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winged-self-indulgence · 5 months

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Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

#reference list is completed!#yandere #sunny day jack #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #stnaf #ddlc #john doe #boyfriend to death #tpof #degrees of lewdity #your boyfriend #14dwy #br<3ken colors #camp willowpeak #br0ken colors #obey me #favour vn #binary star hero

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after-witch · 2 months

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Title: Are You There, God? It's Me [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: You've been held captive by Feitan for months--you're long-since used to seeing blood. But it's the blood from your first period since you've been taken that has you feeling sick.

Word count: 2671

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, descriptions of wounds and violence, mentions of previous physical abuse, reader gets their period

Over the past few months, you’ve seen a lot of blood. You’ve seen clotted blood on festering wounds; fresh blood seeping from underneath knives and nails; spatters of blood on the walls from the sudden trauma of severed limbs, fingers, toes.

Over time, your stomach has stopped rebelling at the sight of it. Not that it gets easier to see, but it has gotten easier to stomach. Maybe your body refuses to give up the few nutrients that do make their way down your gullet, thanks to Feitan’s dislike of cooking and unwillingness to provide you with a basic grocery stock to work from. Frozen dinners only go so far.

Whatever the reason, you’re rarely physically ill anymore when Feitan drags you to the basement and makes you watch him torture people. For information, or for fun, or sometimes both in equal measure. Emotionally, mentally, socially, psychologically ill is another thing entirely…

But here, now, in the quiet upstairs bathroom, the sight of your period blood smeared on your underwear has you ready to hurl. Your guts seize together and you wonder how quickly you’d be able to clean the toilet, should vomit make its way out of your throat.

Your period is… back.

It’s been a while. A few months. Stress had stolen it away, and you hadn’t thought much about it. You remembered when your dad died years ago--you hadn’t gotten your period for maybe 4 months, then. So it was no wonder that being kidnapped by some crazed serial killer who could turn his nails into knives seemingly at whim might throw your body’s organic clock all out of sorts.

But here, now, in the same damned quiet upstairs bathroom where you sometimes retreat to cry into towels, it’s back.

What are you supposed to do?

Your first thought was to search the bathroom for period supplies, but of course, there were none. Not a single pad or tampon.

(The sick thought occurs to you: even if one of Feitan’s victims survived long enough to get their period, it’s not like he’d be letting them take a break to put on a pad...)

No pads. No tampons. Certainly nothing as innovative as a cup.

So you’ve made do with the old standby: folding as much toilet paper as humanly possible and sticking it in your underwear. But you know it won’t last long. It’s meant to be a temporary stopgap on the way home from work or school, or until you can run out to the shop to grab a fresh box.

You can’t just run out to the shop. You can’t go anywhere. Not even outside, not even for a minute. You’re not even meant to freely ask for things; asking for anything--some fresh vegetables, a blanket that’s actually warm, new underwear--is a grueling, draining task that you often prep days in advance.

And he doesn’t always say yes.

And this? This? No. There’s no way. You are not going to waltz up to your kidnapper and tell him that you’ve started something so personal and intimate. Humiliation doesn’t begin to describe the act. You want to fold up like a piece of paper and blow into the wind whenever you recall the conversation you were forced to have regarding new underwear made from 100% cotton--

Why? He’d asked. And you’d said it was more comfortable. He snorted. And you were worried that he might not think it was important, so you had to explain that your body reacted poorly to anything less than 100% cotton. And he’d asked, simply: What do you mean? And you’d had to actually explain, voice mumbled and face blazing hot from shame, that you get irritated down there by other fabrics.

You can’t go through that again. For heaven’s sake--you’d have to tell him what sort of supplies you’d need! Did he even know the difference between a pad and a tampon? What if he asked why you needed an overnight pad versus a normal one?

And there’s other things to consider. The dull ache in your lower stomach… he does have painkillers, but he’s only doled them out for serious things (your broken wrist, for slapping him--and the time you slipped on the stairs and hurt your back; you’re not allowed to walk up or down them on your own, anymore).

A heating pad would be nice. And a body pillow to put between your legs and curl up with. But to get them, you’ll have to ask Feitan. Ask him properly, the right way, at the right time.

And he’d have questions, wouldn’t he?

He’d want to know why you need a heating pad (“Because my uterus feels like it’s being clawed out, goddamn it!” would probably not fly) and who knows, maybe he’d tell you to just suck it up and you’d have to deal with the humiliation of being rejected on top of the shame of him knowing you’re bleeding from your most private of parts and--

No.

It’s not happening. You aren’t going to tell him, and that is that. You’ll do what you can to get through it--just a few days, that’s all, you used to have to sit through school without pain meds and heating pads and sure it sucked but you lived--and you’ll soldier on like you’ve done thus far.

You sigh, and carefully flush the proof of your period--toilet paper and blood tinged urine--down the toilet. You’ll have to be careful about where you sit, and how you sit, lest you accidentally stain the sofa or the dining room chair.

Then the thought comes to you, almost a buzz in your head--

Oh, fuck… what if it leaks on the bed when you sleep? Feitan would know. Feitan would see. You’d have to ask him for cleaning supplies or get caught dragging the sheet to the bathroom or… or…

No, that couldn’t happen. You’d do something. You’d--yes! The solution is simple. Easy as pie.

You wouldn’t still be sane without quick thinking, so you nab a few towels from the back of the bathroom closet, shove them under your shirt like you used to mimic pregnancy as a child with an overactive imagination and a tendency for dramatic imaginative play times, and prepare to scamper to your bedroom and hide them until night falls.

You’d make a barrier, that’s what you’d do. Simple, easy. Effective. And Feitan never had to know.

Feitan rarely bothered with you in the evening, anyway--he was too busy with his work.

It was a perfect plan.

It was not a perfect plan.

Everything was going fine. You’d draped a cardigan around your waist in the afternoon when Feitan insisted you watch a film together, although as usual he didn’t sit on the same sofa as you, and simply stared at you now and then from his vantage point on the chair. The same cardigan had come in handy at dinner.

No leaks. No stains. And you’d pushed through the pain and discomfort of your cramps, all the while practicing pretending that something you ate wasn’t sitting well with you, if Feitan had noticed.

He didn’t.

All you had to do was get to bed, make your barrier, and cover up with the blanket just in case it was one of the nights that Feitan came into your room in the middle of the night to stare at you like some sort of creepy owl. (Did he know you knew, or did he like to think you were unawares)

That’s it.

Simple enough.

Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

Right?

Wrong.

Because as soon as you’d finished smoothing out the second towel on top of the sheets, Feitan walked through the doorway to your bedroom.

Where he stands, now, staring at you with a look of false passivity.

“Why,” he asks, in a voice so mild that you know it means he’s absolutely invested in an answer, “you have towels on the bed?”

You’d come up with excuses for cramps; you’d even dabbled with pretending that you’d scratched your thigh or something, if you happened to bleed onto the sofa.

Feitan never really came into your room while you prepared for bed, so the thought of an excuse here never entered your mind. And now your mind whirled for an answer, coming up blank.

“I, uh,” you say, plopping yourself down on the towel as if covering it up with your body would somehow erase his memory. “I was… cold?” You offer, not even believing an ounce of your own life.

Feitan’s expression doesn’t change.

“Why?” The question leaves room for no excuses, no lies, nothing but the truth. There’s an ‘or else’ in his tone that you don’t care to uncover.

This is sick. This is wrong. This is so unfair.

“I’monmyperiod.” You rush out the words, staring down at your thighs, cheeks so hot you’re sure the temperature in the room has raised by a few degrees.

“Slower.”

You could cry. You might, actually, you feel the pressure of tears building behind your eyes.

“I’m. on. My. Period.” The words come out behind gritted teeth.

You hear a sound you’ve never actually heard from Feitan before: a short, stuttered intake of breath. A surprised, involuntarily, clipped little noise of confusion.

It makes you look up, unable to process what you’ve just heard without seeing it. But what you see is even more confusing:

Feitan is blushing.

Oh, just a little. Just the tiniest amount of ruddiness on his cheeks. If you were one of his victims or some random person on the street, you wouldn’t notice. But you notice all of Feitan’s little expressions, the nuances of his body language. The difference between how far he raises his eyebrows at you can mean the difference between pain and mild discomfort.

So yes, you notice this slight ruddiness on his cheeks, and your brain whirs pathetically, trying to process what it means.

He sees you staring. His hand reaches up to his cheek, and he must realize it--

Because then he yanks his cowl up and turns sideways, leaning against the door frame in a nonchalant way that now seems painfully practiced.

He says nothing for a moment. Your heart thuds the entire time.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet and--you could swear--shy. Awkward. Like he doesn’t want to bring it up. It’s a strange reversal--normally you’re the one who’s left quietly murmuring.

“You need… lady things?”

Oh, this must be how you die.

It won’t be from breaking your neck on the stairs or from Feitan getting bored of you and slashing your throat. It will be from sitting on a towel-strewn bed in front of your secretly blushing captor as he asks you what type of feminine hygiene products you need.

You must not answer fast enough, because he jerks his head towards you.

“Well?”

He looks just as uncomfortable as you feel--it almost makes you feel slightly better. At least he’s not lording it over you. He’s never passed up a chance to make you feel degraded, but even this must be too much for him.

It gives you the push you need to speak, although your voice practically chokes on the words.

“Um. I need. Some pads? Over--overnight ones, because I tend to bleed a lot--” Your eyes shut for a fraction longer than normal, why did you tell him that, for fuck’s sake. “And--” Your voice cracks. “And maybe… if it’s not too much trouble, a heating pad?”

He shifts his position against the door frame. You wonder if he’s making a mental list. The thought of Feitan waltzing into some supermarket with a paper list that says “overnight pads” is too ludicrous to consider for long.

‘”Heating pad? What for?”

The sound you make can only be described as a short, painful keening groan. It’s not the cramps that hurt--it’s the humiliation.

“For cramps,” you say quickly. “Mine get really bad. They were um, pretty bad today, but--”

“Idiot.” Ah, there’s the Feitan you recognize. “Why not say something?”

The towel underneath your fingers isn’t very soft, but you scrunch the fabric up underneath them anyway. “I didn’t want... I mean… I thought that…”

And then that soft pressure behind your eyes builds from frustration, from the embarrassment, from the fact that you’re being held captive and on top of the many awful things you’ve experienced over the past however-many-months, you’re now having a discussion about your intimate period with someone who seems to delight in tormenting you.

The first sniffle is easily hidden. But not the second, or the third. And by the time your lower jaw is quivering and the tears are spilling down your cheeks, you can only lean forward and cry pathetically into your hands.

You hate this. You hate being here. You hate your period, you hate Feitan, you hate the fact that you can’t just go into the bathroom and slap a pad on your underwear. You hate this bed and these towels and the clothes you’re wearing. You hate everything.

“Fine.”

His clipped, sudden word doesn’t make you stop crying. But it does give you a pause, and you swallow down against your tight throat and look at him through sniffling tears. “Huh?”

“I get you heating pad.” He flicks his hand at you, like he’s shooing away an annoying pet dog. “Go to bed. You need more sleep now.”

You do stop crying then, if only because your brain isn’t sure how else to react. Your mouth hangs open a little as you curl up on the bed--a nap would be nice--and grab an extra pillow to shove against your stomach.

Feitan, for his part, snorts and leaves your doorway. You expect him to go into the basement, but instead you hear him putting on his boots, grabbing things from the foyer. He’s going out? Now?

All the while, he’s mumbling to himself. You only catch a few of the words--women, hormones among them--before he leaves. The door’s lock seems louder than ever and you clutch the pillow harder.

Later, you’re yanked out of a fuzzy dream when something both soft and hard lands with a thunk against your head, and your bedroom light is flicked on.

It takes you a few moments to get your bearings.

There’s something draped against you. You blink and hold it up. It’s a heating pad, the plug-in kind with a remote control and everything.

Feitan is standing in your doorway, holding a large sack.

When he sees that you’re at least vaguely awake and aware, he turns it over and dumps the contents on the floor. It’s about 20 boxes of overnight pads--a few different brands. He must have stolen half the shelf.

He regards you with a pleased expression that’s only half-hidden by his cowl. But you’d know his expression of self-serving pride at a job well done anywhere; you’ve seen it enough times when he’s tortured information out of someone.

“Well? This enough for the month?”

The choked sound that comes out of your throat might have had a laugh in it somewhere, but you hope he doesn’t hear it. You get the sense that laughing about this would actually bother him more than anything you’ve done lately.

So instead you nod, slowly, and unfold the heating pad so that you can plug it in somewhere. Since you’ll probably be up for a while, it would be okay to ease your cramps a bit before morning.

But when you look up… Feitan is still there, standing in the doorway.

He looks expectant, like you’ve forgotten something you’re supposed to do, but what--

Oh.

“Thank you, Feitan,” you murmur, swallowing hard, staring down at your lap as the sleep-induced grogginess begins to fade away from your brain.

He hums, then looks down at the pile of boxes he dumped on the floor.

“Put these away. Don’t want you tripping on them. Clumsy.”

For once, you don’t mind the insult.

It’s better to be back on familiar territory.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan porter #yandere #afterwitch writes

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scoutswritingcorner · 2 months

Note

Can we have Reader ovulating so she's VERY horny x Alastor? (I'm ovulating rn and ovulation hornyness is no joke)

The Best Medicine

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW:NSFW- MINORS GO- 18+ ONLY!!

A/N: As a transman- I totally understand Anon. I hope you feel better. ALSO SORRY I WAS STRUGGLING SO HARD TO WRITE A FIC- But I was only able to do headcanons- ALSO THIS AFAB GN!READER

-🦌 First off all let me say this, his mama raised him right. A gentleman and will love you no matter what. But he’s still a little confused about everything so if you don’t mind explaining it to him he’d be grateful. Don’t be embarrassed about anything he’s a serial killer and cannibal, he’s not embarrassed about a little blood.

-🦌 Now- He’ll help you in anyway you want. But he’ll stop you if it makes him uncomfortable so when you do ask for him to fuck you, he’ll most likely use his fingers more often than not. Don’t worry, he’ll be extra careful with his claws.

-🦌 If he doesn’t, don’t worry he’ll let his shadow take his place and man..it can do wonders. He’s still watching so it’s up to you if you feel down for that.

-🦌 But for this request let’s say he is willing to go all the way to help you out, he’s dicking you down until your nothing but a whimpering mess under him. Doesn’t matter which way you wanna bend, he’s not letting you up until you're a blubbering and whimpering tearful mess under him.

-🦌 His still fully clothed and if you do end up getting his clothes a little bloody (it happens, nothing to be ashamed of) don’t freak out he knows the easiest way to get blood out.

-🦌 Oh will definitely use his tongue as well, the taste of blood and the fact he’s pleasuring you? Making you happy and feeling better? This makes him happier than you, he just wants you to be happy.

-🦌 Afterwards? He’s running you a hot bath and running off to change the bedsheets, get you some warm clothes and some jambalaya. You need to eat and hydrate after such a long session.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #gn reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x gn!reader

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steddiealltheway · 11 months

Text

Modern AU stuff is stuck in my head.

Thinking of one where Robin gets a new number and scribbles it down for Steve in a rush because she has a Tinder date with a really cute girl, and she does not have time for Steve to inevitably mistype his phone password several times before finding his contacts app. She rips off the scrap of paper and shoves it at Steve as she rushes to finish her hair and retouch up her mascara.

