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fandom-imagines-stories · 9 months

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Risk Assessment

Don Eppes x Reader

Words: 3844

Part Two of Three

Summary: As your feelings for each other push boundaries you’d both set for yourselves a long time ago, Don distances himself during a tough case and you have to decide if your relationship is worth the risk.

Notes: I know it’s been a minute, but I haven’t forgotten about my Don fans out there (we are few, but we are powerful haha) I love this show and the brother dynamic and Don’s emotional complexity is just so fun to write. I will hopefully have the last part up at some point soon.

More Don: HERE

You took the stairs two at a time, heart beating out of your chest, and mind reeling. You didn’t hear the nurses asking you if you needed help over the panic in your head. All the news said was that there was a shootout between a suspect and FBI agents. Many casualties, including one agent in critical condition.

So when Megan called you that he’d be here, you’d almost gotten sick waiting in traffic. How she’d known to call you, you hadn’t given much thought to.

By the time you reached the right floor, you couldn’t breathe, your eyes were blurring with tears, and your legs wanted to give out. But you kept going.

Doctors rushed by with a gurney and all you saw was the blood.

You started to follow them.

He found you first.

Don put one hand on your shoulder to stop you from rushing after the gurney and one hand on your cheek to bring your eyes to his.

“Don,” you sobbed, shaking your head and blinking away tears, worried he’d be gone when you looked again. “I thought- I hadn’t heard anything and I-”

“I’m okay, baby. See?” He motioned to the bandaged cut on his forehead. “I’m fine. Just take a deep breath for me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my God,” you threw your arms around his neck. “Thank God. I saw the news and I just knew you were there. I had this awful feeling and then Megan…” You trailed off, burying your face in his neck.

Don nodded. “Megan told me she called you, but your connection got cut off.” He pulled back to kiss your forehead. “I’m sorry for worrying you, but I’m okay. I promise.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffed, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “I should have waited. Instead, I barged in here like, well, like the FBI.”

He led you over to some chairs where you could both sit, not letting go of your hand. From around the corner, Megan came with a pair of coffees from the cafeteria, stopping when she saw the two of you. She ducked back behind the corner before either of you saw.

“You’re really okay?” You asked, fingers grazing the wound on his head.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I got pushed out of the way by…” His eyes followed the trail of doctors hurrying with the person you’d seen before. “Her name’s Anderson. Took a bullet to the neck.”

“Jesus.”

“Worst part is, the guy got away.” His grip on your hand tightened. “This sicko that’s been shooting people in broad daylight and we almost had him and he still got away.”

He swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the hall.

A silence fell between you as you calmed down and his shoulders tensed. Finally taking a deep breath, you sighed.

“Don, I’m so sorry.”

He let go of your hand. “It’s not like you pulled the trigger.” Don ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “You know, you really aren’t supposed to be here and I think I’ve freaked you out enough for the night, huh? Why don’t you go back to your place and I’ll meet you there?”

You were taken aback, but not totally surprised. When it came to stuff like this, your boyfriend wasn’t the most open. But, then again, neither were you. It was something you had in common- bottle it up and hope it doesn’t burst.

“Yeah, okay.” You stood, kissing the top of his head. “I can make something up for you, if you want? I think I’ve still got some of that pasta you liked. I can throw it in the microwave.”

“That’d be great, actually.” He tilted his chin up, pulling your lips to his for one more kiss. “I’ll call if anything else happens, okay? And I promise, if the connection goes bad, I won’t leave you hanging.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Agent Eppes.” You kept looking back at him as you left as if waiting for him to call you back. But he didn’t. So you left.

Now with the seat open, Megan crossed the room to sit beside her team leader.

“So that’s the mystery woman,” she said, handing him the coffee.

“Mystery woman?” He scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, for the past four months you show up to work with this big grin on your face and then this happens-”

“Speaking of which,” he interrupted. “What the hell were you thinking calling her? You know, it really freaked her out. She didn’t know what happened and she comes sprinting in here like, I don’t know, I’m dying. I hate doing that to her.”

