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readerthatreadsss · 9 months

Note

hello you can make headcanons about yandere soft elijah mikaelson x fem human reader, where he has several yandere traits but to his lover he is a softie.

Alright anon, I GOTCHU.

Please don't be afraid to let me know how I did cause this is not only my first headcanon post but also my first Yandere one :)

Soft yandere!Elijah Mikaelson headcanons

Warnings: Starts off pretty calm but ends a little smutty so minors beware, sub!reader, yandere themes (possessiveness, manipulation, overprotective behavior, compulsion, mild obsession, denial of said obsession, unhealthy relationship tendencies, etc), breeding kink and edging mentioned, also more nsfw themes...

His siblings and enemies consider him to be noble, but when it comes to you? This man is everything but that.

Jealous, paranoid, overprotective? Yeah, that's Elijah.

The first time he met you had been under less than ideal circumstances but he couldn't help but take immediate note of how beautiful and strong you were. You helped the Salvatores to dagger him but that was quickly forgiven once you helped Elena undagger him a short time after. It was then that he saw that not only were you beautiful but you also had a good heart and were protective of the ones you loved, which was more than he could say for most of his past lovers, so he immediately set his sights on you.

Elijah needs to know where you are and what you're doing constantly or he stops functioning. Like he'll be more irritable than usual, snapping at his siblings, more aggressive with the men he's hired to watch you on the very few occasions when he can't, etc.

Most times he's following you with a small notebook where he writes down new things that he learns about you every day...though after enough time he's convinced that there's nothing about you that he doesn't know.

He saw you smiling at Damon for too long while watching you outside the Mystic Grill (without your knowledge) slashed Damon's car tires and ripped out his steering wheel.

His siblings tease him about his obsession with you and he denies it every time. "This isn't an obsession. I've simply taken a keen interest in her," he'll say.

Elijah takes note of your body language. And that's not just general things like how you struggle to hold eye contact with most people you talk to, or how you lick your lips and clench your jaw when you're frustrated. No, Elijah sees the smallest of habits that you don't even realize that you do on the regular.

He also knows your scent better than he knows himself. Elijah can actually smell your perfume/shampoo/lotion from a mile away and it actually comforts him the moment it hits his nose. When he's close enough or in a room with you, there are times when your scent becomes so overwhelming that he has to stop whatever he's saying or doing, close his eyes, and deeply inhale it so that he can go back to normal, (or as normal as he can pretend to be)

You are deeply involved in all the supernatural lore in Mystic Falls so you know that you're supposed to hate the Mikaelsons...but something about Elijah catches your attention. You liked how calm and composed he was or appeared to be in comparison to his brothers. Though he did things that sometimes hurt your friends, you could see and even appreciate the reasoning behind why he did them. He was also less impulsive than his brothers and sister in the same manner that you were less impulsive than your friends (the Salvatores, mainly).

You were one of the few people in Mystic Falls to engage in a conversation with Elijah that didn't end in a threat. You even once complimented the suit he was wearing that day and Elijah couldn't stop smiling for the rest of that day.

He has and will never lay a hand on you, even when his siblings demand that it would be strategic to harm you to persuade the Salvatores to do what they want. He actually threw Klaus into a bookshelf for even suggesting the idea.

Elijah sneaks into your house and watches you sleep on numerous occasions, and even though he knows it's wrong, he uses his abilities to force dreams he's had of the two of you together into your head while you sleep. He just wants you to see how good you could be together.

Since he started putting those dreams into your head, he's caught you stealing inquisitive glances at him, even with your friends around.

He hired someone to research your internet patterns and reading/music history and bought first editions of your favorite books/records and mailed them to your house that same week. You had no idea who sent them but the package was tied with a thick string that had a pattern that you could have sworn you saw on Elijah's tie the week before.

Since then you've been more hyperaware of your surroundings on your day-to-day. (You actually almost caught Elijah a few times but he managed to speed away before you could catch sight of him)

Elijah is known to be very patient in comparison to his siblings. This applies to you too. He wants you to see that he's the man that you belong with in your own time. But who says he can't continue to persuade you without brash tactics? So Elijah continues to send gifts, jewelry, and your favorite things to your house.

He saw you sitting at the edge of a creek one night and decided that this would be the one time where he would stop hiding and watching and just show his face. You two had a long conversation that night about the stars, (because he knew you were into astrology and astronomy) and he even told you that both your astrological signs were romantically compatible.

It was a lie and you both knew it but he loved the way it made you blush.

That was the night you two first kissed. It was better than the many many times he's imagined it. You were obviously apprehensive at first and he had to take the lead on it but he was more than happy to do so. You gave him your number and told him that you would be interested in going out with him. He already had your number for weeks before but you didn't know that.

It only took a few dates and late-night picnics for him to convince you to become his.

You noticed small differences in his behavior since you became official; he'd get slightly annoyed whenever he'd text or call and you'd say that you were with the Salvatores but if you were with Elena or any other female friends it was no problem, the deadly glares he'd send men in the street when you walked together and one stared at you for even a second (these men would end up missing dead in a dumpsterthat same night without your knowledge), or the way his grip on your hand would get tighter whenever you mentioned Klaus by name.

Once you started dating he insisted that you needed to live with him. He bought a house just so that the two of you could be alone and away from not only his siblings but the drama of Mystic Falls. You didn't agree at first, but Elijah sent two of his men to your house to fake a home invasion and that scared you right into his arms and your new home.

When you moved in with him, Elijah gave you a new phone and told you it was a housewarming present. It actually had a tracker in it and was connected to his own phone so that he could see every call and text you made. He asks you exactly where you're going whenever you leave the house. And of course, he checks his tracker just to double-check.

The longer you dated, the more violent Elijah got when it came to people who tried to harm you or take you away from him. But he never let you see him harm others, and on the rare occasions when you would, he'd compel you to forget it. He couldn't live with himself if he made you afraid of him.

Some of your family members got worried and upset when they went a whole month without seeing you and Elijah compelled them all to move across the country.

Despite having to do all of these outrageous things to keep you to himself, Elijah had never been happier. You were finally his and he would do anything to not only keep you his but to make you fall for him as deep as he had fallen for you.

He considers turning you because all he wants is to spend the rest of his life with you without worrying about human illness or one of his enemies taking you away from him, but he wants you to ask him to do it. He knows that bloodlust isn't something that everyone can handle and only wants you to be happy.

On nights when you'd get into arguments with your friends about your relationship with Elijah and come home sad and angry, he would hold you in his arms and kiss your head while you cried. He hated seeing you cry and would internally seeth with rage at your friends for making you sad. But he'd always find a way to calmly tell you that if it were up to him you'd never see the Salvatores ever again but he understands your loyalty. (he doesn't. he really doesn't like the Salvatores or how close they are to you.)

NSFW hcs up ahead...

Elijah is a primarily gentle lover by nature. For your first time, it was mostly because he thought he wouldn't get the chance to do it again and wanted to make the most of it while he could. But as you continued dating he was only rough with you when you asked him to be...which was most times.

On these days when you asked him to be rough...he would completely oblige. He would never degrade you but praises would easily fall from his lips while he pounded into you from behind with enough force to leave you limping the next day. "You look so beautiful taking me like this, love."

He gets extra possessive during sex. "No one else can ever make you feel this good, huh gorgeous? Tell me who's making you feel this good." "You're all mine, love. No one knows your body like I do," he'd growl with a hand softly resting around your throat while he drives into you with a finger fiddling with your clit. And Elijah was right. He knew what made you tick and what drove you crazy.

Elijah loves edging you. Like he will spend a whole hour working you with his hands or his mouth to the precipice of your orgasm only to pull away. He'd only indulge you once you were a sobbing, blubbering mess, begging for him to fuck you and let you come for him. You always wanted to be good for him so you'd never come without his permission.

He definitely feeds on you during sex (with your permission ofc). He loves the intimacy of the act and even makes you drink his blood sometimes. But Elijah also just loves the taste of your blood. It's painful every time he does it but you love the look of satisfaction that crosses his eyes once your blood hits his tongue, so you swallow the pain and allow him to do it every once in a while.

He absolutely LOVES leaving hickeys on your body. He would shout it from the highest rooftop that you were his if he could (he wanted to but you begged him not to), so for now, he's settled for leaving those deep red marks on your skin to let others know who you belong to. Once you tried to hide them with a scarf and he snatched the scarf from your neck and ripped it to shreds in front of your face.

Elijah worships your body during sex. He will caress and kiss every part he can get his hands on. He quite literally cannot get enough of you. His favorite parts of your body are your shoulder, your inner thighs, and your stomach.

You moaning or screaming his name drives Elijah FERAL. Actually, just you saying his name is music to his ears regardless of the setting. Your voice can soothe him in an instant or be his undoing in the bedroom.

There was one day that he got caught up in the moment and said, out loud, that he'd murder any man who even thought about seeing you like this. But you were so cockdrunk that you didn't register it.

Lastly. Breeding kink. Need I say more? Actually, I'll say more cause why not. Elijah obviously doesn't need to worry about surprise pregnancies with you but that doesn't stop him from whispering in your ears that he's gonna "fuck a baby into you," or that he "loves filling your womb with his come"

I know this was supposed to be soft yandere...but I feel like it kinda got away from me and strayed into REAL yandere territory so I hope that's okay?

Don't be afraid to comment or reblog and my requests are open! Hope you enjoyed <3

#elijah mikaelson #daniel gillies #tvd smut #the originals #fluff #headcanon #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah mikealson headcanon #elijah mikaelson smut #tvdu #elijah mikealson #the originals x reader #hcs #headcanons #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #the vampire diaries

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incognit0slut · 7 months

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (14)

She ever thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and the team face a setback in the investigation. wc: 4.6k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: This one is a beast. I don't usually write multiple scenes in one part but it seems fitting here.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HATED DRIVING. The feeling of confinement, the cacophony of honking horns, and the ceaseless traffic had always grated on his nerves. Yet his line of work often required him to be the one behind the wheel, and usually, he didn't mind, but now the car's interior seemed to close in on him as if mocking his discomfort.

He wondered whether his detest for driving paled in comparison to the regret consuming him. Or was this anger? Was this anger coursing through his body that had him feeling more uncomfortable than he usually was?

He could feel his knuckles turn white as he clenched the wheel. The anger burned hot within him, directed both outwardly at the situation he had thrust into and inwardly at himself for allowing it to happen. He couldn't understand how he allowed his urge to consume him, leading to actions that inflicted pain upon her.

It was consensual on my part.

If that was true, then why was there regret gnawing him? Why was he still angry at himself? Spencer always prided on self-control, that he could resist any urges and avoid causing any harm. But tonight he had shattered that belief. He had let his defenses crumble and now he had to deal with being the one who painted those bruises on her skin.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the heavy silence inside the car, momentarily diverting his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID on the dashboard's console, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, he pressed the answer button.

"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia's voice filled the space, her frustration was palpable even through the speaker.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat before responding, "I got caught up in something."

She let out a sound of frustration. "You can't just disappear like that, Reid, we've been trying to get hold of you."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "What's the update?"

"Oliver Walsh is nowhere to be found," a third voice cut in, who Spencer caught on as Hotch's. It seemed they were in the same room. "Morgan and Prentiss are checking his house."

"They found anything yet?"

"There were countless photographs of our witness—candid shots, close-ups, and even pictures taken from a distance."

His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as the anger surged through him. He felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, his face contorting with the intensity of his emotions. It was as if a fire had ignited within him, each flickering flame fueled by his frustration.

But beneath all that, he could hear the uncertainty in Hotch's voice, the contrast between his usual commanding presence and the hesitant tone in his words.

"What is it?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"The pictures were taken professionally." There was a pause. "There isn't a dark room in his house or any sign that he possesses camera equipment."

There was a momentary silence on the line, broken only by the sound of the road beneath his tires and the occasional distant siren. Spencer took a deep breath. "Do you think he hired someone?"

"Based on his victims, he seems to prefer working alone."

"He could have a hideout," he suggested, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he navigated through the quiet streets. "Criminals often use secret spaces. It gives them a sense of control over their environment where they feel safe from prying eyes."

Hotch hummed a sound of approval. "Hideout location often has a sentimental value. Garcia, find any places that might be mentioned in his files."

Spencer's ears picked up the distinct clatter of keyboards in the background.

"There's a church where his family used to go to... but it's still open to the public so no... oh, the house he grew up in? No, it was sold a few years ago—wait, I found something." Garcia paused, allowing a brief silence to settle in as the sound of keys clicking continued. "There's an old article mentioning an abandoned warehouse that he and his group of friends used to frequent during their youth, a secluded spot for underage alcohol consumption."

"Where's the location?"

"Give me a minute." Garcia typed away, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, summoning information that surprisingly only took her twenty seconds to retrieve the location. Spencer counted the exact time. "It's not far from here."

Then suddenly, she let out a sudden shriek. "Hotch!" There were footsteps in the background followed by fingers frantically flying across the keyboard. A sound of frustration left her lips not long afterward. "Damn it!"

"What happened?" Spencer asked in an alert. "Did you find something?"

"I-I've been trying to tap his phone, you know, trying to locate him in case he decided to turn it on, and I got a signal before it disappeared again."

Spencer asked, "Can you retrieve the last coordination it located?" At the same time, Hotch cut in with, "Can you trace it back?"

"Hold your horses, boys." With a series of rapid keystrokes, Garcia initiated a deep scan on her laptop. The seconds seemed to stretch as the scanning progress bar advanced before a notification popped up on the screen. The location data had been recovered.

"Oh my god." Her eyes zeroed in on the coordinates, and she quickly cross-referenced them with a map application to get a visual of the area. "It's six miles away from the warehouse."

Hotch wasted no time after receiving the information. "Reid, check the location. I'll coordinate with the tactical unit and dispatch a team of officers to assess the area. JJ and I will meet you there."

"I'm on it."

"I sent you the coordinate," Garcia mentioned, the same time his phone pinged with an alert.

"Don't do anything until we get there," Hotch reminded him. "And Reid?"

He hummed a reply, notifying that he was listening.

"I need you to stay focused."

His eyes flickered over the console. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hotch's reminder struck a nerve. His words, though well-intentioned, were a stark reminder of the fine line he was walking between his personal struggles and his professional responsibilities. He sat there, and the call quickly cut off before he could even reply.

The noise of the bustling street faded into the background as his thoughts began to spiral, repeating his mentor's words, his expectations of him weighing heavily on his shoulders. Spencer shook his head, trying to ground himself. The case was important, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles jeopardize his work.

He slowly took a steadying breath, forcing himself to compartmentalize, a skill he had honed over years of dealing with high-stress situations, and silently drove toward the coordinate Garcia had sent over.

Y/n hated crying. She despised the way her throat tightened, constricting her voice as if it were trying to strangle the tears before they could escape. The way her chest heaved with each silent sob. Her hatred for the involuntary quiver of her lip and the trembling of her hands was as potent as it was irrational.