“Robin, you look great.”

Robin huffs, “I don’t need to look great. I need to look fantastic! You saw the girl! She’s hot, and, for once, I had such a great conversation and we were immediately connecting, you know?”

She rambles on as Steve rolls his eyes and tries to tune her out a bit. It’s not that he isn’t happy for her, it’s just… he’s suffering from a small, embarrassing crush on Dustin’s older friend. And while he knows he could just ask him out like any other person, he finds himself at a loss for words in front of the hyper man. And usually, Steve is more than happy to ramble about random shit and flirt until he has the person practically melting into a puddle of goo at his feet.

All he’s saying is Eddie Munson is different.

And he doesn’t know what to do about it but suffer in silence until their inevitable interactions where he unapologetically shoves his way into his space and calls him little flirtatious nicknames that make Steve’s mind go blank.

Steve has never felt so flustered in his life.

A snap brings him back to reality, and he looks at Robin who does a final spin and asks, “Good?”

Steve looks her over and smiles. “Perfect. Now, go have fun and be safe. I’ll text you to make sure she’s not a serial killer or something.”

“That’s comforting,” Robin says but looks in the mirror one more time before nodding and rushing off yelling, “Bye!”

Steve looks down at the piece of paper in his hand a cringes and the hurried scribbles. Hopefully he’ll be able to decipher it correctly.

He watches through the window, trying not to look too creepy, as Robin climbs into the car with a big smile before it slowly starts moving down the street. Steve feels better once he sees her date is a careful driver.

Steve waits a few more minutes before he makes his way out of the house and goes to his own. Once he gets into his room, he pulls out the piece of paper and types it into his contacts - after messing up the password and struggling to find his contacts.

Steve: So not a serial killer I hope?

There’s instantly some typing back that worries Steve. Shouldn’t Robin be distracted by her date?

Robin: Not a serial killer but you might be… who is this? You intrigue me.

Not Robin. Steve’s heart races as he looks at the scrap of paper. Damn scribbled mess.

Steve: Sorry!! I must’ve typed in the wrong number. Friend is on a first date and was checking in

Not Robin: So sweet of you. Although it makes me nervous that you have no way of contacting your friend and finding out

Steve hadn’t even thought of that. His heart races more. He’s always been one to worry.

Steve: Shit.

Not Robin: Do they have an Instagram that you can message and ask for their number? Not that I mind texting you this lonely Friday night, but it’s probably a good option

He sighs in relief. The stranger is smart and honestly a bit charming. It’s definitely a lonely Friday night for him too. He goes to Instagram and send Robin a quick message before returning to his texts.

Steve: You’re a genius! But what’s a genius doing alone this Friday night?

He stares at the message before sending it. No regrets.

He looks at it for a minute longer as the stranger doesn’t reply. Okay, maybe he has some regrets.

He starts typing out an apology, but a response comes in.

Not Robin: Nothing much really. Debating playing my guitar or staring at my ceiling for a few hours. Both very exciting options. Although I like this new option of texting you more… I will say I’m a 20 year old male though. Don’t want to be texting a minor or some shit.

Steve stares at the message and his heart thuds. 20 year old male. What are the chances?

Steve: 19 year old male here, so you’re in the clear. Unless one of us is lying.

Not Robin: hmm… that makes you sound a bit suspicious but I’ll pinky promise that I’m not lying to you on my end if you’ll do the same

Steve smiles at the message as he types back.

Steve: Pinky promise ❤️

He stares at the heart that’s a little bold, but hey. Why not take a risk?

Not Robin: Looks like my night is getting a lot better

Steve laughs and can’t help but think the same thing.

-:-:-:-:-:-

They text nonstop for the next few days. Steve opens his soul more than he has in years, and the stranger does the same in return. They flirt and exchange jokes and whatnot as well, but Steve always looks forward to when it’s late at night, and the stranger is always up and willing to hear some of his deepest thoughts.

Robin’s worried a bit about the person being some lying creep, but Steve isn’t too worried. He’s given away nothing too personal… except his crush on Eddie Munson.

He hasn’t told the stranger the name of his crush or exactly how he knows him, but in response, the stranger talks about his own hopeless crush on this hot guy who doesn’t really say much to him. They both joke about how they’re hopeless, and Steve almost wonders if he’s falling for the stranger alongside Eddie.

But it’s a crazy thought. The guy could be halfway across the country, but Robin argues that they’re nearby with the way the area codes match.

Steve just shrugs it off and tries not to think too hard about it.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Two weeks pass and Steve finds himself giggling in his bed at 2am, trying to fight sleep as the stranger rattles on about some kid he’s friends with that sounds oddly like Dustin. Steve shares his own stories about his Dustin and his annoying habits, but the two of them agree they wouldn’t change a single thing about their friends.

Not Robin: By the way, I’m going to be MIA for a few hours tomorrow. Got this sort of big game coming up.

Steve’s heart drops a bit at the thought. Tomorrow he was going to try to get a pep talk from the stranger before he has to face Eddie after the big final to his Dnd campaign.

Steve: damn. I’ll miss you. I’ll be hyping myself up tomorrow before I see my guy. Think you could give a brief pep talk?

He watches as the stranger types for a while, but is surprised with how short the text ends up being.

Not Robin: Just be yourself. If he can’t see how amazing you are, then he’s not the right guy for you 🖤 goodnight, stranger. Wish me luck as I will be seeing my guy too

Steve stares at the heart and feels his own heart beating fast.

Steve: Good luck :) Same to you 🤍. But hey, try to get his number this time! Goodnight

He feels his stomach kind of flip at the idea.

Not Robin: thank you. I’ll try

Steve hearts the message and puts his phone down. He stares at the ceiling and tries not to think too hard about the jealous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he drifts off.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Steve is slightly freaking out. He’s about to see Eddie, and he’s decided if his stranger is finally going to get his crush’s number, then he’ll ask Eddie for his. It’ll be fine. It’ll be great.

He stares at the school and waits for Dustin to bust out the doors with Eddie trailing behind him. Steve nervously pulls out his phone.

Steve: About to see my guy and I’m freaking tf out! Miss you :( you always know what to say

He sees his stranger typing and his heart races.

Not Robin: Weird, I’m about to see mine too. But I’m gonna ask him for his number!! I’m determined. But hey, I’ve miss you too :( game just ended by the way

Not even seconds later, the doors to the school open, and Steve watches as Eddie comes out behind Dustin looking at his phone before turning it off and pocketing it. Steve’s heart races.

“Steve! Eddie’s campaign was incredible! I almost died twice, but Will ended up saving all our asses when he rolled a nat twenty during our final battle! It was so cool!” Dustin says running up to Steve.

He laughs and nods not totally understanding what he’s saying. But he sees Eddie come closer out of the corner of his eye. Okay. Get his number. Easy enough. He can do it. His stranger believes in him.

“Okay, you can tell me all about it on the way home. Just give me a minute here,” Steve says patting Dustin on the shoulder as he approaches Eddie for once. He feels like he might pass out.

“Hey,” Eddie says with a big smile.

“Hey yourself. Heard that it was a good game,” Steve says, trying not to do a little dance at how he’s able to get a full sentence out.

It seems to also surprise Eddie who has a blush rise to his face. “I was hoping it would be. Um…” he trails off and kicks a rock on the ground. “So, I was uh. Wondering if…” he takes a deep breath and looks at Steve. “Wondering if I could get your number? In case… you know… something happens with Dustin or something. I don’t know,” Eddie rambles out and pulls a piece of hair in front of his face.

Steve digs out his phone with a big smile. “How about I get yours?”

Eddie smiles and his hands drop down to fidget with his rings as he rattles out his number. Steve goes to his messages and types it in, only it shows the number appear as Not Robin.

Steve shakes his head and deletes the number. Surely he did something wrong. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

Eddie nods and repeats his number slower. It pops up again. Not Robin.

Steve’s heart thuds. “Uh…” he says and then carefully repeats the number back.

Eddie smiles and nods.

Steve swallows. Shit shit. Holy shit. Not Robin is Eddie. He’s been talking to Eddie this whole time and bearing his soul and talking about him to him. Holy shit what is life?

“Hey, Steve, you okay?” Eddie asks, concerned written all over his face when Steve glances up.

Steve stares and nods. “Um… just… you’re really not going to believe this.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “Believe what?”

Steve takes a deep breath and types out a message to Not Robin.

Steve: Hey Eddie :)

Eddie’s phone dings and he looks at the message before doing a double take at it. His jaw drops. “You’re…”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.

Eddie nods looking like he’s half on the verge of panicking. “And your guy is…”

“You,” Steve admits then his heart races. “And your guy?”

“You,” Eddie says as his tongue comes up to worry his top lip.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank god. I’ve been falling for both of you this whole time.”

“Me too,” Eddie says with a laugh. He holds Steve’s gaze. “So… what do we do from here…”

Steve scratches his cheek and shrugs. “Well, I say we take a night to connect the dots about everything and then go on a date tomorrow? Eight o’clock? I’ll text you details tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie says with a big grin. Steve nods and starts to walk back to his car where he feels like he’s about to have a full happy breakdown. “Steve?” Eddie calls out.

Steve turns around and looks at him.

“The buttheads we’ve been talking about are Dustin, right?”

Steve laughs and can’t help it as he walks back to Eddie throwing his arms around him in a hug. “God, I missed you tonight.”

Eddie squeezes him back, “I missed you, too.” They pull away but stay close. “This is going to take a bit of getting used to. Both my dreams guys are you.”

“Same here. Shit.” Steve takes a moment to look into Eddie’s eyes. “I really want to kiss you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Eddie says leaning in.

The car horn beeps loudly causing them to both jump back. “Listen!” Dustin yells leaning out the window, “I don’t know what the fuck I missed, but I would appreciate it if you filled me in on the way home before my mom starts freaking out!”

Steve sighs and drops his head to Eddie’s chest. “What a butthead.”

Eddie laughs and hugs him again. “Tomorrow,” he says like a promise.

“Tomorrow,” Steve says pulling away and raising up his pinky towards Eddie. He smiles down at it and links his pinky with his.

The car horn goes off again.

“Alright alright! I’m coming!” Steve yells over his shoulder then gives Eddie one last pinky squeeze before walking away.

This is going to be a long car ride, but Steve doesn’t mind at all.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

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hoshigray · 7 months

Text

⋆♱ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 ✮ 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢-𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 ♱⋆ | a JJK series

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi hello!! so like, yeah, this is late bc I didn't plan on doing any kinktober stuff since i got shit irl to do. BUT, after some thought and some creative bursts of energy, I figured "ehh why not." So, I'm not setting the dates as life can be unpredictable, but here are the things I'm doing/have done for the month!! Think of this more like a book list than a prompt list tbh

reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⋆♱✮♱⋆ transparent edit made by me + header art by yuto sano + fic dividers by the amazing @cafekitsune!!

𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌, 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎...

All the material below contains 18+ content, so minors do not interact.

☠︎ = ficlet/scenario | ♱ = fics

☠︎ 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 (true form! Sukuna x fem/afab! reader)

☠︎ 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 (dom! Nanami x fem/afab! reader)

♱ 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇[𝐞𝐫]!! (serial killers! Toji + Sukuna x fem! reader)

Next time, look around the area before you say you find a serial killer attractive. Because you’re about to see what mess your words will have you end up in — and your clothes all torn up.

☠︎ 𝐓𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 (rigger! geto x fem! reader!)

♱ 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 (vampire bf! Choso x fem! reader)

Finding out your boyfriend's a vampire was far from the chill evening you planned with him. But you can't lie, imagining those fangs sinking down on and sucking on your skin....it's kinda hot.

♱ 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 (ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader)

Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

☠︎ 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 (Toji x fem! reader)

♱ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (Carrie inspired! Gojo x fem/afab! reader)

Taking a loner like you to the prom was, at first, an easy bet for the most popular kid in school. What he didn't expect, however, is to fall madly in love with you — and how that love brings hell on supposedly the best night of senior year...

This is all the stuff for this month. Thanks for stopping by!

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑱𝒐𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉'𝒔 𝑳𝒂𝒊𝒓?

Would you wish to be tagged? Please lmk in the replies or in my inbox!

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 ⋆♱✮♱⋆ These tales have been transcribed and written by the original poster (me). Do not steal, edit, copy/plagiarize, or post any of my works on your own accounts, in or out of this app. Please and thank you.

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abyssruler · 1 year

Text

plausible deniability

scaramouche x gn!reader

your boyfriend is nice, your boyfriend is sweet, but your boyfriend is also a serial killer. “relax, it’s just a dead body,” he tells you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull. well, at least he did it to defend you? or — scaramouche kills people and you have the world’s biggest ‘i can fix him’ complex. (modern au)

crack, comedy, a few people die but who cares, scara is soft for one person and one person only and that’s you, “i would kill for you, in fact, i have killed for you.” “honey, did you take your meds today?” - scara and reader

You were never a fan of true crime documentaries, or horror movies, or gory shows, or anything that involved excessive blood spraying and lightless eyes staring into the camera.

So, it would stand to reason that at the first sign of your boyfriend being more than into those kinds of things, you would’ve turned tail and ran as far away as you can, right?

Unfortunately, you’ve always been blind to the color red.

…Figurative red, that is, because the red seeping through your couch and the ones coated on your boyfriend’s hands are definitely visible to you, bright and dripping and most definitely staining your pristine white rugs that you just bought last week. Ah, how are you going to explain that to the laundry lady?

“Scara, honey, what did I say about killing other people?” you ask, voice visibly strained.

He sneers at the face of the dead guy sitting haphazardly on your couch. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You sigh.

✧

It wasn’t always like this, with the whole blood viscera happy-murder thing.

Your boyfriend, Scaramouche, had this odd habit of being so immersed in the news, a little smile lighting up his face (which you’d thought was cute at the time and, well, you still do) whenever the reporter gets to the local murders that used to have you shaking in fear on your bed.

He was charming though. A little possessive, but that was a trait you also thought was quite endearing—and, if you’re being honest, you still do. Scaramouche had a vast collection of sharp knives, some small and practically harmless (or as harmless as a knife can be) and others… not so harmless. You didn’t question it because he often cooked for you, your brain chalking it up to him using those knives for it.

It wasn’t until you were walking home alone from university that you discovered his little hobby of, well, killing people who inconvenienced you and him. Mostly people who inconvenienced you though, which was disturbing but also flattering in a crazy sort of way.

“Relax, it’s just a dead body,” he told you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull.

You were cowering on the alley’s wall, eyes wide and knees shaking as you watched your supposedly nice and caring boyfriend wipe away the blood on his hand like it’s a normal occurrence. And when he grinned down at the body, something almost satisfied in his eyes, you realized that he was the cause for all the recent murders popping up in the city.

Now, the thing about this is that you should have run away screaming bloody murder, maybe call the cops or even do the sensible thing like break up with your boyfriend who’s apparently a psycho.

And you would have done it, if he just hadn’t been so… so…

He turned to you with concern shining in his eyes, stepping over the corpse of the man who’d pointed a pocket knife at you and tried to rob you. With hands still slicked with blood, he cradled your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt.”

…sweet.

