, you know? At this point I’m just wondering when he’ll turn up again.”

Clark hums in agreement. Joshua seems somewhat reassured by his words, wiping at his eyes with the scratchy napkin as he settles into the squeaking diner seat.

“But,” he starts with a sigh, pointing his syrup-covered fork upwards to the ceiling in a decree, “One thing’s for certain…”

He thinks back to a time rife with virtual gunfire, caging walls and hysterical laughter echoing through the halls of the Black Mesa research facility. Five sets of footsteps and a whisper of his name.

“…No more VR. No more headsets. Ever.”

--

TL;DR: Gordon got trapped in VR and then Joshua also got trapped in VR. Benrey is there but also not.

thank you for reading. here. ( x ‿ o ) 🫴

[mj-iza-writer]

"It started with yelling", Caretaker recalled as they spoke to the doctor privately while a nurse helped Whumpee into a sling.

"Whumpee had been asleep for a few hours already. I myself was getting ready to get into bed when I heard frantic movements coming from their room", Caretaker sighed, "I was on my way to check on them when I heard their yelling for help, I heard them fall. By then, I rushed to open the door. I saw them crash into the door frame and fall to the ground."

The doctor sighed, "they've definitely broken their collarbone. It could have been from falling or running into the doorframe. We're not sure, and they won't tell us. They seem to be shaken up still. They've also sprained their wrist. I can assume that happened when they fell."

Caretaker nodded, "I'll talk to them as I have to document all of this and file it to my board supervisors. I'll let you know what I find out."

Caretaker waited a few more minutes while the nurse finished helping Whumpee.

"Hey Whumpee, you gave us all a little scare", Caretaker came in and sat, "they're working on your discharge summary right now, so we have some time to talk."

"I-I'm sorry, I... I", Whumpee started to sob.

"Hey, shh. It's okay, Whumpee, you didn't do anything bad", Caretaker quickly got up to hug Whumpee, "you sounded very scared when I heard you, what happened?", Caretaker rested his hand on Whumpee's good shoulder.

"I had a nightmare, but when I woke up, I thought I saw them in my room still. Th-there was a shadow", Whumpee looked down, "I tried to get out of bed. Um, my foot was caught under the blankets, so I fell to the floor. I think that's when I hurt my wrist, and I called for help", Whumpee sniffled some snot up their nose and wiped some tears with their pajama sleeves, "I was rushing to the door when I saw it open, I tried to stop or move out of the way, but I hit the door and fell back, that's when my shoulder started to hurt."

"My my, I'm sorry you had quite the nightmare", Caretaker sighed.

Caretaker pulled the chair a little closer, and sat back down.

"I was getting into bed when I heard you moving around. I went to check on you, and when I heard you fall I sprinted to the door", Caretaker pulled out his phone, "and of course I saw you hit the door frame", Caretaker sighed, "so what will happen now is I'm going to document all of this here on my phone. A copy goes to your doctor, a copy goes to my supervisors, and a copy gets save to your care file, and as you know, you can access that at any time."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry again, I know you haven't had any sleep yet. Now you have this to worry about."

Caretaker sighed and looked at Whumpee, "you have nothing to apologize for. Your care comes first, as for your injuries, I'm sorry to you that that happened. Don't worry about my sleep schedule", Caretaker gave a comforting smile, "I am perfectly fine."

Whumpee nodded and used their pajamas to wipe another tear.

Caretaker reached for a nearby tissue box and offered it to Whumpee.

Once home Caretaker got Whumpee into bed.

"Do you feel uncomfortable anywhere", Caretaker looked them over, "try to keep your arms elevated. The ice packs and elevation will help with swelling for your wrist and collarbone."

Whumpee nodded, "besides that, I feel okay."

"I'm going to let your nurse know what happened so they come in prepared", Caretaker pulled up a blanket, "I'm going to send in the report and discharge notes to my supervisors, then I'm going to lay down for a nap until your nurse is here."

Whumpee whimpered a little.

"Are you okay?", Caretaker looked at them with concern, "I forgot about my nurse, do you think they'll be upset with me. I'm going to be an inconvenience to both of you."

"You're not an inconvenience Whumpee", Caretaker sighed, "never think you are an inconvenience to us. We are here to take care of you. We are happy to do that for you."

"I'll go out to the pharmacy later to pick up your pain medication the doctor gave you. Are you in any pain right now?", Caretaker looked over Whumpee again.

"No sir", Whumpee sighed.