The irony wasn't lost on her, when her boss was found lifeless on the floor that day, she had stood strong, her eyes dry, absorbing the shock without a single tear. Yet, here she was, broken by the rejection of a man who had once held a fragment of her heart. It was baffling, the way he had become the chink in her armor, the one who could shatter her composure.

But could she even call that rejection? To be rejected there surely had to be some form of confession and she was one hundred percent sure she hadn't conveyed anything that indicated her affection for him... right?

Use me in any way you like.

She groaned into her pillow. To be fair, that wasn't a confession. And to be fair, he did exactly what she asked for—It just happened that it ended the exact opposite of what she expected.

With swollen eyes and a heavy heart, she finally pushed herself out of bed. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her curtains. As she rose from her tangled sheets, she felt the weight of her emotions as her thoughts went haywire.

She couldn't stand being alone at the moment. Her own thoughts seemed too loud, too suffocating. It felt like the walls were closing in, and every moment alone was just another reminder of how lonely she felt now.

That was why she reached for her phone and dialed Sandy's number, that was why she properly got dressed as she waited for her to arrive, and that was why she quickly rushed over to her front door when she heard the constant knocking. But as the door swung open, an unexpected sight froze her in her tracks.

Standing there with Sandy was Eric wearing a bemused expression. Her mind whirled with a mix of emotions–surprise, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment. She hadn't expected her to bring someone else, and now they were all standing at her doorstep, an unusual trio in the midst of an unanticipated gathering.

Sandy, sensing the tension in the air, was quick to speak up. "Oh, um... I brought company?"

"You brought Eric," she replied, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to mask her surprise.

Eric, ever the easygoing coworker, greeted her with a friendly nod and lifted the plastic bag in his hand. "And I brought Chinese. Hope you don't mind me tagging along."

For a moment, she hesitated, struggling to find her footing. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he was one of her good friends at work, which meant something because most of the men she worked with were chauvinistic, sexist pigs. But she did plan on having an emergency Margarita Night with her friend when she made the call. Although she couldn't find herself to send him away—not when he was looking at her expectantly—so she managed a hesitant smile and stepped aside.

"Come on in then." She tugged the door open. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Eric's eyes studied her distraught face as he walked in. "You okay? You look..."

"Bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

"I bet you wouldn't say good either."

He frowned as if trying to choose the right words. "You look stressed," he decided to say. "Everything alright?"

She paused, torn between opening up about her feelings and maintaining a sense of privacy. But in the end, she chose honesty, if only to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "Not really. I don't want to talk about it though." She motioned them into her living room. "What were you guys doing together anyway?"

"Eric has been stopping by at everyone's place in search of Oliver," Sandy responded, already making herself comfortable on the couch. "My place was his recent quest."

Y/n turned to Eric. "You still haven't heard from him?"

He shook his head, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face. "No, not a word. That's why I decided to put in a missing person's report."

"What?" Sandy chimed in. "When?"

"This afternoon." He settled onto a nearby chair and turned his attention towards Y/n. "I met with Dr. Reid. You remember him, right?"

Remember him? They were here because of him in the first place. "Yeah, I remember him." She then shook her head, dismissing her personal feelings for the time being, and refocusing on the conversation. "You think Oliver's gone missing?"

Eric's concern was palpable as he replied, "His phone is off, his family is unreachable, and his house is empty. I'm starting to get worried."

Sandy's brows furrowed with concern as she leaned forward. "That doesn't sound like Oliver. He wouldn't just disappear without a word."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

She glanced between the two and listened as they continued to discuss the possibilities of his whereabouts. But as they did, Y/n couldn't help but feel that something was off, that there was an air of strangeness and suspicion surrounding his sudden vanishing act.

Her thoughts wandered to the peculiar way Oliver had always been interested in her, and her mind couldn't help but draw a parallel to her own situation, where a serial killer seemed to have an odd fascination with her. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to align themselves in her mind, forming a picture that was both unnerving and hard to accept. It sounded almost silly, like a twisted plot from a suspenseful thriller. It was all too surreal to be true.

She quickly shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts, clinging to the hope that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. Because Oliver, her good friend Oliver, wouldn't do something as sinister as murder... right?

Spencer arrived an hour later. A single, isolated warehouse stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation, tucked away in a remote corner of the district. He parked his car discreetly before stepping out of the vehicle, his footsteps making a soft crunch on the gravel beneath his feet.

His breath hung in the crisp night air as he scanned the area meticulously, the slightest detail not escaping his analytical gaze. The warehouse stood against the backdrop of a vast, starlit sky, its silhouette imposing and enigmatic. Dim light spilled out from the high windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the surrounding ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching engine reached his ears. He turned sharply and was greeted by a convoy of vehicles making their way toward the warehouse. As they drew closer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his unit chief behind the wheel and JJ seated right beside him.

The vehicles came to a stop, and the officers quickly disembarked, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Hotch approached him, his expression grave but determined. "We need to split into teams. Reid, you take point with me. JJ, coordinate with the other officers and enter from the side."

With a nod from him, the officers sprang into action, fanning out to explore the warehouse thoroughly. Spencer and Hotch approached the building cautiously with a flashlight in one of their hands and their weapons in the other.

The front entrance was partially obscured by a tangle of overgrown weeds and graffiti-covered walls. Spencer stepped closer toward it, his footsteps echoing louder in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He had faced countless crime scenes and dangerous situations, but there was something about this abandoned warehouse that seemed eerie.

His mind immediately kicked into gear as he followed Hotch into the building. They stealthily moved from one corner to another, examining the objects that had been left behind in this desolate place. Piles of old crates were stacked haphazardly, their contents long removed or forgotten.

They came across a set of stairs that led to an upper level, and without a word, they ascended, their footsteps echoing on the metal steps. Upstairs, the darkness seemed even more suffocating, and the sense of isolation heightened. His flashlight landed on a stack of old files on the floor, their pages yellowed with age. He picked one up and flipped through it, but it appeared to be nothing more than old inventory records.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "We should check the other side—"

"Hotch! Reid! Over here!"

JJ's urgent voice alerted them and they both descended the stairs, her voice reverberated through the cavernous space. Spencer stepped into the room down the hall, his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His steps then faltered, the sight that greeted him sent a shockwave of alarm through his already heightened senses. They had found him. Their suspected Unsub was right where they had predicted.

But he was lying in a pool of blood.

Oliver's unconscious form was a stark contrast against the cold, concrete floor. JJ was already at his side, checking his pulse and issuing urgent commands into her intercom for paramedic assistance. "Stab wounds," she announced to the room. "He's still breathing."

His mind raced as he took in the situation. How had Walsh ended up in this state? Who had inflicted the stab wound? And what had brought him to this remote area?

But his attention was soon drawn to the second startling discovery—the writing on the wall. His flashlight revealed a message scrawled in front of them, seemingly written with blood. He took a step closer, examining the writing carefully. The texture and consistency of the blood suggested it had been written recently.

Proverbs 14:8

Hotch, who entered the room with the rest of the team, observed the scene with a steely resolve. He instructed the officers to secure the area and preserve any potential evidence as paramedics rushed inside. His eyes scanned around him and he noticed Spencer's intense scrutiny of the message on the wall.

Spencer recited the verse as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways, but the folly of fools is deception."

"Any idea what it means?" Hotch asked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his mind racing through possible scenarios. "It's a message to us. The verse underscores the idea that wisdom involves careful consideration of one's actions and beliefs..." And then his voice slowly trailed off. "...while deception can lead to foolishness."

The words hung in the air, its implications weighing heavily on his mind. It was a declaration, a challenge, and a warning all at once. His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Who had written this message? Was this a desperate act from Walsh himself, or was there another player in this dangerous game they had been entangled in?

His stomach dropped.

That was it.

"It's a trap."

His mind then processed the surreal scene before him—the injured suspect, the message scrawled in blood—it was increasingly clear that this wasn't a straightforward apprehension; it was a carefully orchestrated plan, and they were mere pawns in a dangerous game. And as the realization began to grip him, his anxiety surged. There was only one thought in his mind.

With trembling fingers, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had kept in his phone but never seemed to use. The seconds felt like an eternity as he anxiously waited for her to pick up. His mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. Hotch stepped closer as he noticed the dread in his eyes.

"Reid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line. She wasn't answering. The fear that had gripped him intensified, and a knot of dread formed in his stomach. He tried again. There was still no answer. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he clutched his phone, the device suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into a sea of fear.

"Reid."

As panic began to surge, he dialed Officer Anderson's number next. His trembling fingers pressed the buttons, and he held the phone to his ear, there was no response—no ringing, no voicemail, just a disheartening silence. His panic intensified. His chest tightened, and each gasping breath felt insufficient, leaving him feeling suffocated and—

"Reid!"

He exchanged a glance with Hotch. "I-I can't reach her," he said, sounding defeated. His palms grew clammy as he tried to regain control while he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to steady himself.

JJ stood up and approached him. "Reid, take deep breaths," she urged, her voice calm and reassuring.

Spencer tried to steady his breathing, but his lungs felt constricted, and the air refused to fill them properly. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from reality, as waves of panic washed over him. JJ placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Focus on your breathing," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "In and out."

But the words struggled to penetrate the fog of panic that had enveloped his mind. His thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess of fear and helplessness. The walls of the warehouse seemed to close in on him, and he gasped for air.

JJ guided him to a nearby crate. He complied, allowing himself to sit down as his trembling hands found the edge of the crate, fingers gripping tightly as he tried to steady himself. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Spence, look at me. We're going to find her, but I need you to breathe, okay?" His gaze met hers, and he nodded, albeit shakily. He knew that he couldn't let his panic consume him, not when there was a chance of her being in danger, not when there was a possibility of her being taken away—he quickly shook his head.

The warehouse's oppressive atmosphere seemed to recede as he concentrated on his breath. Spencer became acutely aware of the controlled chaos unfolding around him. Hotch's firm and authoritative voice as he started to make calls, the flashlights dancing over the walls, and the low murmur of voices filling the space. He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to center himself.

But as he waited to regain his composure, the minutes felt like hours, and the fear of losing her weighed heavily on his mind.

Please, let her be safe.

"Y/n!" Sandy's voice called from the other room, prompting her to emerge from the bathroom. "Your phone keeps ringing."

"Can you check who it's from?"

Sandy checked the caller ID and responded, "Unknown caller."

She let out a dismissive sigh and started to head back into the room. "It's probably just spam."

But then, Sandy's voice broke the silence again, this time with a question that hung in the air like a heavy cloud. "This might sound crazy, but do you think Oliver has anything to do with Jamison's death?" Her breath hitched at the unexpected question. She turned to face her friend as she continued, "Just think about it, Oliver went missing right after the murder. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Eric's frown deepened, and he interjected, "Don't say that. He could be in danger for all we know."

"I forgot you're protective over him." Sandy turned toward Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, caught between their exchange. "Did you know Eric and Oliver grew up together?"

Her frown deepened as she processed her words. "You did?" She asked Eric, her tone marked by surprise.

He shrugged, his casual demeanor unchanged. "We weren't exactly friends. We just grew up in the same community."

She continued to express her curiosity. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because it's not important? Like I said, we weren't even friends."

Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise mixed with a tinge of confusion. "I've known you both for what, two—almost three years now, and neither of you mentioned this?"

Eric dismissed her concern with a simple explanation. "It's not really a secret, though. We just don't talk about it." He then glanced over at Sandy. "I mean, she knows."

"It's really not an interesting topic," her friend agreed. "Why does it matter?"

She found herself grappling with that very question. Why did it matter? Why was this information tugging at her concern more than it probably should? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this felt unsettling, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, and it left her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

In the end, she decided to let it go, at least for now. She shook her head, dismissing her lingering thoughts. "I... never mind."

She dismissed the topic and left the two to talk as she entered the kitchen, her steps echoing in the quiet space. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim overhead light, casting elongated shadows across the countertops.

With a sigh, she made her way to the refrigerator, its white exterior gleaming faintly in the light. As she pulled the door open, a cold gust of air rushed out, ruffling her hair. She bent down and stared into its content. While her unanswered phone calls continued to chime softly in the background, her eyes scanned along the stacks of drink lined across the shelf.

"Do you guys want a refill?" She called out, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

She waited for a response, only to be met by silence.

"Eric! Sandy! Do you want a refill?"

There was still no answer.

"...Guys?"

It was then she realized the gentle sound of conversation from the other room had stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet that seemed to envelop the entire house. The only sound that persisted was the soft, persistent ringing of her phone in the background. Slowly, she began to stand, her movements deliberate and cautious.

She froze in place, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she heard a sudden sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It echoed through the room, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house.

But it wasn't the thud itself that startled her, it was the deafening silence that followed, as if the very world had gone mute. The absence of any other sound, the stillness that hung in the air, was unnerving. It felt like the calm before a storm, the hush that precedes a revelation, and every instinct in her body screamed at her to be cautious.

Her breathing became shallow, and she strained her ears, hoping to catch any sound that might offer an explanation. "Sandy?" She took a step forward. "Eric?"

She slowly merged from the kitchen, her cautious steps carried her down the narrow hallway that led to the living room. The silence pressed down on her felt like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her.

A sense of unease settled over her as she stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything seemed eerily normal. The furniture was in its usual place, the soft glow of the lamps still casted a warm hue across the room. Yet, amidst this apparent calm, her eyes landed on a sight that sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins.

A gasp caught in her throat, because there, on the floor, lay Sandy's unconscious form, her body sprawled in an unnatural position. The room seemed to close in around her as she rushed forward, but before she could even move, she felt a sudden, oppressive presence behind her.

A heavy arm closed around her waist in a tight grip, and another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, muffling any cries of surprise or fear. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she was pulled backward, away from Sandy's prone figure.

"Hey, hey, don't move." A hushed and urgent voice whispered in her ear. She froze, her heart still pounding, her eyes wide with fear. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

It was in that terrifying moment that she realized a cloth was held over her mouth, and with a gasp, she inadvertently inhaled something that left her world spinning. The room seemed to blur and distort, shadows swirling into a chaotic dance as her body went limp.

The last thing she recalled was the persistent sound of her phone ringing before everything went black.

>> NEXT PART

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aphrogeneias · 4 months

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i always think about fights assistant!reader and rockstar!eddie would get in. Like they are hiding their relationship and it is insanely stressful on both of them. I imagine one fight would be about Eddie having to do a photo shoot with a model and you aren't even actually mad at him, you're just jealous this random girl is touching him the way you touch him in private. So you get all quiet and moody the rest of the day until you blow up at Eddie about it

the way i see assistant!reader is that you're a very mature person, maybe you had to mature earlier because of the career path you chose, or through other circumstances, but you're a tough cookie. but you're also shy and softspoken, although you work with people all the time, that's just the way you are.

and when you see eddie surrounded by all these other women — the models, the groupies, other artists — you can't help but feel inadequate, it's natural. they're everything you're "not". the sex symbols and the bombshells, the girls who wrap themselves around him and try to get him in their beds, or backstage, or anywhere with a flat enough surface.

you know it's not his fault, and it's not the girls' fault either, as far as they know he's single. but that hurts because comparison hurts, it is the thief of joy after all. you see the model your boss hired all over him, in a leather bikini, matching his own leather outfit, and the way her red manicured hands grab his arms and shoulders, it's like they're clawing at your own heart.

you feel silly, like a teenage girl again. pining over the guy she can't have, but you have him. just not in the way that matters most.

when eddie finds you later, sitting in another room, obsessing over your notebook. scrapping notes over their schedule, anxiously bouncing your leg. he comes up behind you to hug you around the shoulders, but you flinch. he flinches too, unaccostumed with that kind of reaction.