And as he pulled you away from the crime scene, dragging you home and running a hot bath for you both, asking you what you wanted for dinner like he hadn’t just murdered someone in front of you, you finally calmed down and saw the truth of the matter.

Yes, your boyfriend is quite possibly a serial killer, yes, you might just be making the worst decision of your life, and yes, you’re well aware this is because of all the wattpad bad boy stories you consumed when you were young, but you’ll be damned if you let Scaramouche go. He was kind (at least, to you he is), he was charming (when he wanted to be), he was a great cook, he was good with kids and the elderly, he was smart, and finally, he would never cheat on you.

So, while there might be the unfortunate addition of him being a little too happy with the idea of killing someone (have, in fact, killed someone, multiple someones at that), he was also the perfect boyfriend you could ask for. He just needs a little guidance, is all.

The next day, he proudly showed you the severed hand of a man who once made you cry because he groped you.

…Okay, a lot of guidance, but you can manage, you’ve read tons of bad boy turns good after falling in love type of stories. How difficult can it be to have your murderous boyfriend change his ways?

✧

Quite difficult, as it turns out.

A quick google on why people become murderers brought up a lot of questions and concerns for you, and while you’re well aware that google isn’t exactly the most reliable place when it comes to looking for advice, it’s also the only place you can go to without getting arrested for assisted murder—even though you’ve never actually helped Scaramouche when he goes all ham crazy on the general populace.

You sit him down on your couch, which was now free of blood thanks to google’s advice and good ol’ handy-dandy hydrogen peroxide.

Like this, facing each other and holding his hands, it almost seems like an actual, legitimate therapy session, minus the whole licensed psychiatrist thing. But hey, you’ve read tons of articles on the internet, so while you may be lacking in some aspects (namely, the fact that you don’t have any idea what you’re doing and aren’t qualified at all to be your crazy boyfriend’s therapist), you’re confident you can just wing it.

“Baby,” you start. Calling him endearments was an advice you picked up from reddit. A kind user named ballz3000 said that referring to them sweetly using innocent pet names can make them softer and calm their homicidal tendencies. “You know I don’t like it when you bring home dead bodies.”

According to another user named yn-yournuts, being open and communicating your feelings is the first step to establishing a healthy relationship and, consequently, a better mental state.

“It would’ve been difficult hiding the body at daytime,” he grouches, but he still keeps a gentle hold on your hands, which is a good thing. Baby steps, you tell yourself, baby steps—even though those baby steps might as well be called snail steps, wait, snail slithers.

“Then you should’ve waited until it was dark or midnight to kill him,” comes your immediate response—wait, damn it! You’re supposed to encourage him to steer away from murder, not give him advice on how to do it better. Smiling, you attempt to salvage the situation, “But, of course, it would be better to not kill anyone at all.”

It’s too late. He’s already donning a contemplative look on his face that soon turns into a grin, leaning in and briefly slotting his lips against yours.

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll be more careful next time, love,” is all he says before getting up and abruptly ending your impromptu therapy session.

And admittedly, there must be something wrong with you too, because instead of being horrified at his words, you giggle to yourself.

This is the first time he called you love!

✧

Alright, so operation therapy failed, it’s now time to charge in like a boar. Straightforwardness is always good according to that one article you found in google made by Hugh G. Bawles.

The two of you were in bed, the lights already turned off, when you took a deep breath and began preparing what you were going to say to him to prevent any more innocent people being killed.

Scara, I don’t like it when you kill people.

Baby, don’t show me anymore dead body parts.

Why did you become a murderer?

Sometimes, I feel like we’re a normal couple, but then you’ll suddenly go and casually bring me a bloody finger as a gift.

But instead of saying any of those, what comes out of your mouth is,

“Darling, I think you’re just confusing your constipation for homicidal urges.”

In hindsight, maybe attempting to start a heart to heart talk in the middle of the night just before a morning class was a bad idea.

You wait a few seconds, then minutes, and when he showed no signs of responding, you turn your head only to find him with his eyes closed and sound asleep.

Fine, you’ll just have to try again tomorrow.

✧

You share exactly one class with Scaramouche and it’s philosophy. Unfortunately, it’s also the class with the worst professor known to mankind.

“Ah, I got a low grade…” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your essay forlornly.

Your boyfriend takes one peak at your paper and immediately scowls. “You spent an entire night writing that.” He turns a glare to the professor currently ignorant of the murderer sitting in his class. “That asshole should’ve given you a perfect score. Maybe I should give him a little visit.”

You calmly take his hand under the table and squeeze it, all too used to him casually alluding to killing other people. “Dear, we talked about this. What do we do when we’re having homicidal thoughts?”

He looks down the table, brows furrowed in a sulking manner. “Don’t do it.”

You beam, proud at him for remembering the one thing you keep reminding him whenever he brings a dead body back to your house.

The blonde twins seated in front of you turn their head in horror after overhearing your conversation.

“What are you looking at?” Scaramouche sneers at the same time you say, “We’re roleplaying.”

“Right…” the long haired twin you distinctly remember was named Aether mumbles before he ushers his sister to ignore the two of you.

Oh well, at least you managed to stop one person from dying today. User tojiscrustysock on twitter always says you should take whatever victories you can, so you’ll consider this a resounding success.

✧

When you open the news next morning, the face of your professor is the first thing you see along with the words, found dead near his home.

You turn to your boyfriend sitting beside you, an innocent look on his face as you look at him with disappointment.

“My hand slipped,” is the flimsy excuse he settles for.

Sighing and utterly out of options, you’re forced to resort to the one thing you didn’t want to do. The worst possible option there is. If there’s going to a therapist and potentially getting arrested kind of worst, there’s this kind of worst—the absolute worst of the worst.

“Scara, I think we need to start doing yoga.”

word count: 1.8k

#scaramouche birthday fic!#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #gn reader

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

midnight tow (slasher!Joel)

3.6k / slasher!Joel x fem!reader / master

Slasher masterlist | art by @bonezone44 💙

Req: Serial killer from @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog WARNINGS: Horror, DARK(serial killer)!Joel, near murder by strangulation, manhandling, dubious consent, choking, unsafe PIV sex, reader can sit on Joel's lap. unedited. I8 plus. Reader survives! ♥️

Your breath hitches when you see the bright lights, then relief floods your chest as the tow truck comes into view. The driver parks his unmarked truck, hops down out of it, and walks to your car. He gets just a couple of feet away before he stops to face you and spreads his boots, crunching the loose asphalt beneath them. The truck lights illuminate him. He's wearing a blue working man’s jumpsuit that stretches over his biceps as he crosses his arms. The name on his uniform is Joel.

Joel's dark eyes scan you, then he scratches one side of his salt-and-pepper beard. “Got anyone to come get ya, sweetheart?” He rubs the back of his neck, exposing a dark patch of sweat under his arm. "Real dangerous out here at night. . . Nothin' good happens this late.”

His voice has a calming effect, despite his unnerving words. For a moment, you admire his nice head of hair instead of facing the reality of his question.

Your car broke down in the worst possible area. Nothing within walking distance. You drained your phone battery trying to get a signal and finally managed to call for a tow, but you weren’t able to reach anyone to help you get home. Waiting for the tow felt like forever, especially without a phone or watch. It felt like something or someone was going to pop out at any minute. It's a humid night, and even the clouds have refused to cooperate, dimming the light of the nearly-full moon.

This is not the guy you talked to on the phone. His voice would’ve made an impression on you.

You tell him you weren’t able to get a hold of anyone.

“Anyone know you’re out here, might see the missed call and come lookin’?”

Maybe, but you don’t think so.

“Hmmm,” he says. “Well, lemme load your car up, then we’ll figure it out. Sit tight for me, sugar,” he says with a wink. He has a disarming energy. "Gonna take me a minute." The clouds begin to clear away from the moon, affording more light. You begin to feel better all around.

You carefully sit down on the grass near the cab of the tow truck with your knees to the side and behind you since you’re wearing a short dress. Not a single car has passed by the whole time you’ve been broken down, at least an hour. You wait as he uses some wire to secure a loose part on your car, then loads it up onto the bed.

His biceps and quads stretch his uniform as he crouches on the bed of the truck and secures the straps around your car’s wheels. He gets hot and unzips his jumpsuit for air, exposing a dirty t-shirt. Then he opens the passenger door to the cab of his truck and it's piled high with scrap. No seat. He reaches behind the driver's seat and grabs an enormous wrench. His forearm flexes as he carries it off to tighten something on the back of the towing platform. When he’s done, he comes to talk to you again.

“Whew. Been a looong day," he says as he wipes his brow with a rag then throws it over his shoulder. "How ‘bout you, sweetheart? Couldn’ta been that good."

You agree as he takes off the sleeves of his jumpsuit and ties them loosely around his waist. When you follow his large, veiny hands to his waist, it's impossible not to notice the crotch of his uniform is tight enough to see he's well-endowed. You yank your eyes back up and he crosses his arms again. His muscles are hard and he has the slightest paunch. The way his biceps and pecs stretch his t-shirt is a welcome distraction from the rock bottom situation. Looks like a guy who works with his hands, lifting very heavy things, and enjoys a few beers at the end of the day. Or night. It feels like a miracle you could get a truck at this hour, especially in this desolate area.

His phone doesn’t have service for you to call anyone. Since the service is so bad, he just has a radio to receive dispatch instructions. Since he doesn’t have a passenger seat, and that space is instead occupied by scrap, the only thing he can offer is for you to sit in his lap. Unless he leaves you by the side of the road.

You choose his lap.

He gets in first, puts the big wrench in the back, and empties his pockets. He puts a switchblade near the gear shifter and hangs some spare wire around the rearview mirror before he sits down. Then he settles in and unties his sleeves, letting them hang off the seat. He extends his massive hand to you. His bicep flexes as he helps you into the cab of the truck. You sit down on him ass-first, but it’s a precarious position and you could get hurt. You jostle around trying a few different things. You get butterflies from being so close to him, touching him, smelling him, feeling his body against yours.

“Alright, let’s try this,” he says. “Turn around an’ face me, then hug me like we're on a motorcycle. Safer.”

Hard to believe this is happening, especially in your short dress. Of all the nights to wear one. You hesitantly straddle him, and when you’re face to face a few inches away, his features are even more striking. He has a perfect nose. His brow is furled and casts a shadow over his eyes like he has a sexy secret. He has a dimple perfectly nestled in a patch of skin within his beard. Looking him in the eye is too intense at this distance.

You tug pointlessly at your dress but there’s no way to be modest in this situation. He reads your mind. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassures you. "Don't worry 'bout it." He pulls you in closer so your crotch meets his and your heart skips a beat when you feel his warm, ample package. “Hang on tight, now.” You put your head over his shoulder, facing the back of the truck .

The smell of his sweat is intoxicating. He starts the engine and pulls back onto the road. It’s not long before you feel him hardening under you. He lifts his hips, sending a rush of arousal through your body.

You shift shyly and he pulls you back into him, then lifts his hips again and clears his throat. “Can’t help it, sugar. Sexy little thing like you wrapped around me. Damn.”

Your face burns. There’s a long silence and his arousal is digging into your panties the whole time. He turns his head ever so slightly to inhale your hair. The next thing you know, his lips are pressed against your neck. Lightly enough to be accidental at first. But then they drag an inch without him pulling away. He opens his mouth against your dewy skin then closes it, like he’s eating something invisible off you. A chill goes down your spine and your nipples harden.

“Bother you?” he asks, subtly thrusting his hips up again. No, it doesn't. You’re hot for him. It bothers you a little that it doesn't bother you. Like you know it should. But what could you say anyway? You’re at his mercy. You might be dead on the side of the road without him.

“Guess not."

“Good girl.” He adds his tongue and full on kisses the crook of your neck as he drives, then gives it a nibble and a suck. You’re so wet. With the pathetic thong you're wearing, it must be no secret from him.

His voice gets horny and low. “Good thing you're down,” he says, “or this wouldn’t be any fun.” He drags his nose up your neck to your ear and adds "Yeah, you're into it. . .I can feel it."

By the time he pulls into a gated property, he's turned you alllll the way on. Between his voice, and his mouth on your neck, and his clothed arousal against you, you’re a wet mess. You're trying desperately not to hump him as he slowly traverses what seems to be a gravel yard of cars.

When the truck slows way down, he rests a hand on your ass and gives it a squeeze as he says, "What a ride. . ." with an upward thrust. "Ain't over yet, though." Your cunt flutters at those words. Then he clears his throat and adds, "We're goin' through the back gate to another lot." You scold yourself for being disappointed in what he meant, but you can't imagine he'd deny you if you made a move right now.

You wait, though. You'd rather figure out how you're going to get home first.

Joel drives deeper into the lot. It's dark, but you try to look around. There's no back gate or other lot that you can see. All you see are the skeletons of cars that have been picked over for scraps. A pit forms in your stomach. You start to scoot back from his crotch. He notices and parks the truck. There’s a look in his eyes, and something makes you reach for the door. His large, veiny hand gently covers yours before you can open it.

“Whoa, sugar. Where ya goin'?" Your heart rate quickens and your gut feeling intensifies. You try to get out of his lap, lunging for the door.

"What the hell are ya doin, sweetheart?" He firmly grabs your arm. You stare at him, your chest heaving, heart racing. He glances at your neck and you imagine he must see your jugular vein pulsing a mile a minute.

"Too dark out there, sugar.” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “Lotta sharp stuff.” He looks at you skeptically. “Lemme turn on some lights first.”

You exhale in relief. He was just protecting you.

He hits a button on his dashboard and it illuminates the surrounding area with the yellow siren lights on the top of his truck. He gazes at you through wounded eyes, looks down between you, where you're no longer covering his hard, swollen package with your crotch. He must feel so cold. He swallows.

"Damnit," he says. His eyes glisten. "Thought we were havin' fun." He sighs solemnly. "Wait here a sec." You feel bad. He’s gone above and beyond to help you. Maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

So you wait in the truck, catching glimpses of vehicular carcasses as the amber light dances over them. Nothing drivable.

Then it hits you like a punch in the gut that you still can't see a back gate, even with the added light. It's just a fence. That’s all there is to it. There’s nowhere a gate would even be. No other lot in sight. Your heart races even faster than it was a moment ago.

You jump in your seat as a machine rumbles to life, followed by the sound of metal in distress. You look in the direction of the noise and the yellow lights pour over a big, industrial dumpster. Your stomach turns.

You're still processing your fear when the truck door opens, making you jump again. Joel climbs up into the cab and nudges you up so he can get under you. You freeze and do it in a daze. Then he starts the truck and coaxes you back into straddling him. You feel like you have no control, you have no idea what’s going to happen, no idea what to do.

Joel reaches behind you to the rearview mirror and sighs lazily like he's about to do a chore.

“Been a while since I shredded a car this new. Damn shame, wasn't plannin' on it tonight."

Your heart drops through your feet. “What? –why are you-”

A cool, thin wire presses against the top of your spine, then he wraps it around your neck like a scarf. His face goes dark and serious, and his voice goes flat.

“Real dangerous out here, sweetheart.”

He takes a deep breath and his cock swells harder against you. He holds the wire in one hand and tightens his other arm around your back. He slowly begins to twist the wire against itself. You grab at it and beg him to stop. To your surprise, he pauses.

