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mrs-weasley-reid · 2 months

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Suit Jacket

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

part 2 | Invitation Letter

Summary: Aaron Hotchner seems to love his suit jacket on you.

Warning: Nothing besides a few curses (I think)

A/N: not my gif, ctto! This was also sitting on my drafts for almost a year and barely proofread, so I apologize for the errors.

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Sunday, March 11, 2:04 AM

"Thanks, unibrow." You grinned drunkenly, smiling at your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner, as you collapsed in the cab's backseat. His suit jacket kept you cozy and covered like a cocoon while you comfortably giggled at the applied inside joke of his new nickname.

With Penelope's constant peer pressure, your inhibition has reached rock bottom eleven shots, five cocktails, and two whiskey glasses ago. You downed liquor like water, easing your stiff shoulders.

Aaron only stared at you with the same impassive face he had and shut the door before the cold caught you. He hunched in front of the driver's window, "This woman is a federal agent, and if something happens to her, I'll hunt you down. Please, drive her home safely." He straightened back up, casually tapping the vehicle's roof.

The cab took you away only after Aaron snapped a picture of the cab's plate number. He sighed as the vehicle slowly disappeared from his line of sight. He twisted on the balls of his feet, met by his other children, agents drunkenly calling his name.

Tuesday, March 27, 10:14 AM

You scurried out of the elevator, weaving through the sea of agents in the bullpen and then to the conference room where everybody was already settled in.

"So sorry! There was this son of a b—" You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, clenching your fists. Then, you exhaled profoundly with a calm smile at the end. "I got in a car accident. Go on, Pen. Sorry for interrupting." You took a seat between Aaron and JJ.

JJ turned to you, "Are you okay?" Her hand gently landed on one of yours, giving you a worried squeeze.

You gathered a smile and raised a thumb, "Thick skull and strong bones. Nothing can break me, not even this unsub... whoa—" Your eyes widened a bit.

How ironic for your case to be about an unsub who performed a craniotomy on the victims. You smiled awkwardly, the similar tight-lipped smile that Spencer would always plaster on his face.

The other agents coughed a chuckle at your reaction while Penelope continued the debrief with the same horrified look.

Upon listening to the case details, you slowly felt colder, subtly rubbing the sides of your shoulders. You were so caught up in your anger towards the guy that rear-ended you you could've sworn your body was overheating. You left your blazer somewhere and were sure it wasn't in your wrecked car.

"Alright, wheels up in 30," Aaron announced, sending everyone to get out of their seats and grab their go bags and snapping you off your trance in the process.

You rushed to collect your file copy and headed for the door but halted when Aaron called you. You pivoted on your heels, "Yes?"

He was taking off his jacket, handing it to you as soon as it peeled off his body.

"I don't think dry cleaning your suit is part of my job description, Sir." You kidded as you stared at his black jacket.

Aaron rolled his eyes. It was so rare that you had to blink twice to ensure you didn't have a concussion from your minor car accident. "You're cold." He wasn't asking, plainly stating your slight predicament.

Your eyebrows knitted, mouth slightly opened. And as if the universe was mocking you, a sudden draft slapped you in a shiver. You snatched his jacket and mumbled a small thank you.

As you walked out of the conference room, teasing eyes bore holes into your being. Each BAU team member's narrowed brows held you captive, and their loud thoughts rang in your ears. You ignored all of it, though, taming your anxiety with the warmth of Aaron's jacket.

Wednesday, April 13, 1:37 PM

"Garcia, look for old cases with one young boy as a survivor." Aaron started, listing each task that everyone was to complete.

You were so focused on the case that your next movement caught you off guard.

Your back snapped straight from the slap of Minnesota air. It was brief. An officer merely opened and closed the door, but your body was nowhere near as warm as it was a few seconds ago.

The warmth of cotton fabric soon hugged your shoulders, along with the momentary weight of Aaron's hands, before he fully let go of his suit jacket.

He continued talking as if what he had just done was normal or anything close to casualty, "Morgan and Reid, try speaking with the victim's family one more time."

Emily exchanged looks with JJ, conversing silently while you obliviously sipped your coffee.

Friday, May 2, 5:04PM

"Capital O-M-G!" Penelope squealed, drumming on your shoulders as soon as she came close.

"Garcia, breathe," JJ gently placed her hands on Penelope's shoulders, modeling a regular breathing pattern.

Emily gave you a look as she sipped her coffee, which you returned with a shrug. Penelope was ever so eccentric. You've gotten used to it over the years you've been with the team.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm good. Just that— I was— Ugh! Look!" Penelope shoved her phone in your face.

You saw a blinding blur, forcing out a sarcastic, "Wow! I can definitely see."

Luckily, JJ took it to herself to pull Penelope's phone away from messing up your eyesight and looked at the image plastered on the screen. A smirk immediately covered her lips, "Oh."

"What is it? Let me see—" Emily walked behind JJ. Her jaw dropped not long after. "Anything you want to tell us?" She cooed as she gave you the widest grin she had ever flashed, at least for that morning.

Your eyebrows clashed, and your forehead creased, "Whatever are you on about?"

"You're telling us nothing's happening between you and a guy?" Emily's grin only widened. You wondered how wide it could get, terrifying you in the process.

JJ flipped the phone to your end. The brightness of the screen stung your eyes a bit. "Want to explain this?"

Photo: It looked like the picture was cropped because you saw Derek's arm around you, but he was nowhere to be found in the image. Aaron's jacket was around your shoulders while he was behind you, glaring at Derek's arm.

"What about it?" The confusion was solid in your voice. However, you had a bit of an idea of what the three of them were insinuating.

Penelope stepped closer to you, "Uhuh, sure," she started as she zoomed in on the picture. "You're telling me you can't see Hotch's jacket on your shoulders, let alone Hotch glaring at my chocolate thunder?"

"He let me borrow his jacket because I was cold. Doesn't he always do that with everyone?" You innocently asked, looking at each one of them.

"Still doesn't explain him glaring at Derek." Emily chimed in a teasing tone, wiggling her eyebrows.

Your eyes widened, "You think Hotch was mad at me because I took it? He offered it to me, and I was cold. You think he was just being polite or?"

Penelope rolled her eyes and aimed her fluffy pen at you, "You oblivious profiler! He's jealous!"

"Uh-no," You chuckled.

"You don't believe me? Look at this."

Photo: This photo was older than the first one and might've been your third or fourth year with the BAU team. It seemed like all of you had just ended a case. You were snuggled on the couch on the jet. Aaron was draping his jacket over you.

"Who took that picture?" You queried.

Penelope raised her hand, "I was going to check in on everyone, then the camera spotted it, and I took a screenshot because I couldn't help myself. I was going to tease you about it but forgot for a very, very, very, very long time until I saw that picture from our last team night out." She wiggled her eyebrows, a playful smile on her lips.

"Looks like our boss has a favorite," JJ sang softly, looking at you with a knowing smile.

Emily nudged you, noticing the blush on your face. "You've gotta admit that's very sweet of Hotch. I think he likes you wearing his jacket." She teased, poking your sides.

"He does that to everyone, though," You reasoned. If you recall, he had offered his jacket to many people before.

"Nope, no!" Penelope shook her head vigorously with a tight lip. "He offers it to some but gives it to you."

"We had a case where it was biting cold outside. Hotch offered to help me if I needed a jacket. I said no because of politeness and shit, but he didn't insist. He didn't even offer his jacket. He offered to give me time to return to my room and grab my jacket." Emily grimaced, obviously still holding a grudge regarding the incident.

"I've known Hotch for years. Giving out his jacket was only for emergencies. If it's the only choice he had. We've had cases where a victim was a little too exposed, and his solution was to wrap them with the newspaper he conveniently found." JJ exclaimed, sorting the manila folders on her chest.

You gave it some thought and considered every possibility, but you shook your head. "He's just being nice because he's my boss. Plus, I'm still a bit tense around the team." You straightened yourself, fixing your top.

Emily cackled, "Getting flat-out drunk with us is definitely you still a bit tense around us."

"You know what I mean," You defended, blushing.

The three exchanged looks and shrugged. If you wanted to turn a blind eye, then it was your choice. But they had a perfect theory and tried to test it out.

Aaron was heading to the elevator as you exited the bullpen. The three of them grinned.

"Going for girls night?" Aaron quipped, raising his eyebrows.

JJ frowned, "We were, but she's feeling sick. I think the cold's getting to her." She gave you a pitiful hug.

Your eyes blew wide, jerking your head behind you where the other two stood with maniac grins. You knew what JJ was doing. It didn't take a second for you to figure it out. And as if luck was on their side, the elevator dinged.

You followed their figures as they piled in in the lift. You glared at them, but Emily focused on the man beside you.

You gazed at Aaron and were met with his jacket stretched out to you. Your mouth fell open, unable to breathe.

"It's cold outside this time of night. You'll feel worse if you don't layer up." Aaron cleared his throat, "Take it."

You reached for his jacket so slowly that he took it in himself to wrap it around your shoulders. "Thank you," Your voice quivered, hesitantly stepping inside the elevator.

He followed, standing beside you. You could feel the three devils behind you, preparing yourself for their constant teasing.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Aaron was holding his breath in the hopes that none of you would notice his blushing ears.

Monday, May 16, 8:12PM

The entire day has been a drag. Besides the unsub being disgustingly great at hiding his tracks in the safety of your local area, your stomach had been giving you the worst time of your life.

Later in the evening, in Aaron's orders, everyone was sent home to get some rest and start fresh the next day.

You were thankful. You needed to rest from all the stomach-emptying vomit you did in the restroom. Your acid reflux was having a field day and didn't let you get a breath. You practically lived in the toilet. You even had to call Derek and ask him to put you on speaker so you could contribute to finding the unsub. Luckily, they didn't question it.

Emily retracted away as she exited your hug, "Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home? We practically live in this building. I don't think they'd mind you leaving your car here for a night."

A warm smile brightened your drained face, "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for the offer." You bid her one last goodbye before heading to your own car.

Your head was down as the day's exhaustion finally caught up. Your senses were off. You walked as if time stopped. You wondered if you should've taken advantage of Emily's offer.

With your loud thoughts and vulnerable senses, a heart attack almost killed you when a sudden cage of warmth engulfed your body. For a moment, your body wanted to fight, but it didn't take long for you to remember the familiarity of this warmth.

"What took you so long?" His voice was gentle and comforting enough to put you to sleep immediately.

You looked up at Aaron, who refused to unwrap his arms around you, "I didn't know you were waiting. I thought you went home already. Isn't Jack waiting for you? It's movie night."

Aaron smiled, "I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked. Captain Jack's orders."

You couldn't help but smile as well. He held the door for the passenger seat before jumping to the driver's seat. As you watched him go around, you noticed his scent lingered on your shoulders.

Aaron placed his jacket on yours.

"You ought to be careful," A chuckle passed your lips, "The gals are onto you."

"Why?" Aaron looked at you with a confused expression. His face made you giggle. The genuineness of his expression made you wonder his reaction if you had said the same thing two years ago.

A grin glistened on your face, "They say Agent Hotchner has a crush on me." Your voice danced with playfulness.

Aaron copied your grin and shrugged, "I'm surprised they haven't figured it out after all these years." He turned his body to face you, "So? Do you like him back?"

If only the BAU team knew how their unit chief, the SSA Aaron Hotchner, was a lot friskier than they perceived him to be, Aaron wouldn't last a day from all the teasing.

Then you wondered how the BAU team would react if they found out you and Aaron have been dating for the past two years and successfully kept it a secret from everyone except Strauss and Rossi.

Or the number of questions you'd be bombarded with when they learn that you recently moved in together with Aaron and Jack. You knew well enough that the ladies would be interrogating you like a serial killer.

You shrugged, "I heard he's got a fiancée." You fished the necklace well hidden under your shirt. A golden ring band shaped like vines with an oval-cut blue moon diamond dangled on the chain.

"Yeah..." Aaron held your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, "You wouldn't want to be in the way of that." He smiled widely, an ever-loving expression you indulged yourself with for the past two years and soon... for a lifetime.

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gubsbuubs · 4 months

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Friendly Cupid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 5K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, slow burn? smut, creampie.

Summary: Despite their closeness, Y/N and Spencer's relationship always stayed within the bounds of friendship. That's until a very fateful Valentine's Day, when a friend decided to play cupid.

A/N: Hi my loves! The "Friends to Lovers" trope won the poll, thanks to your votes. Any thoughts or suggestions for what's next? I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

My requests are open!

English is not my first language.

The team basked in a mix of exhaustion and accomplishment as we settled into our seats on the jet, heading back home after successfully closing another case. The subtle hum of the engines seemed to echo the collective satisfaction that enveloped us.

We had just finished a case where the unsub targeted individuals with a deep passion for books. Each victim was chosen based on their preference for a particular literary work. The killer orchestrated scenarios inspired by famous novels, challenging us to decipher the connections between the crime scenes and the literary references.

From my seat across from his, at the meeting table in the Nevada police department's, I observed Spencer in awe. His deep concentration, the way his fingers danced over the pages, and the thoughtful furrow of his brow—he looked so handsome, absorbed in the task of perusing a pile of books that would have taken me at least two years to read.

I cherished watching Spencer at work; his intellect, passion, and dedication were captivating. There was an undeniable admiration that had grown within me as we spent countless hours in shared pursuit of justice.

I vividly recall the first time our connection became something more. After a grueling case left him drained, slowly succumbing to fatigue, his head found refuge on my shoulder during the flight back. It was an unexpectedly intimate encounter—his tousled hair brushing against my neck and the faint scent of lemon shampoo lingering close to my nose. Though innocent, the closeness left an indelible mark, and often I think about the weight of his head resting against me.

Fast forward to another sweet moment; it was forever engraved in my mind when I first noticed that he cared for me. Spencer and I were staked out in a park that an unsub used to frequent in Boston. The autumn winds whispered through the colorful foliage, and the chilling breeze made my arms shiver. It was getting cold, and I scolded myself for not bringing my jacket. Spencer, ever observant, noticed how I hugged myself for warmth and asked, "Hey, are you cold?"

"What? No, it's just a bit chilly, but I can take it," I chuckled, my teeth almost clacking against each other as I shivered.

"I can clearly see you're cold, Y/N."

"Okay, fine. I may be a little bit cold; we left in a hurry, and I forgot my jacket," I admitted.