"what happened, baby?"

"i don't wanna talk to you right now, eddie."

he takes a step back, still facing the back of her neck. his stomach drops. he wants to reach out, but her posture remains guarded. instead, he faces her.

"what do you mean you don't want to talk? did i do something?"

you don't answer, still not meeting his pleading eyes. "did i do something, y/n?"

he never calls you by your name. tears flood your eyes, but you don't let them spill. vulnerability is something you had to unlearn, and eddie still couldn't get through that wall if you didn't want him to.

"no, eddie. i did." you swallow through your tears. they still don't fall. "i made a stupid decision and now i need to face the consequences," a bitter chuckle rises up your throat, "figures."

it takes eddie a while, but he catches up. "am i your stupid decision?"

slow steps. the sound of your notebook left opened on the table, a pen hits the surface. your feet meet the ground, and you stand. still, you don't know what to say.

"i'm having to repeat myself a lot here, sweetheart," there's disappointment in his tone. "why am i a fucking stupid decision? because of a photoshoot? because of my fans? or because you weren't brave enough to be seen with me?"

eddie barks, but he never bites. the way his eyes are set on you, a hard line on his brows, says otherwise. but you can't let him explode, can't let the other hears. you're the one who makes the difficult decision again. for once, you wish he did.

"i said i don't wanna talk to you right now."

you cry once you're out of the building, behind the tinted windows of the car you requested to drive you back to the hotel. eddie cries in that same room, already regretting everything he said.

#i'll see myself out #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #nothing else matters #anonymous

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uravitypng · 8 months

Text

𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

pairing: denki kaminari x reader, (hanta sero x reader)

word count: 4.5k

content warnings/things in part three: everyone is oblivious to everyone's feelings, jealous/needy denki, shopping at the beginning but i'm not specific on describing exactly what been brought just that it's slightly shorter than what the reader would typically buy, reader's social battery drains quickly, reader has some resentment towards jirou and only ever calls them jirou sfdhhsvjg, written with a chubby reader in mind (smut in later chapters/+18)

a/n: i hope you all enjoy part three, this is the longest part so far and i'm not really sure if i like all of it but i think i do! i'm so excited for the this series to carry on. let me all know what you think about this chapter!

i talk too much summery: it's terrible when you're in love with your best friend. it's terrible that he's in love with someone else.

<< previous | next >> | masterlist / polls for this chapter: 1st & 2nd

In a weeks time is the charity gala event that's held every year for heroes and if someone doesn't go it certainly looks bad on them. If they're not on patrol or wrapped up in hero work they should be there, especially if they're big names or retired big names. You may not be the number one hero but you're noticeable and you're a big enough name to make it a problem if you didn't turn up which is not the best for you. Every year is the same, spending hours picking and trying on outfits only to wear once, a smile plastered on your face all night that makes your cheeks hurt when you get home, heels so high you feel as tall as Mt Lady and this year is the same problem.

Denki already has a car hired to take you both to the event in case either of you want to drink and because he knows you walking so far in heels would likely be a disaster.

You've been fretting for days now about the gala, you still haven't brought a dress for the night and shopping for clothes really does not bode well for your self esteem. You prefer buying clothes online so you don't have to go to stores and try clothes on but sizes on websites can sometimes be wrong and they look different than advertised.

You know you shouldn't compare yourself to your friends and your colleagues but you can't help stop yourself, they spend so much money and time getting ready in comparison to you it makes you stand out when you think you don't look as good as them or you don't spend hours doing your hair. You care about your appearance at these events but they make your esteem plummet, you always think your friends look better than you, dress better than you and look more desirable than you.

Now you don't want to people to get the wrong idea, you don't really care about desirability, actually you care very little about it but it might make Denki do a double take for once, maybe he might even do a double take and make a flirtatious comment. That's the kind of desirability you want. You don't wish to become on a list of the hottest bachelorette pro heroes, if anything you want to only be considered 'hot' to a few people but to the rest of the world you want to be called something different, something other than desirable. You want to be called a pro hero who's amazing at her job, especially in away missions, a pro hero that if you hear a commotion and see a crime taking place down the road you spring right into action even if you're not on duty. Just referring to you as desirable would be a disservice.

But for some reason, with this gala, you agreed to let Mina help find you a dress and you're already regretting it as she calls you after she's finished work asking if you're ready to go shopping. You had no idea she wanted to go today and you were so close to cancelling. You couldn't help it, it's like being thrown into the deep end but not only can you not swim but you're also allergic to the water. Having no time to prepare to get in the right mindset to go shopping definitely put you on edge but you agree all the same knowing that you've got to get it over and done with and Mina might not accept the decision of you cancelling and drag you out anyway.

"Hey! Ready to go shopping?" Mina calls as she see's you.

"Not particularly."

She laughs at your reply, "that's my girl. Lets go! I have a couple styles in mind."

Mina's already brought what she's going to wear, she brought it months ago but when you asked for help she dropped every plan that she could possibly cancel to help you. You've never asked her or anyone else, for that matter, to help you shop for clothes before so she couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of helping you choose something amazing.

She has a plan in mind, something you're comfortable in, she loves you and she wants you to feel comfortable but she also wants you to feel confident. Luckily Mina still gives you some control of the situation, letting you decide the store. There's only a few shops around that cater to your size so you visit the one you like most.

Two hours later you're still in the dressing room, surrounded by expensive clothes that are mostly in black, because 'everyone looks good in black', as Mina keeps passing you new ones to try. You reluctantly stay until you find one. You like it, in fact you love it but if you said that out loud you might change your mind about it. It's slightly more fitted than the ones you typically go for and it shows slightly more skin. It's out of your comfort zone for sure and something you'd definitely not pick to wear without Mina but you're glad she came along.

Tonight's the night of the gala and Denki's waiting in the living room for you and he's so very close to knocking on your door to see if you're nearly ready but he knows that would not be a good idea, you'd be sour all night and would stay away from him so he waits as patiently as he can.

When you come out the room he's so very glad he didn't rush you. The dress you're wearing is different to what he's used to and what he expected you to wear. Seeing Denki's reaction but not recognising his look on his face you assume the worse and pull your dress down as low as you can. After seeing this Denki rushes out to reassure you, "you look lovely 'doll. You ready to go?" It's rare that Denki compliments specifically your appearance or outfits. Fiddling with your fingers and shifting from side to side you answer, "Thank you, Denks. You look lovely too. I'm ready, are you?"

Denki really does look nice. He's wearing a black notch lapel suit meaning the suit has a triangular shape V because of the sewing of the lapels into the collar of the jacket. He's not wearing a tie but he's wearing cufflinks, if you look close enough you can see that they're the ones you brought him when you all left UA, they're silver circles with a yellow lightning bolt on them.

He holds out his arm for you to take and with a cheeky smile on his face asks, "ready mademoiselle?"

Accepting his arm, "ready monsieur."

Arriving at the gala gives you other reasons why you dreaded it. This year there are more camera's outside than normal and you wonder why. It makes you anxious, you're use to the camera's you just don't like them. Denki places his hand on the small of your back and falls in step beside you, in doing so calming you down and giving you security. You dreaded the noise and how busy it was. You started scouting the hall, looking out for any of your friends, maybe even catch up with your old classmates.

"I found people, let's go." Still holding onto the small of your back he guides you through the crowd. You were already on edge with the surroundings and all those cameras but then your mood drops as you spotted where he was taking you both, right to Jirou. There was more than just Jirou there, but you knew that's why he's going over, not because Hanta's and Ejirou's over there, both of you see them all the time, and it's not because Yaomomo or Katsuki and Ochaco are over there either, it's for Jirou. He complimented you at the beginning of the night and your stomach fluttered with butterflies but now you'll have to watch him flirt all night with someone else, someone who neither of you have seen in so long so it's awful to think about how much he'll be talking to her and about her in the following weeks.

"Heyo," Hanta calls when he see's you, making you grin wide as he holds his hand up for you to high five.

You perk up at his anticts at high five him back, "Heyo."

There's a collection of greetings from everyone. Momo complimenting your dress and you saying back that Mina helped you, Uraraka saying she missed you as you hug her.

Bakugou saying he didn't he sees you all the fucking time, causing you to smack him lightly on the back of his head while grinning. "Don't be like that that Katsuki." He scowls at you and makes a dismissive sound before calling you a dumbass.

Denki exchanges pleasantries with everyone, you were too wrapped up in your conversation with Kiri and Hanta to even notice that he hadn't flirted or made any kind of comment towards Jirou at all.

"You look beautiful," Kiri says earnestly making your heart warm.

"Yes, you look very hot. I'm liking the dress." Hanta adds on.

You chuckle, "thank you Kiri and when did you become such a creep Han."

"I'm simply making an observation," Hanta replies causing you to try, and fail, at controlling your laughing volume sounding a lot louder than you intended to be.

Hanta looks good too, all your friends do.

Bakugou's wearing his hero costume colours in a suit, his hair slightly more tamed and he has pencilled eyeliner on his lash line like his mask, you'd put money that his publicist from the agency made him wear it all.

Most of your friends have gone with their hero costume colours with Ochaco wearing an all pink flowy dress that goes down to her ankles, Kiri wearing a suit similar to the one he wore at I-Expo, Momo a red fitted dress and Jirou wearing a longer dress catered to her aesthetic, but Hanta, well Hanta looked really good.

Hanta was wearing a cool dark grey tone unstructured blazer his dress shirt had the first button undone. How someone can look this good but keep it simple, classy and somewhat casual in formal wear is beyond you.

Denki watches you make conversation with Hanta and his jaw clenches as he wonders why you're talking to him when there's people you haven't seen in months or close to a year, yet you're choosing to talk to Sero who you saw earlier this week. Is this why you're wearing that dress? For him?

Denki wants your attention, wants you to focus your attention back on him. "I'm going to get us drinks. Do you want to come?"

You were about to decline but you feel him hold your wrist loosely in his hand and you look and see an expression on your face that you know too well, it's the look that he gives you when he wants you to agree with something so desperately. His 'puppy dog eyes' look. You don't speak for a second, all the background noise fades away as you try and understand why he wants you to come with him so bad and that's when you connect that he's standing next to Jirou and something might have happened or someone might have said something insensitive to him.

He pulls your hand a bit and lowers his voice, "please."

"Of course Denki," you nod. "I'll follow you anywhere," you tell him softly and honestly. Your heart starts racing as you realised what you said. You've said stuff like this to him before and you always mean it truthfully, you'll follow him anywhere. You'd follow him to the end of the world and knowing your luck it could happen. He can be so oblivious, like with how you truly feel towards him that he might not even notice he was at the end of the world until you pointed it out to him. You hope that Denki can't feel your pulse racing while he's holding onto you.

He doesn't notice, he's too relieved that you agreed to go with him, that you chose to go with him instead of staying with everyone else, instead of staying with Sero. "We're going to get drinks, we'll see you guys later." Before you can say your goodbyes he's gently but firmly pulling you to the bar. You want to make a joke about his haste to get away from the conversations everyone's having but you don't know if that would be appropriate with whatever he's feeling right now and with whatever happened.

He drags you to one of the stools and orders your favourite drink. "Are you okay Denki?"

"Just peachy," he didn't mean it to sound sarcastic, he didn't mean it to come out at all. He wanted to tell you that he's fine, to assure you that with you next to him he's having a good night but he's vexed and frustrated.

"Did...Did something happen Denks? With Jirou? Or... Um something else?" You wearily question.

He turns his head around to face you so quickly it's a wonder how he didn't get whiplash. "Why would something happen with Jirou?" He looks quizzically at you, having no idea why you're bringing her up.

You became equally confused as you see his expression. "I thought maybe something happened and you wanted to get away from her." You take a sip of your drink, using it as an excuse to look away from him.

"Nothing happened with Jirou or anyone. I just wanted to spend time with you," he says while running his hand through his hair, you look up just in time to see him and cuss him out in your head for looking so attractive.

If you were anyone else you would have asked him further questions but you're use to this by now, his confusing statements that always leave you wondering why he wants something. If you were anyone else you would have wondered why he didn't want to spend time with any of the others or spend time with Jirou, the girl he's mad about. Instead he wants to spend his time with you when he see's you every single day but by this point you're use to it. When he says random things and constantly wants your attention, really living up to the 'puppy dog eyes.'

"Let's live together."

"Are you sure you want to live with me Denki. I mean we've got enough money to buy our own places." he convinced you that living together would be the best decision you would ever make, it was.

You were tidying up the house one day when Denki came up behind you scaring you. "Come shopping with me." you put your hands on your hips and turn to face him.

"Now why on earth would I do that Denks, it's your turn to go shopping."

"It's no fun without you though." you agree but grumble about how it's his turn and you're going to both go together next time. he happily agrees like that was part of his plan all along.

you hear clutter in the living room as Denki's searching for all the takeout menu's. "let's order in tonight."

"I've got a date remember.

"Yeah I do but he's ugly and I'm better. Pizza?"

When you and Denki went to watch a film at the cinema, you run into Eijirou and you stopped to talk for awhile, arranging to all hang out later tonight as you were all free. Denki flicks your hand. "pay attention to me."

Denki casually tells you, "if we're not married by the time we're 40 we should get married," causing you to spit out your tea. "Two pros getting married will boost both our ratings up like crazy, the look on our parents faces when we tell it's a publicity stunt though will be interesting, pretty sure my parents like you better than they like me. Mina and Kirishima are planning to do the same thing."

"Bold of you to assume i'm going to make it 40." You chuckle.

You don't see the angry look on his face as replies, "you better."

You giggle, "you just can't live without someone paying attention to you every hour of every day." In a normal setting your heart would be bursting out of your chest but you knew he didn't mean what he said, it surprised you but after you got over the initial shock it was fine. He's just been listening to Kirishima too much. Plus both of your ratings are good enough as it is and there is already speculation of you both together.

"You'll stay with me right?" Denki takes a sip of his drink and looks hopeful at you.

"All night." You respond before stealing his drink and tasting it, scrunching your nose in disgust, "Denks, this is gross."

You stay together alone for the majority of the night at the bar before you decide it's probably in both your best interests to mingle. The whole time Denki stays attached to you, staying by your side.