You try to slow your breathing. You can’t get out, you can’t fight. He just looks at you with dead eyes, waiting for you to say something else. It hits you there's only one thing left to do to buy you some time. And you need to make him forget you tried to leave the truck.

“Wait,” you say as calmly as you can. "Weren’t we in the middle of something?" You reach down and grab the hard bulge in his jumpsuit. To your horror, a stab of desire slices through your clit. You spread your palm and press it into him, massaging his cock. You're throbbing for him. You're genuinely dying to fuck this sicko. He makes you sweat out a long moment of silence.

“Now that might get ya somewhere,” he says, low and gravely, thrusting into your hand. He lets the wire hang from your neck. One strong arm tilts you up against him while he urgently pulls his jumpsuit's zipper down more. He grunts as he frees himself from his boxers. The next thing you feel is his stiff, warm, naked cock against your inner thigh. He slips a finger into your thong and sucks in a sharp breath when he feels how wet you are.

He murmurs, “Damn, you really do want it.” He looks you in the eyes hornily, then seductively as though to say he likes where this is going. Like he didn't just loop a ligature around your neck.

He takes a deep breath. "Maybe I took it the wrong way," he says in self-reflection.

"What?"

"When you tried to open the door. . ."

He's nuts.

"I was . . . embarrassed I was getting you wet."

"That's the least of your worries."

He pushes your thong aside, then the large head of his cock finds your warm, wet little hole. He wraps both arms around you and pulls you down with a low grunt that turns into a sigh as he impales you on his shaft. You don't suppress your moan as his girth parts your core and you sink down on his cock. He fills you to the brim and stretches you wide, making you grateful for how wet you are.

"God damn, you're tight." He pulls you down even more with a lift of his hips and a vocal sigh. "This what you wanted?"

You nod and try to move your hips, but he holds you still. "Use your words."

"Yes," you say. "God, yes."

He still doesn't let you move. "What did you want?"

"Your cock"

"Yeah,” he nods. “And what do you want now?"

It feels like a trick question. "Whatever you'll give me."

You're sitting there for a moment and he studies your face like he's wondering if it's a trick. The car shredding machine roars menacingly.

Your cunt twitches and he inhales sharply.

You break the silence. "Fuck me, Joel.” He wants to be wanted. “You feel how much I want you." Then you rock your hips gently - very gently. He must want to be in control. And you don't want him to come too fast before you’ve decided what to do next.

"Please," you beg. “Fuck me,” you mouth silently with the horniest eyes you can muster.

"There she is." He lifts his hips in return.

"Please, Joel." He pulls back, then plunges into you again, holding your hips down on him. He retreats, filling his chest with air, then lifts his hips slowly again, bottoming out deep inside you with a sigh. He fills you all the way up. And when your bodies are flush, the pressure on your clit is just right. The noise of the car shredder becomes part of the background.

He gets into a rhythm, and this man knows how to fuck. He's so smooth, and your cunt squeezes his cock so tight, there are brief moments you forget what you’re supposed to be thinking about. Instead you’re just marveling at the motion of his hips and the sounds of his breath and the perfect shape of his cock dragging against your walls.

You need to access whatever part of him doesn’t want to kill you. But god, it’s hard to think with his cock inside you and your life on the line. His lower belly grinds into your mound, and his massive hands scan your back. The wire bounces around your neck.

"God, you feel good," you gush. "So good." As you ride him, you weigh the options. You could seduce him into the idea of fucking you again later then run when he's asleep, or you could fight for your life right now. Your lips graze his neck and you consider biting his jugular as hard as you can. A powerful thrust upward shakes you out of the thought and nudges your g-spot. He grunts each time your warmth sheathes him.

The window is completely fogged over. You moan, then say, "you knew it would turn me on, didn’t you?" You lightly touch the wire around your neck without removing it. You caress it. "You could tell I wanted it." You roll your hips harder into him and feel a climax building. He breathes heavily as your cunt pulls him back in each time.

"Shit," he pants. "Little sex kitten like you?" His cock twitches deep inside you and he slows down. "Course you wanted it."

"Yeah," you breathe, rolling your hips into him slowly. "Oh god," you pant. He holds your hips and gradually speeds up again, moaning and sighing.

"Lucky you're so fuckin' hot," he snarls.

"It's hot you had the balls to scare me like that," you say. "just to turn me on even more."

There’s no doubt in your mind this man is a killer, but you need him to believe you don't think he is. It’s the only way he can let you live.

"Musta worked," he pants. He fingers the cord around your neck and the rough pads of his large digits brush your delicate skin.

"Do it," you tell him. "Choke me."

He grunts "Mm" with an emphatic thrust.

You cover his hand on your neck with yours. "God I love these hands," you gush truthfully, tracing the veins as you ride him and feel something building more and more in your gut.

His hand wraps more than halfway around your throat as you bob up and down in his lap and he tightens his grip. His thumb digs into your jaw. Your hips buck into him hard as your head fills with pressure and your throat croaks. He loosens his grip enough for you to moan.

"God I wanna suck your cock," you tell him, knowing he'll come too soon before you can.

“Maybe later, sugar.” You try to suppress your excitement. You might get out of this alive. “If you’re good.”

He bites his lip, and his thrusts intensify. He wraps both arms around you and firmly cradles the back of your head with one hand, his beard prickling your cheek. He pistons into you and you let yourself come, choking his cock with your climax. You don’t hold back at all, you let it all out, almost crying as you convulse in his lap. Then he holds you down and groans, powerfully shoving his cock into you as he erupts. He empties his balls into you with a long sigh.

He rests his head back and breathes. Your climax wanes, and the next few moments feel like an eternity. The car shredder sounds louder than ever at the forefront of your mind. You have no idea whether he’s more or less likely to kill you now that he’s come. If it brings him clarity, is it going to be clear that you have to die now or clear that he never should have thought about it?

Finally, he reaches his hand to your neck and your heart skips a beat. He takes the wire and puts it back around the rearview mirror.

“Just a minute, sugar.” He nudges you up and tucks himself away in his jumpsuit. He gets out, and you stay put, his cum trickling out of you and onto the chair. It’s a delicate moment, not worth the risk of trying to run. Where would you run, anyway?

The car shredder turns off, and you relax back into the seat, ready to cry tears of joy.

Joel comes back and opens the door to the truck. He stands there for a second, looks you up and down. You must be a hot mess, and he seems to like it.

He moves his tongue in his cheek like he’s thinking. Then he says, “You really wanna suck my cock, don’t you?”

You smile. “After that? Fuck, yes. What a rush.”

He looks proud, like that really was his intent all along.

“Alright.” He climbs back into the truck with you and you get out of his way while he sits. “You’re comin’ home with me tonight.” His hands slide over your thighs, looking at you with new admiration as he pulls you in to straddle him again. “Figure out your car in the mornin’.”

If you want another one mention it in the RBs or comments. Thank you all so much for your support and engagement. Your reblogs and comments mean so much for me. Best readers out there!!

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy

#joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fic #creepy!joel miller #serial killer!joel miller #slasher!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️#slasher!joel☠️#tw dubcon #tw: everything #tw strangling #tw murder #slasher!joel #content label

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dragonnarrative-writes · 4 months

Text

Part 3 - Meeting Kyle For Coffee

This is not in chronological order but I needed for this to get out of my head. Takes place after the end of Charlie's Charmed!Slasher!Simon series.

(If you don't want to read it, in the end, Simon does serial killer things. What a rascal!)

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Kyle Garrick is just as unreasonably pretty as he ever was, sitting in the cafe and drinking something hot. He’s a bit leaner in the face than you remember from high school. His jaw is sharper, but his smile is still so inviting.

When he spots you coming, his smile seems to light up the whole room.

You say, “Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me. Give me just a minute to order?”

“I ordered you a caramel latte,” he says with a smile. “You still like them?”

“Yeah, I do,” you admit, and sit down.

“I asked them not to start making it until you got here,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. “Figured you’d appreciate it being made fresh. All things considered.”

You blow out a breath and lean back in your chair. “That’s… actually why I wanted to talk to you.”

“I figured,” he says with a grin. “We haven’t talked since just after graduation. We do each other a favor, then say our sad goodbyes. And years later, out of the blue you hit me up? Looking for another favor. Could break a man’s heart.”

You bite your lip and look at the smiling man across from you. A barista appears at your elbow with an almost overfull mug and places it gently on the table. She gives Kyle a grin before flouncing away.

“Cheers,” he says, lifting his own mug in a gentle salute. He waits until you’ve taken a sip to continue. “So, how big is he?”

“What?” When you look up at him, he’s still smiling. His face hasn’t changed. But his brown eyes are flat and empty. Your heart beats just a bit faster.

“How big is he? I don’t do things the way I used to. I need to know so I can make it look like an accident.”

The last time Kyle did you a favor, the coroner had not ruled it an accident. No one had ever been accused of or charged with the death of David Toole-Kirk. But that amount of thallium doesn’t eat a person from the inside out on accident.

“I… um. I didn’t ask you here for that kind of favor,” you say. Your hands are burning where they’re wrapped around your mug. You feel like if you take them off, you’ll freeze under his stare. “I was hoping that you could… give me some advice?”

That brings genuine mirth to Kyle’s eyes. “Oh, this aught to be good.”

“I just… there is a guy,” you say. “Just… Do you… still go… hunting?”

Kyle grins and sits back in his chair. “Hunting?”

“Please answer the question,” you groan.

His grin is wide. His teeth are perfect. “No, can’t say that I do. Bit more of the gardening type now, in my old age.”

“We’re not even thirty,” you say, dumbly.

“This guy you know,” he prompts, barely keeping back laughter. “He likes to… go hunting, then?”

“He’s a pretty avid… hunter,” you say, carefully. “But I was hoping that I might be able to help him find another… hobby?”

Kyle Garrick looks almost ready to burst at the seams with the laughter he’s holding in. If you hadn’t had such a recent and thorough reminder not to get complacent with predators, you might have swatted at him. As it is, you can only clench your jaw as you watch him try and fail to keep a straight face.

“I know,” you hiss, “I know.”

“You really, really don’t,” Kyle wheezes. “Oh my god.”

“He says he doesn’t want to hurt me,” you say, looking around nervously. “But he’s taken me hunting twice, and I can’t do that again.”

That’s what breaks him. He bursts into peals of laughter, peppered with “he’s taken you,”s and “oh my days,”s that fill the whole cafe. It shocks you into giggles.

“Will you quit it!” You eventually whisper-shout.

“How did you manage to meet two of us?” Kyle wipes tears from his eyes. “My word. He’s taken you on hunting trips, and now you want to find him a new hobby.”

“Please,” you hiss. “I’m a little bit desperate and a lot at the end of my rope, here.”

And then Simon Riley’s voice says, right behind you, “Garrick.”

You’re a little bit grateful that Simon’s hands wrap around your wrists from above at the same moment, because otherwise you’d have thrown your coffee in the air. His sternum presses against the crown of your head. You tip your head, just a bit, rolling your eyes up to see him. He’s not looking at you. He’s staring at Kyle.

Kyle grins. “Riley. Good to see you, mate. How’s the family?”

“Still dead, you muppet,” Simon says, pulling out the chair next to you and settling in. When you eye him, he’s got that not-quite-blank look that means he might be thinking about smiling. “How do you know my girl?”

“Went to secondary together,” Kyle says with a grin. “She was bloody terrible at chemistry. Luckily, we got paired up. I helped her with a personal project before she went off to uni. It’s been years. Was pleasantly surprised when she reached out.”

“You’re online?” Simon asks, disdainfully.

“Calls more attention not to be,” Kyle points out.

“Told you,” you can’t help but mumble into your drink.

Simon gives a considering hum and his usual answer. “Technically, I’m dead.” To Kyle he says, not bothering to lower his voice. “If you meet up with her without my permission again, I’ll kill you slow.”

You gape at him, and, daringly, slap his shoulder. “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t hang out with.”

He leans in to kiss your forehead. “Sure, sweetheart.”

#my writing #cod #fanfiction #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #manic pixie dream ghost

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radiant-reid · 1 year

Note

please another hot wife spencer season 2 🙏i reread them constantly

One thing about the BAU team is that they love betting. Never on serious things, and they hate any negative statistics about predators, kidnappings, and serial killers, but fun betting at the office? It's harmless fun that they enjoy.

Important scenarios don't come up frequently but with Spencer setting a date for some of the team to finally meet his wife- you- there's something interesting happening.

"Nerdy, she has to be." Morgan declares his opinion. "Reid's a genius so I'm thinking they have similar personalities and levels of awkwardness."

"No, I think it's an opposites-attract situation," JJ states her position. "He doesn't care about that sort of stuff, so she must be stunning."

"He was saying he's only ever been with her," Elle recalls a conversation she and Spencer had a few days ago when he let a few details slip. "Is it realistic that he would be able to get over his nervousness and date someone gorgeous?"

Morgan chuckles. "Or date anyone at all."

"I think she's going to be really hot," JJ affirms her bet, sliding a $10 note over to Penelope.

"I think not." Morgan decides, placing his own bet. "She's going to be amazing, obviously, and very kind, but I don't think she's going to be overly pretty."

They turn to look at Elle to place her bet. "A 7." She decides.

"Alright, we'll see." Penelope ends the bickering between them.

Spencer holds your hand as you walk through the crowded bar. Usually, he likes you walking in front of him, but since he's the only one who knows what his team looks like, he's pulling you through the bar.

He stops in front of a group of people, and you stand next to him. "Everyone, this is Y/n, my wife. Y/n, this is Elle, JJ, Derek, and Penelope."

They're hiding their shock well enough for two profilers, one media liaison, and one technical analyst, but the 'are you seeing this' looks they're giving each other make it obvious they're thinking the same thing. It's no doubt you're gorgeous and if people know Spencer before you, they can be shocked.

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you all." You say, waving at them.

They all greet you similarly, smiling widely and shuffling over so you and Spencer can slide into the booth next to them.

Money gets passed under the table, out of your and Spencer's eyesight. "The next round is on me." JJ declares, winking at her friends to flaunt her victory.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds

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luveline · 7 months

Note

hi lovely! can i request trying to pick a horror movie to watch with remus or steve but they keep getting distracted by r? or they keep kissing her so she gets distracted? thank u <33

thank you love ♡ modern au

"You don't like gore, so no Saw." You rub your hand down the length of your legs, warming yourself in the autumn chill. "And I don't like new slashers, so we can forget Totally Killer."

"You're missing out, if James is to be believed," Remus says from just behind you. He must lean down, his voice closer and warmer by your ear when he adds, "but he doesn't have the best taste, bless. You want socks?"

"Come and sit down," you beg.

Remus is one of those guys where you're always pleading with him to slow down. When he gets started, he can't stop. Ever since he caught wind of you being cold he's been closing the windows tight, fiddling with the boiler, and now throwing a blanket over your legs. You pull on his arm until he deigns to sit next to you, immediately pushing your face into his neck. His hair tickles your face, soft brown waves that smell like macadamia oil. His cheek chubs with a smile as he turns in on you.

"What other options are there?"

"The new Pet Sematry," you say into his neck, rubbing your nose on him indulgently. "Uhm… ton of Blumhouse panky."

"Don't be a snob."

