Asa Emory x third person gn reader
Warnings: It's Asa lmao mentions of kidnapping, violence, etc etc
Asa always gave special attention to his new specimens. It was exciting to get to know them better in the comfort of his own space. He kept a diary on every single one of them.
Being an entomologist, he found that journaling, writing down his thoughts and data from every research and specimen he found interesting was a way of keeping things organized and scratching that constant need of control itch he had in his brain. Everyone had a couple of pages for themselves, even if they didn’t make it to his collection.
He liked to write down their physical traits first, highlighting any interesting aspects he found along the way, longer limbs, thicker hair, moles, scars, tattoos, anything that made them special, anything that made them worthwhile. Then, as he’d get to know them, he’d write down about their personalities, if they behaved or not, and if they lashed out at him or not and among other things…He liked to compare his notes as the days went by, especially if the specimen didn’t become a permanent part of his collection, especially if they perished, whether by him or just….naturally. What had gone wrong? Were the traits of his failures similar? Did he need to be more selective? Did he need to broaden his parameters? He had managed an incredible feat with Abby. He tested her loyalty over and over again and she always succeeded in her tests, he wanted to repeat that miracle.
But he didn’t want another Abby.
Asa wanted someone new. A new block of wood that he could carve into and sculpt into whatever he wanted, someone that would obey and be submissive, but not quite as far as Abby, in some way. Asa went too hard on Abby, he recognized that. His results were perfect, but she’s too close to her limit for Asa to push her further. Too far to feel attracted to her.
Asa planned and observed his potential favorites in the wild. He had no specific gender in mind, which made things much more interesting. He had a soft spot for Abby ever since the beginning. The big eyes, the sweet smile, and the meek demeanor. He had plans for her from the very first moment.
Now, he sits in his car on the weekends, searching for candidates for his new project. He felt eager, anxious almost. That feeling that made your stomach drop with anticipation. He knew of some people, though he had yet to deepen his research on them. He narrowed his list down to four names. Four different lives. He tried his best to narrow it down more, to see in between the lines, to see further and further, and scratch another name or two off his list.
It took him another week of bird watching to realize that two of them wouldn’t do. He pictured himself in their home every day, in the corners, watching the habits they thought nobody knew of, their true personalities, they weren't what he was looking for, they wouldn't survive. The years of therapy he went through as a child taught him not only to successfully put on a mask that society would be okay with but also to see through the mask other people put on. Asa saw through people, he knows what lies underneath. He knew people better than they knew themselves, deep in their core, and he shed light to that. All became clear with The Collector.
Down to two names, he couldn't decide between them. Both were good choices, but only one would get his attention. Only one would become something more. Only one would get to live by him.
Tough choice, he thinks. They're both very enticing to him, both make him hard in his pants and make his fingers curl around his steering wheel with the sheer need to touch them.
If you asked Asa if he believed in fate, he'd scoff and tell you no. He made his choices. The universe has nothing to do with any of these choices. The universe didn't shift when he tortured and maimed a person beyond recognition. The universe didn't shiver at his very existence, but his victims did. He was their universe. Their God.
It was ironic to think that the universe might have compelled his victim to look at him while crossing the street. To lock eyes briefly and then blink away, continuing to walk. It was ironic that Asa chose them over the other because of that single, small eye contact. It was ironic that he hadn't realized before just how cruel 'fate' can be, especially when you're not the murderer.
He made his choice, scratching the last name off his mental list, starting another one in his mind, this time named 'Preparations'. He followed them for another week, to make sure his pattern was right, getting pictures of the house and their work commute. Overworked and underpaid, his victim went out early and came back late. The frustration and anger at a life they couldn't so easily change made for sleeping whenever they could, including the weekends. Heavy sleeping, but not nearly enough rest.
Soon enough, they would get the change they prayed so much for. But not exactly how they wanted.
Asa often challenged himself, capturing his victims just about anywhere, their houses, out in the street, at their workplaces...anywhere. But he found that the ones taken from the safety of their homes were often easier to deal with. The breach in what they thought was their safest place on earth made them nervous. Made them understand just how dangerous he was. How did he get into my house? How did he know? How long has he known? And the question he loved the most.
Asa prepares traps for the cops he knows are going to check the place in a day or two, when they report his little thing as missing. He knows his victim won't trigger them, there won't be no time to.
They get home and Asa is waiting, hiding in the dark closet they only open on the weekends, when they do laundry. It was Thursday. Tired and frustrated from a week that seemed to have no end, they didn't notice him. Didn't feel his presence. They eat, relieve themselves and shower, preparing to go to bed. The apartment is small, a frustrated attempt at a homey atmosphere that screams of unpaid student loans and heavy stress. But still, he waits. His mask drags against his ever-growing stubble, the nitrile feels smooth against his skin, technical. Familiar.
They leave the bathroom, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand when they spot the trunk at the end of the dark corridor. It's a faded lilac color, the card resting neatly atop of it. They don't read the card, nor do they step towards it. But they suck in a breath when Asa grabs them from behind, an arm closing around their middle while the other goes straight to their mouth, which still smells of peppermint from the brushing they just did.
The fight doesn't last 15 seconds in total. Asa's glove covered in chloroform that has them slack against his black clad form, eyes rolled back into their skull before closing, losing the fight they could never win. Would never win.
He's satisfied as he places them into the trunk, gathering his bag, picking assorted objects around the apartment he would use during his training with them. Objects the police would never dream were there in the first place.
It was personal. Every part of it. He descended the fire exit feeling his cock stiff in his pants, replaying his victim's thrashing against him every step of it. Relishing in it.
It was filthy. To think of the things he would do to them in perhaps after a week or two of training had him hurrying to his van, loading the trunk into the back of it. Fingers giving it a soft pat before he slams the doors shut. He wipes his face after he takes the mask off, starting the van and putting on his late worker face. Tired, just wants to be home with the people he loves. Not entirely a lie. Not entirely true, either.
He drives off, thinking of the new bruises he would inflict on them, and just how tenderly he'd kiss them all later. Of how they would hurt for him, only to have him to ease their pain later. To make it okay again. He clenched his jaw as he thought about the bite marks he'd leave across their body, touched so gently later by his own hands, his fingers dragging softly against the suffering skin, swollen and hurting with the imprints of his teeth and nails.
He'd make them suffer to the end of the world...and he'd love them just as much.
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