It's now getting late and you start wondering if it would be appropriate for you to take your leave. The gala hasn't ended but it could be on all night for all you know. You've seen some heroes leave but Denki's next to you smirking at a joke Mic said and you have a feeling this is going to be a long night.

You're trying to keep up with everyone, with Denki, but it's hard with your social battery draining. You excuse yourself from the conversation to go to the bathroom, although it's just an excuse for you to take a deep breath and be away from all the noise and chatter.

After a couple minutes you head back out of the bathroom and go out to find Denki when you hear Hanta calling your name. Before you can comprehend what you're doing your legs walk and you go to Hanta. He's standing on his own which is surprising, due to the charismatic and social butterfly he is.

"You look tired."

"Gee, thanks Hanta. Did you call me over just to say that?"

"Oh snappy aren't you? I didn't mean it as a bad thing, I promise. I'm just surprised you're still here that's all."

"Well I'm surprised you're here alone." You reply, you know you're being short with him but you're just so drained and it feels like he's teasing you.

He doesn't take any offence to your tone and short replies.

"Actually I was with Midoriya but I left when I saw you to come talk to you."

"Oh." you mumble.

"You look super drained, why haven't you gone home yet?" He questions gently as to try and let you know he's coming from a place of caring and he's not teasing you.

"Denki's having fun." You nod your head to where he is, where he's animatedly telling a story to Hawks.

"Hmmm, do you want me to take you home." Sero leans closer to you. He's so tuned in on your feelings and your needs, he always just knows.

You look up to see him softly smiling at you, "you look really nice tonight Hanta."

He chuckles and pulls you closer so you're leaning against him. "Thank you pretty girl, but that's not what i asked is it?" he strokes your knuckles with his thumb as he mumbles under his breath about how you're too tired.

"You really would take me home Han? You're having a good time though." you ask quietly, not sure if you want to go home but if you were more awake and socially aware you'd be calling Hanta your saviour right now for the offer.

"You're more important. If you want me to take you home I will."

Neither of you are aware but you're being watched, if Denki saw you he'd come marching up and drag you away but he's so invested in the conversation he's having that he doesn't know where you are. The people who do see however are Katsuki, Mina and Kiri and that's not the best people to see because right now Mina is jumping to every possible conclusion.

Mina may be the worst person to see this innocent act other than Denki but at the same time Kirishima is hardly any better as he's thinking about every interaction he's seen you two have together and every word you've spoken about each other. Katsuki is the one telling Mina to 'leave it alone', 'it's not a big deal', 'it's probably nothing' and to 'forget about it'. He makes a quick glance around the room trying to spot Kaminari. He knew you and Sero were close but not this close. He thought that you and Kaminari have been dating for years and have been lying to everyone who asks about it. Dating as a pro was hard so he just assumed you two kept it super under the radar from everyone, including your friends. He never pushed either of you on the subject.

"Bakugou, there's no way there isn't something going between those two! Of course it's a big deal and of course I'm going to talk about it! Do you think they're dating or that they're just into each other?" Mina whispers loudly and excitedly. "Oh my god! She asked me to help her buy a dress, do you think that was because of Sero?" She directs the question to Kirishima knowing that they live close together and he's more likely to entertain her questions.

He doesn't want to get involved in you and Sero's relationship, it wouldn't be manly of him but he does wonder why neither of you have never mentioned anything to him before. He thinks about Kaminari and how it gives him a weird feeling. By the way you're leaning against each other now right now and talking close so that only each other can hear he has to admit it that it does look rather intimate.

"Don't forget guys, they're both always very touchy with people, not just with other." He's trying to rationalise it and you do always touch Kaminari and fall asleep on Sero and hug Mina, but when Sero leans down closer to talk to you it puts Bakugou and Kirishima on edge, Mina is ecstatic for her friends but Bakugou and Kirishima are now hyper-aware that Kaminari is in the room.

You look around the room trying to find Denki. "Want to wait for Denki."

Hanta straightens his posture and takes a deep breath but you're none the wiser. "Are you sure? He might be here for hours. I don't want you to collapse out of exhaustion."

"I'm sure Han," you whisper. "I'll.. I'll, wait for him. He shouldn't be too long. Thank you though, you're the best."

Right on cue, Denki turns around and looks at you, his eyes hardens when he see that you leaning against Hanta but as soon as you see him you beam from ear to ear, softening Denki's gaze. He excuses himself from the conversation he's having and starts to go over to you. Hanta noticed Denki, "I think Kaminari might take you home, he looks pretty displeased right now."

You giggle, "he's been a bit more protective of late. I think it's because our patrol times have been different and we haven't seen each other much. Hopefully soon it will be back to normal."

"Hey 'doll, hey Sero. What are you guys up to?"

You move off of Hanta, "can we go home soon Denki, 'm tired."

Denki's heart nearly breaks as he see's how drained you are and how drained you must have been for ages. "I'm sorry babydoll, I've been so wrapped up talking to everyone. I promise I'll make it up to you, let's go home yeah?" you nod your head and wave bye to Hanta.

Denki knows he should probably say goodbye to everyone individually but right now all he cares about is getting you back home. "Can you tell everyone we left and said bye Hanta," Denki requests.

"Sure thing dude. See you guys later, get home safe."

Denki holds your hand and intertwines your fingers with his before guiding you out.

The three onlookers were still watching the interaction, all with their drinks in their hand with Bakugou and Kirishima breathing a sigh of relief, when, from the distance it looked like everything was okay between Kaminari and Sero.

"Do you think she loves him?" Mina asks as she watches you follow Denki.

"Who?" Kirishima observes you leave.

"Kaminari." Mina responds having not taken her eyes off you since you started making your way to the door.

"Leave it raccoon eyes."

"it's just a question Bakugou." Mina retorts.

Kirishima sighs as he answers, "it's not any of our business Mina."

"They're our friends Kirishima."

"Yes and because of that we're staying out of it." As they were watching they were caught by Sero, making accidental eye contact with him. Everyone quickly looks away.

Denki takes you home and on the way he keeps apologising. "Please don't say sorry Denks." You squeeze his hand that you're still holding.

He turns to you and moves some of your hair out of the way of your face and delicately tucks it behind your ear, "'doll I am so sorry, and I need to apologise. I should have been more aware and have been making sure you're okay. I know how quickly your social battery drains, especially compared to mine, I should of been checking up on you," he's looking you in the eye, you think he must be tired too because his eyes are slightly watery. He presses your foreheads together and says so quietly it's a surprise you even heard him apoligise again, "I'm sorry."

You keep the same energy as he does and keep your foreheads together still touching, "it's okay Denki, I promise. You're here now. Plus Hanta was making sure I was okay."

Denki changes position and turns his head away from you, "yeah, but it should have been me."

Come the following morning Kirishima and Mina have completely forgot the conversation they had the previous, they had too much to drink and their memory of the end of the night is fuzzy only remembering pieces. Bakugou didn't drink at all, he remembers everything. He won't say anything to anyone.

You wake up to Denki entering your room with a tray and a huge gleeful grin on his face, "breakfast in bed! Made just for you." You rub your eyes slowly waking up, "I let you sleep in but I'm off today and so are you, so I thought we could spend the day together."

You groan, "five more minutes."

"I thought you'd say that," Denki chuckles and places the tray on your bedside table, "budge up, if you're going back to bed, I'm waiting here until you do." You groan as you make room for him. If you were more awake you would be internally screaming that Denki Kaminari, your best friend and the man you love is currently sitting next to you in bed but you're already half asleep.

tag list: @xnorthstar3x @st4r-girl-official @potatoboiasta

(everyone in my tag list that wanted to be tagged disappeared? i think they deleted their accounts or something, if i find them i'll tag them, let me know if you want to added to my tag list! )

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year

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yandere best friend pt3

tw; infantalization, yelling, violence, self harm, feels bad because comparison is the thief of joy, life being unfair

ageless blogs n minors DNI blease tq <3

yea im on a roll haha i just finished part 2 and now i moved onto part 3, as u can see i was projecting here with the leg situation

anyways its pretty short and as usual, no proofreading

enjoay

You don't know how he's doing right now. Time passes so fast that its been four years since that haunting call from your friend. You finished your masters degree and now you're deeper in debt than ever. You're taking on three jobs unrelated to your qualifications and running on no sleep, just like how your friend did when he was working towards his biggest goal.

Well, maybe you lied. You knew how he's doing, because his stupid restaurant name is ubiquitous.

It's strange, unfair and confusing how he managed to turn his restaurant into a multimillion corporation this fast. It's now a famous brand with multiple branches across the globe, it has expanded into selling frozen products in supermarkets everywhere. It's still growing too, more and more people are investing in his empire, making him richer and richer and making you green with fucking envy.

People who invest in stocks bring up his brand pretty often, saying that it's worth to invest a couple thousand dollars in it because its in some sort of top 500 index. You weren't really interested in that because you don't even have a couple thousand dollars to spare in the first place.

Your friend seem to mostly stay out of the limelight, making him more of a faceless founder. It's rare to find interviews with him, even if you did, he would always give vague, generic answers to the questions. He would focus more on promoting his products than anything else, he's neither humble or arrogant... but he's just like a robot made only to advertise whatever it's selling and make as much sales as it can.

The masses would very much prefer to pay attention to the celebrity ambassadors the marketing department hired.

Personal information about your friend was scarce, so far you knew that he went ahead and got himself a diploma in culinary arts and another diploma in Food Science and Technology in the last four years. No doubt, to improve the credibility of his company and in hopes of having more customers flock in.

You felt... bad. Took the conventional, the more socially accepted route of studying to one of the highest degrees, but your friend who started off with only a high school diploma and an iron will was so much more successful than you in life.

Perhaps it's simply the human condition to compare ourselves to wildly different lives. Every time you check the news about your friend, it's always something about his company achieving another award for delicious tasting food, well known events involving major public figures or the highly anticipated release of a new product.

You don't come across pictures with your friend in it, but when you do, it's always a picture of him talking to an important figure in a lavish setting, or having the fanciest dinner you have ever seen with people in formal clothes. He looked amazing in every one of it, he was so put together that it looks unreal. Well, seeing that he can afford the best treatments the world has to offer, it doesn't come off as a huge surprise.

And that is soul crushing, you wish to be him. And you forgot the hardships he went through. And you became bitter. And resentful of him. And resentful towards yourself. And-

Oh, your break is up. Time to continue your self loathing inner monologue while dealing with snooty customers. All the while, forgetting that your friend also has to deal with mood and energy vampires everyday.

As if things couldn't get anymore worse, you fucked up your legs. Well, not you. But some spoiled brat with a speedy sports car slammed onto you while you were lawfully using the zebra crossing. Their daddy was loaded and had the right connections, so the person who took your legs out walked away scot-free. You were left to clean up the mess yourself.

Luckily, it's not the worst thing your legs can take. You'll still be able to walk, but it will take ages to heal and might as well amputate them to pay for the damn bill. Throw in a kidney or two and you might just pay half of it off. So, you'll be wheelchair ridden until further notice.

You moved back into your parents' home, the same country where you and your friend first met. As much as you hate depending on others, you need your parents help. You are financially ruined and you can't exactly find a job that's kind to people with your disability. Or to people with any disability, in fact.

Word spreads so fucking fast. Your friend made a beeline to your parents house as soon as one of his private eyes reported that you're back home.

He was in a meeting with the board of directors managing one of his numerous subsidiary companies. It baffled everyone in the room when your friend showed interest in something other than profits and company growth. It was thought that he has no soul, no loved ones and no sentience. He was just a massive piece of code programmed to make as much money as possible at all cost.

Seeing that he experienced such a strong emotion upon hearing your arrival, that he had to adjourn a meeting, was so jarring.

It made him seem... human.

You were fast asleep. Exhausted from what the world has pelted at you and weak from all the pain. Your parents invited your friend in as he was extremely excited and happy that you're back, oblivious to the fact that you're in this state. He didn't bother listening to the full report his private eye was about to give him.

As soon as he entered your room, his smile fell upon seeing your crippled state. You were unconscious, if you weren't, you would probably die from mortification... your successful childhood best friend, seeing very unsuccessful you. An old laptop sits uncomfortably on your belly, yet another job rejection letter was shown on the screen.

Your friend was speechless. He could already hear the growing storm of regret, self hatred, anguish, anger, sadness brewing inside him, it was muffled, but its getting increasingly clearer and louder.

His trembling hands gently stroked your casts as tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

What happened? He whispered, it was loud enough for your parents to hear. Hence, they began explaining.

The name of the person who hit you with their car was all he needed to know. He is going to take care of it. Everything else bounced off his head as his eyes slowly travelled to your hands, he took one of them into his larger ones. He massaged them with utmost love and longing.

It's rough. It's calloused. It's scarred. It's everything that he never ever want your hands to be.

You groggily woke up, using your free hand to rub your eyes. You paused when you saw your friend by your bedside, silently staring at your hand in his. Tears rolling down his cheek and dripping onto the collar of his very expensive jacket.

He failed. He may have tried his best to stop it from happening, but he ultimately failed. You went through more or less, what he went through.

He shouldn't have left you alone, he shouldn't have trusted that you won't suffer like he did. He should have intervened, he should have bought that plane ticket instead, He shouldn't have respected your boundaries that day, he should have come to you regardless.

You have proven that you are incapable to take care of yourself. No more mistakes, no more neglect, you need him now more than ever. He is going to make things right and you will have no say in anything anymore. You will depend on him and he will make sure of it.

As soon as his eyes met yours, he lost it. He broke down sobbing in his hands. The weight of his failure is crushing him to pieces, how could he be so fucking stupid? Obviously, you needed him despite receiving that scathing text message four years ago. You were so young, so naïve, so inexperienced and oblivious to the cruel, cruel world around you. Of course, you thought you would do okay. You haven't seen the world at its' worst like he did! He should have known better... and he knew better! He just...

He just wanted you to be happy. And, he thought you would be happier if he left you alone for a while. In the meantime, he would continue building that perfect life for you to come home to, filled with nothing but comfort and luxuries. But look at you now, you were robbed of your innocence, and, your friend blamed himself for it.

You're suffering and he was the cause of it. only if he didn't neglect you in the first place...

No...

Only if you didn't fucking reject him over and over again. Things would have turned out differently. You also had a part in this!

You covered your face out of embarrassment, you did not want him to see you at this stage of life. You didn't want anyone seeing you like this.

Please leave me alone. You said.

You always knew your friend to be the softest, sweetest person around you. He never got physically violent to anyone (at least, to your knowledge).

Imagine the shock when he yanked your hand away from your face and delivered a devastating slap to your face. You were stunned as the ringing of your ears and the pain of the blow overwhelm your senses. Within moments, a red print was formed on your cheek.

Your parents rushed in to put a barrier between you and him, but he ignored them and began yelling and pointing at you hysterically.

I trusted you! I trusted you! How dare you do this to yourself!? I worked so fucking hard-- I sacrificed everything for you, and you can't even keep yourself healthy! Oh, he was angry. He was shouting and screaming, most of the time it just made you scared and confused. You can't understand what he was getting at because he was jumbling over his words.