"M'not. S'just all a bunch of rubbish." You drag yourself away from him and turn your attention back to the TV, flicking through rows of new autumn movies to the 'Spooky Collection'. "Hocus Pocus 2?"

"No, thanks." Remus ignores what you're up to, bringing a hand to your face to guide your lips to his. You're not expecting it but you give him a little kiss, always happy for one if it's from him.

You're distracted by different possibilities on screen, pausing your half hearted kiss to ask, "What about a horror TV series?"

Remus kisses your cheek while you're busy. His hand skirts down your neck, laying it loving but still on the flat of your chest. "What about whatever you want?" he asks, the cartilage of his nose bending as he kisses, and kisses, hot flashes of affection that work their way to your jaw.

"I don't know what I want, that's the point." You laugh as he kisses under your jaw, a sweet spot he knows to leave well enough alone when you're not already at his mercy. It's too much. "Stop," you chasten.

Remus leans into the sofa, rubbing your kissed skin with the back of his hand. "Yeah, alright. Show me the TV programmes."

The hint of his Welsh accent lays heavy on 'programmes'. You resist the urge to repeat it and scroll down to the shows, all new and unexciting. "We'll have to watch Criminal Minds."

"That's not in the spirit of Halloween."

Remus is looking at you hard. You can feel his gaze on your cheek, and you know he's waiting for permission, or at the very least, wanting to ask for it.

You side eye him. "What's more scary than a serial killer?" you ask. Then, quickly, "Please kiss me again."

"You don't even want me to kiss you," he says.

"I always want you to kiss me–" You squeal as he descends on you, pushing you rough into the cushions. "But you have to pick what we're watching! Okay? I'm sick of always choosing."

"No problem," he says, kissing you smack dab on the lips. "In a minute." His smile begins to take form against yours, kissing and smiling and kissing some more, the colour of his laugh in the exhales of his breath.

"What about… uh…" You shudder as his lips part atop yours and encourage you to part your own, promptly forgetting what you'd been about to suggest as he pushes the taste of a cherry soother into your tongue. His arm wraps around the back of your head with a put upon aggression, hooking you in as he kisses you silly.

You laugh too hard to keep going and pull away, flustered, hands on his pinking cheeks. "Woah, Lupin, I know it's halloween, but if you wouldn't mind holding back your Hannibal-esque urges–"

Remus' turn to laugh, loud and brash as he squeezes another swift kiss to your cheek. He's still laughing as he stands, practically jogging down the hall and into the kitchen, away from his responsibility.

"Where are you going? You haven't picked a film!"

The fridge opens, bottles clinking in the door shelf. "I have to take the fruit strudel out, dove! You pick while I find the cream."

"Cheater," you mutter, fishing for the remote where it's escaped into the crack of the sofa cushions.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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velvetm00light · 7 months

Text

Damsel

gif: pinterest banner: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter One of Save Me

Word count: 4.6k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You've managed to keep your feelings for your coworker, the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid, completely in the back of your mind. But, when an unsub attacks close to home, you quickly realize you're on your way to becoming a victim. As you fight the panic coursing inside you, you are also left fighting the emotions that arise when Spencer tries to comfort and protect you.

Warnings: Mentions sexual assault, murder, serial killer, domxsub, degradation, torture, stalking. In future parts, will mention vivid torture, PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, kidnapping, etc.

A/N: My first attempt at Tumblr and writing on here! This one is going to be a bit of a dark one so read at your own risk. I'm mostly writing for fun but this one will have at least a few parts to it. :)

Your knees begin to ache as you continue to kneel on the hardwood floor in your bedroom. Strong, nimble hands grip your head, lacing fingers into your hair and yank it backwards. A silk blindfold covers your eyes, heightening the rest of your senes. You feel his hot breath mere inches away from your mouth as he speaks to you in a growl.

"Look at you, on your knees, begging for me like a slut." You let out a small whimper at this, rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to get any kind of friction between your legs. All you need is to release this pent up heat at your core, but he is hell bent on taking his sweet time with you.

"Beg." You flinch at the demand in his voice but you do as you're commanded. "Please, Sir...I need it so bad," you cry out. Your wrists struggle in the cold handcuffs that keep your hands bound together behind your back. You just want to touch him so badly, want him to touch you so badly.

He hums and loosens his grip on your hair. You're roughly lifted up from your arm and thrown on the bed. "On your back."

You quickly do as your told, unable to waste another moment wanting instead of getting. "Are you ready to take me like the good girl you are?" You groan your approval, bucking your hips greedily. towards him.

His hands gently reach behind your head to let the blindfold loose. You blink rapidly, your eyes straining to adjust to the bedroom light. You can feel his cock rubbing against your folds slowly.

Once your eyes adjust, you spot unruly, brown curls and a smirking face hovering over you. "Spencer, please.." you beg right before he-

Your phone is ringing ceaselessly on your nightstand as it breaks you out of your sleep. You sit up rapidly, dazed and confused after the intensity of your dream...your dream about your coworker. You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and let out a sigh. You'll dive into the analysis of your dream eventually, just not right now or maybe you'll just try to forget about it and never think of it again.

You grab your phone and answer it without bothering to check who was calling in the first place. Ever since you began working for the BAU 2 years ago, the only friends you had, had the same demanding job as you. No matter what day or time your phone rang, 9 times out of 10, it was going to be work.

"Hello?" you answer sleepily.

"You sound worse than I did when Hotch called me," Penelope giggles on the other end. "I didn't bother trying to text you first because I knew I wouldn't get a response for approximately 3 business days and then I'd have to probably send a whole wellness check to your house to make sure-"

"I'm assuming we have a case?" You can't help but chuckle at Penelope's ramble.

"Yes, but prepare yourself for this one." Penelope's tone wakes you up more than your coffee normally does. Despite being at the BAU longer than you have, after just about every case you've brought Penelope a bottle of wine, some kind of home-baked sweet and sat on her couch the rest of the day or night in slippers and face masks.

At first, just about everything made you jumpy and queasy but now, there's not much you haven't seen. You've done a decent job at separating your personal and professional emotions - for the most part.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Pen. I'm sure I'll be okay." I reassure her, questioning what kind of case we could possibly have that would rattle me more than abducted children, kidnapped and beaten women, and just about every other sadistic thing you can think of.

You say your goodbyes to Penelope and prepare to head to the office.

You take your seat around the round table, JJ to your left and Morgan to your right, the 3 of you the only ones there so far. You lean towards JJ and lower your voice into a whisper.

"Have you heard anything about this case yet?" You ask.

"I'm pretty sure it's just some murders here in Quantico." She replies, her brows knitting together. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure, I just...Pen called me this morning and told me to prepare. Did she say the same to you?"

"No, she didn't." You take your bottom lip between your teeth and sit back in your seat. Your mind began chasing itself in circles, making up different scenarios on why you would have to be the one to prepare.

Spencer is the next to come, taking a seat across from you. He gives you a friendly smile and he immediately jumps into conversation, asking you guys what you did this weekend and if you were interrupted when you got called. The memory of the dream you were interrupted from plays back in your mind and you feel the heat rising up your neck.

You play it safe and try to kill your heat with humor, per usual. "I was actually in the middle of a very great date with sleep," you groaned.

Morgan laughs next to you in that charming way of his that drives just about every human, no matter what's between their legs, crazy. "Me and Savannah finally got time together because she had a day off from the hospital. We had some dinner, a little wine, we got into bed and boom, phone rang."

We all laugh at Morgan's bad luck and JJ tells a similar story about her and Will, "We had just gotten the kids down too."

Suddenly, Hotch and Rossi enter the room, Garcia trailing behind with her computer in hand. "Sorry to keep you waiting everyone, you can begin, Garcia."

She gives a curt nod and wastes no time jumping into her spiel, providing pictures as always.

"Unfortunately, in our little home of Quantico, 4 bodies of young women have been found bound, brutally tortured, with evidence of..sexual assault." As she continues to add more pictures to the screen, you begin to realize something. You weren't the only one to realize it though when Emily blurts, "Well he's got a type, that's for sure."

"Yup, all women have the same hair color, eye color, even height." Garcia continues.

"You know, these women look kind of familiar..." Rossi begins, and as he begins to put the pieces together as you do, wide eyes begin to fall onto you.

"How tall are you, (y/n)?" Spencer asks matter-of-factly, as if he refuses to believe it's not just some extremely odd coincidence.

"5 foot 4." You reply, wringing your hands in your lap. The gazes of all your team members burn holes into you and you fight against the urge to sink into your chair.

"And each of these women were 5 foot 4?" Morgan asks, setting his gaze on the case file instead of you. "Yes, they were." Garcia confirms.

A nervous chuckle escapes your throat, "I mean, that's a coincidence, right?" No one immediately answers you which does nothing to help you feel any better.

"Until we know for sure, we need to be careful." Hotchner stated bluntly. "We know that with these kinds of unsubs their primary target is normally their worst, and their last."

You know he is right, but it seems almost ridiculous. You barely leave the house except to go to work, go to Penelope's, or get groceries. Why in the world would you be a serial killer's target?

"JJ, Morgan, I want you to talk to the families of these woman and see what you can find out. Their lifestyles, last contacts, places they were seen a few days leading up to their disappearances." JJ and Morgan nod, rising to action and disappearing out of the room.

"Prentiss and Rossi, check out the dump sites." Once Emily and Rossi leave the room to complete their duties, the room feels even more suffocating even though there's less people in it.

There is absolutely no way you can focus on finding a serial killer that has a preference for women just like you while working with Spencer, but it leaves Spencer and Hotch left as possible partners for this case.

"(Y/n), until we get more information, I want to be safe rather than sorry. This team has suffered enough so for now you will work with Spencer on the geographical profile."

With that, he stands and leaves me and Spencer in the room, alone.

It's almost too hard to bear so you immediately begin. "I'm going to print out a map so we can see his hunting and dumping zones," you explain quickly, leaving the room like a fire was just lit up your ass.

You enter an internal conflict of not wanting to waste time and therefore, endangering another women's life, but you also aren't sure if you're going to be able to handle being alone in close proximity with the coworker you had a literal wet dream about just a few hours ago.

You decide that a woman's life is more important than your own feelings and quickly make work printing and bringing back a map.

Once it's taped to the board, you and Spencer immediately get to work putting pointer tabs on the map, red for dumpsites, blue for abduction sites.

You both step back to allow yourselves the bigger picture. You can feel the heat radiate off of Spencer and you dare a quick glance towards him. His button-down sleeves are rolled up the elbows, his arms crossed against his chest, his finger running across his jaw. You can almost see the beautifully brilliant cogs in his head at work as you stare.

You're broken out of your trance when he suddenly moves closer to the map and draws a circle. "Most of the dump sites are within a mile radius of each other just outside of FBI territory, but the abduction sites are more scattered." His fingers lightly trace the map, pointing to each abduction site.

"Grocery store parking lot, park, apartment building.."

Your eyes widen as realization begins to sink in, this one being even more damning than just looking like the victims.

"Spence.." you breathe out. You move closer to get a better look at the map, ensuring you're not just creating something out of nothing.

"I've been to all these places before.." You say this so low, for a moment think he didn't even hear you.

"Actually, all of those sites are some of the most common places people go on a day-to-day basis. For example, 8.642 million people live in the state of Virginia and if you take the area of Quantico and surrounding areas -"

"Spencer, what days did these women get abducted?" You ask, your lip begins to quiver slightly as you push the panic down that is threatening to rise up inside you. You're hoping that this is all just some sick coincidence and you're not right about the theory you're about to put to the test.

"The first victim, Abby Reynolds, got abducted from the Walmart parking lot off 610 on the second. Laney Parker from Smith Lake Park on the fifth. Delaney Litz from Aquia Fifteen Apartments -" Your entire body freezes in absolute terror and Spence pauses. "What is it?"

"Spencer, I went to all of the places on those days and that apartment building...I live there."

His eyes widen as he stars at you in shock. "You're sure you went to those places at the same time?"

"Yes..I- I went to Walmart right after we got done our case on the second to get wine for me and Penelope, then on the fifth I took my nephew to Smith Lake Park because we had the day off and I felt guilty for being a terrible sister and never talking to my sister..." Tears threaten to spill across your cheeks but you internally chastise yourself to get a grip. This could all still just simply be a coincidence. A sick fucking coincidence.

Spencer immediately grabs his phone out of his pocket and calls Hotch. Spencer puts Hotch on speaker phone as the rest of the team is conferenced in.

"JJ, what did you guys learn from the families?"

"All 4 women were extremely work orientated, barely even found the time to buy themselves groceries and lived low-risk lifestyles."

You practically throw yourself into a chair at the round table, unable to control the trembling of your hands and the threat of your knees buckling beneath you. Spencer sets his phone down on the table and takes the chair in front of you. As the team speaks to one another, Spencer gently reaches for your hands and squeezes them, running his thumbs over the back of your hands in an attempt to comfort you.

He lets go of one hand and reaches over the table to mute the phone. "Do you want me to tell them, or do you want to do it?"

You honestly aren't even sure your brain is working correctly at this point. All you know is that you are in the safest place you can be, and you know your team wouldn't let anything happen to you. Spencer wouldn't let anything happen to you.

"You, please." You whisper. He nods and unmutes the phone.

"Guys, we found out something interesting while working on the geographical profile." He begins.

"Go on," Hotch urges.

"Well, first, all the dumping sites are within a 1 mile radius of each other right outside the FBI territory. I think he wants the bodies displayed and found, particularly by us." He slides his chair close to yours and stills your shaky hands with his. "Also, each woman was abducted from places (y/n) went to on those same days."

The line goes silent and it's almost enough to push you over the edge. Not only do you have to manage your own panic and fear, you have a whole team you brought this upon who now has to worry for a friends life and you can't help but feel guilty for it. "Prentiss, head back to the office. (Y/n), are you up for a cognitive?"

You gaze up at Spencer who gives you a comforting nod. "Y-yes. I can do that."

"I'll be there in 5," Prentiss calls out and the phone conference ends.

"Will you please stay with me? During the interview?" You manage to choke out. You try to fight the onslaught of emotions this situation suddenly thrust upon you.

"Of course. You're safe with me, with us. You know none of us would ever let anything happen to you. You're not alone." Spencer pulls you into a tight hug and you allow yourself to relax into him. It does nothing to ease the coursing emotions and terror you have within yourself. Seeming to sense that, he pulls away but keeps his hands on your shoulders. "You're safe," he coos, offering a small, comforting smile.

You attempt to return a smile of your own, but you can't help the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that there is a bottom to this whole iceberg that you guys haven't seen yet.

You take a seat on an uncomfortable metal chair in one of the interviewing rooms. "Do we really have to do this in here?" You sigh. Spencer stayed true to his word and pulled up a chair next to you. He placed a hand over yours, despite Emily being just across the table.

You almost allowed yourself to relax at the contact, but it only made your life a bit more difficult. Not only were you possibly being stalked and hunted by a brutal serial killer, but you also had a school girl crush on the one coworker who would likely never feel the same, and you would probably not confess to, even with your life in danger.

Emily laces her fingers together and winces. "I'm sorry, but yeah. You're considered a possible target now. You're involved on the opposite end of this case." Her honesty sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure you could handle someone sugar coating the danger you were in or the seriousness of this case, but the blunt honesty didn't make it any better easier.