Without hesitation, he took off his FBI jacket and handed it to me. "No, Spencer, I can't accept this. If it's cold for me, it will be cold for you too," I protested.

"Compared to men, women have less muscle, which is a natural heat producer. They also have 6 to 11 percent more body fat than men, which keeps the inner organs toasty but blocks the flow of blood carrying heat to the skin and extremities." He started to ramble while holding the jacket in front of me.

So I gave up, not wanting to hear him talk about this for the rest of the night, and accepted his offer. As the jacket touched my body, I could still feel his warmth, and the scent of his perfume enveloped me. His tall stature made the jacket too big for me, and I struggled with the oversized jacket's zipper. Looking down as I tried to zip it, I felt his hand on mine. "Hey, come here! Let me help you." I looked up to meet his beautiful brown eyes as he held his gaze on mine. His gentle hands zipped up the jacket. "There you go; now you'll feel warm," he added with a sweet smile.

We had a connection—an undeniable force drawing us together. For example, with Spencer and I, the casual "sorry, Y/n, passing through" was never just a phrase; it accompanied the gentle press of his hand on my side.

When shared laughter ensued, it almost always led to a playful nudge against my shoulder, a light and affectionate gesture.

And there were times when Spencer would reach out with a reassuring touch on my arm during tense discussions or a challenging moment. His fingertips, feather-light yet grounding, conveyed a silent reassurance that we were in this together.

I’d like to think that our connection extended beyond the realm of solving cases and catching serial killers, finding roots in those quiet spaces between words, because unspoken sentiments resonated louder than any conversation we had.

These simple and innocent touches left me curious, especially considering Spencer's general aversion to physical contact, often sidestepping handshakes. Each touch, though understated, carried a significance that lingered, prompting me to ponder the depths of our friendship.

Yet, somehow, we were never more than friends. Perhaps because of the lingering fear of disrupting the delicate balance we had, I hesitated to act upon the emotions that quietly blossomed within.

So, Spencer and I stayed comfortably within the boundaries of friendship, keeping the unexplored depths of our connection confined to the realm of what-ifs and maybes.

Rather than risking it all, I chose the simplicity of silent observation and opted for the quiet intimacy of just watching him while he worked. There was an unspoken fascination with witnessing Spencer's mind at play.

The breakthrough came when Spencer uncovered a pattern in the victims' book preferences, his face lighting up at the realization. The Unsub, it seemed, orchestrated his killings based on the ominous narratives found within these chosen novels. Each victim unwittingly acquired a literary prelude to their tragic end as the killer turned the pages of their lives into a haunting script of their own demise.

With this knowledge, we were able to predict the next target and swoop in just in time to prevent another tragedy. The final confrontation took place in an abandoned library, where the unsub attempted to stage his twisted interpretation of a tragic love story. With swift and coordinated action, we thwarted his plans and brought justice to the victims.

So, with the unsub's twisted plans foiled, we found solace in the fact that we had saved the couple from his dark intentions.

Amidst the chatter on the jet, the mood shifted to a more relaxed and celebratory tone. The weight of the case had dissipated, replaced by a comforting conversation and shared laughter.

"Hey, Prentiss, any hot plans for Valentine's Day? Morgan teased, giving Emily a mischievous grin.

"Valentine's Day? Seriously, Morgan? After all the chaos of this week, I just want a quiet night with a good bottle of wine," Emily responded, leaning further into her seat.

"Valentine's Day is this weekend, and I completely forgot! Will and I will have to just stay at home," JJ confessed, sounding a bit bummed.

"Well, Beth and I will be taking Jack to the cinema to watch a movie. Would you like us to also take Henry so you and Will can have a date?" Hotch offered.

"Oh, Hotch, that’s very sweet. If you don't mind, yes! We would really appreciate it," JJ replied gratefully.

"What about you, pretty boy? Got any plans?" Morgan playfully mussed up Spencer's hair.

"Well… I…” He cleared his throat. "I, um… I actually do have a date," Spencer stammered, his face immediately turning a bright shade of red.

"A date, Reid? Come on, spill the details. What's her name?" Morgan proceeded to probe.

“It's a blind date, so I'd rather not jinx it by talking about it.” Spencer spoke with a faint smile.

As I learned about Spencer's date, I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the sheer coincidence—both of us had blind dates on Valentine's Day. What were the odds?

Then it hit me, and as much as I tried to dismiss it, there was a subtle pang of envy that Spencer also had a date. I understood the irony of feeling jealous while I was also going on a blind date this weekend.

Earlier that week, my friend from the previous division I worked in—International Affairs and Counterterrorism—set me up with a guy. According to him, this guy was perfect for me—smart, kind, and seemingly attuned to my taste. So, I've decided to give it a shot and go on this date. It was Valentine's Day after all. So yes, I was also going on a date, and I acknowledged how contradictory it sounded to feel envious of Spencer's date. Nevertheless, a twinge of jealousy lingered.

Yet, in the grand scheme, I genuinely wished for Spencer to have a fantastic time this weekend. After all, we were nothing more than friends, and his happiness was something I truly valued.

Morgan, with a playful glint in his eye, turned his attention to me and chimed, "Alright, Reid's stepping into the world of romance, so what's the deal, Y/N? Any Valentine's plans on your agenda?"

"No, I don't really have plans. It'll be a normal weekend for me." I spoke with a smile, gently sidestepping Morgan's inquiry. I preferred to keep certain aspects of my life private, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Saturday night came around pretty quickly.

I chose a simple red dress and black stilettos for the occasion—it was Valentine's Day, after all, and opportunities for dates were not a frequent occurrence for me. Since joining the FBI, I haven't had many opportunities to look like this. Typically reserved for pantsuits and white shirts, it was refreshing to see myself look so put-together.

What awaited me on this evening could be a mistake or, just maybe, the start of something unexpectedly wonderful. Despite the flutter of reservations in my stomach, I resolved to push through the uncertainty.

Before stepping inside, I paused at the entrance, reminding myself to take a deep breath; it was just a date after all—no need to be nervous. The restaurant, my absolute favorite, bore the name "Bella Luna," renowned for its delectable pastas. It had become my go-to spot for a delightful meal, offering a perfect blend of cozy ambiance and culinary excellence.

My friend, the mastermind behind this blind date, had given the gentleman a specific directive: reserve the table with a view of the river—my favorite spot in the house. This strategic move not only catered to my preferences but also had the practical benefit of simplifying the identification of my date.

As I stood by the entrance, lost in my thoughts, I almost jumped, caught by surprise, as someone bumped into me. "Hey, where were you goi..."

“Y/N! Hi!” His eyes were widening with surprise as he recognized me.

“Spencer! Hi! I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing. Didn’t you say you didn’t have plans?” He asked in an inquisitive tone.

"Yeah!" I laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I, uh, decided to give in to the Valentine's Day spirit, I suppose." Spencer chuckled softly, his warm demeanor putting me at ease.

"How are you anyway, feeling good about your blind date?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his well-being.

"To be honest," he admitted, "I'm actually kind of nervous."

"What? Why?"

He hesitated before sharing, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"Why wouldn't she like you?" The words left my mouth so fast, a testament to my incomprehension of how someone could not like the guy standing before me.

"Because I'm weird. I slouch; my hair's too long; my tie's perpetually crooked." His words were almost a whisper, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen before.

I smiled softly, reaching my hands to fix his crooked tie. "Here, your tie is now straight. And Spencer, you're not weird; you look really good tonight. I think you'll do very well."

He smiled softly, thanking me, and said, "Well, you do too! You look very beautiful tonight, Y/N.” My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. He blushed slightly before adding, “I should really get going. I don't want to be late for my date.”

“Go get him, tiger,” I encouraged with a smile as I stayed behind, watching him leave.

Fuck, he looked so good; his dark blue suit fit him in all the right places. Though not a radical departure from his usual attire, the effort put into his appearance fueled my jealousy. The realization that he was heading on a date with someone else lingered in my thoughts, intensifying the sting.

To make matters worse, we´re at the same restaurant, and I would have to endure the evening watching him, attempting to engage in my own date while inwardly yearning for his company.

The challenge would be to keep my eyes from straying towards him, wishing the girl by his side was me.

Shaking my head to dispel thoughts of Spencer, I took a deep breath before entering the restaurant. I traversed the restaurant, consciously keeping my head down until I arrived at the table with the view of the river, and it was only then that I allowed myself to look around.

To my surprise, when I looked at the table, I found Spencer sitting there.

Confusion clouded my mind as I stood there, staring at Spencer, seated at the table, facing away from me. Disbelief hung in the air like a heavy fog. This had to be a misunderstanding; it couldn't be Spencer. My friend John specifically directed the blind date; he arranged for me to sit at this table, but Spencer was here.

The possibilities raced through my mind like a whirlwind of uncertainty. Did the receptionist make an error? Could there be another table with a view of the river where they seated my actual blind date? Could this guy look a lot like Spencer from behind? My thoughts spiraled into a maze of questions, each more perplexing than the last. I was caught in a web of doubt, trying to grasp the reality of the situation.

Could Spencer and John know each other? How would they even know each other? Although we all work at the FBI, they work in totally different divisions.

As I approached the table, just a few feet away, I confirmed my suspicion: it was him—Spencer. Even though he wasn't facing me, I recognized his curls, almost catching a whiff of his distinctive perfume. It was undeniably him. How did this happen?

My heels clacked on the ground, a sound that drew Spencer's attention. His gaze shifted, expecting another woman, preparing for a polite greeting. "Hi, nice to meet y…” His words now caught in his throat.

As I pulled the chair and sat down in front of him, he halted his movements, confusion etched on his face. It seemed like he was ready to stand up, perhaps shake hands, and greet another person. But as he realized it was me, his expression transformed into one of utter bewilderment.

"Y/N, what is going on?" Spencer asked, his face a mix of confusion and concern as he settled back into his chair.

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the table. "How do you know John Watters, Jonathan Watters?" I questioned, peering at him with an intense gaze.

"What? What do you mean, Y/N?" Spencer replied, clearly confused by the sudden turn of events.

"Spencer, how do you know John?" I repeated, my eyes locked onto his, seeking an explanation for the unexpected twist in our supposed blind date.

"John Watters and I play chess in the park. We met a couple of months ago, and now we play together regularly," Spencer explained, his confusion still evident in his expression. “Y/N, what is going on?” he added, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Spencer…” I began, a faint smile creeping onto my face as it reddened, my hands immediately meeting my face. It dawned on me; John had set us both up, and it seemed he might not have known Spencer and I already knew each other.

I could see the wheels turning in his head, his eyes widening. He seemed to have a eureka moment. "Do you know him?" he asked, his tone still a little unsure. I only nodded, my faint smile hidden behind my fingers, covering how embarrassed I was.

Then Spencer fired questions left and right. "What? How do you know John?” He set you up with me. Like… did you know? You wanted to have a date with me and asked him to do it? I mean, I have talked…." He was blushing like crazy, so I decided to interrupt.

"No, No... I mean, yes, but..." I stumbled on my words as I tried to answer. "I do know John, yes, but I didn't know he set us up... But yes, I wouldn't... I wouldn’t mind a date with you." The last part slipped my tongue way too quickly, the confession escaping my lips.

"Are you serious? A date with me?" He sounded excited but mostly surprised.

"I mean, we're already here, so we might as well do it. He clearly thought we were a good pair," I offered, keeping my head down. My face felt hot, and I was smiling like a stupid little kid.

“I can't believe this; I can't believe this is happening. You don't know how long I've been trying to gather the courage to ask you out, and now this is happening." His head fell back as he inhaled deeply. “Is this real? Can you pinch me, Y/N? You look so pretty, so beautiful. I can't believe this is actually happening. I must be dreaming." His excitement was palpable, and his gaze was fixed on me with a mix of joy and disbelief.

“You're definitely awake; this is real!” I reached out my hand to him and held his hand. “See, this is real—a very strange coincidence, but undeniably real.”

The evening unfolded gracefully. Spencer took my recommendation, and we ordered the Carbonara, complemented by a shared bottle of Cabernet. I couldn't help but savor the moments when our laughter harmonized, creating a melody of shared joy. A subtle warmth spread across our faces, not just from the ambiance but also from the wine. Our laughter became a touch more carefree, perhaps a little tipsy, adding an extra layer of delight to the evening. The restaurant seemed to fade into the background as we continued to enjoy each other’s company.

As the plates were cleared away and the restaurant emptied out, Spencer's gaze remained locked on mine. We sat in silence for a little bit as a warm feeling settled, enjoying the lingering aura of the evening. Spencer smiled softly, leaning closer to me and taking my hands in his. "Let me walk you home," he suggests. "It's a beautiful night, and I'd love to spend more time with you."

As we stepped out into the crisp night air, the city lights played on the surface of the river, casting a gentle glow on our path. Spencer and I began to stroll along the riverbank towards my apartment. The soft murmur of the water provided a soothing background to our conversation, and amidst our banter, our attention was drawn to an old lady with a basket of roses.

"Hello there," the old lady said, greeting Spencer with a twinkle in her eye. "Would you like to buy a rose for your beautiful girlfriend?"

"Oh, but I'm not his girlf..." Before I could clarify, Spencer, wearing a confident smile, chimed in, "Yet..." He told the sweet lady "So yes, I would love to buy her a rose." He turned to me with a playful glint in his eyes.

The old lady chuckled warmly. "Here you go, young man, a rose for your not-yet-girlfriend. May your love bloom as beautifully as this rose," she said, handing the vibrant flower to Spencer.

I thanked him as he handed me the rose, appreciating the beautiful gesture. We then continued our walk, the soft glow of the city lights guiding our way.

"So, a rose for the 'not-yet-girlfriend'," I teased, a playful smile on my lips.

"Well," he began, "I thought a rose might be a good start, but who's to say what the future holds?"

"Fair enough," I replied, a teasing glint in my eye. "A rose is a good start but what's your plan for the rest of our 'not-yet' journey?"

"Well, I've had a lot of time to think about this," he began, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I won't disappoint you, that's for sure."

I felt a subtle warmth spread—a mixture of curiosity and excitement. "Is that so?" I replied with a playful glint in my eye. "I guess I'll have to wait and see what surprises you have in store.”

As we continued our walk to my apartment and reached my doorstep, the night seemed to invite us to linger a little longer.