Your hands, they aren't supposed to look like mine and look what you have done to them! His voice went hoarse from all the exertion.

You weren't supposed to work for anything in life, I was supposed to provide for you! Why can't you just fucking depend on me!? Why can't you just accept me!?

You can only watch on as he threw a massive tantrum, your father tried his best to pull him away from the room, but to no avail.

You are going to depend on me, I am going to provide for you and that's final! I don't care what you think, you can't be trusted to do anything alone! With that final piece, he wrenched himself off your father's grip and stormed out of your childhood bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard, that some wall décor fell to the ground with a loud crash.

He is going to replace them later. Now, he needs to make a few phone calls.

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daman19942 · 8 months

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Burnaby Hall II - Remake of 2008 Lot (No CC)

In which I remake a lot I built 15 years ago and turn it into an English Tudor! Bringing this lot into 2023 has been a super fun project, and a chance to see how my building and decorating styles has changed over the years.

This medium-to-large home features 4+ bedrooms and 4.5 baths, and is set up for indoor and outdoor entertaining. When you enter the foyer, archways lead you to the old world kitchen and dining room. On the right side of the house you'll find the great room where the family can watch a late night movie, play pool, or otherwise socialize. A large, two-car deep garage completes the left side of the house.

Two staircases, one more public another more private, take you to the second floor. Take the one from the foyer up, and you'll find a landing area with couches where the kids can hang out, a nursery, twin bedroom, study, and a full bath. If you want more separation from the rest of the house, take the kitchen stairs up to the parents' suite and a teenager's bedroom. And if you still need more space, an unfinished attic offers plenty of room for expansion.

Outside you'll find a grill station with a built-in bar and a hot tub and large pool off to the right. Large, old trees reinforce the idea of privacy, and tidy plantings border the home. Just hire a gardener in the fall ;)

Download: SFS | MTS

CC Shown But Not Included Sung Gyu Sunburst Oriental Rug Default Replacement by @tvickiesims slig Greenhouse Default Replacement

More pictures under the cut. Additional and comparison pictures coming in a separate post!

#ts2 #the sims 2 #sims2cc #sims 2 lots #sims 2 download #residential #english tudor #ts2 remake

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cartoonsbyandie · 9 months

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Filler Episode Poll: Answer Key

Thanks to everyone who participated, this was really cool data! So for those curious, here’s the answers with vote counts! Out of 949 votes, 268 were for the ‘Sees answers/Detco fan’ category, with the other 681 split between all these.

#9. “The gang re-enacts Home Alone in a closed department store” - 62 votes

Real! Episode 17: The Department Store Hijacking Case. One of the earliest fillers, the third one ever. I dunno if it’s specifically a Home Alone reference, but it does have that vibe.

#1: “Victim is killed by culprit with a fishing pole from across the street” - 22 votes

Real! Episode 53: The Mystery Weapon Murder Case. It’s a pretty basic one, just one I happen to like since it’s not technically solved by Conan himself, which fillers don’t do too often.

#5: “Conan's parents buy a nearby house to stalk him in disguise” - 95 votes

Real, unfortunately. Episode 418: Home of Beika’s Grenier. This one’s pretty bad. If the character limit was longer, I would’ve added “Conan figures it out because an old man stands up wrong.”

#8. “Culprit blinds a driver with a road sign so he can crash into his car on purpose” - 42 votes

Real! Episode 556: The Fearful Intersection. The culprit committed murder by making it look like he accidentally collided with another car. Gave himself a head injury and probably whiplash and everything, now that’s commitment to the bit. (I didn’t screenshot it, but after that screenshot of the cars crashing, it shows the culprit seemingly unconscious against his own airbag before giving an evil smile.)

#4: “Culprit traps Conan in a collapsing building but is saved by a celebrity cameo” - 34 votes

Real, and the only two-parter on the list! Episodes 804-805: Conan and Ebizo's Kabuki Jūhachiban Mystery. Honestly I wish I had a longer character limit for this one, because the collapsing building is just one part of this whole thing involving a stolen mask, two murders, blackmail, and getting caught because of a button. The celebrity cameo is Ichikawa Ebizō XI (currently known as Ichikawa Danjūrō XIII, but was Ebizo at the time of this episode,) and focuses on the Kabuki aspect of his career, but it seems like he does a lot of things. The special really just glorifies him the whole time, though he is written as being a massive fan of the show’s idiot detective, Kogoro. Who later almost accuses him of murder.

#6: “Man is catfished by an old lady, who then fakes a murder for Instagram fame” - 198 votes

Real! Episode 943: The Tokyo Barls Collection. I could’ve made this one so much longer too, and honestly I don’t even know how to screencap it. The name is a play on the “Tokyo Girls Collection” (the name of a Japanese fashion show), apparently. The group of old ladies fake an attempted murder (because one of them pretends to choke on a cabbage core and insists one of her friends put it in her food on purpose somehow) and lure in a famous detective (Kogoro, the catfished one which is also his dark souls boss name) to draw attention to their show. Their apology goes viral on social media afterwards.

This wound up being the most voted by far! I think partly because no one thought Instagram was a thing on the show. Which is fair, the show doesn’t call it that. Maybe Youtube would’ve been a better comparison since it has a view count that goes up, but whatever, same principle-- he’s what it looks like.

#3: “The gang is hired to find a lost armadillo, the culprits are the Blues Brothers” - 92 votes

Real, and one of my favorites. Episode 976: Follow Them! Detective Taxi. Not a favorite because it’s good, but because it’s just as insane as that summary suggests. And you can watch it dubbed on Tubi with the BangZoom cast if you want! I’m not sure why you’d want to, but that sure is a thing you can do if you want to watch Kogoro flirt with this cab driver.

#2: “Jewel thief steals pizza from children” - 80 votes

Real! Episode 1068: Mitsuhiko Tsuburaya's Detective Notes. Man this show has gone on a long time. Technically the culprit only steals the boxes. Had to put the jewels inside something.

And finally...

#7: “Gun smuggling ring is stopped by a drunk remembering what happened last night” - 56 votes

Fake! As far as I know. With all the episodes of this stupid show there are, maybe there’s a filler I haven’t seen that’s close to this. Oh my who left this fanfic I wrote here how strange, I wonder if the plot is similar to this fake filler episode, I guess you’d have to read it to find out

#detective conan #Thanks to everyone who voted!!#Sorry this took so long to get out I was out of town ;u;#I'll put a link to this in the replies of the poll if Tumblr allows me #not art #case closed #meitantei conan

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carrental5 · 3 months

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Renting a car has become an increasingly popular way to travel for both business and leisure purposes. Although the cost of car rental can be high, there are several advantages to renting a car over buying one — especially if you are looking for flexibility and convenience. Car rentals will allow you to enjoy the freedom and luxury of having your own vehicle for a limited period of time, without any long-term financial commitment. They also provide an easy way to access transportation in locations where public transportation is not available or is unreliable. With technological advances, car rental companies offer competitive pricing and increased convenience with booking options online or via their app. All these features make renting a car an attractive option for travelers who want stress-free transportation while on the move.

Original Source

#car hire #cheap car hire #car rental #best car rental #rent a car #car rentals #hire car #cheap car rentals #cheap car rental #carrentals #rent car #car hire comparison #carrental #compare car hire #car rental comparison #rentalcars #rental cars #rental car usa #Rental Car Deals

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wumblr · 2 months

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once again it is time to post the LLNL energy consumption sankey diagram because i have seen at least three people this week making the error of thinking residential use and personal choice contributes any more than 12% of the energy budget

if residential energy use was 0%, if no one ever consumed any energy at home, we would still lose 67 quadrillion british thermal units to waste heat. the largest gains to be had by far are in recapturing lost energy, a topic that curiously no one discusses. fully two thirds of the energy we produce does not power anything

every discussion we have on this topic that is focused on residential use and personal choice amounts to obsessing over 8 quads of the budget to the exclusion of the other 92 of them. (if you look closely, residential use is twice as efficient as overall loss to waste. i almost got that wrong, and assumed residential use also loses two thirds to waste.) if all residential use was perfectly efficient, with no loss to waste, we would regain 4 quads. if overall usage was 6% more efficient... again, we would regain 4 quads!

if you want to talk about cars that's a different story, but this diagram does not separate out personal cars from industrial and commercial trucks, which makes it a bit less useful for that context. here's a pie chart from 2009 about it

cars also use 8 quads of the budget (29% of 27.5), but note that that includes commercial use like cabs and deliveries, and note that your commute is a cost you incur, when your commute emissions really ought to be your employer's responsiblity, since you wouldn't be driving there every day if they hadn't hired you. this is one of the only ways to turn a profit: abdicating responsibility for waste

i know everyone knows this and i've seen it said many times, that individual and personal choices will always pale vastly in comparison to industrial use, but the specific ratio by which commercial, industrial, and transportation use, and loss to waste, outnumber anything you do at home... is 12:1

please, please focus with me on the problems of scale instead of repeating the useful idiot dialogue that has been scripted for us

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alexiswritingstuff · 1 year

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A Man And His Guard. 1/2

Status: Completed.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x male reader.

Other appearances: Mike Ehrmantraut.

Summary: During the rise of Gus’ paranoia, Mike hires you in an attempt to ease it. You work where he does, do everything he says and later even learn that you are to go home with him.

Neither of you knew what to expect of each other, but how does one Mr. Fring react when you will not stop making... comments.

Warnings: flirting.

Always be aware that there might be spelling mistakes and such in my writing. I do read over them, but they can just slip under my radar sometimes.

A/N: I think this is the first time I am actually writing a male reader fic so I hope I do it justice. I am a male myself but I rarely use gendered terms with the reader anyway.

Also I’m like terrible at flirting so if the readers lines aren’t great then... my bad ig.

This is a two part series, so begin waiting for the next edition to arrive!

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

It was around the time that Lalo Salamanca was presumed ‘not dead’ when you had gotten the job.

Their crew was sparse, most had been taken up at posts where they surveyed the other properties/places that Mr. Fring usually went to. So Mike reached out with an offer.

You knew him from work done in the past where you had acted as a guard for a person he wanted to meet, for a reason you had later learned, but that specific guy had a target on his back from a lot of local businesses.

For this job, like many others, you had no idea what you were getting into. And even if there was a proper brief, none of it would prepare you for what would actually come.

Gustavo Fring had been a name thrown around many times in your life. A very common thing when working in this particular field.

But, seeing him right there in the flesh, on practically a daily basis at this point, was a thing that there wasn’t any words to describe. Because usually no one lived to even talked about it, or, obviously, they weren’t allowed to.

It was some time in the late hours of the afternoon, the liveliness of restaurant slowly reducing as time went by.

There were barely any customers occupying the booths or the neighbouring tables, and the new people coming in usually just wanted something for the road if they couldn’t be bothered to wait in the drive through.

You were moving amidst the dinning area, the long dust pan and brush in hand as you collected up stuff that had fallen during peoples meals, and swept across the beige tiles that felt increasingly bright in the sun.

The surroundings were still a bit noisy. People were chatting away, cars passed at almost every minute, there was muffled clatter from the other employees as they moved around kitchen equipment as they cooked.

It wasn’t that bad.

In fact, the only thing that you didn’t really like about ‘working’ in Los Pollos Hermanos was the need to wear its uniform.

Being a guard in this side of the business usually enforced the wearing of dark coloured clothes. It was a way to keep up a feeling of mystery, provide the impression that you were a person not to be messed with.

But there you were, stood in an obnoxiously bright yellow shirt which was paired with that damn red visor and a matching apron, to top it all off.

This might as well have been a punishment than a job.

After however long, you completed your round of the dinning area and ducked into the hallway beside the drinks machine, finding the place where you had initially picked up the dust pan and brush to return them.

And you did, a deep breath filling your lungs once the equipment was leaned back up against the wall.

It had been a long time since you had worked around a plethora of people and their own individual personalities, so coming to this work place almost felt jarring in comparison. People were properly polite. Gave smiles that were actually genuine.

The clear of someone's throat emitted from somewhere to the left, and your head turned in that direction immediately, your feet soon following, “Mr. Fring.”

“Has the floor been cleaned?” The way he dressed for work was always so smart, though it kind of reminded you of SpongeBob, and it perfectly matched with a lot of things about him.

You gave him a simple nod, “Yes, it has.”

“There are still a few customers out there, so I’ll do the last round once they leave.” you then explained and turned yourself to face the doorway that lead to the main area, attempting to peer round it so that you could see into the dinning area again and the car park through the windows.

“Any signs?”

The words left you just blinking for a moment. You had thought by taking your leave from the conversation that it would bring on its end. But now you were looking back to the man who hadn’t moved a step.

Anyone else would’ve been confused at what he had meant by that question. but you knew instantly. And even if it was your job to check, it sort of made you feel bad that you had to.

“No one came.” you stated, plain and simple so that it wouldn’t display your pity, and Mr. Fring subtly took in a deep breath, his chin only slightly raising, “Good... Go clean the empty tables.”

Now was when he was about to walk away, probably to go back to his office to make calls as a way to further check if there was any new information, but when he watched your face crinkle up in what looked like distaste at the task he had just given you.

He seemed to become a little distracted.

“Do I at least get paid more?”

Sure, Mr. Fring had a lot of encounters with many different people, each with their own separate way of approaching things, different ways of speaking.

But no one had ever attempted to talk the way that you did. Especially when in direct contact.

It was a thing that could only make him stare, even glare, in an attempt to hide his surprise. But it wouldn’t shake you. In fact all you did was shrug, “Oh, well.” you breathed out, giving him one last glance before you moved to get the cleaning supplies.

“I guess if it’s for you then I’ll do it.”

You found yourself making your way through the many hallways of Los Pollos Hermanos. An amount that after a long day made the building feel like a maze, though the size wasn’t even comparable to one.

Soon, you had located the way to your bosses door, a deep breath sucking into your lungs before you raised your hand to knock against it. The sound was the only thing that filled the hallway.

“It’s Y/n. Y/n L/n, Sir.” you called quickly, realising that at this time he was always expecting to be in danger. A mysterious knock to his door wasn’t exactly going to help with that.

It took a good minute for there to be any kind of response, but after it sounded like an object had been set down, the muffled voice finally came through the gaps of the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand grabbed at the handle, the cool metal almost shocking the warmth of your skin, before you twisted it until the door was pushable. “Hey,” you had began, ready to step into the new room. But that was quickly halted when your eyes fell on its contents.

It was very dark compared to literally any other room in the building. The walls may have been a little darker already, but because of him relying on only the light from the sun and a lamp residing on his desk, it took you a moment to actually see anything.

You cleared your throat when your gaze landed on a waiting Mr. Fring, “Sorry to interrupt-- Lyle said that you wanted to see me earlier?” you explained and finally stepped into the room so that you could close the door behind you.