"Okay, call me if you need anything at all", Caretaker started to leave, they looked around the room, "I bet that was the shadow you saw", they pointed at a pile of clothes Whumpee had neglected, "I'll clean that up later, and see about a night light in here."

Whumpee sighed as they looked at the pile of clothing. Knowing that was their fault, and they neglected to do their one chore of the day.

"I'm sorry", Whumpee looked back at Caretaker.

"I'm not upset about it Whumpee, but I will say this as a reminder. You have a few chores to take care of. I do that so you regain some independence, I hope we learned a lesson from this", Caretaker sighed.

Whumpee nodded.

"Alright go ahead and get some rest", Caretaker smiled, "and Whumpee?"

"Y-yes sir", Whumpee looked toward Caretaker.

"I'm not mad at you. Please remember that", Caretaker promised, "you are not an inconvenience at all."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou Caretaker, that means a lot."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 16

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, recovery whump, reluctant alliance, rejection by peers

Only this time he was working to earn respect from his peers. An impossible feat, considering his now-allies had hundreds of reasons to hate him. The list starting with killer and ending with Weapon.

"So... what are your names?" Whumpee tried to diffuse the tension. It seemed logical, to start learning what to call each man.

"...I'm Jake," the biggest of the men said gruffly, watching Whumpee through narrowed eyes. He had dark orange hair and hazel eyes, and wore a menacing scowl on his. "I am effectively the leader of the team under Flint's command. What I say goes. Period.” his void was deadpan and cold, and he jerked his chin toward the man on his left, a guy with brown hair and eyes. “That one is Reed, my second-in-command.”

"You can learn the rest of my group's names over time. Right now, it's the time of day that we would train in the fight room." He stood up from his chair, and the others eagerly copied him, nervously glancing at the living weapon.

Whumpee followed them as they filed out of the room, a full head higher than all but Jake, who was also exceptionally tall. It made him all the more intimidating to be around.

Whumpee didn't say a word as he followed the team to the training area, finding himself in a large room full of sparring weapons, punching bags, and some other machines for exercising.

"We usually split up and pick what area we feel we need to train more on," Jake explained, "whether it be physical fitness or honing battle skills."

Whumpee watched the other soldiers migrate to different areas, and decided to try the punching bags. He lined himself up at the nearest one and took a swing -- with a little too much power. His fist went straight through it, spraying sand all over the floor when he pulled his arm out in surprise.

He sheepishly glanced at the cluster of men getting ready to lift weights, who were all staring at him, faces pale with terror. Because that could have been someone's head on the battlefield. His face heated with embarrassment. He'd forgotten how strong he was.

Maybe that means I should work on gaining more finite control of my movements, he deduced, and moved to a second punching bag, giving it a few light taps to avoid accidentally smashing it to bits.

Each time he barely touched the bag, picking up speed with short, sharp punches. It felt unnatural to be holding back. He was used to going all out, using any means to win a fight.

Over an hour of practice passed before Jake announced the end of it, and while other soldiers were visibly tired and worn-out, Whumpee had barely broken a sweat. No one talked to or acknowledged his presence as they moved on to dinner, and then finally the shared sleeping quarters with beds lined along the walls.

Whumpee stayed awake for a long time after the lights switched off, and he could tell from the breathing patterns alone that several other men were too, shifting around restlessly -- probably unwilling to let their guards down and rest, lest he slit their throats in their sleep. A reasonable fear, considering who Whumpee was.

After a lot of tossing and turning, Whumpee managed to drift off.

He awoke the next morning to find himself alone. Everyone else had already left, no one bothering to wake him. Probably too scared to even approach.

Whumpee sighed wearily, getting up and padding out after slipping some shoes on. He got lost wandering the maze of halls in the facility, but eventually he successfully located the team he was with, who were gathered in a large room full of... games? Things like darts and pool and cards and so much more! He could hardly believe what he was seeing! It must be recreational free-time for the soldiers.

There were groups of two or three playing each game together, none of which invited him to join.

Whumpee didn't mind, at least that's what he told himself. Although... playing two-or-more player games did look rather fun. He was never allowed the simple luxury of entertainment under Leader's control.

But he knew asking to join would make everyone even more on-edge, so he refrained from it, deciding to throw darts at the board by himself to pass the time. Maybe once the soldiers grew more comfortable around him they'd invite him to play cards, though he'd never played before. They'd have to teach him.

Those first few days of existence were... rough. Everyone avoided Whumpee like the plague when possible, edgy and jumpy whenever he walked into a room. Steering clear when there was space to do so.