“Don.” Megan shook her head. “You’re the one who told me to call her.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“I mean, sure, you were kinda out of it from hitting your head, but you just kept saying, ‘Y/N. Call Y/N. I want to see her.’ So you gave me your phone and I called her,” she explained.

Don leaned back in the chair, piecing together bits of fuzzy memory. He took a drink of coffee.

“Huh.”

Megan nodded, drinking from her own cup. “So you guys seem pretty serious.”

“Megan…” He groaned.

“I’m just saying, if she’s the one you’re asking for in your hour of need, it can’t just be a fling, right?”

“Isn’t it a crime to harass the guy with a head injury?”

She opened her mouth to rebuttal, but both agent’s focus switched to the doctor approaching them. And from the looks of his expression, it wasn’t good.

You heard more details on the news than you did from Don. In the days following the shooting, authorities were in an intense manhunt for a man named Pete Nicholsen, the lead suspect in a series of killings involving a hooded shooter in public places.

Agent Anderson was paralyzed from the neck down.

That, you heard from Megan.

In fact, you hadn’t heard anything from Don in two days.

It was Charlie who invited you over for dinner. He said things had been tense and that having some company might be nice, especially since you and his brother seemed to get along at the lecture.

He told you he might be in the garage, so he left the door unlocked. But when you opened the door, it was the older Eppes brother you saw first.

Don sat in the living room. While there wasn’t any light, you could tell it was him by the way he sat, leaned forward with a beer in his hand. Like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Hey stranger,” you greeted softly.

Don’s back straightened up and his head whirled around.

“Hey.” A small smile graced his lips and he stood to meet you. “What are you doing here?”

“Charlie invited me. He thought a guest would make dinner less… tense.”

“I see,” Don grunted, running a hand down his face. “So he still doesn’t know?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t tell him. He just thinks we ‘get along.’”

“I wonder what gave him that idea,” he smirked, putting a hand on your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss.

You sighed against his lips, melting into his touch. You hadn’t stopped thinking about it for two days. Thinking about how he was at the hospital. That same tension was there now, even as he kissed you.

“Don,” you said, pulling away. “Are you okay? I know that there’s been a lot going on, but you kinda vanished on me and I’m not going to lie, I’ve been pretty worried. I mean, I have to learn everything from the TV and sure, I get that maybe you don’t want to talk about it but-”

“Honey, slow down,” Don sighed. He leaned against the back of the chair, nodding. “You’re right, I had to step back for a couple of days. With what happened to Anderson and then you showing up at the hospital thinking it was me, when it should have been me, I don’t know, there was just a lot going through my head I had to deal with, okay?” He took your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles, slowly going back and forth to calm you down. Or to calm him down. He couldn’t really tell. “But I’m back now, alright? You don’t have to worry.”

Despite his reassuring words, the tone of his voice only increased your already growing concern. You remembered the gut-churning panic you’d felt when you thought he was the one in that hospital bed. You thought about every surge of electricity you felt spark in you whenever he smiled. Even now, the way he was looking at you, guarded and all, you still just wanted him to look at you for forever.

This is what you were afraid of and yet you didn’t want it to stop.

“Don, I-” You started but were cut off by the sound of footsteps.

“Hey, Y/N, you’re here.” Charlie beamed. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

With his brother’s eyes on you, you stepped away from Don to join Charlie in the dining room, letting those three terrifying words die on your lips.

It was your turn to play the ‘dealing alone’ game. Not out of pettiness, but out of protection. While your heart was so full and your chest ached when he wasn’t around, your brain reminded you of all the reasons you hadn’t wanted to let things get this far to begin with. You told yourself a long time ago that nothing was worth the risk of getting hurt again.

And all of it was because of a stupid four-letter word.

The repetitive rattle of your fingers against the table helped tune out the rest of the cafe. Unfortunately, that included your lunch date.

“You okay there?” Megan asked with an amused smile. “You look like you just joined Larry in space for a second.”