“I didn’t know I had made such an impact already.”

Mr. Frings eyebrows had twitched in a way that almost wasn’t visible. However, the rest of his face didn’t change, “When accepting the job, did Ehrmantraut explain what it would hold?”

Your shoes scraped the ground as you stopped yourself about a step away from his desk. Your back straightened as you took a moment to think, “He barely does when he has an offer.” you pointed out simply, though your tone changed when you next spoke. “Was I wrong?”

“Did he mention that you would be working for me... personally?”

In that moment, you had paused for about three seconds, even if it had felt like 10 minutes in your head, as a certain word rung through your ears over and over again.

“Personally, huh...” you repeated. It tasted sweet on your lips, your mind running very fast over any of the things that it could mean. “I guess I didn’t quite catch that part... But I like the sound of it.”

Through your now, slightly, dazed state, you had missed the way Mr. Fring had lowered his head just a tad. His lips were pressed together. His eyebrows begging to furrow though he wouldn’t let them, especially when you had spoke again.

“Am I supposed to go get you stuff? Run errands, drive you places-- That kind of thing?”

The man before you almost huffed a laugh. He dipped his head as he slowly pushed back his chair. “In the future, it is possible.” Mr. Fring was now stood up from his seat, his feet taking him round his desk in such a slow pace that it had your pulse raising. “But for now we are going to my home.”

He stopped in front of you, about two and a half steps away, with that strong gaze he always held. Though this time it most definitely felt different as your breath was close to hitching, “Now I really do like the sound of this.”

In about a second, Mr. Frings body had entirely stiffened.

It was unnoticeable to people who had just met him as he was usually quite a ridged person, the wind couldn’t even sway him. But to someone that knew him enough, it was clear as day.

The intimidation he had held on his face had faded as if it had just been wiped off with a cloth. It was almost like he had forgotten how to breathe.

Suddenly, before you could clock anything, Mr. Fring turned towards his desk like there should be someone waiting on the other side. It almost startled you. But soon, a hand of his reached across the surface of the table.

“Mr. Fring?” you had questioned, any and all excitement now being swarmed by confusion.

Just as you were about to move, try to catch the look on his face, his feet had began to twist until the rest of his body urged to follow. And now, he stood, facing you once again.

His eyes were aimed at what you could now see was some kind of sticky note folded in half, and then they flicked to yours.

His chin raised until it was in level with your own and by the next time you had blinked, the note was held out in front of you.

“Read it.” was all he said when you hadn’t taken it, and after just looking at him for a moment, you sucked in a quiet breath, retrieving the paper from between his fingers.

By the time you had began unfolding it, Mr. Fring had turned once again, making his way back to his deskchair when your eyes landed on the word in black ink.

“Lakeview?” The chair squeaked beneath him as he sat, but besides that he didn’t even bother to look up. He simply grabbed a pen and dragged a clipboard in front of his eyes.

“Am I allowed to ask, or is this going to be a game of hard to get?” The urge to smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth when the tip of his pen visibly stilled. Though, when Mr. Frings head slowly raised as if it was in slow motion, that feeling had stopped in a instant.

His eyes were almost harsh when they met with yours, as if they could pierce right through your own. They never moved and as time passed, he hadn’t even blinked. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

It was a warning. He knew it, you knew it.

So, guess his surprise when the only thing you had done in response was, once again, simply shrug your shoulders.

His whole body froze like it had done before, though this time he hadn’t broken the eye contact.

Every other person he had met, even ones that worked for him, crumbled under his gaze when someone had pressed his patience or authority. They would look away, forget how to speak, or quickly turn on their feet to do whatever he had asked.

But not you.

Your shoes were planted in the same place as before until you wanted them to move.

“You know, I do like a good game, Mr. Fring.” It was so silent in that room that it was like you could physically see your words pierce through the air. A pin could drop and the sound could be heard as if it was played through a thousand speakers. “I think having an opponent like you is going to be great fun.”

That was when you had officially turned on your heel. The smirk broke across your lips the moment you faced the door, and even more so when it had opened.

By the time you were back in the hallway, sifting the post-it back and forth between your fingers, the image of Mr. Frings expression was clear in your mind in a way that made it so hard to not laugh.

His lips were parted. Every muscle in his face looked as if it had been frozen in time, tense. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

He almost lost the grip he had on his pen.

You ended up back in the main area of the restaurant, your eyes being hit with a much dimmer colour this time as the sun began to hide.

All the tables had already been cleared earlier by you, and Mr. Fring when he couldn’t keep his mind occupied. The customers had gone home, hopefully pleased with their meals, which let an almost eerie silence hang in the air as the other employees had left too.

You moved through the rows of tables, searching for even the slightest speck of dirt or trail of crumbs that would set a certain man off if he saw. But there was nothing.

It had all been more than thoroughly cleaned.

So, you ended up by the table next to the entrance, a slight sigh huffing through your nose. Your body wound round the back of bench closest to the door, a hand reaching for the red blinds that covered the window.

Your fingers parted two of the slats, and you made yourself slightly lean over the bench so that you could get closer to the glass that lay beneath the blinds.

Upon first glance of the world outside, everything seen was slowly being engulfed by the black mass of night. One so deep that it had started to prevent the ability to see the horizon.

The only car in the parking lot was Mr. Frings, coloured in such a way that it would’ve been invisible in the evening light if it wasn’t for the reflections from the surrounding lamps.

There was no one in the car, no one outside of it, and no other vehicle stalking around, as the rest were just general cars that passed by on the main road, and that was now like every 10-15 minutes.

After making sure that there was complete satisfaction with the fact that there was not a singular person in the vicinity, you let the slats set back into the original places, stepping away from the window so you could make your way through the restaurant.

Again.

The sigh that left your mouth this time was of relief when you opened the door, to what would be a supply closet for anyone else. There they were, sat in the neatest pile you could be bothered to put them in. Your clothes.

Pretty much the only item of your own that you got to keep during the day was your shoes, so when that sweet sweet fabric was in your hands, it was utter peace. Paradise. Like reuniting with a long lost lover.

Upon imagining how a person would look standing in the middle of a closet and practically cradling a set of clothes, however, you straightened yourself up into the usual guard posture, any remnants of excitement fading from your face.

And then you swivelled on your foot, leaving the closet like you had never even been in there.

By the time you had gotten to the front of the restaurant all over again, the clothing happily held in your hand, it seemed that a certain Mr. Fring had beat you to it.

There was no way to tell if he had disliked having to stand there waiting as his head was directed towards the window you had been look through before, his hands clasped behind his back that made him properly appear like a business man.

Or just an old man.

If you could see his face however, you thought that you would’ve seen that usual, intentionally, blank expression. A theory that was then proven to be true when you had stopped by his side. You cleared your throat, “I take it we’re going to yours now?”

His spine straightened in about a second when your voice found his ears. He had gotten lost, his gaze consumed by the endless possibilities of what waited for him outside the restaurant.

But in the next second, by the next time he had breathed, his body twisted towards you like he had been standing like that the whole time. The previous vacant look that carried across his face was replaced by a smile, though his eyes had not changed.

And that was it. That was all you got.

Mr. Fring passed right by you without another word, his footsteps echoing around the unsettlingly empty room, before he made his way through the door with the exit sign shining above it.

When it had closed again, further encasing the restaurant in a strong silence, you had begun to blink, your brain at least attempting to process what had just happened.

However, the longer you stood there, the further away Mr. Fring became, and by now he was on the path between the rows of parking spaces. Getting closer and closer to his car.

You almost stumbled over your feet as you made your way over to the exit yourself.

The door opened in a flash, engulfing your skin in the night air, and you were about to continue walking... Until you heard the jingle in your pocket. “Shit.”

There was a meeting that you had with Mike about a day prior. He gave a run down of the usual stuff that went down in Los Pollos Hermanos and, at least, the basic duties that the boss would have you do.

You were given a set of keys, each for pretty much any place that Mr. Fring had access to himself. Now it seemed that he was testing your memory.

After glancing back at Mr. Fring, you let out a hushed grunt, pulling the keys out of your pocket from under your apron, and then turned back to the door, locking it in a speed that should’ve gained you an award.

You swivelled round after doing a test pull on the handle and basically began jogging to catch the man who was now very close to that blue vehicle.

But just as the distance was beginning to shorten, a few things began piecing together.

The sudden change, the smile that he used on other employees, something that he hadn’t used on you all day until it was time to leave the safety of the restaurant.

You understood that he would have to put on an act at some point, sure. Though apparently it hadn’t occurred to you what that would mean until now.

He was the boss, and you were just some random guy who had a job in his business.

That doesn’t exactly give the right to catch a ride with him, now did it?

“Uh, Mr. Fring?”

The man himself had just placed a hand on the roof of his vehicle. His eyes were once again aimed into the distance, and it took about five seconds to get himself back as he then turned to you, the same smile taking over his lips, “Yes, Y/n?”

“I believe that I’m supposed to be getting picked up on something called Lakeview. Would you happen to know where that is?”

It wasn’t a name for a person, as you knew for a fact that if the man in front of you had a target of any kind he would just straight up say it, and it wasn’t going to be a place because Mike would’ve at least said something.

It was a pickup point.

Mr. Frings chin slowly raised. And now, with the smile that took over his lips, his eyes seemed to crinkle with it, “Lakeview road?”

Your spine straightened, all the air coming into your lungs feeling like it was on hold, especially when you nodded your head as a commitment to your idea.

Mr. Fring simply turned his head upon the confirmation, and he pointed towards the road on the other side of the main one, which was directly across from the proper entrance of Los Pollos Hermanos.

You squinted your eyes after following the direction, trying to see the road that was partially illuminated by a streetlight as your shoulders attempted to ease from the previous tension.

And then you spotted it. A car parked beside the red fencing.

It was one that you didn’t recognise, but still.

You were right.

In order to keep the smug look off of your face, you lightly bowed your head when your attention went back to your boss. “Thank you, Sir.” you said and Mr. Fring simply copied your previous movement before finally opening his door.

“Have a good night.”

By the time his car had left the grounds of Los Pollos Hermanos, you had made it to the edge of the main road. You were stood on the concrete sidewalk, a streetlight towering over your head as you looked back and forth to gage where any oncoming traffic was.

You only had to do it once for each side, tonight apparently being a night where not many people were aiming to travel.

So on you went, now jogging across the two lanes until you got to the other side like that one chicken did. Your shoed feet were met with a mix of sand and stones this time as there was no sidewalk to even the ground.

And then there it was in front of you.

A blue RAV4.

The driver must have sensed the new presence as within the next second, the door on their side had opened, a scene that had your feet slowing by the time the figure was out of the car.

It was a woman. One you had seen in a picture when Mike showed members of the crew working for Mr. Fring. Mrs. Ryman? Her and her husband were the people ‘occupying’ the safe house.

“Mr. L/n?” she questioned, and as soon as you gave her a nod of confirmation, she immediately proceeded to walk to the back of the car before any sort of question could fall from your lips.

She grabbed the handle on the left side of the door and pulled on it until it was open about half way so that your eyes could cast onto whatever was inside. You almost tilted your head like a dog.

There, in the back of a damn car, laying on his side very uncomfortably, was none other than Mike Ehrmantraut himself.

It all made sense.

It was late at night. Mr. Fring had now left Los Pollos Hermanos, meaning that if anyone was watching him, they would have followed his car to see where he was going next.

None one was watching you.

The urge to laugh was fighting itself way up your throat, but you took a deep breath in through your nose and let yourself walk forward when Mrs. Ryman had turned to you expectantly.

“You didn’t have another one of those sandwiches today, did you?” A grunt followed your words as you practically shoved yourself into the trunk of this random car, and shifted until the left side of your body was fully pressing into Mike’s.

The door was only just able to close again.

The surroundings were plunged into darkness. A few beams of light managed to filtered through the gaps in the backseats and the trunk cover enough so that you could make out the face of the man before you as you dropped your pile of close on your lap.

“I see you worked it out.”

Your body felt like it sunk into the walls of the car though it had barely moved, your hands raising to rub at the skin of your face either in disbelief or tiredness, “I will admit that I thought you were talking about an actual lake at first.”

Mike huffed a laugh at that, the two of you slightly rocking together when the car started backing up. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t try to find one.”

“Me too.”

Despite the fact that you were currently sat, cramped, in the back of a car. There was a feeling of comfort that had been kept from you throughout the day. Especially now that Mike was with you.

He might’ve been a man that has killed multiple people, and is not afraid to do the same to more... but so are you.

When you are on the right side, his right side, he’s just another old guy that you would see walking down the street, or sitting in a restaurant.

Being in this business meant needing to keep connections with certain people hidden so that they wouldn’t end up getting hurt as a result of someone trying to prove a point.

He was the closest thing to family.

Mike let one of those deep breaths seep through his nose, and you swear it almost sounded like the huff of a dragon. His head leaned back into the wall behind him. “How’s Gus?”

Ah. The question you knew was bound to be asked soon.

You shuffled slightly even if it wouldn’t do much, more scared of accidently kicking Mike in the ribs than anything else now. “Obsessed with me.”

The look Mike gave you was one that you could feel even if you couldn’t properly see it, and you tried not to smile as you fiddled with label of the shirt you held. The man most definitely rolled his eyes. “No, no... He’s obsessed with everything else to be honest.”

A sigh passed from your lips into the air inside the car.

Your head shook, a mixture of emotions filtering through your body as your mind reminded itself of Mr. Frings previous behaviour. “He really wants him to just show up already, but... man, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he’s actually prepared for that.”

“Well. That’s why you’re there.”

You tried to fully sit upright, only getting about half way before you looked at Mike with narrowed eyes, “Yeah, about that-- You know, when you said that you needed my skills, I was thinking more along the lines of stakeouts or surveillance stuff, or like... having me fight someone at least.”

“I didn’t exactly prepare to become a janitor.”

The car was most definitely somewhere down the main road by now. Mike’s head remained where it was, not even bothering to tilt it in your direction when he next spoke as he simply closed his eyes instead. “Still part of the job.”

You stifled a scoff, just watching the man when he attempted to cross his arms over his chest. “Gives you more acting lessons too.” Mike then added and you supressed the urge to kick him, more like nudge him, with your foot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” It was your turn to roll your eyes.

“You’re still paying me more.”

The sky above was pitch black by the time of arrival on Jefferson Street. The quiet outside, the warmth of the car, and the general darkness worked together in a way that was the opposite for most people.

The distance between Los Pollos Hermanos and Mr. Frings house was far enough that if there was a kid sitting in one of the backseats they would be in a deep sleep.

But as an adult, you were wide awake. Especially when you felt the car begin to slow after a turn.

You attempted to prop yourself up from your slouched position, your eyes trying to find an angle where you could see out the window, despite the fact that it was very much impossible to do from inside a trunk.

“We’ll be out in a minute.” Mike assured, observing your many attempts at moving. You sunk back, mirroring his position when you hit into the wall of the car, “And how do you know that?”