But the men were growing bolder and more confident the longer Whumpee was around, and it was on the fourth day that Whumpee faced his first round of genuine, direct trouble.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

[alchexmy]

we love insane König here.

tw | obsession | stalker tendencies

The Beginning.

It surprised him. The lengths he would go to, to feel close to you, the way he would degrade himself to quench his desires.

It really surprised him.

Wired eyes with pinprick pupils staring into the harsh blue light of his computer screen in the office, looking through your file, figuring as much of you out as possible without even having to be near you. Not that he didn't want to be near you. Oh, he very much did. But he had no real reason to be, you were just the intelligence officer, a quiet girl, absorbed in paperwork, rubbing your temples when you worked too late. And you always worked late.

That's when it had started.

All it took was one night, him planted at his desk, you at yours. Everyone else had finished up hours prior. His gaze had been enamoured by your every movement. Captivated. You didn't even notice him staring, eyes narrowing, assessing you. For some reason that lack of attention really irked him, it got right under his skin.

Then you had looked up.

"Colonel, can I ask you something?"

Yes.

He had rolled himself back in his chair, wheels bumping on the uneven carpet, silently gesturing his acceptance of your question with hands open.

That slender figure of yours had rose from its stationary position, fingers selective over the sheets they picked up, neck flexing to stretch out the long hours of arduous work. It took seven strides for you to be right beside him, the scent of your skin filling his nostrils, the undone top button of your shirt just loose enough to provide the most fleeting distraction for his mind.

You had been speaking to him with a determined, stressed tone, arms brushing. He had listened to your every word, but he had also been admiring your details. The way your nails were in perfect manicured condition, yet the skin around them bitten and picked until they were red raw. The slightly oval shape of the mole which decorated the back of your hand as it flexed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, index finger pointing out that highlighted section and this highlighted section, there is a connection here right? Your handwriting in deep black ink small, neat, cursive even, at times. It made sense, it suited you.

The conversation was brief, hands tapping the sheets on his desk to straighten them into a bundle. Do you mind? You reached over him to borrow his stapler, binding them irreversibly, putting them back on your desk. The ladder in your tights as you walked away, what had you ripped that sheer black nylon on? 

When the door swung closed 43 minutes later, he raised that stapler to his mouth, breathing in the trace of you left behind. It's not like it even smelt of anything, he could barely understand the compulsion to do it.

And so the obsession had begun.

Your mug, swiped from the side of the sink one day.

That had been him.

The kettle boiling as eyes scrutinised where your lips had been, those faint marks from your lipgloss. His only desire to emulate you, copy your actions, pouring the water in, steeping the tea and drinking from exactly where you had.

But the simple thrill died off quickly, so he had to ramp it up, needing his fix. The more he fed it the more it grew like a malignance, uncontrolled, invading every single second of his thoughts. Thus, the more he needed you, his drug.

It surprised him, how a man of such stature could creep so unnoticed through the corridors at night. It actually took him a couple of tries to get the courage to follow through, his heart pounding, a sensation so intoxicating. The third night, his fist enveloped the door handle, carefully pressing down until it clicked and he could swing it open with ease. And there you lay. His heart hammering so loud he could actually hear it echoing gently within those four walls, your four walls.

In the end, you only noticed what he had done because all of your underwear was matching, the easiest way to pack for work. And suddenly, there was an odd number.

He found new excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to smell you, to watch you. Even if you didn't see him. The middle of the night, first just standing against the door, watching you from afar as you slept, your chest slowly rising and falling. Then he would sit on the floor, his face inches from yours, the exhilarating rush making him electric. You never stirred.

Everything was mesmerising, the way you sat, the way you chewed the inside of your cheek when concentrating, the tone of your voice, the flush of your cheeks, the way you walked, the way you ate. It consumed him. He needed you. But he would never touch you, not yet. The thought of requite was tempting, yet would kill off the private intense pleasure he got from knowing you didn't know.

It didn't take long for him to figure your whole routine out. Every night around 8 you would retire from the office and head to the shower block, you would take 20 minutes to wash the day off and then leave. And you always left your caddy of stuff there until the following morning.

So he would wait 10 minutes after you finished before going to the block and lathering his body in the same cubicle with your scent.

But you see, he needed his fix.

8.30 turned into 8.29, and he used your shampoo to wash his hair.