"I'm just going to ask you simple questions. You're safe here, always remember that, (y/n)." I nod and close my eyes. I take Spencer's hand and squeeze it lightly. He squeezes back, his confirmation that he's there.

"You just got off the jet from a long case in Florida. What does it feel like outside?"

"Hot. Like I wanted to rip my clothes off." You can feel Spencer next to you tense at your comment and you squeezed his hand in flirt-reply but you were sure he would most likely not understand it.

"What did you do next?"

"I...I talked to Penelope. I called her when we landed while I walked to my car and I offered to come over to watch Illegally Blonde and bring wine."

"Focus on the carpark. Was there anyone just standing around? Any abnormal cars you didn't recognize?"

You tried to imagine the carpark at the tarmac. There were multiple floors, all used by different departments of the FBI. You were only really sure of the kinds of cars your close coworkers drove but there were probably hundreds of cars around as you walked through. "There's a lot of cars I don't know. I parked further away because I was running late and all the spots were full."

"Keep walking towards your car. Is there anyone just standing around?"

As I walk to towards my car, I swivel my head around, going over each small detail of my surroundings.

"There's a man in a suit with a briefcase but he's on the phone, talking to someone. I don't think he even knew I was there."

"Once you get in your car, is there anything abnormal? Does your car start the same way it always does? What do you smell?"

You rack your brain for the memory. You allow yourself to picture sitting in the car. "I think it smelt normal. Like my air freshener which I always change when it runs out."

Your air freshener hung from your rearview mirror, your steering wheel was in the same position you left it, and when you turned the car on, your car purred like normal. "Wait," you whisper.

"What is it?"

You feel Spencer's hand squeeze yours. "Normally, my phone automatically connects when I start it. I always play my music through my bluetooth and no one else's phone is paired so there should've been no reason for it to not connect."

"What did you do when you noticed your phone didn't connect?"

"I umm..I went into my settings to try to connect but then I saw my settings were basically clear edout. Like it was reset to factory settings."

"What did you do then?"

You take your bottom lip into your mouth and begin to chew as you allow the memory to play on. Spencer's hand brings you to Earth slightly and you let out a deep breathe and continue.

"I'm pretty sure I just paired it again...I thought it was weird, definitely, but I don't think I really thought much of it. No one was in my car or under, I always check. There wasn't any kind of van or large vehicle parked next to me. There wasn't anything else that made me feel in danger so I guess I just played it off like my car malfunctioned or something."

"Okay, are you alright to keep going?"

As the memory continues to play in your mind you begin to feeling the rising panic again. You're normally extremely vigilant, sometimes too much. Every sound and detail is always analyzed, you always make sure there's no danger around. You can't help but feel idiotic for missing it. Of course, you would never completely factory reset your car and you haven't taken it to get serviced in months.

As your breathing quickens, you fling your eyes open and blink back the tears forming. "I-I'm not sure. I feel...stupid. I should have noticed."

"You noticed everything else, though. You're not stupid. You checked for every other danger you could possibly think of, don't berate yourself for not thinking you were in danger because of something as simple as your phone not connecting. Almost no one would read into it any further than a vehicle malfunction." Spencer's hands were on your shoulders as he speaks to you, forcing you to stare at him.

"I'm a profiler, it's my job to read into things no one else does."

"You're human, (y/n). An intelligent human at that. Don't call yourself stupid." Spencer's tone almost makes you flinch, it sounds almost just like the dream you had...you shake your head to get the thought out and avoid his flamed gaze.

"I'm proud of you for getting this far," Spencer spoke softer this time, dropping his hands from your shoulders and taking your hand again. "You're brave."

"I'm brave," I repeat, taking a deep breath. "Let's continue."

After a grueling, multiple hour long cognitive interview, you're mentally drained. Remembering every detail about every day for the past few weeks has taken a toll on you. As you exit the interview room, Prentiss pats your shoulder and gives you a comforting smile. She then heads off to discuss your interview with the team probably, but Spencer doesn't budge from your side.

You pause in the hallway and Spencer looks down at you, concern lacing his features. "You did great in there," he started. "You really helped us, a lot."

"I really hope so. I'm too scared to go home, I don't even want to leave the BAU just in case he hacked my car..." Tears well up in your eyes once again but this time, you decide to let them slip. You're too exhausted and confused and scared to care about what Spencer might think of you crying in front of him.

He gently brings a hand up to your cheek and wipes a fallen tear from it. His hand lingers on your face and he suddenly brings it down to his side as if realizing that he was prolonging his contact.

"Thank you for staying in there with me." You look at him with teary eyes and try to plaster on a smile.

He only frowns back at you. "Of course, I didn't want you to go through it alone. You know you don't need to put on a fake smile for me. I can see through it anyway."

You blink at his words and take a relieving breath. It was nice to not be expected to be okay right now. "Now that I'm considered a target, am I not allowed to know what you guys know?" It was almost too much to bear, the thought of being kept in the dark when you were the one in danger.

"As much as Hotch might say you should stay out of it, I don't think it's fair. Knowing the information we do could possibly save your life."

The tight knot in your stomach uncoils slightly. It helps to know that even if things are kept from you, there is someone who would fight for you and probably tell you anyway.

"There you guys are, Hotch needs us in the conference room." JJ states, popping her head around the corner and disappearing just as quickly as she came.

Spencer places a gentle hand on the small of my back and leads me to the round table. You're grateful for this because you don't think you'd be able to keep yourself up and moving on your own.

As soon as you sit down, Hotch doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath before he begins. "Based on everything so far, our profile suggests that you're his endgame, (y/n)."

Your eyes widen but you're unable to even open your mouth to ask why.

Garcia speaks next and you whip your gaze to her as she fidgets with the fluffy pen in her hand. "I did some internet sleuthing, as I do, and I found something...extremely creepy." She pushes a button on the remote next to her and a website appears on the screen. The tension in the room becomes taut like a wire as an entire blog about you comes up on the screen. "It's anonymous, of course. But not for long, I will not let him get away with this." Garcia states angrily, as the different blog entries are scrolled through.

"She will belong to me even if it's the last thing I do."

"Such a selfish whore, parading around for me, basically asking for my attention and then pretending like I don't exist."

"I think she gets it, guys." Spencer snarls.

"(Y/n), do you have any idea who this guy is?" Morgan asks.

"I-I don't know. I rarely even go anywhere! I don't understand why I'm the target. What is so special about me?" You cry out, exasperated.

"There must have been an interaction, even a super brief, normal one you had with him." JJ points out.

"I don't remember anyone out of the blue coming up to me..."

"He most likely wouldn't have. You might have had to talk to him for any kind of reason, a cashier, a waiter, even someone who held the door open for you." Prentiss sighs.

"I don't think he would have worked at any of the places the women were abducted from. He's obviously got a large house, land, or somewhere to hold these women. He tends to hold them for around 2 days before dumping them and if he's stalking (y/n) in his free time, he's probably got a flexible job or no job at all." Morgan explains.

"Garcia, get a list of everyone that lives with their parents or took over their parents residence after they passed, especially those with farms, or land." Hotch orders.

"Also check for men who's parents might have owned buildings he can keep women in that are now abandoned like factories, mills, schools." Rossi chimes in.

Garcia nods and races out of the room and to her office.

"We've got to find a way to get this guy to come out of his hiding spot.." JJ hums.

"(Y/n)?" Hotch asks, his gaze noticeably softer. You're almost too afraid to answer, internally begging to just stay here, away from danger. "Yes?" You answer quietly.

"I wouldn't ask this if I thought we had other leads or ways to narrow down suspects...but we might need you to draw him out."

"Absolutely not!" Spencer jumps from his seat. The entire table falls silent at his outburst.

"It might be the only way of making sure other women don't get hurt, Spencer." Hotch reasoned.

"I don't care! You're putting her in danger!" Spencer roared, shoving his chair from behind him and pacing around the room. "You can't Hotch."

"It's okay," you croak out. If it means saving another woman's life, you're willing to make the sacrifice. You don't allow yourself to think about Spencer's outburst and why he could've possibly been so upset. You're just friends. He just cares about you because you're his friend, you tell yourself.

Spencer sits back down in his seat, his gaze unable to meet mine. "I can handle it," you lift your chin and straighten your back, faking a confidence you sure as hell don't have.

"Everyone meet back here in an hour and we'll discuss the details." With this, Hotch rises out of his seat and leaves the room. The others do the same, leaving you and Spencer by yourselves, still seated at the round table.

"I'm brave, remember?" You say, giving him a sad smile. He gives you an even sadder smile back. "Yes, you are." You can see him battling an internal battle with himself, his body almost shaking. "You'll be there to protect me, right?"

"Of course."

479 notes · View notes

brilium · 7 months

Text

❥ K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 3

Masterlist

➽──────────❥

❥ DAY 12. Caught Sex! with Suguru Geto

Summary. One of Suguru's co-workers keeps trying to flirt with him even though she knows that he's dating you and you sneak out on the changing rooms to show her how to strike back properly.

Content Warning. Fem! reader, no use of Y/N, all characters are adults, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, oral sex (f. receiving), breeding, semi-public sex.

Word count. 2,203.

MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Your nails drum on the table, even if the sound is thin and soft, for Suguru’s coworker feels like the footsteps of a serial killer approaching her, even though she is the one walking towards you.

“D–Do you need something else?” She asks, with a weak voice as she avoids your gaze.

She’s been flirting with your boyfriend, you know it.

She chose to ignore the fact that he was already dating someone, just as she’s fighting to ignore the rage in your eyes as you look at her.

In her position, she's supposed to look down at you with superiority, but she feels like a tiny bug in a spider web.

“Yeah, I would like to see a face that won’t make me want to throw up my macchiato” You smile cynically as she sighs shyly and nods. Walking away with her hands on the bags of her apron.

You take a long sip of your drink, still smiling, the girn on your face increases as you see Suguru walking towards you in a hurry. God, his angry face looks so hot.

“How long have you been there?” He groans, pulling the chair harshly and sitting in front of you. You put your elbows on the table to hold your face with your hands, looking at him like you have hearts popping in your eyes.

"You look handsome when you tie up your hair like that." You extend your hand to play with his bangs.

He gives you a hard look and you sigh, still playing with his hair.

“Like three hours. I have work to do and I decided to work on it in advance as I drink one of your delicious coffees.” Suguru scoffs at your answer, throwing his head back as he pinches the bridge of his nose before sighing and leaning closer on the table.

“I know why you’re here” Suguru sighs, caressing your arm softly with his fingers, he bites his lip to hide his smile as he looks up at you. “Thank you. She’s been over me all week, today is the only day that she has left me alone and I was wondering why until I heard of a grumpy client.”

You shrug, snorting softly.

“I’m not that grumpy” He laughs back, relaxing a little. “I’m just worried, usually we are the relaxed and smart boyfriend with the girl who’s inappropriate and…”

“Grumpy” He responds, chuckling.

You laugh softly, looking down to hide your blush.

“Yeah, and the grumpy girlfriend.”

You both relaxed, but the echo of his coworker taking an order some tables away tenses you both again. You feel the borders of your lips go down, running the cute atmosphere as you both remember all the insistence of the girl.

“I can ask my boss to let me go earlier today, ‘kay?” He says, leaning closer to kiss your cheek lovingly before standing up again. “Even they know about how tired I am from all her begging me to cheat on you with her.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and he nods with pursed lips before kissing your forehead and saying a soft ‘I’ll be right back’.

As Suguru enters through the door with the small sign of “Staff only” you can’t help but worry again of all the stress he’s going through with this girl. If even the staff knows about all the problems and she keeps insisting, maybe you’ll have to be as crazy as her to stop it.

When your boyfriend has finished taking off his apron, he starts to unbutton his shirt; once all the buttons has been let off, he startles at the sensation of someone pulls back his shirt and revealing his back and shoulders.

Suguru turns back in cold sweat, just to find you smirking and bringing up your hand to his chest.

"Wow, it's been a while since I got this view" You giggle, passing the tip of your nails across his chest, receiving a stained moan from him.

He grabs your waist firmly, pulling you closer to whisper.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He scolds you, but you still can feel the warmth of his hard breathing against your face. "You'll get me in trouble if someone finds you in here."

You purr, hugging his neck to bring him closer and rub your lips against his. Suguru shivers at your actions and his hands can't avoid the reflect of holding your waist.

"Do you really need to stay on this job? That girl just keeps bothering you" You whine, biting softly his lip as Suguru closes his eyes to hold himself from falling in your threat. "C'mon, I'll get jealous."

"You'll get jealous even if I work at a damn geriatric." Suguru snorts, finally giving up to look out for your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing circles with his thumbs on your waist.

You hit his shoulder softly, unable to answer anything from the way he kisses you like it's been a year since the last time. Sucking on your lower lip and chasing out for your tongue, you whimper pleased against his lips.

The sound of your lips touching and pulling back covers the small changing room until the soft whines in your voice start to join.

"S–Suguru…" You lean back but he brings you again against his lips as his hand gets inside your jeans to rub your clit in circles above the underwear. "Fuck— Yes… That feels good."

Suguru laughs against your lips, bringing the other hand behind your neck to keep you on there for him. You clumsily unbutton your jeans to let him move his hand more freely and he licks your lip slowly like a candy.

When he pulls back, you breathe finally as you pull down your jeans and kick them aside with your foot. He harshly turns your body and presses you against the lockers, you feel you cheek against the cold metal as he pushes your hips back to let you feel his hard crotch.

"You know you shouldn't be here, love" He whispers, caressing your hips with your hands and crawling slowly to reach your clothed breasts while his hips softly thrust against your ass. "You never pay attention to me."

His hands squeeze your breasts, grabbing the border of your bra and pulling it down to let them be free before slamming your upper body against the surface and keeping your butt closer to him.

You moan loud and clear at the action, the cold feeling immediately turning you nipples hard as he pushes you against the metal with the increase of the strength on his hits.

"P–Please, just fuck me, Suguru" You plead, feeling his finger rubbing up and down right in your —still— clothed cunt.

"Nah" Suguru scoffs, soaking softly his finger with the wet fluids trespassing the fabric and making you roll your eyes at the slight touch. "You're being so fucking loud, I don't wanna get fired because of your whines."

You open your mouth to complain, being stopped by his hands wagging your ass and squeezing it as his crotch sends another thrust. You tried to moan but your teeths quickly grabbing your lip covers it.

Suguru laughs, pulling down your panties as he kneels behind you as he caresses your legs.

"Now you understand it."

You nod painfully as his head travels between your ass to start licking your folds from behind. His tongue already knows where to rub softly and have you in such a whiny state, but his demands of being silent are giving you a headache.

Suguru loves to do it this way; your soft ass in his face as his tongue and lips kiss you like he wants to clean every drop of fluid inside your cunt. You can't help but roll your eyes as you moan the lowest that you can as he starts sucking and drinking every drop that leaks on your thighs.

You start trying to grab something to hold the pleasure but the damn lockers are so loud every time you try to support on them and they rumble with metallic echoes.

"S–Shit! Suguru!" You whine, squeezing your breasts between your hands as his tongue gets a quicker peace and teases the tip of your clit.

His hair is tangled between your fists as you bring a hand back to hold him on there but he pulls back again, making you moan a little bit louder in your complaint.