As if on cue, the ride to the house seemed to have come to an end. The car stopped, again slightly jolting the two of you together. “We’re in the garage.” The monotonous edge to his voice was audible more than ever.

You could only blink for a moment as the muffled sound of someone getting out of the car echoed through what most definitely was a garage. “Jeez-- How many times have you had to do this?” you questioned, and it had Mike’s head shaking in a second, a grunt rumbling through his throat.

The door beside you finally opened, and though you had to squint due to the sudden light, you swung your legs to the side, eagerly pushing yourself out of the trunk.

“Oh, man.” you breathed out once on your own two feet, and moved to the side so that Mike could get himself up while you stretched your arms high above your head in a way that your spine needed very much. “Do we really have to do that every time?”

“It’s the safest way.” Mike insisted as he closed up the car and your head shook, “Seriously?” But he ignored you, starting to walk through the garage. “Follow me.”

Even after a ride like that it was immediately work time.

You wanted to complain until you couldn’t speak anymore, but nevertheless you complied and followed behind the man like a duckling does with its mother.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes flickered around the room when Mike opened the door to what was originally a living room, “Hey, Mike.” a man had called, and Ehrmantraut started to spark up a conversation.

However, when your gaze landed on the desk that his friend was sat at, your brain seemed to tune it out.

There was about about seven different monitors on and working. Each screen displayed a shot from wherever the camera was placed. It varied from the entrance and exits of this house to what you assumed was Mr. Frings.

But even then they seemed to changed at the click of a button to an entirely different location.

Maybe he was prepared.

“L/n.”

Your eyes snapped to the door way to find Mike stood about halfway through it. He tilted his head to the side and you began walking all over again when you realised what he meant.

So, now, he lead you through the hallways of the house. You nodded at anyone you passed, seemingly understanding the tired look on their faces though this was your first proper day.

Eventually you found yourself in the basement of the house, and while Mike continued through the room, your feet slowed on the platform before the last two steps, your eyes yet again being consumed by the new atmosphere.

This was where the couple stayed after doing their daily appearance out of the house, as the rest was swarmed by a bunch of dudes.

They had most of the stuff they need. They had cupboards, a kitchen area along the furthest wall, a clothing wrack. There was a king sized bed, and a table to your right where they could sit and do whatever they wanted if they weren’t upstairs at this time.

And though your mind practically begged you to continue looking around. A certain question sprung through your thoughts.

“Listen, I appreciate the fact that there are a lot of things you can’t tell me about this job,” you began, a hand placing down on the little railing, “But am allowed to ask why you have just lead me into a basement?”

Ehrmantraut was now stood in front of the big shelf that sat at the corner of the right wall. It extended to the ceiling but the width was about 4 columns worth. Your eyebrows were quick to furrow when he reached for one of the shelves.

Even more so when quiet beeps sounded from what only could be a keypad.

“Mike?” you had questioned, a mild laziness to your voice as your brain consumed itself with finding the source of noise. And then your feet finally moved, allowing you off of the platform, onto the carpet.

But it seemed you had stopped as fast as you had started.

Your body almost jolted when a mechanical sound pierced through the air, and soon, Mike grabbed onto the middle divider with both hands, beginning to pull on it as hard as he could.

A rumbling rippled through the floor you stood on as the shelf scuffed against the carpet, and despite your disbelief, the mechanism disconnected from the first column of shelf.

It was opening like a natural door would. There was certain things on shelves that shook with the movement, though others appeared as if they had been glued down. Just there for decoration.

It wasn’t until the shelf door was turned as much as it could against it’s hinges that your eyes allowed you to focused on what lay beneath it. Your jaw almost dropped.

It was a tunnel.

There was a goddamn tunnel that connected this house to the next.

“No way.”

Mike didn’t have to tell you twice when he signalling for you to follow him this time, and upon going through the doorway, turning into the passage, it almost gave you chills.

But that was more due to the fact that the temperature was different than in the house.

The walls of the tunnel were a grey concrete. One rose higher than the other leading the ceiling to have to curve to meet with them both, and support beams, the same colour as the walls they were up against, were placed about two steps apart, the lights situated between them.

Not even a deep breath could ease the speed of your heart. In fact the closer the journey was to its end, the faster it went.

So, when the back of, what you were assuming was, the same mechanism as in the previous house was now right in front of Mike, your shoulders fought to lower.

There was a combination of knocks that the man did against the smooth door. A sound that echoed through your ears over and over again the way ripples moved in water.

Mike took about a step back with a sniff when muffled beeps came through the, practically invisible, cracks of the door, and your body instinctively straightened like a soldier in front of their commander.

The door had opened.

There was no reasoning for the way you felt right then and there.

You had met Mr. Fring earlier. You had seen him, you had spoken, exchanged even informal parts of conversation, and have stood beside each other on multiple occasions.

So why, as you stared back at the man who was now revealed in one of his usual suits, was it like your lungs had forgotten their very function.

Mr. Fring gave Mike a nod to which the man did the same, and before you knew it, with a clear of his throat, Ehrmantraut turned on his feet, beginning to make his way back through the tunnel.

Your lips parted as you watched him go, though no words could even try to roll off of your tongue. The scuff of his shoes were the only thing to echo through the air, so when that familiar voice broke through, it had your head turning back within seconds.

“L/n.”

His eyes were already on yours by the time you were back to your original stance.

Your eyebrows were raised, a mixture of eagerness and excitement rumbling through your chest and ears when he tilted his head to the side. A gesture that Mike had used earlier to get you to follow him. “Come in.”

Just you and Mr. Fring.

“I’ll show you around.”

#gustavo fring #gus fring #gustavo fring x reader #gustavo fring x male reader #gus fring x reader #better call saul #better call saul x reader #mike ehrmantraut #male reader #bcs

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jasonscaramel · 7 months

Text

i guess only the stars would know the truth - chapter three - jason todd x reader

series summary: you transfer into gotham university's journalism program. simultaneously, people are going missing in gotham at record rates. it's only a matter of time before your curiosity gets the best of you.

words: 3.4k

cross-posted on ao3 | series masterlist

In comparison to how early you usually are, you’re running really late.

The first few weeks had lulled you into a false sense of security, and now you’re floundering a little. It’s like your workload has picked up tenfold, so the adjustment period has gotten a little bit longer. You’re not behind, just struggling to keep equilibrium. It’ll pass, you know it will, but you still feel like the epitome of flustered as you speed walk the remaining distance to campus.

You thankfully are only a few minutes late to class, giving Tim a sympathetic smile as you settle in.

“You didn’t really miss anything. She’s about to explain the group project,” Tim whispers in your direction, and you lean in to whisper back.

“Right on time. Thanks.” He nods in reply, and your attention goes back to the professor.

So you sit, willing your beating heart to settle as you listen to the professor outline the parameters of the project. A pitch presentation, which is easy enough. Just a quick turnaround time. That does mean, however, that you’ll a) need a partner and b) need to work on this outside of class.

You’re thankful that you’ve befriended Tim because now you have a built-in partner. You wonder what he’ll suggest for working outside of class. There are plenty of spaces on campus to go, but you wouldn’t exactly have peace and quiet. You’re not exactly ready to offer up your apartment, either, so you’re not in the position to be picky.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim slip you a piece of paper. You grab it and slide it closer.

Wanna work together?

You can’t help your grin as you write back a yes!

Tim slides the paper back over so he can scribble for a moment.

My place later ok?

You nod, and he takes that as confirmation enough and wads up the small scrap of paper. You both return to listening to the lecture.

“God can she talk,” you mumble under your breath as you exit the class, Tim trailing behind you. He laughs in agreement, dodging a few people walking in the opposite direction to lead the way.

“No kidding. Alright, follow me. Cars waiting.” He began walking through the sea of people before you could ask any more questions, so you did your best to keep up with him.

When you get to the carpool line, you wonder what kind of car you’re about to get into. What you’re not expecting is Tim to make a beeline for the nicest car in the entire parking lot that had a hired driver sitting in the front seat.

As you began the drive, you realized there was no walking to Tim’s house. It made for a pretty long drive from campus, tucked away from the city.

You also realized that “house” is a complete understatement.

As the car pulls up, you begin to understand why you’re in a goddamn town car. The place is giant; Tim is loaded. Like, more money than god loaded. You’re trying not to stare or let your jaw hang on the floor, but it feels a bit involuntary at this point. You don’t think you’ve ever seen so much wealth in one space. This place rivals the castles you’ve seen on television.

Thankfully, Tim seems to be understanding, giving you a small, tight-lipped smile as the car is put in park. You pause, waiting for Tim to make the first move. He throws open his door and you follow suit, hoping to whatever god out there that you don’t make a total fool of yourself once you go inside.

The thought doesn’t leave you as he opens the door to the… mansion. If you thought the outside was extravagant, the inside is ostentatious. As you follow Tim through the hallways, you note that any one piece of decor in this home would pay off your rent for a good two years.

This is nuts.

“We’re, uh, gonna work in the library. That cool with you?” Tim asks, stopping by a set of shut double doors. You nod, not trusting your voice, and haul open one of the doors. He leads you to a large table surrounded by even larger bookshelves, putting his stuff down before returning to the doors. He props one of them open as you settle in, pulling out your old Macbook to get started.

“You know…” Tim sounds hesitant, and you look up at him, urging him to finish. “It’s okay if this is all… strange to you. I didn’t exactly prep you beforehand.”

A large breath of air escapes you in a dramatic sigh. “Oh, thank fuck. Seriously, dude, I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything, I’ve just never been somewhere this… fancy.”

Tim chuckles, and you can’t help but join him. It doesn’t feel like he’s making fun of you; it feels like he understands where you’re coming from. “No, don’t worry. You’re not being an asshole. I kinda forget you’re new around here, that’s why I didn’t explain anything.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to say next.

“I, uh, was the same way when I got here. I’d never seen anything so… extravagant. It-”

“It’s kinda irritating, isn’t it?” Tim is cut off by another man’s voice, and your head whips up to find the source. An extremely tall, broad-shouldered, gorgeous man stands leaning on the doorway, a cheeky smile on his face. A scar frames his pretty face and striking green eyes, and as your eyes trail further you see long sleeves that cover most of his tanned skin. Jesus, what is in the water at this place? You can’t seem to find your voice, so Tim speaks for you.

“Jason, we’re doing a group project, can you—”

Jason, a cocky smile still plastered on his face, holds up his hands in surrender as he interrupts Tim. “Not here to bug you. Swear. Just came to grab something.” He disappears behind a bookshelf, reappearing only moments later with two books held in one of his pretty, giant hands.

Not like you’re staring, or anything.

“Good to meet you, by the way.” He walks over to the table, extending his free hand out to you. “I’m Jason.” You reach for his hand, shaking it and giving him your name in return. The smile on his face only brightens, your hands refusing to let go.

Tim clears his throat, and you’re both reminded that he is, in fact, in the room with you. You drop Jason’s hand as your face grows hot. If possible, his smile grows.

“See ya later.” Jason waves on his way out, and you secretly hope you run into him again before you leave.

It was hard to focus after that. Tim didn’t say anything further about Jason, so you didn’t ask. Even though you had lots of questions. Eventually, you were able to get into a groove, knocking out a good bit of your project before it got too late. You had another week to get it done, but it was nice to get a chunk of it out of the way ahead of time. Now that it was late, however, you were starving. And your stomach immediately ratted you out by growling obscenely loudly with no warning.

Tim laughs, closing his laptop and pushing it further away from him on the table. “Yeah, it’s probably a good time to call it quits. Let’s go see what Alfred’s cooking.”

You don’t question who Alfred is despite desperately wanting to; you just put your laptop in your bag, throw it over your shoulder, and follow Tim.

He again leads you through the winding hallways of his home, and the further you get, the more you can smell something absolutely delicious cooking in the kitchen.

“Alfred, I—oh.” Tim stops in the doorway of the kitchen, and you have to slam on the breaks behind him so you don’t run into his back. There at the stove stands Jason, stirring something in a ridiculously large steaming pot, something out of a restaurant kitchen. You wonder how many people they need to feed.

“He ran to the store, we’re out of paprika. I don’t know if your friend likes chicken and dumplings, but there’s plenty.”

They both look over at you, and you briefly panic at the attention. When you don’t speak, Tim does for you. “Or we could go to the diner. Your choice.”

“We can stay here. I haven’t had chicken and dumplings in years.”

A grin fights its way onto Jason’s face, and he motions for you to come closer. You slowly shuffle closer to the stove, Tim not far behind you.

“Yeah, this is your thing, right? Tim said you transferred in from down south. Mind stirring for me?”

You grab the wooden spoon from Jason, subtly trying to watch him as he walks over to the pantry. “I mean, cooking isn’t my thing. But southern food definitely is. The lack of gumbo up here is frightening.”

They both snort out a laugh, and you’re suddenly reminded that Tim is still here, sitting on the counter next to the industrial-sized pot you’re stirring. It smells divine—like your grandmother's cooking. Whoever this Alfred is—he’s already a 10 in your book.

“Maybe you could teach me how to make it,” Jason proposes, returning from the pantry with a can of Tony’s and a huge pepper grinder. He moves into your space, hip-bumping yours to urge you just a bit out of the way. You keep stirring as he seasons the food, attempting to gauge Tim’s reaction without him noticing.

Too bad when you look up, Tim’s already looking at you, a small smile on his face. You return it stiffly before refocusing on the task in front of you. You hope whatever’s going through his head is positive.

“Yeah,” you finally find your voice. “That’d be cool. You’re already halfway there, using Tony’s. My grandmother would be proud.” You snort at the idea, and Jason gives you a soft laugh.

“I had a good teacher. Alfred is the best cook I’ve ever met.”

“He’s right,” Tim finally buts in. “Jason might be a good cook, but Alfred taught him everything he knows.”

“All I heard was I’m a good cook. Thanks, Timmo.” The grin on Jason’s face is contagious, you can’t help but return it. Tim even smiles despite himself.

“That compliment doesn’t leave this room. In fact—”

“Alright, boys, if you're going to argue, please do so outside of my kitchen.” An older man cuts Tim off from the doorway, a large paper bag in his hands. You feel Jason move around you as he approaches the man, taking the bag from him and over to the pantry.

“We’re not arguing. Tim finally admitted I’m a good cook.”

“Only thanks to you, Alfred.” Tim admits as he watches Alfred approach you and the stove. “That’s my friend from marketing class,” Tim gives Alfred your name. “We were working on a group project.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I see they put you to work immediately after.” You share a chuckle, and he motions for you to hand over the wooden spoon. You do it easily, and he gives you another warm smile and nods. “You’re free to go.” He jokes.

“It’s all good—I didn't mind.” You say.

Alfred, seemingly holding back a smile, says, “Then why don’t I put you all to work and get you to set the table?”

You follow Tim and Jason into the dining room, but they refuse to let you do any of the work setting the table. The dining room, just like the other rooms you’d seen here, was large and incredibly ornate. A crystal chandelier, a large wooden table that looked big enough for a small army, and more chairs around it than three times your average dining table.