"I had a lot of fun, Y/N. I regretted every moment we weren't doing this sooner," Spencer confessed.

"I loved this night too, Spencer," I began, a genuine warmth in my voice. "This is not how I imagined my night ending at all; I definitely never expected you to be my blind date."

"I just can't believe this happened. Who would have thought you would go on a date with me?" His soft hand reached for mine; his touch was warm and inviting.

"Well, Jonathan apparently did," I laughed, the surreal nature of the evening sinking in.

"Of course, he thinks I want to date you. I talk about you all the time..." Spencer shyly admitted, his gaze avoiding mine.

"Wait! You talk about me?" My voice lifted with happiness.

"Well, I just tell him about my day... and how I love being by your side. You're so understanding, always listening to me. Your attentive gaze makes my heart skip a beat, and your eyes, Y/N, they sparkle so beautifully. And your smile—oh, it's the prettiest I've ever seen." His words were tender, and his brown eyes never left mine. "Jonathan never told me he knew you; I guess he sensed I was too scared to act upon my feelings and took matters in to his own hands." He chuckled. "And now you're here, and we went on this date—a wonderful date, may I add—and you look absolutely stunning."

As Spencer's words lingered in the quiet night, I felt a soft warmth enveloping us and an unspoken connection deepening.

"I would really to kiss you." He whisperd. His gaze held a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability, mirroring the sentiments that resonated within me.

"You know what, Spence?" I began, a gentle smile playing on my lips. "I'd really like that too."

His eyes brightened with joy, and as if a shared understanding passed between us, he leaned in slowly. His hands cradled my face, creating an intimate connection as he closed the remaining space between us. The world around us faded into a soft blur as our lips finally met.

The kiss was tender, his lips warm and inviting, and the sensation sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

As we pulled away, a shared smile painted across our faces, our foreheads pressed together in a moment of quiet closeness.

"Wow," Spencer whispered.

"Wow indeed," I replied, my heart echoing the sentiment.

"I've been waiting so long to do this," he said, kissing me again, this time with more force and desire.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing against mine with a newfound intensity, fueled by the longing we had both harbored for so long. It was a fusion of heat and tenderness, with each movement deliberate and purposeful.

His hands, which had cradled my face so gently before, now moved with a purpose, exploring the contours of my back and waist. The taste of him was intoxicating—a blend of warmth and desire that left me breathless.

"Spencer," I began, feeling our breaths mingle. "Would you like to come in?

Spencer's eyes darkened in response, his nod signaling his agreement.

As the door shut behind us, I carefully placed the rose he gave me on a small side table by the entrance, wanting to preserve the sweet gesture. Spencer, without saying a word, pulled me against him again.

I guided us through the familiar space of my home with an urgency that spoke of unspoken desires. As we reached the bedroom, our bodies entwined again.

I laid back on the bed, letting my body sink into the softness of the mattress. Spencer's body was right above mine, and our lips met in a hot, messy kiss. It was like everything else melted away, and all that was left was us in this moment. I could feel the heat of his body on top of mine, and the rush of intimacy was palpable. I wanted this moment to last forever, clinging tight to his every touch.

Spencer's hands glided along the curves of my body, caressing me with an intimacy that left me wanting more. His lips left mine to roam lower, descending slowly towards my breasts. A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine, and my breath caught in my chest.

Spencer's voice broke through the intensity. "Are you sure?"

A smile played on my lips as I whispered, "Yes, please Spence."

The sudden touch of his finger on my skin sent a shiver down my spine as his hand slowly drifted down my shoulder and pulled the strap of my dress down. As my nipple became exposed, he kissed it gently, sending a wave of arousal through my body.

He looked so pretty like this; his smooth hand cradled my breast as his lips left soft kisses. His slow hums of satisfaction were accompanied by the thrusts of his hips against my clothed core.

Sensing the escalating desire between us, Spencer then took the initiative, smoothly pulling my dress off. I felt exposed as his hands traveled down my body, lowering himself and planting soft kisses on my stomach.

"You look so beautiful and you smell so good." His whispers of admiration filled the air. "I bet you taste even better." He placed a soft kiss where I wanted him the most. I moaned at his words, not expecting them.

He then proceeded to slide my panties to the side, slowly licking a long stripe. The warmth of his tongue against my skin sent shivers through my body, and the anticipation built with every teasing touch.

“Fuck, it's even better than I imagined." His words were muffled as he spoke from between my legs, looking into my eyes. My moans filled the room, joined by the sound of his mouth devouring my wetness. My hands met his hair as I pulled him closer by his curls.

"Spencer..." My voice caught in my throat.

"What, baby?" The enduring name leaving his lips made my heart flutter.

"I need you," I pleaded.

"Need me to what, baby?" His middle finger breached my entrance. "Use your words," he said, caressing my opening. The sensation of his finger chills of pleasure down my spine. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and I could feel a rush of arousal building inside me. "I need you inside, please," I begged, moving my body against his.

Sensing my urge, he stood, undressing me and then himself. "Since you asked so nicely," he lined up and slowly sank in, his head resting on my shoulder, and his soft moan muffled on my neck.

Our kisses were slow and passionate, our lips brushing against each other with every movement of our bodies. His hands caressed my body, sending a wave of pleasure through me that only increased with every thrust.

Each rhythmic movement brought us closer to the edge, the intensity growing with each caress and whispered word. "You feel so good, Y/N; it’s like you were made for me." Spencer's voice was laden with desire as I moaned into his lips.

The intensity grew with each passionate thrust, and we were both lost in a world of pleasure. Our bodies were tightly intertwined, pressed up against each other as we let our emotions take over. Our moans filled the room, and our breathing became shallow and fast. We both wanted this moment to last forever, clinging to each other with all the strength we could muster.

"Spencer, I can't,” I cried out.

"Can you hold it for me, just a little, pretty girl?" he said, looking into my eyes. My eyes fluttered, closing at the words.

"No, no, no, keep your eyes on me," he said. "Yes, just like that." He kept thrusting with force, and I couldn't take it anymore. “I want to see your pretty face as you cum, baby.”

"Spence... please inside." I begged him, and that was all it took. I didn't have to wait any longer. The tension in the room reached its peak, and I could feel him release, his climax echoing mine.

Our bodies trembled together in the aftermath, the shared intensity of the moment lingering in the air. The room was filled with the sounds of our rapid breaths and the soft rustle of sheets as we came down from the euphoric high.

As we lay there, a playful smile crossed Spencer's lips. "So, about that 'not-yet-girlfriend' situation..." he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I chuckled, tracing circles on his chest. "Well, it looks like we just fast-tracked that process."

Spencer grinned. "Guess we skipped a few steps."

I gave him a playful look. "Steps? Who needs steps when you have Jonathan playing cupid?”.

Spencer gave a playful shrug. "Well, I'll be sure to thank the man.”

#criminal minds #mgg x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg smut #mgg x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #Spence reid x reader smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid friends to lovers

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after-witch · 3 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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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

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slasherfucker!reader who doesn't really care that slasher!Konig kills people

You want him covered in blood and gore bits. He is steadying himself to go and finally clean, but you force his hands down, asking him to fuck you on the kitchen counter instead. You kiss him with more passion when he is like this - when his hands are still shaking with adrenaline as he whispers about how much the last one of his victims screamed. It was some joke, a dumb fuckboy who only knew how to play ball and maybe lift a little bit - he had nothing against Konig and the power he held in his arms. No one could compare to him, honestly, and you already knew this the first time he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. Poor thing, you seriously thought you were going to die on that night - but Konig took you under his wing instead. You don't participate in killing and torturing - Konig wants to keep you clean and soft, he likes to dress you up as a weird cottage core housewife and make you bring him lunch as he guts some poor guy. He tried doing that before, but all the girls he took in as his captives were...well, captives. They were trying to escape, to attack him, or they would simply die in captivity like some rare pet breeds. You were...different. You loved him - and in a weird, slightly obsessive way. You enjoyed what he was doing, and even as he was reluctant to accept your feelings since it could have been a ploy to get him relaxed and calm, he would melt eventually. Allowing you to love him just as much as he loved you. And you're perfect. Maybe you're a bit shy with your affection, and you don't want to seem weird as you kiss him relentlessly and try to get him to fuck you in his bloody mask and use the handle of his knife as an improvised sex toy. Konig has to recognize the signs that his pretty girlfriend wants him to fuck her - he is used to taking his shirt down completely and leaving himself bare so you could touch his muscles and kiss the blood from his skin. You love your murder boyfriend, even if that means going down to the basement and give him a little morning kiss as your sleepy self, still wrapped in his shirt, is struggling with affection. Right in front of his victims, too - as they squirm and cry.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #slasher!konig #slasher

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wizardrousactivity · 3 months

Text

The Rat, Dead Dog.

“I’ve told you, it’s not me-” — You were trained to never fall under pressure, your pleas falling under his deaf ears. Another cut to your calf when he doesn’t hear you forthwith giving up the information, it doesn’t matter how desperate you sound, nobody is here to save you anymore. They can’t trust you anymore.

He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel bad, that he’s only doing his friends a favor. Getting rid of you for good - dispensing with the waste of the world, which unfortunately had to be you, didn’t it? The only person that he thought he could trust, you bewitched him. The mask had slipped off because of you, the imperfections were perfected because of you. Now it’s only a cold shoulder - if he’d even give you that. “Give us the fucking information,” The use of your moniker is the way he’d gain your sultry glare.

You’ve been beaten and battered for days by Simon, and it still feels like months the longer his torture traverses. The metal of the chair you sit on starting to turn red with gore. You fear to lose yourself, if not for the keen rage that fumes, revenge written on its blemishes. “I don’t have the information you want.” You never thought you’d be in such a position with him, a foolish hound falling victim to your framing.

It’s surprising you weren’t immediately cut off with another lash, the gash he’s continuously spread starting to reach your bone, you dread the stinging of your flesh, held back by a grunted-sob. For only a second you see his gaze soften with emotion he lacked, like he truly wanted to believe you, and by-god did he wish to - in the event that the threads didn’t lead to you. He swallows.

There’s too much evidence against you, and his team. His own pathetic feelings aren’t worth the risk of keeping you around, he doesn't think he could handle having you captive with them for long, holding a rat that was dressed up with a story just to use them, use him after everything that happened. The sight would haunt him if you weren’t gone, the weight of his loved one turning out to be a spy, living in a room on base.

The depravity of reality sets on him now, painfully dawning on him.

He needs to dispose you. For everybody’s sake.

His hand white-knuckles around the knife, your chest tightens while the behemoth starts to stand to his full stature - an unpredictable mongrel you can only imagine what is coming next, his dilating pupils trembling as he looks at you with terror. The task of your murder would save his mates, and eat him from the inside once he was finished. If there is no information you have to spout - you are better useful dead to them, they could get it themselves. “Simon..” There's no response from him. You are not needed anymore. Don’t make it painful.

Yet you’re saved by the bell, his head turning as the call from the mohawk is made. Shouting for his arrival with urgency. You only look to the floor as footsteps echo, signifying his leave for the day. "Fuck you."

The gashes in your legs have pooled themselves and made home around your feet, cold air running along the insides of your flesh, and you shudder against your constraints - the feeling is enough to make you nauseous with the sensory you experience. There’s nothing for you to throw up anyway, if there was, it would be your intestines.

Your heart cinches, as you sit there with the thought of having to live with the fact you’ve been framed, then to die known as the rat in 141, that’s all you’ll ever be now. You’re just another damaged dog, you’ve joined their cult of forever deprecating. Their muffled banter plays beside your ear as you weep.

You’ve accepted that your funeral won’t be made, that nobody will ever honor your death or mourn during it.

#call of duty #cod angst #cod x reader #simon riley angst #cod simon riley #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #does it hurt?

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konigsblog · 2 months

Note

kidnapper!könig with a reader with stockholm syndrome?? like, she does everything he tells her to do because she really thinks she is in love with him??

cw: kidnapping, non-con/dub-con, dark content. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

this is kidnapper-könig's goal; for you to fall head over heels with him, for you to finally accept his sickening and abusive form of love, adoration and worship.

you yearn for his soothing and comforting touch, his soothing, soft words. you're bound in the cold and musty basement, forcing you to remember all the bad times and memories you've shared whilst with könig — your first day together, and all his violence and brutality — with only a thin, black blanket covering your weak and worn down body, trembling and weeping quietly for his attention and sweet love.

you do whatever you're told — eager and zealous for his praise and acceptance, obediently following his demands and orders. you listen to every word that comes out of his mouth, obeying his every command, throwing your tight rear in the air just like he'd ask, putting on a show for him whilst he'd watch drunkenly with a beer held firmly in his grasp, and a disturbing, cruel smirk stained on his stupid mug.

although, your stomach churns with disgust when you act out on his depraved desires, feeling sick to your stomach as you sit quietly between his thick and muscular thighs, feeling as his large, calloused hand would pet your hair, as if you're an obedient mutt.

you're desperate for him to love on you — to be his pretty victim, his beloved captive. your eyes are wet from sobbing, tears rolling down your burning, sensitive cheeks, with the head of his leaking, girthy cock prodding against your swollen lips, pearly beads against your tongue. you feel ashamed, mortified, yet aroused and desperate for him to dote on you — to corrupt your mind, to turn you into what könig's fits as his ideal. :(

#orla speaks #könig x you #könig x reader #konig call of duty #konig cod #könig x y/n #konig mw2 #konig headcanons #konig smut #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #tw: non con #tw: dubcon #tw kidnapping #tw: dark content #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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matan4il · 1 month

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To the Nonnie who asked me about the mass grave in Gaza, you're pretty close to the truth of it rather than the anti-Israel propaganda.

First of all, the mass grave next to the hospital in Gaza has been shown already to have been dug before Israel got there.

Now, it wasn't untouched by the Israeli army, but that is a result of two contributing factors, both of which linked to Hamas.