"Hold on, don't turn." He says with a firm tone that startles you and you obey with a little trembling of the interrupted pleasure that almost drove you to the orgasm.

You glance back slightly, seeing him tossing aside his jeans near to yours as he strokes on his erection a few times before putting his tip near to your folds.

He pushes your head against the lockers again with a strong hold as his dick slides fully inside in one thrust. You moan with a mix of pain of pleasure not bothering about your volume as he keeps slamming without caring of the sound of the skins or the echo of the rumble of the lockers.

"Y–You're a damn pain in the ass, you know it, right?" Suguru groans, moaning between his teeths at the feeling of your walls sucking him inside. "You never listen to me."

You can't help but nod against the metal with struggle because of his hold as you hold the locker's doors to keep you standing.

"Suguru! Fuck— You’re so rough with me!" You moan, loving his peace and thrusts kicking in and out so perfectly as you smile like a dumb.

"Yes— God, this is the only pussy that I'd love to feel all my life" His hand lets go of your head to keep them both on your tits, squeezing them and arching your back slightly in his direction to keep holding you as his thrusts become more harder and messier. "I'm gonna cum, I'll cum inside and show it to everyone, princess."

You moan harder, breathing with struggle as he pounds like a beast on you as you feel electric shivers covering all your body as the orgasm starts to build on you with every hit.

Suguru growls at the feeling of you tightening around him as you cry his name. He feels close— so fucking close, so he moves his hands from your tits to your wrists to keep you on there as he slams feeling the previous feeling of his orgasm reaching him too.

Is then, when the door suddenly opens and a familiar annoying voice comes inside.

But this time it doesn't annoy you. It actually sounds like your favorite song as she gets inside.

"Suguru, what's all that nois—"

"Fuuuck—!" Suguru groans as he sends a few thrusts that are the high of his orgasm as his seed fills you with a bigger load of cum than other times.

Between your half opened eyes and fucked out gaze, you're still able to smile at the sight of her shocked face as he pulls out from you and you have to hold the lockers with the sweat on your forearms and hands to keep standing as you feel the hot liquid starting to drip down along your thighs.

"Yeah…" He asks, breathless as he strokes his cock to throw the last drops of cum on your ass before grabbing his boxers from the floor and putting them on. "It was my girlfriend, sorry."

His smirk says everything but regret as she gets red and avoids your eyes before slamming the door and leaving.

"Is she stopping now?" You ask, trying to recover as you put on your panties again and look for your jeans.

"Yeah. Anyways, everyone definitely heard it all so I might get fired." You snort, buttoning your jeans and grabbing his hand.

You roll your eyes, kissing his lips softly as he returns the kiss with tenderness as he caresses your cheeks.

"Come on," you say against his lips, playing with his loose hair. "Let's leave before she starts screaming about what she saw."

#kinktober 2023 #kinktober #brilium #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto smut #geto x reader #suguru x reader #suguru smut

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haunted-headset · 7 months

Note

Ok hear me out… scare actor reader and Wilbur who just wanted to go to a haunted house and then boom he’s like “oh no. The serial killer is pretty” you can use ur imagination for the rest this is just the caffeine talking to me with fanfic ideas :)

🔪 Is That Too Scary for You? 🔪

Summary: Headcanons about how Wilbur would act if he saw you, the reader, being pretty & a fake serial killer in a haunted house

A/N: HOLY SHIT. I LOVE THIS IDEA! Again, very sorry that it's only headcanons (idk if I'm even using the right term anymore lol), I'm extremely burnt out & tired rn. also tysm for the asks! it's been keeping me busy af & i love it! Also, the title was based off of the song I Think I'm Okay =)

pairing: CC!Wilbur x afab!actor!reader

pronouns used for reader: She/her/hers

tags: @vibestillaxxx @joviepog @ax-y10 @themonsterunderurmom @wilburstan @smolsleepykitten @funnyreally2009 @crows-death @thewheelersgaygaragelights @dykepunz @aresriiots @0miamor0 @cathers-world @defonotval @chipch0p @mazzistar16 @unmellowyellowfellow @justalittlebitofchaos @thosecolorfulsheets @vopix @taylors-version-from-the-vault @aine-lasagna @merianakross @veeislost @urfav-sapphic-siren (pls let me know if you do/don't want to be tagged!)

warnings/cw: scary stuff, reader is a scare actor (you're basically a fake serial killer), fake blood, the people with Wilbur & Tommy on the vlog getting jumpscared, reader pretending to k!ll Wilbur, Wilbur having a dream about the reader

genre: fluff/horror

Wilbur would probably be accompanied by the Sorry Boys for a Tom Simons vlog

Wilbur probably wouldn't want to go in the first place because he;d get scared easily

So when they do get inside the haunted house, they learn that everyone who's in the haunted house now becomes part of a challenge. They now have to escape the haunted house without being killed by any of the creatures/ghosts or you, the serial killer. It's basically just an escape room

When he first hears your menacing voice behind him, he stops walking. Not out of fear, but out of awe.

↑↑ You laughed creepily. "It seems I have some visitors here today..." Wilbur stopped in his tracks & Tommy turned the camera towards Wilbur. He was staring at you in awe. "Wilbur, stop being a simp & run!" Tommy laughed, pulling Wilbur away from you. "...Tommy, the serial killer's hot."

He basically tried to find any way to bring the group closer to you. He thought you were really pretty.

Would definitely 'die' first just to hang out with you

If you pinned him to the wall to 'k!ll' him, he would be so fcking flustered

↑↑ "Nowhere left to run..." you chuckled. You stabbed two of your fake knives into his shirt sleeves to pin him to the wall. "Any last words?" & Wilbur would be crushin' & blushin' so damn hard as he said, "Honestly? Uh you're really pretty & I kinda want your number if it isn't too much to ask-"

He ended up letting you 'k!ll' him so that you could bring him to where the people who were eliminated stayed until the attraction was over & you two just talked for an hour or so

& then you were stabbing him to death in his dreams <3

566 notes · View notes

halsteadlover · 14 days

Text

𝐀 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐧

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female!Reader.

• Requested by anon: Could you please write a derek Morgan x reader smut where the reader and derek and the team obvi are on a case and while interviewing neighbors in the apartments the reader makes a stupid bet like "I bet whoever lives here is a hot single bachelor in his 20s" and then it's the opposite and when they are back in the car derek makes the reader pay up but with her panties and when she goes to get them back at the end of the day it leads to smut.

• Warnings: a really brief mention of a murder case (it’s just a sentence), dirty talk, cuss words, making out, semi-public foreplay (f. receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up you guyssss!!)

• Word count: 5.5K

• A/N: my first Derek fic 😭 I hope you like it guys, please let me know what do you think about it and also comment, like and reblog, it’d mean the world. Sending lots of love to everyone ❤️

What part of your brain thought it was a good idea to make a bet with Derek Morgan?

You didn’t even know why you did it, it must’ve been the pleasure of losing because there was no way on earth you would’ve won.

You and Morgan were about to go interview a witness for a case you were working on: a serial killer who was killing his victims by setting fires. You were walking next to each other while you thought of some way to make what was going to be a long and boring afternoon, interesting.

You and Derek had a, well… Particular relationship, to say the least.

Months prior you and him had started to have sex. It started out as a purely physical thing as you had always been very attracted to each other, but as time went on you found yourselves spending time together and enjoying each other’s company even outside of a sexual sphere.

Your relationship, both from a working and private point of view, had always been characterized by a playful banter, mischievous jokes, by the constant flirting so it wasn’t strange you both often found yourselves making bets aimed to make lose the other’s mind.

In fact, it was at that moment that you came up with an idea for a bet, however forgetting he took them so seriously it seemed like his life depended on it, especially since most of the time he won, and the penances were of a sexual nature. Of course you didn’t mind losing one bit.

“I bet whoever lives here is a hot single bachelor in his twenties,” you said, pointing to the apartment where you were heading, ready to question the witness. He grinned and glanced at you, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Oh baby girl, you still don’t understand it’s a losing battle?”

“What’s the matter Agent Morgan, you afraid of losing?” You challenged him with the deliberate pleasure of teasing him and in fact he immediately gave in to your provocation.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly in amusement. You arrived in front of the apartment door that had the number ‘23’ on its sign. You were standing facing each other while he thought about the penance, he would’ve make you do if you – most likely – lost.

Another evil, mocking grin appeared on his lips, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “You’ll give me your panties when you lose.”

“If I lose.”

“When. But you can still back out.”

“Never.”

He held out a hand towards you but you didn’t miss the way his eyes roamed over your body from head to toe, checking you out without shame. Over time you had learned to understand what he was thinking, what was hidden behind his look and you almost caught fire because you immediately recognized that look, it was the one he gave you when he was imagining you naked in every possible and imaginable position.

And in fact, you weren’t wrong.

Just the thought of having your panties in his pocket, walking around and smelling you, was enough to make his dick stir in his pants.

You knew the odds of you winning the bet were slim, but your competitive nature made you shake Morgan’s hand, and he gave you another one of his panty-ripping smiles.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, don’t take the victory for granted.”

He raised his hands in surrender, chuckling. “I would never dare but be realistic darling. Do you know how low the odds are?”.

“What if I win?”.

“You won’t.”

“What if I win?” You repeated, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shrugged, very sure he’d win. “You’ll choose the penance.”

You thought about it for a moment and a mischievous smile appeared on your lips this time. “I’ll do a strip tease and a lap dance.”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “How is that a penance? Baby I’d drop on my knees right now to make this happen...”

“…But you’ll be handcuffed, you won’t be able to touch me and I won’t make you come.”

He opened his mouth wide, feeling his dick twitch just at the thought. He had to force himself to think of something else since he didn’t want to question a witness with a raging hard on but it was awfully difficult when all he could do was imagine you strip teasing and grinding on his lap. “Fuck I don’t know if I should win or lose.”

“If you want to end up with blue balls then you have to hope to lose.”

You knocked on the apartment door, still maintaining eye contact with Derek and trying to hold back your laughter since you knew exactly what he was thinking. You took your eyes away from him only to let them travel down his body and to the crotch of his pants which was clearly prominent at that moment. You bit your lip as you looked back at his face and he glared at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, feeling the situation getting even worse. Damn it, he felt like a damn horny teenager.

Before you could respond to his comment the door opened, revealing a person who couldn’t be more different from the object of your bet. He in fact was a she, a lady who couldn’t have been less than sixty years old.

Your smile dropped as the one on Derek’s face grew even more and, as you had already said, you wondered what part of your brain had thought it was a good idea to make that bet.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” she looked skeptically at both of you.

“Oh yes ma’am, you just made my day so much better,” he replied softly but glancing at you. “We’re FBI agents, may we ask you few questions?”

Over the next hour and a half you interviewed other witnesses near the fire scene and on your way to the car, Derek wouldn’t stop trying to get close to you and touch you.

“Derek stop it! We’re in public! God you’re so unprofessional,” you slapped one of his hands away that had been squeezing your ass for the last couple of minutes, trying not to laugh.

“There’s nothing professional about what we do, baby girl,” he replied with mock annoyance, “Plus I can’t help it, I can’t wait to rip your panties off.”

“Nuh uh mister, the deal was that I have to give you my panties not you taking them off me.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes as you approached the car but before you could get in he grabbed your hand and turned you towards him. He placed his hands on your face and as he pushed your back against the car door he crushed his lips on yours.

He didn’t care about passers-by in any way, in people’s eyes you might have looked like a couple who was passionately making out.

After the first few seconds of surprise, you immediately kissed him back, parting your lips and letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. You knew it was totally unprofessional to kiss your colleague in broad daylight while you were doing your job but all it took was for him to get close for you to lose your mind, no longer able to think clearly.

Your hands moved down his chest to encircle his waist, trying to pull him closer to you than his body already was. Your mouths moved in sync while he seemed to want to suck his soul out of you and although you were now used to kissing him, every time it was as if it was the first.

You almost moaned into the kiss, your body already on fire, wanting more. You wanted him so badly, you wanted his hands, his fingers, his mouth and his tongue all over you.

“Derek please…” you sighed when you broke away, his face still dangerously close to yours.

“Get in the car princess,” he ordered and his voice was so low and seductive that if he had asked you to give him a blowjob right there on the sidewalk you would’ve dropped on your knees without the slightest hesitation.

He opened the door for you and you giggled like a teenager before getting in, thanking him as you watched him walk around the car before getting in too.

“I would’ve fucked you in the car here and now if we weren’t in public. You’re so fucking hot baby,” he whispered against your lips after moving closer to you and taking your chin between his fingers. “But I’ll settle taking your panties off for now.”

He placed a hand on your breast and groped it before sliding it across your stomach to your jeans-covered pussy. You moaned as he began to touch you, making you squirm under his expert fingers.

“I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you honey?” He continued to tease you.

“Fuck Derek… They’ll see us…”

“You’re right,” he replied, stopping touching you, causing you to moan and grunt at the same time. “No one should look at what is mine.”

God Derek Morgan and the things he made you feel. You were starting to really hate him.

“You’re having so much fun aren’t you?”

He started the car but not before throwing you one last mocking and sexy as hell grin. “You have no idea how much.”

You squeezed your legs together in anticipation feeling the urge and desire grow more and more. You continued to look at him as he drove, observing every feature of his perfect profile with your hungry eyes.

How could someone be so perfect?

And it didn’t help he had one hand resting on your inner thigh as his thumb was stroking dangerously close to your intimate area. You didn’t know whether to hate him, to beg him to go higher or both but certainly the smug expression on his face made you want to punch him.

Derek drove to a hidden, dead end road, not caring the rest of the team was probably waiting to hear from both you and him.

He kissed you breathless again, threading a hand into your hair. But he didn’t stay there for long as he moved down your chest again, wasting no time in groping your breasts again, until he reached your pussy again.

“God Derek you’re driving me crazy,” you hissed as you struggled to keep control. He kissed you again and unbuttoned your pants and you lifted your hips before your brain could even process the movement, allowing him to slide them down your thighs. You took off your shoes, slipping your pants off.

He slipped his hands into your underwear and a loud moan escaped your lips that Derek felt right in his dick. “As I imagined… So fucking wet.”

“Fuck yes just like that,” you sighed as his fingers drew circles on your clit. You gripped the sides of the seat as if searching for a leverage, pleasure flowing through your veins.

He knew where to touch you, he knew HOW to touch you, what to do to make you lose your mind and control.

“I'm dying to taste this pussy, look at you soaking up my fingers,” he whispered in your ear, pressing his lips to your neck and sucking on your skin but being careful not to leave any marks. The team already didn’t give you any respite suspecting there was something between you, he certainly didn’t want to give them clear proof.

Two of his fingers slipped easily inside your wet pussy, curling inside you and touching that spongy spot that made you moan and thinking you were about to ascend to heaven.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes,” you kissed him, spreading your legs even more to give him more access.

“You like that don’t you? My pretty girl loves being so dirty, letting me finger this pussy in public.”

You dipped your head back in pleasure, feeling the orgasm already building inside you.

He pulled his fingers out and you grunted at the loss and took off your panties, bringing them to his nose and deeply inhaling the scent that drove him so crazy: you and sex. “Now I really don’t know how I’m going to go through the whole day without being hard knowing I have your panties here,” he spoke up as he stuffed them into his pocket. “But we should go back.”