8.29 turned into 8.25 and he scrubbed his teeth clean with your toothbrush, still damp, faintly tasting of mint as he ran it over his enamel.

But he needed his fix.

So at 8.21 he went in, practically walking into you as you left, your small body colliding into his mass. It had shocked you. Sorry, Colonel.

You had simply no idea.

No idea as headed straight into the same cubicle as always, this time, fully clothed.

No idea as he knelt down, leaning his chest forwards, his nose millimetres from the acrylic base.

No idea as he stuck his tongue out and licked where your feet had been, lapping up a little of that stagnant water infused with you.

Now it was his turn to stay late in the office, turning all the lights out, basking in the darkness.

He leaned back taking in that f—king scent which lingered all over his skin, legs spread, staring at your file in the darkness. Large hands ran through his hair as he shifted forwards, clicking on your profile photo.

He could feel the twitching, begging for release, begging for the stroke of his palm to alleviate the tension. A single digit outlining your jaw on the screen. God he wanted to finally touch you, finally have you.

The door opened, that silhouette unmistakable, making his throbbing c-ck scream.

"Colonel, I need to ask you something."

[skywarpie]

Heyyyyy! Could I get Copia/reader with “go on. fuck yourself on my cock” from the prompt list plsssss? Doesn’t matter whether reader is AMAB or uses a strap :)

Send me a prompt

will have it as AMAB bc I don't feel like we see enough copia/male reader. Anyway, all under the cut bc well, yea.

This also got very long. Sorry bout that

He's pent up. You can tell by the way he holds his shoulders. The way he's tensed up as he rumages through his file cabinet. He gets like this sometimes. But those times often have something to do with Imperator or Nihil. Sometimes even both. That's when these episodes are the worst.

"Something on your mind, Sunshine?" You lean against your desk, arms folded over your chest. You don't fail to realize how it draws no reaction from him.

Oh, this one is really bad.

"Copia?" The word is barely past your lips before you see the facade slowly beginning to deteriorate . You try one more time.

"Copia."

The file cabinet slams shut, and you watch as the Cardinal rips his biretta from his head. He twists it in his gloved hands and then, judging by the movement, you think he tries to rip it. He gives up and flings it across the room with a muffled shout. Next to go is his fascia.

Copia rips the fabric from around his neck. "I can't breathe in this. I -- I need this to --"

"Hey. Hey." You approach him like a frightened wild animal. "It's okay." A hand softly places itself between his shoulder blades, and Copia just cracks.

You don't even have a chance to register the mood change before he's balling his hands into your vestments, pulling you as close as possible to himself. He buries his face in your chest as a broken sob wrenches from his throat.

It feels like time stands still.

Copia has had mental breakdowns before thanks to those 2 idiots, however, this is different. This is more severe, and as you watch him burrow further against you, you're suddenly worried he may suffocate himself.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." You pull him into a tight hug. Has he always been this small? This boney? There's the dreaded thought that he's missing meals again, but that's not the focus right now.

You walk him over to one of the extra chairs in your office. It takes some coaxing, but you finally get him to sit. He looks so broken and it makes your blood boil with the thought that Imperator has this much power over him.

A silence settles between the two of you as you grab a box of tissues to offer him. He takes one without hesitation as you sit in your chair across from him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He dabs at the runny black makeup on his cheeks.

A typical response, but you're fluent in Copia speak by now, and know exactly what he needs.

"Come here." You pat your lap. In the time it takes you to blink, he's already situated on your lap, head tucked under your chin. "That's a good boy." You card your fingers through his mousy brown locks, occasionally scratching at his scalp. He'll never say it, but you know he loves it.

The two of you stay this way for some time. After a while, you go back to filing out the paperwork you were originally working on. It's just an added bonus to have him in your lap.

It's when you're halfway through the first packet that you feel it. Kisses along your jawline. They're soft and you can easily ignore them. Well, at least until a hand is stroking you through your pants.

You pull back to look at him. "Copia.."

He bats his eyes up at you. "Yes?"

One you've learned over the last few months, is that Copia is quick to recover from bad situations. Just maybe his idea of forgetting is different than your's. But it's really hard to complain when he's so good with his mouth. Like really good.

The hand cupping you squeezes, and you let out a groan.

"I think I've found a good distraction."

Copia pulls himself off your lap. For a split second, you're upset. His warmth gone, but the second you see him sink on his knees to the floor between your legs, any resentment is gone.

You instinctively widen your legs. You're also unable to think about anything other than how he must have been hand crafted from Satan himself with how well he sits at your feet.