One is because of the bodies of terrorists, who were using the hospital, and were killed during the fighting. They had to be buried somewhere. This is the Nasser hospital, the biggest medical center which was still active in Gaza after the very biggest, the Shifa hospital, had to be raided twice, because Hamas terrorists returned and re-took it, after the IDF evacuated it to allow the place to function as normal. If during the second operation in the Shifa hospital, there were 200 terrorists killed there, and at least 900 more suspects arrested, of which at least 500 were confirmed terrorists as of the end of the operation on April 1, how many terrorists were fighting against the IDF from Nasser, the last big medical complex they could use, when we know the abuse of Gaza hospitals for murderous purposes by terrorists is systematic? (I'm not accepting any numbers claimed by "Gaza's health officials," where no terrorists are mentioned at all, because that's Hamas speaking) Where do people think all those terrorists went to, those who did not surrender? Do people think this is Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and if you stake a villain through the heart, then their body just goes "poof" into thin air, and there's no need to bury it?

The second factor is that Israel did exhume corpses that had been previously buried on the Nasser hospital grounds, to test them for DNA, in case they were what was left of murdered Israeli hostages, still held captive.

This has been done for a while, before this mass grave by the Nasser hospital started making the social media "headlines," so no one can claim this is an excuse made up now, because of this, and in fact, several bodies of Israeli hostages were returned to Israel thanks to the IDF's work, and the first one that comes to mind is that of 19 years old Noa Marziano, because her body was exhumed from the Shifa hospital grounds. She was held hostage in an apartment near the hospital, then moved into Shifa itself, and murdered in its basement. So yeah, guess where they buried her... Together with Noa, Yehudit Weiss' body was also recovered from the Shifa hospital grounds, and returned to her family in Israel.

If people don't like that the Israeli army has had to check bodies buried on hospital grounds for DNA, and then re-bury them together in a mass grave in the same place, then they should take it up with Hamas for murdering people on hospital grounds and for holding corpses as hostages in the first place. We're all living in the twisted reality created by Hamas.

And you know how we can tell that this part, about the bodies being exhumed to check for DNA isn't made up? Because we have regular Palestinians themselves admitting the bodies they're currently looking for in the mass grave are of their loved ones who were already dead by the time Israel got there.

Just to summarize this lunacy, we are being accused of massacring terrorists (who are legitimate targets, killing them was not a massacre, even if we were really successful at it) and already dead people. Make it make sense.

As for the added accusations that Israel skinned the Gazans and stole their organs... The anti-Israel crowd literally claims Israel stole organs in Haiti, when all we did was to send our military emergency medical staff to set up a field hospital there (to help the victims of the earthquake in 2010), and these lies are currently being repeated in print by The Palestine Telegraph (which is based in Gaza. You know, the place where nothing is published if it goes against Hamas interests). If that act of kindness and help could be turned into something sinister and monstrous just because the Jewish state was involved, it's almost a given the same would happen when Israel is at present dragged against its will into a defensive war. It's a recycling of the age old antisemitic blood libels, portraying the Jews as bloodthirsty and capable of any monstrosity. It's antisemitism, pure and simple. THAT is why the Jewish state has to be "comically evil in every way imaginable," like you said. Remember how for centuries in Europe, the 'bloodthirsty Jew' trope served to lie that we kill Christians to use their blood when baking our Passover matzahs? The following cartoon isn't from the Middle Ages, it's from 2018, and depicts Gazans, not European Christians (see the tire in one Palestinian man's hand? In Hamas-organized violent riots that aimed to breach Israel's border in 2018, as they succeeded in doing on Oct 7, many participants burned tires to create a screen of black smoke that would impair IDF soldiers' vision):

Meanwhile, the Islamist terrorist organization and Hamas' buddy, Hezbollah (which has been intentionally firing at civilian communities in northern Israel for months), has killed yet another Israeli civilian overnight, Sharif Suad, an Israeli Arab Muslim Bedouin. Watch the anti-Israel crowd ignore his murder, just like they erase all Israeli civilians victimized. Arab deaths don't count if they can't be used against the Jewish state.

I hope this helped! Take care. xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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biteofcherry · 7 months

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To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; ex-pli-cit; knife kink; choking; choking kink; praise;

word count: 7k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 6. Downpour

~ * ~

Victims often described the events of their traumatic experience as a blur. Or a film montage of chopped scenes, often black and white, or with one color prevailing. Sometimes their minds protected themselves so strongly they dissociated, their consciousness floating away into a safe space.

Nothing of the sort happened to you on your dreaded wedding day.

If anything, you felt more present in the moment than in the days leading to it.

Colors were vibrant, sounds clear, your feelings vivid.

You felt the constriction of the built-in corset of your wedding dress, the soft swish of the embroidered, shiny tulle in the chalice of the wide skirt; as well the warm amazement at how beautiful you looked.

Even though your spite tempted you to pick a dress that would manifest how much you didn’t want to say your vows, you couldn’t help the flaming love you experienced at the sight of yourself in a stunning wedding dress.

A fucking princess style, out of all.

You wanted to hate it, to cross it out purely to not give Steve the extra satisfaction, but your parents teared up when they saw you in it. Maybe they had some qualms about the speedy wedding, but they sure got on board with it when they saw your face glowing.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because you felt beautiful, not because you loved your future husband.

Whose handsome face you couldn’t look away from as your father walked you down the aisle.

Dressed in a sharp suit, steel gray a tone warmer than his cold heart, Steve watched you every step of your way to him. Others perhaps saw in his face awe, getting all mushy over how much he had to be in love with you, but you knew it was a glint of triumph.

You said your vows in the wide garden surrounding Steve’s property, under an arch of lush peonies and vines. You were sure it’s only thanks to the two glasses of Prosecco and Steve’s hand holding yours a tad too tightly, that you recited your promise to him without a hitch.

With how smooth and soft Steve’s voice was, how he held your gaze captive, you’d think he was expressing true, deep feelings when he said his vows.

True was his possessiveness.

Steve displayed it first in the way he kissed you - draping you over his arm, like in old Hollywood movies, and branding your lips with a breathstealing, passionate kiss. Unable to resist, your arm sneaked around his neck, fingers splaying on the back of his head, while your other hand gripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket.

Then by keeping you occupied each dance, allowing only your father to lead you through two songs.

To your further annoyance, Steve turned out to be a really good dancer. Or maybe he was simply good at holding you and controlling your body as he guided you across the wooden planks built into a dance floor specially for this occasion.

“You look beautiful, Princess.”

There was no breathtaking awe in Steve’s voice, like you used to imagine your true love would say those words one day. But it was no coy game, either. Steve meant them, it was an honest compliment.

It was also his pride in owning you.

“I’m already your wife, all is signed. No need for bullshit,” you stared over Steve’s shoulder, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and see what desires may shine in the ice cold blue irises.

He twirled you suddenly, then pulled you back to him. Kept you pressed against him tighter as he brushed his lips along your cheek.

“I’d think by now you know I don’t really bullshit anyone,” he whispered in your ear. “I do find you stunning. And I’ll repeat those words later, when I have you naked in our bedroom.”

Heat filled you faster than after that shot you sneaked right before soup was served, to calm your nerves and numb yourself further as the reality of being now Mrs Rogers started settling in. No, that fast dose of booze didn’t scorch your insides the way Steve’s promise of the wedding night did.

“Not gonna happen,” you tried sounding fierce, but your voice came much breathier than you’d like.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Steve chuckled, tip of his tongue flicking the shell of your ear, eliciting goosebumps to appear all over your skin.

His hand on your back was placed low, but he dipped his fingers even further, toying with the ribbon of your corset right above the curve of your ass.

“We have a deal, after all.” He reminded you.

You wanted to argue with him, that technically you didn’t agree to it, but you knew it’s futile. You suffered some disturbing sexual deviancy and your pussy tingled at the mere thought of Steve touching it. So you planned on simply being sneaky and wiping yourself dry before entering the bedroom. And then staying resolved and unbothered, so that Steve’s dark touch didn’t force a single drop of slick out.

You considered stuffing your nose with something too, because the scent of Steve alone now that he was pressed to you so close, was enough to warm up your body.

To ignore your own responses - to his smell, to his touch, to the images of wicked acts he could do to you - you focused your gaze above Steve’s shoulder. Glancing at random guests, at the stunning flower arrangements, trying not to hurt from the fact your parents looked so joyous.

You frowned, noticing Natalie smirking around the rim of a champagne flute as she talked to a man whom you recognized as Steve’s most trusted right hand, Bucky. While flirting at a wedding wasn’t something unusual, alarm bells rang in your head at the prospect of Natalie endangering herself. She was already at risk, being associated with you, but to dance with a wolf was like playing with fire that was surely going to consume her whole.

You didn’t know much about Bucky, practically nothing, but if he was this close to Steve then there was no trace of innocence or clear conscience in him.

No one could stay pure, if they followed in Rogers’ murky wake. A realization which made you wonder, if your own core may rot and dissolve at his feet.

Your heart fluttered, as Steve twirled your body again. Chalice of your dress opened, shimmering in the sunlight as if encrusted in crushed diamonds. In reality it was a faint sparkle compared to the actual bling of the diamond ring on your finger.

You glared at it with disdain when Steve first put it on your finger, seeing nothing but a leash. A brand of ownership and reminder of torment. But the more glances you stole, the more irresistible it was to admire.

It was truly beautiful and you hated it for it.

Steve pulled you back to his body, pressing you even closer than before. Tip of his nose grazed along yours, the icy blue of his irises warming into the shade of pure sky. His breath tickled your mouth, mingling with yours as your lips parted on a gasp.

Then his lips were on you. Soft and coaxing, tempting you to respond in submission.

You told yourself it’s the surprise of it that made you give in, the spectacle you had to continue for the guests, but you couldn’t completely deny the jolt of excitement that spurred heat into every crevice of your body, then melted it into a pliant surrender.

You were vaguely aware of the camera flashes as pictures of you were taken. The sound of cheering and clapping barely registering through the haze of your heartbeat pounding in your head.

There was no triumphant smirk on Steve’s lips when he reluctantly pulled away, which would undoubtedly shake you out of daze. Instead, there was a dark hunger that clenched your heart in fear and your cunt in anticipation.

You found yourself surprisingly reluctant to step out of his embrace as the song ended and Steve took the opportunity to build the lie further by asking your mother to dance.

Trying to avoid dancing with Steve wasn’t as clever a solution as you first thought, because the bastard found other ways to instigate small gestures of intimacy that confused your brain and tickled your clit like a living tongue.

Like him smoothly commenting how delicious that seasoned rib was and how you should try it, then promptly feeding you a piece of it.

With his fingers.

Purposely slipping his fingertip between your lips along with the meat.

It was a split of a second, but enough to have a wave of heat wash over you and your thighs clench.

You thanked heaven that you picked a princess dress, because the layers of the skirt at least hid the movement that would otherwise betray you.

A gulp of wine couldn’t wash away the sensation, nor did it wipe the lewd image of Steve forcing his fingers into your mouth. Would they be salty? Would they feel heavy as he pressed them against your tongue? Would his rings feel cool?

Then you didn’t even have alcohol to numb yourself. Steve made sure your glass was filled with water only as the celebrations proceeded. When you glared at him, trying to yank your hand out of his grip, he said he won’t have you sloshed on your wedding night.

“Don’t want you to worry it was only the booze that got you wet,” he sucked on your earlobe.

But made it look so sweet, the way he pressed his cheek to yours and gently held your hand, that to the others it had to look as if he was whispering love admissions into your ear.

The bastard played supportive and soothing as he caressed your back when you were saying goodbye to the guests leaving the reception late in the evening. Your mom took your teary eyes as an overwhelming, but positive emotion that made her all mushy as well.

You couldn’t cling to her, or your dad, crying in despair that they were leaving you with a monster. Not when that monster was constantly by your side, being most respectful and charming towards them. Displaying a twisted care for you that eased your parents’ worries while irritating you.

There were fireworks bursting in the sky in abundant splashes of color as Steve led you to the master bedroom.

Everyone was gone, only the wedding planner’s team was rushing around like busy bees, cleaning up and packing leftovers. And they all pretended they didn’t see you. You thought some of Steve’s men were also circling around, but you didn’t know yet if it was to keep an eye on the workers, or if it was their routine to guard Steve’s mansion.

Once inside the bedroom, you blurted out your need to use the bathroom and promptly locked yourself inside. Only for a few moments you entertained the thought of staying in and sleeping on the tiled floor, but you knew Steve wouldn’t allow that. He’d sooner take the damn door down than give you reprieve.

He wanted to wreck your body too much.

And you feared how you may react to it.

As you pulled up layers and layers of tulle, to use the toilet and clean yourself from the already obvious reaction to Steve’s touch; you accepted that your anxiety wasn’t for debauchery, but for the inappropriate eagerness of your body.

For fuck’s sake, you were dripping and coming on command when he defiled you with a gun!

How much stronger was your reaction going to be when he caressed you with his hands and mouth?

After wiping yourself dry, you cleaned your hands and with your head held high stepped out into the bedroom. You still planned on fighting tooth and nail to not arouse from whatever he had planned.

Having taken off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Steve waited for you in the middle of the room. His eyes glinted with satisfaction when you stepped out. He crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to him.

“I knew you’d come out like a good girl, Princess,” he crooned, not at all bothered by your stomping and glaring daggers his way.

“Didn’t feel like watching a door being splintered into pieces,” you snapped, clenching your hands on the skirt of your dress as you stood right in front of Steve.

“Of course. That’s the only splintering you were concerned about,” he teased, running a single digit down the column of your neck. “But I know, Princess. I know there’s this curiosity that draws you to me. You may hate it, but your body is eager to learn what I’ll do to you.”

“It’s not. I’m not!” You protested, yet you didn’t flinch when his finger drew a scorching line from one collar bone to the other, then dipped lower to trace your cleavage.

“I want to believe your words, Princess,” Steve said in pretend seriousness, “but let’s check in with your body, too.”

As embarrassing the thought of him flipping your skirts up was, you inwardly prayed he’d do it quickly. If he touched your pussy now, he’d find you dry. But if he prolonged the whole thing, you had no certainty it would stay this way.

“I’m aware how fond of my gun you are,” his words startled you, stopping your heart for a split of a second then sending it into a fluttery beat. The memory of the warm muzzle dragging along your thigh and slipping under your panties spurred heat to pool low in your core.

Shit! No!

No, no, no. You couldn’t get wet!

“But I didn’t think it’s an accessory appropriate for the wedding,” Steve’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile that only added to his criminally hot look.

“So I had something special to be custom made for this occasion-” he touched your cheek in a sweet caress- “and for any future occasions… with my wife.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs when he called you his wife. He made it sound reverent, but at the same time his tone dripped with that dark triumph that reminded you there was no way out from his clutches.