“Sorry,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I’ve just been thinking about a lot.” Sliding your empty plate aside, you eyed her curiously. “Like why you asked me to have lunch. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have a badass FBI best friend, but this just felt a little out of the blue.”

“Alright, you’ve got me there,” she admitted. “Though I wouldn’t mind having a brilliant criminology professor in my back pocket whenever I want to remind the boys that this job isn’t all about running around with a gun.”

You both laughed and you felt some of the weight on your chest lighten.

She took a drink of her coffee. “There is something I wanted to ask you about, if it isn’t overstepping our budding friendship…”

“You’re wondering about how I know your team leader.”

“No, I know about the class you teach with Charlie, and Don complained about his little guest appearance the whole week leading up to it,” she said. A smirk teased her lips. “I was more wondering why you two are keeping your relationship a secret.”

Your mouth fell open and she laughed.

“I read people for a living, remember?” She pointed out. “I had some suspicions, but when he kept asking me to call you when he had that head injury and you came running into the hospital like John Wayne, it pretty much confirmed what I thought.”

“He asked you to call me?”

Megan nodded. “Oh yeah. You were all he could talk about when he was all loopy. It was pretty cute, actually.”

You covered your growing smile with your hand, imagining Don doped up on pain meds and rambling about you to his co-worker. But then you remembered the circumstances and remembered who was really hurt that day.

“So you figured it out,” you shrugged.

She pointed a finger at you playfully. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“It’s,” you took a deep breath, “complicated.”

“With Don? Shocker,” she teased.

You both finished your meals and paid. On the way out, she put a hand on your arm, giving you a smile that was somewhere between friendly and concerned.

“This job can be a lot to handle, especially when you're involved romantically with someone in the field,” she said. “And I know Don isn’t much of a touchy-feely kinda guy, but I think that you’ve been really good for him. I mean, I’ve really never seen him so happy. But, like I said, I know it can be a lot so if you ever want to talk, I’m around, okay?”

You laughed. “Thanks, but I pretty much wrote the book on ‘emotional detachment.’ I think I can handle Agent Eppes.”

She lifted her hands in mock surrender. “Maybe that’s even more reason to talk to someone about it.”

With a look that conveyed the phrase ‘just think about it,’ she went back to her car and you walked back to yours, trying your best to shrug off her ability to not only read you, but also the issues that you were starting to notice in a relationship she shouldn’t even know about.

Charlie was in the middle of explaining to the class the ways equations can be used to track the spread of a bioterrorism attack when you saw him. You looked up from the notes you were taking and there he was. Standing outside the window. Waving at you. He looked like a normal guy. Nice haircut, clean clothes, new-looking backpack. But something about him seemed familiar. While you couldn’t place from where, something in your gut was telling you to not look him in the eye.

No one else seemed to notice him and he was gone by the end of the lecture. Still, you couldn’t shake the unease from your nerves.

“Earth to Professor Y/L/N,” Charlie teased, waving a piece of chalk in front of your face. “If you really thought it was that boring, you could have just said so.” He smirked and took a seat across from you.

You looked around. The students had all left and you hadn’t even noticed.

“It was really interesting, Charlie. I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I guess my head is just somewhere else.”

“Yeah, you uh,” he nodded, “you’ve kinda seemed that way for a while. Is everything okay? If the class has too much to your plate, I can take over some more of the grading-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You already do too much as it is.” You stood, packing your class notes into your briefcase and hugging it to your chest. “Besides, I’m fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well.” His concern only deepened so you came up with something more reasonable than dreaming about his brother choking on his own blood with a hole in his throat. “New neighbors. Probably just some partying college kids.”

“Uhuh,” he hummed, narrowing his eyes. Whether or not he believed you, he didn’t press the issue. Charlie wasn’t exactly great when it came to emotions and, while it was deeply bothering him to see someone he liked to think of as a friend in a bad place, if it wasn’t solvable through math, there wasn’t much he could do.

“Do you want to go grab some coffee?” You asked, hoping to change the subject. The last thing you needed right now was a line of questions that you weren’t ready to answer.