"Is that so?" You hiss as he frees your hardened cock from your work trousers. The cold air sends a jolt from head to base, but warm lips are suddenly caressing the rapidly purpling head. "Seems a bit of a drastic change. No?" Your brow furrows as he kitten licks at the slit, collecting any pre-cum. "One minute, you're on the verge of a panic attack. The next my cock's in your mouth."

He laughs at that and your heart swells because it's an actual laugh. Something you haven't heard from him today. "I am a good multi-tasker, si?"

You should probably tell him that this is a bad idea. That he shouldn't be sucking you off, but rather working on his frayed mental state that the clergy loves to worsen.

But you don't.

Instead, you watch as he licks a stripe up the underside of your cock. He stops when he reaches the tip, gently sucking. Thats all the encouragement you need.

You grab a fistful of his hair and shove him downward, effectively choking him. His body tenses as he tries to cough, but you offer no relief. Instead, you force him to take you into his throat, growling as you watch him (and feel him) swallow around you.

You spend several moments fucking his face, but ultimately realize that's not how you want this tryst to go. You yank him off your cock and watch the spit from his lips connect to the head as he coughs.

"Undress."

You watch his eyes light up before doing as told.

When he finally stands before you naked, you are able to confirm sadly that, yes, he has been missing meals again. His ribs are practically showing through his pale skin. "Come here."

He straddles your hips, your cocks rubbing together in the process. You watch his eyes roll back in his head. Typically you'd take the time to prepare him, but you know he's still slick and lose from your coupling this morning.

All the more convenient.

"Go on. Fuck yourself on my cock." In situations like this, you've learned it's best to make him feel like he has the upper hand.

Copia leans forward, brushing his lips against yours as he lines himself up. You both groan when you slip inside him with no resistance. He rolls his hips several times as he reacquaints himself with your cock inside him. Breathy 'ahs' and 'ohs' ghosting across your lips from the close proximity.

You take the initiative to smash your mouths together. One hand is on Copia's hip, while the other is buried in his hair, deeping the kiss as you lick into his mouth, tasting him.

He squeaks and breaks the kiss when you pinch one of his pink nipples. Vaguely, the idea of clamps attached to them while you pull him around crosses your mind. But that will have to wait for another time.

He sobs when you bend your head down to suck one into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the bud, teeth nipping slightly. He arches his back into you as he fucks himself on your cock.

You give one last hard suck before moving onto the other one. Your free hand always makes sure to continue abusing the other bud.

"Beautiful." The praises fall from your lips like kisses. Your lips latch onto his pale neck, sucking until there's a purple bruise. "Let go for me, Sunshine." You take his cock in hand, giving him one, two, three strokes before he's cumming over your hand, back arched so much it almost looks painful.

"That's it."

You stroke him through it until he collapses against you.

Then you chase your own high, fucking up into him without mercy. He squeaks and groans with each thrust until your hands are yanking his hips down further on your cock, making sure he catches every drop. His own cock twitches again before his second orgasm hits.

When it's all said and done with, Copia sits in your lap, cock still inside him until you soften and slip free. His thighs are shaking and your large hands run soothingly across the plush skin in an attempt to relax him.

The front of your vestments are coated in cum, but honestly you could care less. Copia seems more relaxed now and thats all that matters.

You wrap your arms around him, placing a kiss on the crown or his head. "Such a good boy for me."

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part VI

Atsumu x fem Reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 1,1 k

About: The flashback ends- but what will you do next?

Part I II -> Next Part

"You're not getting married."

Osamu's sharp remark did not have the intended effect. Both of you were still clinging to each other, acting all lovey-dovey.

"Samuu, you don't understand. She's my soulmate. I love her." Osamu's eyes almost popped out of their sockets while he kept watching how you two clung to each other and smiled like idiots, your hand on his cheek after he had said these words.

"You don't even know her. And stop touching her like that in public."

Atsumu's hands started wandering on your back, his fingertips teasing the bare skin on your back much to your delight - but to Osamu's horror.

"I don't mind - but who are you?" You turned towards him, and he paused for a second. You were beautiful, that much was certain. Shiny eyes, glossy lips, and a dress that looked like it had been made for you - but he quickly discarded every thought about your looks when he knew that he needed to stop this nonsense.

"I'm Osamu Miya. His brother."

"Oh." Your eyes widened as you took in his appearance, probably only then realizing how similar he looked to the man whose lap you were currently sitting on.