You watched Steve dip his hand into his pocket and then a glint of steel flashed before your eyes.

A switchblade so sharp and polished so smooth that it seemed to be honed out of pure light. The handle was a shimmery white, with undertones of rainbow. Mother of pearl, you realized.

Steve had his fingers wrapped around it, but purposely flipped it out, pinching the hilt between two of his fingers so you could see the silver initials engraved on it. Your initials, but with your last name being Rogers.

Eyes widening, you went still as Steve brought the blade to your skin. Just the tip of it, you barely felt its touch, but your mind was already running with images of cuts and drawn blood. It should scare you, cause tears to fall out. Instead, you felt your pulse thundering in places that shouldn’t react to fear with excitement.

Steve drew a soft line over the curve of your breasts and dipped the steel into the valley between them.

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the front of your neck. His eyes heated up as your pupils widened in reaction, once again proving how weak you were for this single gesture. Keeping his hold firm enough you felt the silver of his rings pressing into your skin, Steve traced the blade along the trim of your wedding dress and then down your ribcage.

“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” Steve’s voice was deceivingly soft, as if he really cared if you were scared.

You doubted he’d stop, even if you claimed that you are. You’d sooner expect him to mock you and then proceed to torment your body, proving to you how much you craved his depravity.

But it wasn’t the physical torture you wanted to avoid. For how bad Steve was, how he fucked up your life, somehow you knew he wouldn’t harm you physically. Well, perhaps if you betrayed him. He’d kill you then. But as long as you followed his plans, you were certain he wouldn’t raise his hand on you.

Steve’s thumb brushed along your jaw in a seemingly soothing caress. You turned your face to the side, but he forced you to look back at him when you admitted in a defeated whisper:

“I’m afraid you will make me like it.”

Fingers still curled around the front of your neck, Steve inched closer. Blue of his irises seemed to glitter an impossible hue up this close, mesmerizing you.

You were a prey fully ensnared.

“I will, Princess.” Steve’s lips teased yours. “I will give you pleasure that hurts so good.”

A tiny whimper escaped your mouth. You wished it was a sound of trepidation, but it held an unmistakable undertone of need. It was too late now, you felt a wet spot forming on your white undergarments.

Steve kissed you softly, reverently; like a husband in love might kiss his beloved wife on their wedding night. Combined with the pressure of a sharp blade at your side, it made your head spin.

“Stay still, please,” Steve squeezed your throat lightly, before releasing you and taking a step back.

He walked around you, slowly making a full circle as he admired you. Teasing you by making you wait for what he does next. When he stopped behind you and you felt the puff of his breath on your nape, your fingers trembled.

Then the cool blade pressed where Steve’s warm breath tickled you a second ago. He drew a sharper line down the middle of your back. You didn’t feel the sting of a cut, but he put enough pressure for you to feel a tingling scratch that dispersed into pleasant burning.

You gulped when you felt him hook the knife under the lacing of your dress.

“I can just take it off.” You grumbled, frowning. It was a stunning dress and even though you wouldn’t be wearing it ever again, you weren’t happy with the idea of it being cut to pieces.

“You could,” Steve chuckled, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you-”

You gasped as he swiftly cut through the first string.

“-make that lovely sound.”

Steve relished in each cut, though you weren’t sure if he was more entranced with your little noises (which you tried to suppress, but failed at times), the act of cutting itself, or with your naked skin being revealed as the bodice of your dress parted.

When the corset opened fully, dropping and exposing your upper body, Steve smoothed his hand along your back. Which elicited another gasp from you.

You expected the blade to return, to draw dangerous patterns on your fragile skin. Steve’s warm, gentle caress sent a different kind of jolt down your spine, causing your tense muscles to relax in foolish trust. He pressed himself to your back, moving his hand around your front and boldly cupping your breast. A wave of heat seemed to scorch your face from the inside, but it also pooled between your thighs.

He peppered kisses along your neck as he played with your breast; sucked on your skin as he switched his attention to the other tit.

There was no logical thought in your head when he pinched your nipple hard and you arched; one of your arms flying up to grip the back of Steve’s head. It was an instinctive reaction of your body’s deepest need.

Suddenly, Steve’s touch left you. Only to pull impatiently at your dress, forcing the abundant skirt to fall down. Big hands - one still holding a knife - clenched around your hips. He picked you up so easily, as if you weighed close to nothing.

Then he was dropping you onto the grand bed. Before you even managed to push yourself up, he flipped you over onto your back. A split of a panicked thought almost had you inching away, reheating the idea to fight him. But one of Steve’s hands clenched on your ankle, while the other splayed on your belly - the one holding the knife.

“Lie back, Princess.” Steve’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it chimed with certain urgency.

You stilled. Though you preferred to think it was because of the blade he left on your belly in a warning, not because he asked you to.

Definitely not because you couldn’t look away from him as Steve undressed in a few quick, practiced moves.

The sight was so enticing you didn’t think of grabbing the knife and possibly changing the flow of the night to your advantage.

Without his shirt on, you saw the wide plains of Steve’s chest and chiseled abdomen; saw the tattoos entwining his arms and upper body. Dark patterns, with a few splashes of rich color, that only added to the dark, thrilling aura of Steve Rogers.

You swore that while Steve was a scary motherfucker in his usual wear, he’d appear an even more lethal demon if he approached his victims half-naked.

Your gaze shifted downward when he pushed his pants down, but you forced it back up to his face. Mostly because you feared the sound you may make, if you saw his cock. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you staring.

When Steve knelt on the mattress and then crawled forward, you dropped your head to the pillows and focused on the ceiling. A part of you craved to watch him, to await in trepidation, but you still held onto that sane part of your brain that told you it’s wrong to want it. Wrong to give in to him so easily.

“You’re beautiful, Princess.” He repeated the words, just like he promised.

Calloused fingers traced up your legs. The sensation this touch evoked made you want to clench your thighs, but Steve’s knee was wedged between your legs, preventing it.

Eyes focused on your face, Steve seemed to study and memorize every spark of reaction to his touch. He picked up the knife again. The grin that he flashed you as he brought the blade to your skin was all satisfaction and condescending praise. He didn’t say it, but you almost heard the Good girl. For doing as he told you. For waiting. For being so obviously responsive.

He knelt above you as he trailed the knife along your exposed body. His gaze shifted between the glint of the blade and your face. As his aim traveled south, Steve moved along with it.

Corner of his mouth tugged upward in a dangerous smirk when he slipped the tip of the blade under the white lace of your panties.

Your whole body went rigid. Your mouth opened, your breath becoming ragged.

And yet, when he slashed the fabric apart, you felt a new gush of slick.

Steve cut the other side of your panties as well, then pushed your thighs further apart. Exposing your shameful reaction.

“Princess,” he licked his lips, “it appears that you’re wet.”

He tapped the wide side of the blade against your clit, the jolt of it making you clench around nothing. Steve’s eyes darkened and a low, growling kind of sound rumbled in his chest as he used the knife to flick away the lace that was sticking to your drenched folds.

“You’re not wet. You’re dripping.” He seemed to be in awe of the discovery.

It was in a sense a comforting feeling, to see more than just a cocky triumph. To see Steve affected by the situation. Perhaps not as strongly as you were, but with enough force to make you think perhaps it was a novelty for him as well.

“Say it, Princess.” Steve’s gaze flicked back to your face; his own eyes full of dark hunger. “Say how wet you are, for me.”

Your lips clenched shut, a stubborn frown drawing your eyebrows together. It was humiliating enough that you were so lewdly on display for this bastard, that your body betrayed you and was ready to take him. Admitting it aloud would only strip you of all defenses.

When Steve slapped your inner thigh, the sting of it seemed to zing directly to your clit.

“Ohh!” You couldn’t suppress the gasp, but then managed to spat angrily - “Fuck, fine! I’m wet for you, you bastard.”

As much as you hated it, your anger was less about him demanding your admission and more about him not touching you where you most needed it.

“Your husband.” Steve reminded you, with sinister glee.

With his knee, he pressed your other leg down. Then dragged the knife along the skin of your inner thigh. This time you felt the prick of pain as he cut the tissue. You hissed, head lifting up to stare at the tiny, thin wound. A single drop of blood pearled at the end of it.

Then Steve’s mouth was on it. Warm and sucking, and drawing a surprised moan out of you.

He sucked and licked it clean, making you forget about everything else. His mouth moved up, closer and closer to your core. When he finally licked into your folds as if he was biting into a ripe fruit, you dropped down with a cry.

Fingers gripping the sheets tightly, you rode sensations unknown to you until then. Muscles strained in pain as you held yourself stiff, still sensing that blade pressed against your skin. Steve had his arms wrapped under and around your thighs, keeping you spread as he feasted on your pussy. One of his hands was holding the knife against your abdomen, the sharp tip right on your mound.

“Oh God, please!” Your eyes clenched shut. “Please, please, Steve. I-”

As he lapped at your clit, lashing it with rapid flicks then sucking on it so sweetly, you felt your orgasm building painfully high. You were heartbeats away from climaxing.

“Stop, please!” You begged. “The knife- I can’t- I need-”

Even if you were pleading for him to stop what he was doing all together, Steve wouldn’t listen. Not when he was so close to owning you completely. You needed something slightly different and you hoped Steve would recognize the urgency.

Mercifully, he paused. Though he held his lips close to your clit as he looked up at you from between your thighs - his eyes reminiscing of the stars frozen in dark waters of the northern lakes.

“What do you need from your knife, Princess?” He asked, tilting the blade an inch lower.

It almost touched your clit.

“Place it away, please,” you started explaining, sensing that he wouldn’t comply without a satisfying reason. “I- I’m about to come. And I will, um, move. I can’t stay still. I just, I never could. I can’t.”

“You’re afraid I’d cut you, if you get all squirmy and arching?” Twinkle of amusement lit up Steve’s eyes.

“Please, Steve.” You feared tearing up, if he refused you. You also feared he would make you cum and cut you, and that you weren’t ready for that combination of pain and pleasure.

He hummed, holding your gaze as he licked your clit again. Your muscles tensed anew, he had to feel them straining in your thighs where he held you. Then, very slowly, he untangled himself from you. Steve let your thighs drop to the mattress freely. He lifted the hand holding the knife and you sagged in relief.

Steve leaned over you, bracing his weight on one arm. His broad frame cast a shadow over you. He brought the blade up to your face, you could see a fragment of your reflection in it.

“Kiss it.” Steve ordered.

You stared at him, bewildered. He waited, surprisingly patiently, holding the blade inches from your mouth. He called this knife yours. Had it custom made for you. Used it on you in ways you never imagined in a sexual encounter. Teased what more he could do. What he probably would do to you in the future. And he wanted you to kiss it as if in gratitude for all the lewd things it would unleash on you.

Swallowing nervously, you lifted your head enough to press your lips against the steel.

“Good girl,” he praised.

Your gaze followed Steve’s arm as he reached toward the nightstand to place the knife on it. Then his hand swiped along your arm, caressing muscles that strained from still gripping the sheets.

He coaxed you back into the moment with a sensual kiss. The way his tongue dipped between your lips was soft and seductive. You’d never expect someone like Steve to be able to kiss like that.

Heat quickly returned in pulsing beats to your clit as Steve kissed down your body. He settled back between your thighs, with a moan tasting your pussy once more. Relentlessly, he licked and sucked you back to that edge. Then pushed you over it as he pushed a finger into you.

Steve kept that finger pumping steadily into your fluttering walls as he trailed wet bites up your body. He was hovering above you. Mouth, glistening with your arousal, was a lick away from you when he thrust a second digit inside. The stretch made you keen and Steve drank up every grimace you made.

“Touch me, Princess,” he tempted you, curling his fingers just right. “Come on. Touch. I know you want to.”

If your brain wasn’t a post-orgasmic mush, maybe you could muster some stubborn will to do the opposite. But he was right, you itched to touch him, to feel the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, to see how hot he ran.

Hesitantly at first, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders. Your gaze found one of the intricate vines that weaved along his shoulder and up his neck, a branch sprouting from it curved down and over his pectoral. You traced it with one hand, your other instinctively moving to Steve’s back.

When you traced the contoured muscles of his abdomen, fingernails scratching lightly at the narrow path of coarse hair leading southwards, Steve increased the pace of his fingers. It stirred the fire in your core into a burst, evoking another moan.

“Lower.” Steve gritted out, putting more of his weight and heat onto you. “Wrap that small hand of yours around my cock, Princess.”

It was dirty - his words and the squelching sound of your pussy as he fingerfucked you.

But it also made you drop your gaze between your bodies, searching for a glimpse of that dick. It swayed heavy, half-hard, right above your hip. Your walls clenched unexpectedly as you watched it.

This wasn’t the first cock you saw in your life. You were far from a blushing virgin. There was something about Steve, however, that made you feel nervous and out of your depth. It appeared that sex with him was a whole new, scary discovery.

Steve urged you with another command and your hand slipped down instantly. Hot, pulsing flesh in your palm, twitching and hardening as you curled your fingers around the quite impressive girth.

It would stretch you so deliciously. Steve didn’t need to voice it for your imagination to ignite with the phantom sensation.

You tightened your hold, swiping your thumb over the widened, red head. At Steve’s deep moan, your eyes flew up to his face, watching his pleasure in wonder. He didn’t hide it from you, didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t affected. Still, you felt yourself more at his mercy than he was at yours. Especially when you sensed that small kick of elation at giving him pleasure with your touch.

You smeared the beads of precum down his shaft and started stroking. It was a mismatched rhythm, your focus faltering every time Steve drove his crooked fingers against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you.

When Steve sat back on his haunches, you stopped your movement. A rush of heat filled you with sudden shyness as his gaze roamed over your splayed body.

Skin dewy, breasts heaving with quickened breath, legs spread wide. Your hand was still around his cock, your ring and wedding band catching sparks of light. Steve’s own fingers were buried deep in your cunt, your slick glistened on his palm and wrist.

Steve moved his other hand up your body, marveling at your curves and softness. He gave your breast a playful squeeze before trading his fingers further up. Fingers encircled the front of your neck in a familiar way.

“You’re a fucking perfection, Princess.”

Then he was withdrawing his fingers from your heat; milky slick sticking in a web between his digits. He knocked your hand away and spread your wetness all over his cock.