What?

“Derek you can’t leave me like this!”.

“Oh I can and I will, we shouldn’t let the others think we might be doing something shouldn’t we?”

“You fucking piece of shit.”

He burst out laughing and you nearly punched him in his handsome face.

You were furious. Irritated.

You were furious, irritated but above all horny.

After that little stunt he had done in the car Derek had really left you like that, without an orgasm and with a mad desire to fuck.

The rest of the day was torture, especially having to work with other people while pretending you didn’t feel like you were on the edge the whole time. You didn’t spare Morgan some dirty looks after which he had to force himself not to laugh but he didn’t spare you those languid looks full of lust either.

It wasn’t easy for you but it wasn’t easy for him either since, unlike you, couldn’t hide his excitement so easily. Knowing he had your panties in his pocket and the memory of your wet pussy were giving him no respite.

In reality, you both loved that little game, teasing and torturing each other until the other lost his mind, even if… To be honest, wearing jeans without underwear was complete torture.

At the end of the day, when you were finally all in your own room, you took the opportunity to take a shower and put on a dress and the sexy lingerie you had put in your bag before leaving for the new case.

You giggled just thinking about Derek’s reaction.

You went to his room, knocking twice before he opened the door making your jaw drop and almost fall to the floor when you realized he was naked and only had a towel around his waist.

His body was still wet, sign he had just gotten out of the shower, the drops running down his sculpted chest that you wanted to lick off one by one.

“Oh man…” He sighed. “You’re breathtaking baby,” he began, shamelessly scanning your body from head to toe, a smirk on his lips. “I was wondering when you were coming.”

“You always opening the door like this, Agent Morgan?” You asked ironically before entering his room without even waiting for him to invite you.

“Woah woah woah, where do you think you’re going baby girl? Where is my kiss?” He scolded you, almost truly offended after closing the door behind him.

You giggled, but unable to take your eyes off his body and stop them from wandering hungrily over his figure.

“No, dry yourself first and then I’ll kiss you,” you replied before going to sit on the edge of the bed, placing your hands behind you on the mattress and tilting your head slightly as you looked at him.

He didn’t answer but came closer to you and placed two fingers on your chin, forcing you to lift your head and pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss that took the air out of your lungs.

“Jealous Agent Y/Ln?” He whispered an inch from your lips, referring to your initial question after making you get up from the bed.

“Not even a little bit, it was just an innocent question agent Morgan.”

Absolutely. You were 100% jealous.

But you knew from the way the corner of his mouth lifted in a twisted, mischievous smile he didn’t believe it one bit. “You know, being a profiler I thought you were better at hiding emotions. Lies don’t look good on you pretty girl.”

“That would be true if I had told a lie but that’s not the case, I’m not jealous at all,” you said with a confident tone as your gaze alternated between his eyes and his lips. He was so close and so tempting you felt like you were already losing patience.

“To answer the question, no, I don’t answer to anyone. Just you.”

“You? Derek Morgan?”.

He chuckled. “Strange right? But it seems like you’ve done some weird witchcraft on me because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You already got in my pants, no need to be cheesy,” you retorted, biting your lip to keep from smiling.

He sighed, slightly shaking his head. “Always so cynical. What should I do with you?”

“Give me back my panties?”.

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten what the word ‘lose’ means?”.

“If I had known you liked them so much I would’ve bought you a new pair to wear you know.”

“You think you’re so funny don’t you?”. He grabbed your face with one hand, his mouth dangerously close to yours but never touching it.

You nodded with a smirk as you watched as his eyes were fixed on your lips. “Maybe you might like what I have now better.”

You took a step back and the look of pure confusion on his face was replaced by astonishment when he saw your hands lower the thick straps of your dress down your arms, then lowering the side zip and letting the dress fall around your feet.

The look of shock on his face was something you’d never forget.

Derek widened his mouth and eyes, letting his hungry gaze travel along your body wrapped in lace lingerie, studying every curve and inch of your skin. A warm feeling spread in your lower abdomen and it was amazing how just the way he looked at you was enough to turn you on.

“Holy shit…” he breathed out, “You… Are… You… Holy fuck…” he continued stuttering, unable to form a single meaningful sentence.

“Wow did I really manage to surprise Agent Morgan?” You giggled, your cheeks flushed and stomach filled with fluttering butterflies, knowing you had such an effect on him. Derek Morgan – the man who with a single smile and a look could’ve make rows and rows of women fall at his feet – was drooling over you, looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

“I’ll answer you when some blood returns to my brain.”

Your gaze trailed down his body and your insides clenched at the sight of his prominent erection beneath the towel around his waist. Your mouth watered just thinking about what was underneath that single fabric, imagining his dick in your mouth, in every hole in your body as he filled you completely.

“You look spectacular Y/n, my god” he murmured, his chocolate brown eyes still on your body and never on your face. You could see him struggling in not knowing what to pay more attention to, your breasts which were perfectly highlighted by the lace that gave that see-through effect while it showed the shadow of your nipples, if the hold-ups that surrounded your thighs that Derek wanted nothing more than to mark and bite or your pussy also covered in matching lace in which he wanted to dive and feed on it until he drown himself to death.

Derek moved closer to you, closing the small distance between the two of you. “Turn around. Show me this beautiful ass that torments me in my sleep.”

The tone of his voice alone made you almost beg him to do anything he wanted. You didn’t have to be told twice and you turned around, your skin on fire as you felt his penetrating gaze on you as he observed and studied every millimeter of your body.

You heard Derek exhale a deep breath behind you. “A fucking goddess. You’re absolutely mesmerizing.”

A rush of shivers gave you goosebumps as he placed his rough hands on your arms, stroking them slowly before moving up and moving your hair from your shoulders and letting it fall along your shoulder blades, leaving your neck exposed. His lips began to plant kisses on your skin and the mere contact made you sigh and tilt your head to the side, giving him more access.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you drive me?” he whispered in your ear and you clenched your hands into fists, pressing your nails into your palms in an attempt to release the frustration you felt. Every second that passed while he didn’t touch you as you wanted there was a shred of your sanity that was shattered.

You shook your head, realizing you hadn’t answered yet.

His hands went down your arms again, then moving up your hips until they reached your ass. You let out a gasp when his fingers tightened around the flesh of your ass, squeezing it, groping it with the sole purpose of torturing you and leaving you eager for more.

“God the things I want do to you baby, you can’t even imagine.”

“Do it Derek, do whatever you want to me… I need you.”

“I love feeling you so desperate for me.”

An empty feeling came over you as his fingers let go of your ass, moving to your hips. However, you moaned when he pushed his body against yours, pressing his erection against the curves of your ass and grinding against you without shame or restraint.

“Fuck Derek,” you murmured, now on the verge of losing your mind.

One of his hands ended up around your throat, forcing you to bend your head and rest it on his shoulder while the other cupped one of your breasts, palpating it over the top of your bra. You sighed, rubbing your ass against his hard dick as you couldn’t wait for it to stretch your pussy.

“That’s what you do to me, you make me so hard I can’t even think straight anymore.” He pinched your hard nipple from above the fabric. “You have no idea how much I want to rip this off of you but I know you’d kill me,” he chuckled in your ear.

“I don’t give a shit.” You blurted out, not evens embarrassed about how fast you said it.

“What do you want baby? Talk to me.”

God it was so damn hard talking when you were so horny you couldn’t even remember your name, the denied orgasm making things worse.

“You. Fuck me, please. I need you so badly Derek.”

He tightened his hand lightly around your neck, cupping your chin then turning your head towards him and before you knew it he slammed his lips onto yours, sucking the breath from your body as his tongue explored your mouth in a sloppy, deep kiss.

He slowly slid the fingers of his other hand – that until a few seconds before were on your breast – along your chest, your lower abdomen, touching your needy and drenched pussy with his fingertips. You whined during the kiss, spontaneously lifting your hips to try and meet his fingers.

God you were hating him at that moment.

“I can smell your wetness from here, is my baby horny for me?” he whispered on your lips swollen and red from the impetuous kiss.

“I’ll fucking kill you right now Morgan I swear to god.”

He laughed and your stomach clenched in on itself. “Don’t worry baby, I’m here. I’m going to fuck your brains out, so good you won’t even be able to get up when I’m done with you.” This time it was your pussy that clenched when you squeezed your legs together for some friction. Derek let go of your throat and began to play with your panties. Your breath hitched as he slowly began to lower them, trailing them down your legs.

“I think I’ll keep these too,” he whispered even as his voice came loud and clear to your ears. You turned your head to the side so you could look at him and let out a ragged sigh when you saw him kneeling behind you. His eyes shone under the light of the hotel room as they looked at you with so much intensity that they alone would’ve been enough to set you on fire.

He left a kiss on your ass, making you gasp to the point of embarrassment as he bit your skin and groped your now bare ass. “One day I’ll fuck this pretty little ass too and you’ll love every second of it.”

“You can start by fucking my pussy now.”

He chuckled again as he stood up. He placed a hand on your heated back, inviting you to lean on the bed in front of you and you obeyed, resting your hands on the bed and giving him a perfect view of your ass.

“I can see from here how wet you are baby girl,” he moved closer to you, his bare thighs touching yours and then you realized he had removed the towel from his waist.

God have mercy on me.

“I’ll eat this beautiful pussy later but now all I can think about is fucking her so good,” he said as his fingers brushed against you and this little contact, combined with his dirty words, made you squirm with anticipation. “After all, you deserve it after being such a good girl all day.”

You felt him place his tip near your entrance and you both moaned as he slid his dick against your folds, wetting it with your fluids. He provoked you, tortured you with every motion, it was what he was best at, he knew which points to touch to drive you crazy and leave you painfully longing.

“Derek please, I want you so much,” you whined in a pathetic tone full of lust and desire as he continued to penetrate you with just the tip and then pull out. You hated him and wanted him at the same time, so much it hurt.

“What do you want, princess?” His hands gripped your hips and he leaned over you, pressing his lips to your skin before leaving damp, wet kisses all over your back.

“Fuck me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth before lining his dick up with your entrance and finally filling you.

“Oh God yes, you feel so god Derek.” You panted vigorously, your heart beating so hard it almost stopped as you felt his soft and especially bare skin touching every corner of you.

He remained still for a few moments, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to maintain control of his body. You were so wet and it felt so good being inside you, Derek feared that with just one push he would’ve come on the spot.

“Baby please… Move…”

Baby.

Fuck.

That simple little word had no business making his insides twist like he had. You were used to calling each other nicknames, it wasn’t new, but there was something in that ‘baby’ you said: perhaps it was the vulnerability with which you pronounced it, breathless and as if he was the only one who could save you, the way your voice was so full of desire.

Derek pulled out before thrusting into you again with a strong thrust so deep if it hadn’t been for his hands firmly gripping your hips you would’ve probably fallen forward.

“You have no idea what you do to me, fucking hell you drive me crazy,” he breathed out, head tilted back and eyes closed as his dick pounded into you like he was angry.

You tried to formulate a meaningful sentence but as you opened your lips only gasps and moans came out. He was fucking you so deeply that with each thrust you felt a piece of your brain coming out of your head and your soul out of your body.

Exactly like he promised.

All the hidden frustration made its way and exploded like a time bomb, not much time passing until even the orgasm began to build inside you.

Your face was pressed into the sheets of the bed, your breathing heavy and quickening as your hands clenched the fabric into a fist. “Derek…” you whimpered in pleasure as you pushed your pelvis towards him with each thrust. It didn’t seem to be enough though, you wanted more and more.

One of his hands continued to hold your hips firmly while he slid the other along your back, until he reached your hair which he tightened in a fist forcing you to lift your head. His moans and groans sounded like music to your ears and you couldn’t contain the joy of knowing it was you who made him feel this way, it was you who made him lose control.

“Fuck I could stay inside you forever, you take me so well. This pussy was made for me,” he groaned as the tip of his dick hit your G-spot, making you see stars. You wanted to answer but when you opened your mouth all that came out were moans and sighs. “Just for me… You understand?”

“Just you baby, only you,” you babbled while loudly moaning, not caring one bit if someone could hear you having sex.

His lips kissed your shoulder, his tongue traced every inch of skin he could reach. “That’s right pretty girl…” he groaned in your ear, his sentence interrupted by another moan. “Fuck yeah you’re mine.”

“Holy shit baby… I’m about to come…” You managed to say and the orgasm that hit you full on like a truck gave you no mercy, didn’t let you escape as it sucked away your ability to breath. If it wasn’t for Derek’s hand still in your hair you would’ve collapsed on the mattress.

His thrusts became unhinged, even more out of control than they were before and it didn’t take long for him to reach his climax too. How could he resist? There was no chance, not when your pussy was tightening around his dick in the throes of orgasmic spasms, leaving him no escape.

Derek exploded inside you, emptying himself into you until the last drop of his seed filled your pussy, then leaking from your entrance and sliding down your thighs as he pulled out.

“Shit,” he breathed as you felt the weight of the mattress dip as he collapsed next to you. “You destroy me baby, how do you manage to do this every single time?”

You mumbled something nonsensical in response, eyes closed and too tired to say anything. He chuckled and stroked your hair, brushing it away from your face so he could get a good look at you.

You were so beautiful, ethereal, so mesmerizing it hurt and seeing that happy and pleased look on your face almost sent him to his knees, internally promising himself he’d fight every single person on earth just to always see you so relaxed and happy.

“How many women do you tell this?” you managed to say, opening one eye and keeping the other closed and a flock of butterflies exploded in your stomach when you saw the breathtaking smile he was looking at you with.

“If you think there is someone capable of making me feel what you feel, you’re very wrong. Like I already said, I don’t know what strange witchcraft you did to me but you really hooked me baby.” He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned towards you, pressing small kisses across your face, neck, shoulders and all the way up to your lips. “There is no one else since you came in in my life, I’m so obsessed with you it’s not even funny.”

You opened your second eye too, suddenly not so tired anymore. “Really?”

“Why, isn’t the same for you?” he asked, his stomach clenched with jealousy at the thought of a man laying a finger on you. “Please tell me no or someone help me I will kill every man who even looked at you, I’m an FBI agent and I know how to hide dead bodies in such a way that not even the families will ever find them.”

You burst out laughing, and rolled onto your back before throwing your arms around his neck so you could bring him closer to you and press your lips to his. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

“Y/n. Don’t fucking test me.”

“I’m just kidding,” your lips brushed against his before planting another small kiss on them. “There couldn’t be another man even if they forced me, you’ve really messed up my life Agent Morgan and I’m pretty much obsessed with you too.”

“That better be. We’re exclusive since the day I kissed you in that elevator,” he grumbled. “God I love when you call me baby,” he then sighed happily and the way his mood shifted so quickly made. Your fingers caressed his soft, perfect skin and he mumbled with contentment. You noticed how his pupils were so dilated the chocolate surrounding them had almost disappeared. “Mine, only mine.”

“And you’re mine darling, I’m an FBI agent too and I know a thousand ways to make deaths look like accidents.” He pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you so deeply your heart almost stopped in your chest.

Derek Morgan would be the death of you, you were certain of that.

“Just give me five more minutes and I’ll show you how much we belong to each other princess, how much I look, think and breathe for you only.”

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