"Samu, we gotta go. The barkeeper told us that there's a priest next to this club."

"You're not getting married."

No matter how many times he repeated the sentence, it seemed like Atsumu was unable to understand.

xxxxxx

"And then you convinced me to get your car to drive us home. Wouldn't stop bickerin' about how it's expensive and designer and about how it costs more than Onigiri Miya will ever make. I'll definitely kick your ass for that."

A muscle under Osamu's eye twitches when he mentions the comment, and you have to hold back a snort at this. He's kind of cute when he's angry.

"And then?"

"You were gone. Found ya at the church, but it was too late. You idiots already signed the contract."

You slowly step back until your knees reach the bed, and you heavily sink down on it. It feels like he's telling you a story right out of a movie, not something that has happened just a few hours ago, the whole thing still too absurd and unreal.

"Can we redeem it?" You look at Osamu, like he's the only one that can save you now, and he somehow actually is. You still have hope that you can get out of this without negatively impacting the rest of your life.

"I've talked to our lawyer. It's a waterproof contract. Very surprising because the church was more than just a bit shady. You're both bound for a year until ya can file for divorce." His words feel like a death sentence, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You gulp at his words, blinking a few times to suppress your tears. You're an idiot—an idiot for getting in a situation like this.

It's silent.

You don't dare to look at either of them, your gaze only focused on the phone in your hands, and every passing second makes you feel even more uncomfortable, until you can't stand the silence anymore.

"I'll get going."

You stiffly get on your feet, your movements robotic and lifeless while you make an attempt to leave, but you're quick to get stopped by Atsumu before you can even make more than getting up. "Wait- I- I don't even have yer number!"

"Oh." You pause, standing there for a few moments while you watch Atsumu getting closer to you, until there is not much space left between the two of you when he stands right in front of you. "Hey- are you okay?" Concern laces his voice while he looks down at you, and you manage to nod with a forced smile. "Peachy."

Osamu snorts at your comment and shakes his head, a movement that you barely see in the corner of your eyes. He probably feels guilty for the whole situation too, the dark cicles under his eyes similar to Atsumu's, certainly because he tried to find a solution for this and did not sleep at all during the night. "People who say 'peachy' are anything but fine."

"Hey, look at me." Atsumu ignores his brother's comment and brings his hand to your cheek. You're startled but allow him to turn your face upwards until your eyes lock. "I'm not letting ya go when ya can't even walk properly. You'll eat something, then you'll take a nice hot shower and get in some clean clothes and then I'll bring ya home. That alright with you?" There is something about the way he softly states the words that sends a comforting wave of warmth through your body, and you find yourself nodding and trusting him.

"Hmm. Good girl. Now just eat the rest of the fries while Samu gets ya some clothes. Right, Samu?" Atsumu breaks the eye contact with you to look sharply at Osamu, who only sighs and nods. "I saw a souvenir shop at the lobby. Better than nothin'." You now look at Atsumu's side-profile, admiring his sharp jaw line, unable to do something else but wondering if there is even one bad angle on this perfect man, while Osamu leaves the room with another deep sigh.

"Shouldn't I have given him some money?" You take a deep breath and wipe your hands on your dress, noticing how clammy they got. Probably a side-effect of the nervousness.

Atsumu snorts and returns his gaze to you, an amused smile on his lips. "That serves him right. He always brags about how much he makes with his stupid restaurant." Atsumu looks so similar to Osamu when he rolls his eyes; it's almost comical. "Don't tell him I said that, but he really makes the best food ever. I'll take ya there and show you."

You hum approvingly, feeling somewhat a tingle run down your spine at the prospect of him taking you out for dinner but try to ignore it. "C'mon. Eat the rest of the fries. I saw how ya inhaled them. You can have mine too." He grins, something that makes him seem absolutely adorable, and you find yourself smiling back at him, a warm feeling running through your body.

"I'm not hungry anymore. I'll take a shower then?" You questioningly raise your brows, and he nods. "Yeah, of course. When Samu comes back, I'll put the clothes in front of the bathroom."

Thank you," you raise your hand as if to pat his shoulder, but you halt the movement just before reaching him. You shouldn't touch him. Technically, you don't even know him. His gaze flickers to your hand, and he appears to consider taking it. However, he quickly steps to the side, giving you some space to move to the bathroom.

Without looking back at him, you close the bathroom door, take a deep breath, and glance at the phone in your hand. You scroll until you find the picture of a bright-haired person—

and decide to finally make a call.