He held your gaze as he dragged his dick between your puffed folds and into your hole. A pause for you to catch your breath, then he was thrusting in one fluid, firm stroke.

A curse bubbled on your lips, stretching into a moan as he split you. Unable to reach him at the moment, your hands fisted the shits, gripping and twisting the fabric. Nipples stiffened into hard peaks, your chest arched upward at the same time as your head bowed back.

There was no second to adjust, no mercy. Steve pounded into you roughly, setting a steady tempo. He watched your body move along the mattress, at least as much as his hold on your throat and your hip allowed. Your breasts swayed with each thrust, your thighs shook with each slap of his hips into you.

He watched your eyes glaze over as an orgasmic haze crept over you anew. Your pretty mouth stayed open, letting out all the sweet noises. It took barely a few of his thrusts and you were cumming again.

Everything was still spinning in your head when Steve yanked your hips more upwards. Your buttocks rested on his thighs, legs thrown over his hips as he fucked into you. Grip on your throat tightened more and more. Your eyes flew open, one of your hands grabbing onto Steve’s wrist. Unbothered, he kept choking you lightly. At the same time, his other hand sneaked across your abdomen.

With your airflow limited, every sensation seemed to heighten impossibly. The stretch of his cock, the pressure of his hand on your lower belly. The coil tightened and tightened, and when Steve swiped his thumb over your engorged clit, you shattered with a soundless scream.

Steve released your throat and the gulps of air you instinctively tok between raw cries seemed to prolong your orgasm. It twisted into a craze that felt agonizingly good.

So good it caused you to cry, salty streaks dripping out of the corners of your eyes and down your temples.

Through the thunderous buzz of blood pounding in your head, the muffled sound of Steve’s voice reached you. Your brain was unable to function enough to recognize it, but it sounded like your name. And something akin to ‘Atta girl.

When Steve shifted, you welcomed his warm heaviness like a comforting blanket, mapping his sweaty back with your hands. He was still moving, speeding up, as he braced both of his forearms on the mattress. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips starved as he kissed and nipped.

He rested his forehead against yours as he came with a loud moan. Warmth of his spend filled you and though you didn’t think of it now, later you would be thankful for the little contraceptive implant you had. As the fog of pleasure held you in its grip, you didn’t care for the consequences. Not when Steve was still rocking slightly into you, his cock twitching.

You sighed, scrunching up your nose, when Steve pulled out a while later. Your pussy throbbed in protest, or maybe it was from the ache that was starting to make itself known. You leaked, too, which would make you really embarrassed if you weren’t too boneless to care.

You managed to wipe at your temples and cheeks, where remnants of tears still wetted your skin, before Steve was touching you again. He flipped you onto your belly then licked a line up your spine with a broad stroke of his tongue.

“Aren’t you done?” You huffed, fearing you may not be able to survive more.

“Far from it,” Steve laughed and playfully slapped your ass.

You were thankful that he spent quite some time just kissing and touching your back, your ass and your thighs. Whether he was giving himself enough time to get hard again, or if he was this dedicated to learning your body.

When he sat on your thighs, his knees braced on the outside of your closed legs, and squeezed your asscheeks, you expected him to play there more. Instead, you felt him spread you enough to expose your pussy. He slid inside slowly, but it still took you by surprise.

Steve laid on top of you, balancing his weight on his arms as he pulled back and thrust back in. The angle unraveled a completely new type of sensation.

“Oh my- fuuuck!” You couldn’t help the unladylike, high pitched squeal.

Nails scratching at the sheets helplessly, you spluttered mewls as Steve purposely rocked his hips back and forth.

“Awww,” he cooed, “is that the spot, Princess?”

Then he pulled back and slammed back in. Each thrust grazed that ultrasensitive area; each time he sunk deeper and deeper, too.

If you were moaning and crying when he fucked you the first time, these sounds were a symphony of pitiful and needy that surpassed others. At one point your mouth just hung open, saliva seeping out of the corner and staining the mattress.

Your toes curled and you helplessly kicked your feet up and down, unable to shift in your position to ease the increasing, maddening pleasure. With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your gaze mindlessly focused on the ring on your finger where your hand rested beside your head.

Steve’s fingers entered your vision, brushing along your hand and intertwining with your fingers. A mockery of softness in the ruthless way he was fucking you.

Your cunt tightened around him, producing more slick the longer he railed that tormenting spot. The sound of him fucking you turned more and more squelching.

“I want you to soak the sheets,” Steve grunted. When you made a noise of protest, he paused to force your legs wide apart with his feet. “Come on, Princess. Make a mess.”

And you did.

Hiding your face in the bedding didn’t suppress the string of cries as you climaxed, squirting a small pool of release.

Steve fucked you through it. Each of his hard thrusts ripping your whimpers into a choked single vowel as you went lax beneath him.

“Fuck, Princess.” He groaned, feeling your wetness drip down his balls. “I would wife you up for that alone. You really-” his hips snapped harder and faster- “are. Fucking. Perfect.”

Your fingers remained intertwined, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, as he came. Perhaps it was the angle at which he was buried inside of you, or maybe this time his orgasm was much stronger, but you felt every throb and every spurt more clearly than before. Felt yourself full with his cum and dripping excess of your combined spend.

Long, long minutes later, when Steve pulled out and dropped next to you onto the mattress, you didn’t even blame him for not having enough power (or decency) to get you a wet cloth.

Honestly, you didn’t have any strength to get up either.

It was later, as you resigned yourself to falling asleep in the mess that you made, that you heard the sound of a drawer being open. Then a soft, wet wipe was pressed to your inner thigh. It was a surprise. Felt a little weird, too. But you rested quietly as Steve wiped you and himself clean, tossing used tissues into the bin hidden behind the nightstand.

When he laid back down on the unsoiled side of the bed and reached for you, you glared at him.

Yes, he fucked your brains out. You seriously doubted there were any functioning brain cells left. Yes, you were officially married. Still, it didn’t mean you were going to play a docile wife in every aspect of this torment.

“You want to sleep on the stained sheets?” Steve arched a single eyebrow. “Swallow your stubbornness and scoot here, Princess.”

It was voiced as if he was giving you an option, but he didn’t wait for your decision. Astonishingly easily, he sneaked a hand under one of your thighs and simply lifted you enough to relocate you.

Nestled to Steve’s side, with one leg hiked over his thigh, you willed yourself to stay awake long enough to sneak out when Steve dozed off. Unfortunately for you, your will was too fucked out.

You fell asleep snuggled to the ruthless mafia monster.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #touch the darkness #my writing

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sh0rtins0mniac · 3 months

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Who are the hostages still held by Hamas?

On October 7, 2023, 253 Israelis and foreign nationals were kidnapped to Gaza by Hamas and gazan civilians. Since then, 105 were released in a prisioner exchange deal, 4 were released by Hamas and 3 were rescued.

However, 134 remain in captivity (4 of those were kidnapped prior to 2023). A recent investigation has concluded that more than a fifth of the hostages are dead and the fate of some other hostages remains unknown. This video explains how doctors determine which hostages are dead, based on the nature of their injury and by analyising footage and the victims' last phone calls. Additionally, during the operation in Gaza, the IDF has recovered the bodies of a few victims and returned to their families for burial.

Since I couldn't find this all in one place, I've compiled a list of: 1) hostages who are presumed alive; 2) hostaged whose death has been reported/confirmed; 3) hostages who were released or rescued. In the group of hostages presumed to be alive who haven't been released, the youngest is 1-year-old Kfir Bibas and the oldest hostage is Iraqi-born 85-year old Shlomo Mansour.

As we learn more information, I'll continue to update this post.

They need to come back home. I'm hoping for more successful rescue operations soon. Keep them in your thoughts.

Hostages still held by Hamas (presumed alive or fate unknown):

(1) (2) (3)

Abraham Eitan Mor (23)

Abraham Munder (79)

Agam Berger (19)

Alex Danzig (75)

Alexander (Sasha) Trupanob (28)

Alexander Lobanov (32)

Almog Meir Jan (21)

Almog Sarusi (26)

Alon Ohel (22)

Amiram Cooper (85)

Andrey Kozlov (27)

Arbel Yehoud (28)

Ariel Bibas (4)

Ariel Cunio (26)

Avera Mengistu (37) – Has been held hostage since 2014

Avinathan Or (30)

Bar Kupershtein (22)

Bipin Joshi (23)

Carmel Gat (39)

Chaim Peri (79)

Daniel Gilboa (19)

David Cunio (33)

Dolev Yehoud (35)

Doron Steinbrecher (30)

Edan Alexander (20)

Eden Yerushalmi (24)

Eitan Horn (37)

Eli Sharabi (51)

Eliya Cohen (26)

Elkana Bohbot (34)

Evytar David (23)

Gadi Moses (79)

Gali Berman (26)

Guy Gilboa-Dalal (22)

Hamzah Al-Zayadni (22)

Hersh Goldberg Polin (23)

Hisham al-Sayed (35) - Has been held hostage since 2015

Yair Horn (45)

Idan Shivi (28)

Itzhk Elgarat (68)

Kaid Farhan Elkadi (53)

Karina Ariev (19)

Kfir Bibas (1)

Liri Albag (18)

Matan Angrest (21)

Matan Zangauker (24)

Maxim Herkin (35)

Muhammed Alatrash (40)

Naama Levy (19)

Nadav Popplewell (51)

Nimrod Cohen (19)

Noa Argamani (26)

Oded Lifshitz (83)

Ofer Kalderon (53)

Ohad Ben Ami (55)

Ohad Yahalomi (49)

Omer Neutra (22)

Omer Shem Tov (21)

Omer Wenkert (22)

Omri Miran (46)

Or Levy (33)

Ori Danino (24)

Rom Braslavski (19)

Romi Gonen (23)

Sagui Dekel-Chen (35)

Samuel Keith Siegel (64)

Segev Kalfon (25)

Shiri Bibas (32)

Shlomi Ziv (40)

Shlomo Mansour (85)

Tal Shoham (38)

Tamir Nimrod (19)

Tsachi Idan (51)

Yagev Buchshtab (34)

Yagev Kirsht (34)

Yarden Bibas (34)

Yoram Metzger (80)

Yosef Al-Zayadni (53)

Yosef Ohana (23)

Ziv Berman (26)

Hostages confirmed/reported dead:

(Note: I couldn't find a report with the full list, but if you google each individual name you can find sources.)

Alon Shamriz (26) – Mistakenly killed by the IDF

Amit Buskila (28) - Likely killed on Oct. 7. Body recovered on 17/05/24.

Arye Zalmanovich (85) - Death reported by Hamas. He was forced to appear in a propaganda video.

Asaf Hamami (41)

Aviv Atzili (49)

Daniel Oz (19) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 25/02/24

Daniel Perez (22) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 17/03/24

Dror Kaplun (68)

Dror Or (48) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 02/05/24.

Eden Zecharya (28)

Eitan Levy (53)

Elad Katzir (47) - Murdered by the Palestinian Islamic Jihad. His body was recovered in Khan Yunis. Status updated on 06/04/24.

Eliyahu Margalit (75)

Elyakim Libman (23) - Killed on Oct. 7. It was presumed he was a hostage because his body wasn't found, but it was later discovered his remains were accidentally buried with another victim. Status updated on 03/05/24.

Gad Haggai (73)

Guy Iluz (26)

Hadar Goldin (32) - Body held hostage since 2014

Hanan Yablonka (42) - Killed on Oct. 7. Body recovered on 24/05/24.

Ilan Weiss (56)

Inbar Haiman (27)

Itay Chen (19) - Killed on Oct. 7. Status updated on 12/03/24.

Itay Svirsky (35) – Killed by Hamas in captivity. His body was shown in a propaganda video

Itzik Gelenter (58) - Likely killed on Oct. 7. Body recovered on 17/05/24.

Joshua Loitu Mollel (21) – A released video shows how he was brutally murdered by a group of men on October 7

Judy Weinstein (70)

Kiril Brodski (19)

Lior Rudaeff (61) - Killed on Oct. 7. His body was taken to Gaza. Status updated on 07/05/24.

Maya Goren (56)

Mordechai Yonathan Samerano (21) - Killed on Oct. 7. His body was taken to Gaza.

Nik Beizer (19)

Noa Marciano (19) – Her body was found near the Al-Shifa hospital

Michel Nisenbaum (59) - Killed on Oct. 7. Body recovered on 24/05/24.

Ofir Tzarfati (27)

Ofra Keider (70)

Oren Goldin (34)

Orión Hernandez (30) - Killed on Oct. 7. Body recovered on 24/05/24.

Oron Shaul (30) – Body held hostage since 2014

Ran Gvlli (24)

Ravid Katz (41)

Ron Benjamin (53) - Killed on Oct. 7 and his body was taken to Gaza. Body recovered on 18/05/24.

Ron Scherman (19)

Ronen Engel (54)

Sahar Baruch (24) – Killed by Hamas during a failed hostage rescue operation

Samer Talalka (22) – Mistakenly killed by the IDF

Shay Levinson (19)

Shani Louk (22) - Body taken to Gaza. Her body was recovered on 17/05/24.

Sonthaya Oakkharasr - Killed on Oct. 7. Body taken to Gaza. Status updated on 16/05/24.

Sudthisak Rinthalak - Killed on Oct. 7. Body taken to Gaza. Status updated on 16/05/24.

Tal Chaim (42)

Tamir Adar (38)

Tomer Ahimas (20)

Uriel Baruch (35) - Status updated on 26/03/24

Yair Yaakov (59) – Killed on Oct. 7. Sons and girlfriend were released. Status updated on 15/02/24.