Another thing about a house this big is that sound tends to carry. That’s why you jumped when you heard the front door slam shut. You hear Alfred greet someone, and then footsteps heading for the dining room. When you look over, you see two women standing in the doorway, smiles on their faces.

“Alfred says foods ready. Oh! Tim’s friend!” The blonde makes her way over to you, throwing her arms around you in a hug. “Hi. I’m Steph.” She pulls away to motion at the woman she came in with. “That’s my girlfriend, Meg.”

“Hi. Nice to finally meet you.” Meg says, and the confusion on your face must be evident because she laughed before continuing. “Steph and I have weekly double dates with Tim and Bernard. They tell us everything.”

“Its true. Baby, wait.” Steph says and races to pull out a chair at the table for her girlfriend before sitting beside her. “Nothing but good things about you though. Journalism, right?”

You nod before scanning the table, trying to figure out where to sit. Jason, standing behind one of the chairs, taps on the table at the spot between him and Tim and across from Steph. With the weight of that off your shoulders, you move around the table and answer. “Yeah, it’s a great program. It also seems like I’m in the right city, considering all the stuff that goes down here.”

You sit down and watch as Tim and Jason sit next to you in unison. The latter snorts. “No fucking kidding. It seems like every time I turn on the news shit gets worse.” Jason says, adjusting in his chair.

“You’re not lying.” Meg pipes up. “There’s been I think fourteen disappearances in the span of… what? Two months? I’m not an expert, but that seems like a lot.”

The group murmurs in agreement but no one really knows what to say at that, because she’s right. It’s definitely weird. The lull in conversation is quickly broken by Alfred bustling into the dining room, Dick, and a younger boy in tow.

You’re introduced to the younger boy, Damian, as dinner is served, and find yourself observing the meaningful chaos around you. He doesn’t speak much, but you can’t blame him. There are a few empty seats, and you have a feeling that someone usually fills them, but no one seems upset. Just content at the company they do have.

Jason keeps asking you questions. Whispers, barely discernable even to your own ears. Asking whether or not you like the food, if all of this is too much for you. Despite his rough, cocky exterior, he seems like a genuinely kind soul. You hope you get to see more of him in the future; something about him makes you want more.

After saying your goodbyes to the majority of the group after a long, delicious dinner, it’s just you, Tim, and Jason heading toward the front door.

“I’m gonna go pull the car up.” Tim says, ducking out the front door and shutting it behind him. You watch him go before Jason speaks, commanding your attention.

“Could I, uh—could I get your number?” Despite how big and scary Jason might seem at first glance, you wonder how anyone could ever think that after getting to know him. You’ve only known him for the one evening, but you already feel like you can trust him. There’s something about him that seems magnetizing; his energy is safe, comforting, and inviting. How could you refuse him?

“Yeah. Of course.” You can’t help your grin when he hands you his phone and lets you type in your number. “Text me anytime. I’m never off my phone longer than… well, maybe a lecture.”

It’s his turn to grin as he pockets his phone. “Where there’s a will there’s a way, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flutters, and you wonder when the last time you had butterflies was. High school? Ever? Not like this.

“Oh, there’s a will, so…” You trail off when you hear Tim honk outside. “Later, Jason.”

“See ya, sweetheart.”

You rush to the car, face warm with excitement, desperate to outrun the sudden rain even if it isn’t possible. Thankfully Tim doesn’t seem to mind when you sit in the passenger seat soaked from the rain.

“Where to?” He asks, and at first, you freeze. You’ve seen where he lives, it’s only… well maybe fair isn’t necessarily the right word. But it feels like you can safely give up your bit of information now that you know his.

Only, the issue is, your place is decidedly not anything like his. And it’s not a bad thing, as your place is pretty damn good for the price, but it’s definitely something you’re beginning to worry about. It’s Tim, though. He’s been very kind to you since the beginning, and there’s no evidence that he’d use this as an excuse to be an asshole. So, you give him your address.

“Oh, cool. Roy lives there. I’ll have to introduce you sometime.” Your nerves settle; you’re so grateful to have met this guy. He puts the car in drive, windshield wipers on full blast as he drives you through the city. It’s a peaceful drive, most of the traffic having already died down by now. You sit in a comfortable silence, occasionally answering whatever questions or comments Tim throws your way.

He drops you off at the front door with a goodbye and a wave, promising to text you when he gets home. As you make your way up and into the stairs to your apartment, you feel your phone buzz. You grab your laptop and plop onto your couch before reading the message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey, it’s Jason. You make it home okay?

You: Sure did! It was really nice meeting u btw

As you wait for him to respond, you save his number on your phone. Loading up your laptop, your mind goes back to what Meg said earlier at dinner. Fourteen people in two months. That’s definitely not normal, even by Gotham’s standards. What the hell is going on here?

When it comes to research, you’ve always found the starting point to be the most difficult. Where do you begin? What do you start with? You figure you need to start somewhere. As you search Gotham missing persons in Google, your phone vibrates.

Jason: I really enjoyed meeting you too. You should come back to the manor soon.

You: Well Tim and I still have that project soooo…

Jason: Perfect.

You: :) Goodnight. Hope u sleep well

Jason: Night, sweetheart. Hope you do too.

And suddenly, the feeling of butterflies returns. You wonder if this is just his personality or if he’s just baseline flirty. You really hope not, you’re not sure your heart can take it. Something about him just makes you want to know more. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that he seems to be a caring, nice, intelligent guy, or if it’s the fact that he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Neither hurts, you’re sure about that.

Before you hit the hay, you’re determined to save a few good articles to begin your research tomorrow. Your professor canceled this Tuesday’s class a week prior, so despite your workload, you’ll have enough time to work on a personal project.

You save a few links into a Word document before adding Gotham Gazette into the search bar. Maybe, if Dick ever came through with that contact, you could ask her to point you in a better direction.

After saving a few seemingly interesting sources, you shut your computer with a yawn. Before moving here, you could stay up until two a.m. no questions asked. Now, you’re lucky to get past 11. You blame all the walking; your hometown was definitely not walkable.

You pour yourself a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge before moving to your bedroom to put it on your side table. Heading into your bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror before willing yourself to do an abridged version of your nighttime routine. After piling into bed, you heave a deep sigh.

You feel good. Now on the outside, thanks to skincare, but mostly on the inside. Something about being around everyone tonight made you feel welcomed in a way you haven’t since you arrived in Gotham. It had been a rocky (almost) month, but you finally feel like you’ve carved a place out here.

#jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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why-its-kai · 8 months

Text

Full resolution detail scans of the production materials printed in the “Monthly Satellite Times” newspaper insert included in the Trigun Stage 2 Laserdisc release. (2/2)

Scanned, stitched together, newsprint paper texture removed by me.

15. Mob leader's car & parasol 16. Armored bank truck 17. Ingway (present day & 15 years ago) 18. Ingway's Reuger Old Army pistol 19. Height chart for episode 4 20. Stefany Bostalk 21. Bostalk (present day & 15 years ago) 22. Bostalk's Belief Lightning pistol (present day & 15 years ago) 23. Stan (present day & 15 years ago) 24. Stan's Belief Lightning pistol 25. Gene, Marvin, & Denim 26. Hired mercenaries 27. Wagon

NOTE: The quality of some of the images as originally printed in this particular insert were not as good in comparison to other "Monthly Satellite Times" editions. I've done my best to clean up them up, but I apologize for the overall lower quality.

#trigun #trigun 1998 #my scan #my scans #my edit #production materials #settei #trigun laserdiscs

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tswaney17 · 1 year

Text

Gingerbread Cookies

Now that I have my account back, I'm excited to finally post the remaining parts of my Christmas AU. In this one, we get some quality mother-son bonding. I hope you like it! 💙💜💚

Read the AU here: Daddy's Snowball

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: tooth-decaying fluff.

Word Count: 1,537

“Have a merry Christmas,” Elain called, heading for the door of her bakery. Nuala and Cerridwen had readily agreed to watch the shop while she and her family spent the holiday week at Rhys and Feyre’s cabin. Even going as far as to practically shove her out the door.

She hated leaving them during the holidays, especially because it was typically their busiest time of the year. But they had insisted she’d go celebrate with her new family properly.

It also helped that she had recently hired two part-time students—one a senior in high school and one in college—to work over their holiday break.

“Merry Christmas, Elain!” Cerridwen shouted from behind the counter.

Nuala gave her a quick hug. “Be sure to give Azriel and Kaden our love.”

Squeezing her friend’s arm in confirmation, Elain swept out into the cold Velaris air. Kaden had a half day at school today, and she was on her way to pick him up. She and Azriel worked around each other’s schedules for pick-up with Kaden, along with his two cousins, Nyx and Sutton, when their parents needed an extra set of hands. Their siblings often worked in harmony on a carpool schedule for the afternoon.

Elain pulled up out front of Kaden’s school right as the bell rang. Climbing out of the car, she stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him.

Her son had suffered from fairly severe malnourishment before he was adopted, which affected his growth. In comparison to his classmates, Kaden was quite smaller than the rest of them. She could never spot him in the crowd until he was right in front. Though, at his last doctor’s appointment, his pediatrician praised her and Azriel for the healthy weight their son was already putting on.

“Momma!” he yelled, running over to her. His backpack swished on his shoulders as he crashed into her legs.

“Hi, my sweet boy. Did you have a good day at school?” she asked, squatting down to his eye level.

He nodded his head eagerly. “I did, momma.”

She ruffled his jet-black hair. “What did you learn today?”

His little fingers tapped his chin in contemplation. “Oh! I counted to five!”

Elain helped him out of his backpack, gasping in exaggeration. “You did! Can you count for me now?” she requested, setting his backpack in the car and then lifting him into her arms.

“One…two…t-ree, four, five!” Kaden showed her, puffing his little chest in pride. His speech was still not at grade level, but he had made vast improvements since she and Azriel enrolled him in school and therapy. His confidence had also shot up over the last few months, even going as far as making a new friend outside of his two cousins.

“Great job, baby!” Elain was so proud of him, and she could see how her comments made his heart swell. She always made a point to have a conversation with him, knowing that their dedication to investing in him completely would result in the best outcome for his development. And Elain would do anything she could to give her son the best life.

He babbled in the backseat, telling her all about his day, what he did at recess, and whom he played with.

She listened attentively, giving him her full focus. “Well, it sounds like you had a great day,” she told him, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“I did, momma! We made snowfakes too!” he told her, the “L” sound from snowflakes being missed in his speech.

His enthusiasm in how he spoke to her, how he called her momma always made her so incredibly happy. It took a few months after his adoption for Kaden to feel comfortable enough to call her momma, and even a bit longer to call Azriel daddy. But the first time he did, she sobbed in elation. It was just a simple, sleepy, “love you, momma,” after she put him to bed, but those three words shattered and remade her soul.

“I’m his momma,” she had cried into her husband’s chest. Azriel’s arms around her were the only reason she didn’t collapse from buckled knees in the middle of the hallway outside his bedroom.

Elain had always wanted to be a mom, but nothing in her imagination could’ve prepared her for that moment.

When she and Kaden made it home, she asked him, “Would you like to help momma make cookies to take to the cabin tomorrow?”

“Yes, pwease! I help!”

She set his backpack on the counter, going through it to check for homework that had been assigned over the break. When she found nothing, Elain hung it up on the hooks in their kitchen. “Go wash your hands and then we’ll get started.”

Little feet booked it from their kitchen to the bathroom and she heard the faucet turn on, Kaden humming the song she taught him to sing to make sure his little hands were thoroughly clean.

Grabbing the stool Azriel created for him in his shed, Elain set it next to the counter, moving to pluck their small aprons from the backside of the door to their pantry.

“All cwean, momma,” he announced, holding out tanned fingers for her to inspect.

Elain cradled his hands in her palms, flipping them over like she was examining them meticulously, then dropped a kiss on his button-nose making him giggle. “Very good, baby.” Hefting him onto his stool, she placed his apron over his head, tying it around his waist. She was happy to see additional healthy weight returning to his middle since his last appointment, using the ties of the apron as a means to measure.

“First off, we need two cups of flour,” Elain instructed, handing him the jar of flour and the measuring cup. “If this is one cup, how many of these filled with flour do we need?” It never hurt to throw in some education when she saw fit.

“Two!”

“Good job, Kaden. Let’s measure two cups.” Wrapping her arms around him, she helped him properly scoop the white powder, using a butter knife to scrape off the excess on top.

They worked together to create the dough for the gingerbread cookies. Pinching two small bites out, she tasted one, giving Kaden the other bite. “How’s it taste?” she asked him, smiling at the happy grin he was showing her.

“It tastes good, momma,” he told her.

She smiled. “I think so too. Now let’s roll it out and cut it with the cookie cutters.” Elain placed a box of Christmas cutters in front of him. “Can you pick out three you’d like to use?”

Kaden dug into the box, considering each cutter before looking for another while she rolled out the dough. He presented her with his three selections: a gingerbread man—fitting, she thought to herself—a Christmas tree, and an ornament.

“Good choices.” Elain helped him use the cutters to press into the dough, carefully scooping up the shaped cookies with a spatula and placing them on a cookie tray to bake.

Over two dozen cookies later—to add to the collection she’d previously made during the week to take—she sat Kaden at the table with colored frosting as they worked together to decorate the gingerbread cookies.

It was almost five-thirty when she heard the front door open and the tell-tell sign of Az’s keys landing in the ceramic bowl. “I’m home,” he called out.

“Kitchen!” she responded, piping icing around the edge of her cookie.

“Daddy! Come look at our cookies!” Kaden added. His cookies looked nothing like Elain’s perfectly frosted ones, a few broken gingerbread arms were sitting on the table from when he dropped the cookie. But she still thought they were the best-looking cookies she’d ever seen, biased or not.

Azriel’s footsteps sounded in the doorway, and then there he was, leaning on the jam and grinning at her. “How are my two favorite people in the whole world?” he asked, coming closer to kiss his son on top of the head, and then drew her in for a slow, soft kiss of her own.

They were never shy about showing their affection in front of Kaden, wanting him to know that he had parents who loved each other fiercely and deeply. “We’re good, just about finished here,” she said, nodding down to her collection of cookies.

“Are you packed for tomorrow?” he questioned, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Elain dipped her chin, tucking herself into his chest. “For the most part. I just need to pack my overnight bag in the morning and then I’m ready. He,” she indicated with her thumb, “still needs to be finished off.”

His lips touched her temple. “I’ll go finish packing him and then we can decide on dinner. Sound good?”

She glanced at her son, head bowed and brows scrunched as he focused on his cookie, and then back at her husband. “Sounds perfect. Thanks, love.”

Azriel’s cheeks dusted with pink at the endearment, and gods, did she love that man. She couldn’t wait to give him the secret Christmas present she had hidden at the bottom of her bag.

~~~~~~

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