“Coffee sounds perfect.”

You were both halfway to the campus cafe when you heard the shots. At first, you thought someone had set off fireworks or something, but you remembered the man outside of the window. You’d seen him on the news.

Pete Nicholsen.

He took the stairs two at a time, sprinting into the courtyard where campus security, police, and other FBI had already gathered, along with a whole audience of students and staff. Don didn’t give himself time to think. He just ran.

Don spotted Sinclair first, standing over the body of a woman with Y/H/C hair. She wore a blazer and had a briefcase busted open just a few inches away from her hand. He tried to calm his breathing as his mind went into a frenzy.

The call was shots fired at Cal Sci. One casualty. Female. He only had one thought.

What had he brought you into?

“Who is it?” He asked his fellow agent.

“We’re looking for her I.D. in her things now,” David explained.

“I need it now, damnit!” Don ran around to the other side, hoping to be able to see the woman’s face, and tried to prepare himself to see yours.

“Agent Eppes!” A voice called from the crowd.

He spun on his heel, frantically scanning the group of students.

“Don!”

He turned again and saw you.

All of the breath in his lungs exhaled in a sigh of relief. He motioned to Colby that he’d be right back and rushed across the courtyard. It took every ounce of control he could muster not to pass the police line and pull you into his arms just to make sure you were really there.

“Are you okay? Were you out here when it happened?” He asked, making sure to keep a step away to maintain his composure. “Where’s Charlie?”

“I’m fine. And he’s working with Larry to get a jumpstart into figuring out where this guy could have gone after he-” You caught a glimpse of the body through the crowd of law enforcement. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, just look at me, okay?” He whispered. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart.”

“Don.” You blinked, took a deep breath, and focused back on him. “Don, I saw him.”

He froze, that same sinking weight in his chest coming back. “What?”

“He was outside-” You ran your fingers through your hair, trying not to panic. “Nicholsen was outside of the classroom. With me and Charlie. He waved at me like he knew who I was.”

Cal Sci. One Casualty. Female.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay, then I’m going to need you to come with me. And we should go get Charlie.” Don motioned to Colby and the others again, pointing in the direction of Charlie’s office. They continued investigating the crime scene. “This just got a lot more complicated.”

He helped you push through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face expecting to see Nicholsen’s confident smirk looking back at him. Once out of the way of the scene, Don found a deserted hallway and let his barrier break. He locked you in his embrace, cradling the back of your head with his shaking hand.

“I don’t have to tell you what I thought when I got that call,” he said against your shoulder.

You rubbed your hand back and forth across his tense shoulders. “I guess we’ve traded places this week.”

Don pulled back. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” You looked at him and those dark eyes and nodded determinedly. “I want to catch this guy, Don.”

“No.” He started walking toward his brother’s office. “You aren’t touching this case anymore. Neither is Charlie. This guy knows who you both are. I’m not giving him a chance to take another shot at you.”

“You can’t be serious-”

“What do you think that is?” He shouted, spinning around and pointing back toward the courtyard. “It’s a message, Y/N. That is a warning shot. The next time, he isn’t going to miss and I can’t let that happen. I-”

Three words lingered on his lips, brought out by the terrifying thought of losing you.

Don swallowed hard and continued down the hall. “We have to go.”

The truth was, he had two thoughts when he got that call.

Please not her.

I love her.

And it scared him to death.

His apartment was dark. When you unlocked the door with the key he’d given you, it didn’t even look like he was home. But once you got into the living room, he was there like he’d been at Charlie’s place. Alone. In the dark. With a bottle of beer in his hand and a blank stare in his eyes.

“Don?”

He jumped, blinking up at you like you’d pulled him out of a trance.

“Hey. I didn’t even hear you come in,” he said. He sounded exhausted, but there was something else too. Something that worried you.

“I looked over some data with Charlie. He thinks he might be able to figure out how to finally catch this son of a bitch.” You sat on the arm of the chair, rubbing his shoulders.

He shrugged you away. “I thought I told you that you were both off the case.”