Yehudit Weiss (65) – Her body was found near the Al-Shifa hospital

Yossi Sharabi (53) – His dead body was shown in a propaganda video

Yotam Haim – Mistakenly killed by the IDF

Ziv Dado (36)

Released/rescued hostages:

(1) (2)

Abigail Edan, 4, American citizen

Ada Sagi, 75

Adi Shoham, 38

Adina Moshe, 72

Agam Goldstein-Almog, 17

Aisha Ziyadne, 17

Alma Avraham, 84

Alma Or, 13

Amit Shani, 15

Amit Soussana, 40

Anucha Angkaew

Aviv Asher, 2, German citizen

Aviva Adrienne Siegel, 62

Bancha Kongmanee, Thai national

Bilal Ziyadne, 18

Boonthom Phankhong, Thai national

Buddee Saengboon, Thai national

Chalermchai Sangkaew

Channa Peri, 79

Chen Goldstein-Almog, 48

Clara Marman, 63, Argentine citizen

Daniel Aloni, 44

Dafna Elyakim, 15

Doron Katz Asher, 34, German citizen

Ditza Heiman, 84

Emilia Aloni, 5

Emily Toni Kornberg Hand, 8

Emma Cunio, 3, Argentine citizen

Erez Calderon, 12, French citizen

Eitan Yahalomi, 12, French citizen

Ela Elyakim, 8

Fernando Marman – Rescued by the IDF

Gabriela Leimberg, 59, Argentine citizen

Gal Goldstein-Almog, 11

Gal Tarshansky, 13

Gelienor (Jimmy) Pacheco, 37, Filipino national

Hagar Brodetz, 40

Hanna Katzir, 77

Hila Rotem Shoshani, 12

Ilana Gritzewsky Kimchi, 30

Irena Tati, 73, a Russian citizen, was included on the list but released separately from the exchange deal.

Itay Regev Jerbi, 18

Juckapan Sikena

Judith Raanan, 59 [Released 22/10/23]

Karina Engel-Bart, 51, Argentine citizen

Keren Munder, 54

Komkrit Chombua

Kong Saelao

Liam Or, 18

Liat Beinin Atzili, 49, American citizen

Luis Har – Rescued by the IDF

Manee Jirachart

Margalit Mozes, 78, German citizen

Maya Regev Jirbi, 21

Meirav Tal, 53

Mia Leimberg, 17, Argentine citizen

Mia Shem, 21, French citizen

Mika Engel, 18, Argentine citizen

Mongkhol Phajuabboon, Thai national

Moran Stela Yanai, 40

Natalie Raanan, 17 [Released 22/10/23]

Nattaporn Onkaew

Natthawaree Moonkan, Thai national

Naveh Shoham, 8

Nili Margalit, 41

Noam Avigdori, 12

Noga Weiss, 18

Noam Or, 17

Noralin Babadilla, 60, born in the Philippines

Nurit Cooper [Released 24/10/23]

Ofri Brodetz, 10

Ohad Munder, 9

Or Yaakov, 16, German citizen

Ori Megidish – Rescued by the IDF

Oriya Brodetz, 4

Owat Suriyasri, 40, father of two

Ofelia Adit Roitman, 77, born in Argentina

Ofir Engel, 17, Dutch citizen

Paiboon Rattanin

Pattanayut Tonsakree

Phonsawan Pinakalo

Ra’aya Rotem, 54

Raz Ben-Ami, 56, German citizen

Rimon Kirsht Buchshtav, 36

Raz Asher, 4, German citizen

Ron Krivoi, 25, an Israeli-Russian citizen, was included on the list, although he was released separately from the exchange deal.

Ruth Munder, 78

Sahar Calderon, 16, French citizen

Santi Boonphrom, Thai national

Sapir Cohen, 29

Shani Goren, 29

Sharon Aloni-Cunio, 34, Argentine citizen

Sharon Hertzman Avigdori, 52

Shiri Weiss, 53

Shoshan Haran, 67

Surin Kesungnoen

Tal Goldstein-Almog, 8

Tamar Metzger, 78

Uthai Sangnuan, Thai national

Uthai Thunsri, Thai national

Wichai Kalapat, 28, Thai national

Wichian Temthon

Withoon Phumee, 33, Thai national

Yaffa Adar, 85

Yagil Yaakov, 12, German citizen

Yahel Shoham, 3

Yarden Roman-Gat, 35, German citizen

Yelena Trupanov, 50, a Russian citizen, was included on the list but released separately from the exchange deal.

Yocheved Lifshitz [Released 24/10/23]

Yuli Cunio, 3, Argentine citizen

Yuval Brodetz, 8

Yuval Engel, 12, Argentine citizen

#israel #october 7 #hamas hostages #hostages #bring them home now #jumblr #compiling all their names was a really emotional process. i did this the day before it was announced yair yaakov was murdered #and had trouble opening the file again #praying and hoping for the rest of the hostages' safe return #please let me know if i made any mistakes and/or forgot any names #as i've said in the post - a lot of info was scattered and i'm afraid i might have missed something #note: 253 was the total number i found in most reports. i don't know if it'll change at the end of the war - since some people were #considered to be held hostage and sadly later it was found they had been killed on oct 7 inside israel #like clemence felix mtenga

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scribblesofagoonerr · 2 days

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— Yer' a pair of pests!

Here's another part of chaos fc!

Thank you @alotofpockets to help me out when i need it, big time!

I'm finding writing stuff like this the best thing right now as i can't handle much angst with the current situation i'm dealing with...

Anyways. I hope you enjoy!

pairings: kim little x reader, kyra cooney cross x reader, arsenal wfc x reader

summary: reader and kyra continue to cause mayhem on the trip in melbourne with katie falling victim of their latest prank

"KYRA!" You bolt through the room and literally throw yourself on the older girls back, which took her by complete surprise as you wrap your legs' round her and cling onto her.

You've been lucky enough to escape the watchful eyes of Kim and Steph, making a quick exit out of the room the minute that the press conference had ended, running in the direction of where the rest of the girls will be.

"Y/N/N!" The Australian girl exclaims just as enthusiastically, "Where'd you go?" She wonders.

"I told you that Mother Kimmy held me captive-- Ah, Kyra!" You squeal, taken by sudden surprise as you're body slammed to the ground all the sudden by your partner in crime.

"And the chaos resumes," Caitlin murmers, rolling her eyes as she watches the pair of you wrestle on the floor. "Girls, get up off the floor!"

"More like responsibility," Katie chuckle in amusement, shaking her head as she watches the chaos unfold with you two "kids" in the team.

"Kyra! Y/N! Break it up!" The older Australian girl continues to shout, trying to get in between the two of you to stop mucking about, "Can't you to ever behave? You're supposed to be adults, settling examples here!"

"This is entertainment at its' finest," Vic remarks, watching it from the side as she has her phone out to record it.

In fact, most of the girls had their phones out and where laughing while watching, meanwhile Caitlin still struggles to break it up between the two of you.

"Kyra! Y/N!" Caitlin shouts at the top of her voice, trying to tug your counter part away from brawling with you, "One of you is seriously going to get hurt in a minute!"

"What's going on?" Steph questions, hearing the commotion before she enters the room even though shes' not entirely aware of what's happening.

"Kyra and Y/N are fighting and Caitlins' trying to break it up," Alessia chimes in, motioning to what is happening between you and the two Aussie's.

"And failing," Teyah snickers before she goes to try and goad both of you to continue to play fight on the floor.

"Fighting?" Stephs' eyes widen in shock before she pushes her way forward and tries to take control of the situation, "What're you two playin' at? I swear to god its' like dealing with actual children!" She tries to take a hold of your upper bicep, but your too scrappy for her to successfully to that.

"What's going on?" Kim enters the room and narrows her eyes in your direction, "Y/F/N, get up from the floor, right now!" She bellows across the room to you.

Your smart enough to recognise your captains' voie and listen to what she's telling you to avoid any further direct scolding from her, "Ello there, Kimmy," You flash her an innocent smile, like you've not been causing no trouble.

"Enough trouble, go and get ready!" Kim states, firmly while motioning in the direction of where your own stuff is on the bench awaiting the open training session in front of all the fans.

"Don't know what yer even talkin' about there," You grin cheekily but still do as your told; Sure enough you're a troublemaker, but you know when to listen sometimes.

Your not a complete idiot.

Even if some others' might agree with that.

Following orders from your captain, you get ready to go and join the open training session as Kyra wanders over to sit beside you on the bench, "Did you do it?" You wonder.

"We did it," Kyra grins mischeviously, grabbing her top to shove it over her head.

"Told you we wouldn't let you down, eagle 1," One of the Academy players, Maddie chimes in as she wanders over near to the bench.

"Nicely done, Young Gun!" You state, playfully ruffling the girls' hair.

"Y/N!" You suddenly hear your captain shout aloud to get your attention.

Your quick to hold your hands up in mock surrender, "I-- I didn't do anything!" You insist.

"Quit muckin' around and get ready!" Kim states in a tone that leaves no room for objection, "And leave Maddie alone, don't be dragging her into none of your shenanigans!" She warns with a pointed finger in your direction.

"I-- What? I'm not tryin' to involve her in nothing," You try to justify yourself while resisting the urge to roll your eyes, "And I'm not even causin' any trouble!" You exclaim.

Kim keeps her eyes' on you as she looks at you sleptically, "That's the way its' going to stay, alright? I don't want to be havin' any more trouble from you today!" She all but demands, while you try and protest but you know with the luck shes' still giving you its' jus better to do as your told for once.

That still doesn't mean you won't be a brat about it.

"Borin'," You murmer, sitting down to shove your boots on.

"I heard that Y/N," Kim is quick to hear what you say straight away.

"Good, cos' you were meant too," You remark, playfully sticking your tongue out at the older Scots' women.

"Y/N! Would you stop!" Alessia shouts in frustration after shes' finally had enough of your antics.

"I didn't do out Lessi," You hold your hands up in surrender and try play your innocence.

"Yes you did-- You keep on trying to trip me up!" The older blonde states, glaring at you.

In your defence, you did aim to try and stay of trouble, but it's not always easy and before you know it, you're bored once more and actively causing chaos again.

In this case, it was trying to see how many times you could purposely trip Alessia up before she got annoyed with you.

"What's going on?" Katie calls over to where your stood irritating the older girl with the help of your trusty sidekick of course.

The uproar of course catches the attention of a few of the older players as they look over to see what's going on in the middle of the training session on the pitch.

"Y/N's being a menace," Alessia snitches on you straight away.

"When isn't she?" Teyah chimes in as she laughs in amusement

"I'm not even doin' anything!" You exclaim, trying to make it seem like your being a complete angel.

Vic can't help but laugh as she walks past, "You're always up to something," She comments.

"Y/N, knock it off!" Kim sends a pointed look in your direction, not even needing to say anything further as you slump your shoulders in defeat to being scolded once again.

"The fox is entering the building," Mini Viv rushes into the locker room ahead of the American after the training session takes place to let you know so you can be ready with the can of silly string that you'd managed to somehow convince Teyah to get for you.

Sometimes you forget that your both the same age.

Oh well.

"Shes' coming! Shes' coming! Shes' round the corner!" Mini Katie burts through the door, after you had her keep a look out for your next target to prank.

"Good work, Young Gun!" You grin at the 17-year-old and turn to Kyra whos' of course been pulled into your scheming mischief, "It's show time," You share a sly grin with the Aussie girl, stood up on the benches in the locker room as you get ready to fire at your target.

"Lets' cause mayhem," Kyra states, more than eager to get the American like the plan is to do.

"Girls-- Ah! What the fuck?!" The two of you fire your silly string in the direction of the player who you thought was Emily, however, you're severly wrong when you realise its' someone completely different.

"Oh shit," Kyra mumbles in realisation, dropping the can straight away.

"Oh shit," You repeat, your eyes widen in realisation of how much trouble you'd be in now.

It wasn't Emily, but instead it was your fellow Irish team mate, Katie McCabe.

Oops?

"Hey, Katie. Are you-- What the hell happened in here?" Steph wanders into the locker room and her eyes widen seeing the scene in front of her as she takes in the Irish girl covered in silly string while you and Kyra look guiltier than ever.

"We thought it was Emily!" Kyra is the first to spill.

"We didn't... We didn't realise you were gonna walk through the door first!" You try and defend yourself, despite how much trouble you knew you would be in.

"What the--" Caitlin walks into the locker room and furrows her eyebrows, confused.

"What's going on?" Emily just happens to walk into the locker room with Alessia and looks around in confusion.

"We thought it was gonna be you!" Mini Viv exclaims.

"Yeah, you were supposed to walk in. Where'd you go?" Mini Katie pouts, realising that the prank had completely failed.

"You girls are dead," Katie seethes, although its' hard to try and not laugh at her when shes' covered in multicoloured silly string.

"Whoops?" You question, flashing her an innocent smile to try and get yourself out of trouble.

"Come 'ere, you little--" Katie lunges at you as your eyes' widen and you try to bolt out of the locker room, but its' blocked off by the one person you didn't want to see walking through it.

"What an earth is going on?!" Kim all but shouts aloud as she takes in the pure chaos in the locker room; The current situation being that Katie is trying to chase you around the room.

Meanwhile, Kyra is being held captive between the two older Aussie girls' who are giving her a grilling about it.

"I didn't do out-- Kimmy, save me from her!" You try and escape in the direction of the Scots' women, making out like your non the wiser of the reason of what happened, "Katies' mad at me for no reason!"

"Yes I am you little shit-- Come 'ere!" The Irish girl still tries to grab a hold of you as Kim at least has some decency to shield you from her wrath.

"Alright, that's enough. Katie, back off!" Your captain tells the brunette firmly, giving that she reluctantly gives in and goes back to her own cubby in annoyance, all while you can't resist the urge to smirk at her until of course Kim looks at you, "And you, what have I told you about causing any more trouble! Silly strong, really, Y/N?" She scolds you.

"I didn't do out, you have no proof it was us," You innocently shrug your shoulders and try to act like butter wouldn't melt while under your captain's gaze.

It doesn't do much to work though.

"I'm not blind, Y/F/N! You sit there, right now and don't even think about moving!" Kim tells you in a firm voice, pinching the bridge of her nose as she gestures to the bench in front of her own cubby instead of yours.

"Oooof, you're in trouble," Kyra taunts you from the other side of the room.

"Kyra!" Steph gives the younger Australian a pointed look.

"Now whos' in trouble," You remark loud enough for others to hear still.

"Y/N!" Kim continues to stare at you with a look that could definitely kill given the chance, "Sit down. Now!"

"Party pooper," You huff and slump down onto the bench, awaiting whatever lecture you're bound to get from the Scots' women given the prank you'd pulled.

In your opinion, it's still definitely worth it even if you are trouble and boy did you know you're in hot water now.

But still very much worth it.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal women x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal wfc x reader #kim little x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #scribblesofagoonerr

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 5 months

Text

whump fic where whumpee is being held captive by whumper and continually tries to escape to find where caretaker is being held so they can get out of here together, but as the story progresses it becomes more clear that whumpee is a victim of stockholm syndrome/brainwashing by "caretaker" and is actually being rehabilitated by "whumper" after being rescued, not kidnapped

#whumpee thinks whumper is torturing them but in reality theyre trying to treat old wounds they dont even remember sustaining #fights against being drugged but actually they're experiencing withdrawal symptoms after whumper flushed out their system #whumper making threats that whumpee will never see caretaker again but its not a threat its supposed to be a calm reassurance #the slow slow burn of whumpee realizing just how fucked their situation is and having to face that reality #whump #whump community #whump scenario #whumpee #whumper #whump ideas #implied whump #whump writing #whump prompt #whumpblr #defiant whumpee #caretaker #bad caretaker #carewhumper

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thebrightestwitchofherage · 3 months

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The UN's Official Mission report on Hamas' Sexual Violence in Israel was published

Please take your time to read this. Israeli \ Jewish victims deserve the same protection as any other women.

The brief version can be read here.

----

***I am not going to include any graphic detailing.

The pattern of Sexual Violence used by Hamas is very clear:

It was one of their key goals and tactics on October 7th.

You cannot say "Female Hostages are treated well. you're lying by saying they're raped" anymore!

Notice how they also said **Children**

Civilians were in fact burned inside their homes

This is also clearly a pattern used by Hamas, as this is just one of many examples they detail. -Hamas has also burned soldiers alive in their dorms and offices. That is also further detailed in the report.

This is not fake or propaganda

I can't believe I have to write this but this report is an official report (finally) made by the UN's Sexual Violence Office, as part of their yearly report.

They had a 2-week delegation that toured the actual Kibbutzim (turned crime scenes), interviewed eyewitnesses, spoke to families of victims, etc...

___

I do have to say I was mistaken in my earlier post, besides their conclusion, they have also written their recommendations:

...." V. Conclusions

Overall, based on the totality of information gathered from multiple and independent sources at the different locations, there are reasonable grounds to believe that conflict-related sexual violence occurred at several locations across the Gaza periphery, including in the form of rape and gang rape, during the 7 October 2023 attacks. Credible circumstantial information, which may be indicative of some forms of sexual violence, including genital mutilation, sexualized torture, or cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment, was also gathered. 22

With regards to the hostages, the mission team found clear and convincing information that some hostages taken to Gaza have been subjected to various forms of conflict-related sexual violence and has reasonable grounds to believe that such violence may be ongoing.

The mission team was unable to establish the prevalence of sexual violence and concludes that the overall magnitude, scope, and specific attribution of these violations would require a fully-fledged investigation. A comprehensive investigation would enable the information base to be expanded in locations which the mission team was not able to visit and to build the required trust with survivors/victims of conflict-related sexual violence who may be reluctant to come forward at this point.

Regarding the occupied Palestinian Territory, while its scope did not extend to verification, the mission team received information from institutional and civil society sources as well as through direct interviews, about some forms of sexual violence against Palestinian men and women in detention settings, during house raids and at checkpoints. Though the mission team did not visit Gaza, the Office of the SRSG-SVC will continue to monitor the situation for any relevant allegations of CRSV in the context of the ongoing hostilities. The relevant UN entities present in the occupied Palestinian Territory will provide UN-verified information for reporting to the Security Council on allegations of CRSV, which will be complemented by the information obtained by the mission team.

VI. Recommendations

The mission team makes the following recommendations: a) Continue to encourage the Government of Israeli to grant, without further delay, access to the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights and the Independent International Commission of Inquiry on the occupied Palestinian Territory, including East Jerusalem and Israel, to carry-out fully-fledged investigations into all alleged violations that would deepen the preliminary findings contained in the present report. b) Urge Hamas and other armed groups to immediately and unconditionally release all individuals held in captivity and to ensure their protection including from sexual violence, in line with international law. c) Call on all relevant and competent bodies, national and international, to bring all perpetrators, regardless of rank or affiliation, to justice based on individual, superior and command responsibility, in accordance with due process of law and fair trial standards. d) Encourage the Government of Israel to consider signing a Framework of Cooperation with the Office of the SRSG-SVC to strengthen capacity on justice and accountability for CRSV crimes as well as security sector engagement, training, and oversight to prevent and address CRSV. 23 e) Strengthen the capacity of the United Nations to monitor and report on incidents, patterns and trends of CRSV in both Israel and the occupied Palestinian Territory through the establishment of the Monitoring, Analysis and Reporting Arrangements on CRSV (MARA), convened by dedicated technical specialists, namely Women’s Protection Advisors (WPAs), deployed to the region to ensure prevention, protection and coordinated multi-sectoral assistance to survivors/victims. f) Encourage relevant actors to uphold information integrity and ethical, trauma-informed representations of conflict-related sexual violence, including by respecting and safeguarding the dignity and identity of survivors/victims and witnesses of sexual violence, as sensationalizing headlines, media pressure and scrutiny, exposure of identity, political instrumentalization and pressure, and/or fear of reprisal can result in the suppression, silencing and discrediting of survivors/victims and witnesses, further compound trauma and increase the risk of social stigmatization. g) Urge all parties to the conflict to adopt a humanitarian ceasefire, and to ensure that expertise on addressing conflict-related sexual violence informs the design and implementation of all ceasefire and political agreements and that the voices of women and affected communities are heard in all conflict resolution and peacebuilding processes....."

Israelis have been repeatedly saying all of this for months now, while you deny it. I've personally had people tell me it's all "fake propaganda". You should all be ashamed.

I am infuriated at the fact that for 5 months, our evidence and word isn't enough for Anti-Zionists. Here is some undeniable proof for you.

Believe Jewish Women.

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ebonyslasher · 3 months

Note

Can you do more yandere slashers part 2 please.

Hopefully, I'm getting better at writing yandere characters! There are some possible triggering themes ahead so read with caution.

Roses are red, violets are blue

Here's

Yandere!Slashers Pt. 2!

A strained sob bounced against the dingy walls that you were held captive in. Your existence, normally happy and calm, turned desperate and miserable. You looked around with teary eyes, taking in your unfortunate new home. The air was littered with specks of dust, paint torn from the walls, and all the windows crudely covered and broken. It was a scene taken from a horror movie that you desperately did not want to be in. The tears silently flow down your face before the raggedy door flings open.

A shadowy, foreboding figure stood tall at the door frame. You recognized that figure, it was the one who kidnapped you to this horrid place.

“Please ... .please let me go…,” you whimpered out, your sobbing revitalizing before this monster. He stepped forward and you shrunk back. He stops. The next movement he made your heart stop. Michael flings a body beside you. The patch of light coming from the mostly covered window showed the gouged out eyes of your crush. They lay lifeless and their once beautiful face was now covered with blood.

The image of a dead body, especially of someone you knew, caused you to hyperventilate. Feeling an extreme urge to flee, you stand up and attempt to run towards the door. Michael grabs your arm painfully and throws you down.

“Let me go, let me go! You monster!” you screamed. You attempt to stand again when Michael kicks at your legs. He quickly places his dirty boot on your right leg, right on the tibia. Stomping down, Michael relishes in your painful cry after the sickening snap of your bone. You could not run from him and he could not be happier.

—--

Michael knew everyone who lived in Haddonfield. Most by their identifiable features and home addresses.

Michael stalked all his victims, but only for a short time as their existence would not last long.

However, if he becomes obsessed, not only will he stalk them every single day. He will keep them alive for an undecided amount of time.

As you place your existence in Haddonfield, Michael becomes hooked.

He paid attention to your needs, placing toiletries that you ran out of/low on in various places in your house. It escalates into leisure items that you spoke about with your friends. Things that he knew that you knew you did not purchase

Making himself known, he begins to appear and reappear in different places, from a distance. Toying with you.

Anyone who will get in the way will be removed, permanently. Especially any love interest.

He is not above harming you to make you submit, stay, and be quiet. He knew what was best for you.

Injuries looked especially good on you anyway

“Kitten ... .how disappointing,” Asa remarks, seeing the piss-poor excuse of a Valentine's Day present on his bed. It was made haphazardly, the paper mache butterfly looked tattered with paint, some sort of adhesive, and drenched paper.

Asa had shown you how to do the technique weeks ago, disguising the activity as a fun bonding moment. He made an off-handed comment that a paper mache insect would be a great gift for Valentine’s Day. Of course, his smart little kitty caught the hint. But, it was obvious that you did not practice enough.

You sat upon the bed, head down in embarrassment at the state of your gift. “Asa, I tried! I really did! You know I’m not that good at-” You started to explain. Asa put his hand up and you stopped talking immediately.

“You had ample time to practice, y/n. But, you did not. Therefore, you will be punished. Get on all fours on top of your disaster,” Asa instructed coldly. You did so, feeling humiliated at the action. You desperately wanted to make this up to him while also feeling apprehension at the punishment.

Asa starts to hit your back and ass with his hands. You endure, but the force of his hits ends up making you fall on top of your gift. The burn of his hits combined with the uncomfortable feeling of wet paper and glue slathering your stomach. It made you cry out, strengthening the boner Asa had.

---

Anyone who’s moving, living, or even traveling through the town gets observed by Asa. When you arrive, you capture his interest in ways he never thought possible.

He searched your name, address (and floor plan if available), and knew all your family members. He breaks in to look at everything you have.

He had notes dedicated to what you like to eat, what size of clothes you wear, etc.

Once he captures you, he doesn’t make you a part of his collection. Instead, you'll be his personal pet. A little kitty he can enjoy.

Life was starting to get a little boring. Your existence changed his life. He just needed to train you so you would not be useless to him.

His training includes the way you react (in the way that he likes), enduring physical punishment and sexual sensory overloads, how to care for him correctly, etc.

Any spouse, family, or friends that were living with you are now part of his collection. They would be a distraction to your duties.

If you perform extremely poorly, he will drag you across the floor to see any loved ones in the collection. Digging his fingers into your eyelids to force you to look at their display.

“Dr. Lecter?,” You asked as you knocked lightly on his office door. You let yourself into his practice, as was normal for your appointments.

“Y/N, please come in,” he said smoothly so as to not betray his excitement at your arrival.

You plop down on the sofa across from him and your weekly sessions begin. You’d had them for a month now. It was last week when you noticed that you were getting weirdly attached and attracted to Dr. Hannibal. It wasn’t right with the power dynamics in your current relationship. Also, all the blaring issues he knew about your life. This did not dissuade your budding feelings, with the unintentional help of Hannibal. He did not know that your conflicted romantic feelings were about him. It was like he always knew the right thing to say. He spurred your mind to think outside the box or his perspective. Everything he said, he seemed to always be right about.

“.....I feel a romantic connection to this person, but I know I shouldn’t,” You say.

“And why not?” He questioned

“Our relationship right now…it would be inappropriate to say the least.”

Hannibal leaned forward, his face schooled in its perfect neutral expression. Internally, he was fighting a smirk to bless his sharp features. “And what is love without risk?”

“....I…”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t know, y/n. I am merely throwing out a different perspective. You like this person right? What makes it inappropriate?”

“His…status and title do. The power dynamics would be unequal,” you say, trying to be as vague as possible.

“It will always be unequal. You possess powers that he would not have. And vice versa. Titles mean nothing. You see, I am your psychiatrist. I know who you are, I can see the power that you have. A relationship between you and me would be risky, in the eyes of others. But, only our eyes matter in the end.”

“A relationship between us two…?”

“Just as an example, Y/n. To help you see the big picture.”

You were his patient. He fell in love, becoming obsessed with you. You looked like the perfect partner, one to parade around at the envy of others.

He would make sure to format your mind to see how perfect you two would be. That he would be the only one for you.

Hannibal being Hannibal does this covertly, planting seeds into your head every session. He even stops taking payment for your appointments, to ensure you would still come.

The medication he would prescribe you was a level of biochemical control over your emotions. He knew the side effects and how the medication would affect your mood after you took them.

He acts like the perfect gentleman. He has perused your home, making sure to have items that you need or want coincidentally at appointments.

Anyone who is a threat to you or the budding relationship will be removed.

You will see them for the last time, served as a decadent meal. He will feed them to you, without your knowledge

“Taylor Layknn’s party is in two days, I’ve taken the liberty of picking out your look for you,” Patrick says dismissively. He thrust the outfit into your arms as he checked his phone. You stood flabbergasted at his gall.

“Patrick, I already had an outfit planned out,” you explain. You look over the outfit, trying to imagine how it would look on you.

“Yes I know, but I saw this while shopping and thought about you immediately. I knew it would be flattering on you. It goes with what I’m wearing. We’ll look great together.” Patrick looks straight into your eyes, watching your reaction.

You felt annoyed, a little offended, but flattered that he thought of you. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think that’s exactly my style.” You began to hand the outfit back to him. He thrusts the outfit back against your chest.

“It is your style and you don’t even know it. Here, look at how the color compliments your skin. How it’ll hug your figure in the right places. You know, most of these bitches don’t even know how to dress. You’ll be the talk of the night if you just listen to me.”

He tries to shelter your interactions from others, feeding you lies and pretending like he is giving you inside information to gain your trust

He purposefully talks bad and compassionate about others to uplift himself in your presence, disguising it as competition.

He is always extra with his appearance but was even more so when he knew you were going to be there.

He even wears the cologne that you love. He sends you flowers, your favorite ones, to show how much attention he paid to you

Once he has you wrapped around his finger, He tells you what to say and how to act. He needs you to be the perfect partner that even Paul Allen would be jealous of.

The desperate yuppie that he is needs you to look and act a certain way to fit in with the 'in-group'.

He buys you clothing and expects you to wear it for him. He will send you makeup tutorial videos that he likes.

Patrick will also send photos and videos of people with what he thinks is the ultimate body type. He will do whatever to shape and mold you into his perfect partner.

Patrick has a doll that looks like you in his office drawer. He dresses up in what he would want you to wear. He has another at home where he acts out fantasies of your eventual marriage.

He constantly questions where you are or slyly questions others. He gets mad if he isn’t invited anywhere, especially to his favorite place.

If he could, he dreams of hiring you as his personal assistant (if that was your profession). He has thought many times about firing his current assistant just to have you perched there, sitting pretty.

#slasher x reader #michael myers #asa emory #hannibal lecter #patrick bateman #black reader #michael myers x reader #asa emory x reader #hannibal lector x reader #patrick bateman x reader #yandere

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