You stood again, crossing your arms. “And you thought that was going to work?” You scoffed. “Have you met your brother?”

Don set the bottle down on the side table so hard you thought it might break.

“Damnit, Y/N, you saw the guy outside of your classroom,” he snapped. “He shot a woman on your campus that matches your description.” He stood too, looking you in the eye. “He’s still out there and you think this is a joke?”

“Charlie isn’t going to hide, Don,” you fired back. “And neither am I. The quicker we find this guy, the quicker all of this is over, right?”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Don,” you sighed, reaching out for him again. This time, he didn’t pull away, but when your hand found his cheek, you recognized the look in his eye.

Conclusion.

“Donnie, what is this about?”

He took a deep breath and gently took your hand away. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

You opened your mouth but found your throat had gone dry and the air had left your lungs.

Don clenched his jaw to keep himself in control. Already, a voice in his head was screaming at him to stop, repeating those same two thoughts from before.

Please.

I love her.

But that was exactly why he had to. He’d realized today how much he had to lose. And he couldn’t bear the weight pushing down on his chest. Maybe it was time to let it go.

As the tear slipped down your cheek, he hated himself for the weakness that got him there. He couldn’t protect you. He wasn’t strong enough to face those emotions of panic and loss like he got a glimpse of today. You deserved someone who could hold you without thinking about everything going wrong.

You didn’t say anything. You just went into his bedroom, grabbed a few of your things, and walked to the door, stopping to look back at the man you’d fallen so totally in love with and loved him all the same even though your heart was breaking.

“I thought we were worth the risk, you know.” Was all you said before closing the door behind you. The apartment fell into a silence that seeped into his head.

Don sat back down and stared into the dark.

#don eppes x reader #numb3rs #numb3rs imagine #don eppes #charlie eppes #rob morrow #david krumholtz #megan reeves #crime drama imagines

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gothicwidowsworld · 2 years

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Flowers J.H

Y/N L/N’s nights used to be her opportunity to destress from the day, perhaps nurse a cheeky glass of chardonnay as she prepared dinner before eventually winding down to do it all again tomorrow. Then James Hathaway entered her life, the start of their relationship wasn’t quite a whirlwind romance. In fact the Policeman had been rather brash upon their first meeting practically interrogating her on the simplest of things. Eventually the stoic harsh exterior dissolved and James allowed himself to come out of his shell a bit. But now that meant Y/N couldn’t properly relax after a day of work until the familiar heavy footsteps crossed their shared threshold. Oxford had never seemed like a dangerous place until James, waiting every night to see if he’d actually make it home in one piece.

Stirring the pasta the y/h/c woman couldn’t help but smile at the small curse that flowed in from the hallway. No doubt James had once again failed to kick his work shoes off smoothly. Since injuring his neck and being imprisoned in a neck brace he was no longer able to undo his shoelaces… and even more unable to accept help. “Survived another day then” Y/N called out loudly before jumping slightly at the crisp shirt covered limbs wrapped around her. “Barely.” the tall man replied quietly, placing soft butterfly-like kisses on the young woman's exposed neck. Y/N held the distinct smell of home, a combination of honeysuckle perfume and slight lavender laundry detergent. James had originally hated the floral scents slowly taking over his life. The DS having previously wrinkled his nose and moodily claimed it made him smell like a girl. Somehow months later he’d complain if they were running low. It felt nice to have someone to come home to, someone to share his life with.

“Got a surprise for you.” James announced reluctantly removing himself from the y/h/c woman. Reaching for the arrangement of hyacinths, hydrangeas and baby’s breath. The shades of blue with bursts of white had certainly been eye-catching and perhaps he would have bought them for Y/N himself without the upset florists demand of reimbursement.

“They're beautiful… what’s the occasion?” Y/N began before suspicion dampened her original excitement. Narrowing her y/e/c orbs slightly taking in every inch of the Detective Sergeant's face. “What have you done James?” Y/N asked a faux sternness finding its home on her y/s/c features. “Nothing… just a work incident.” James replied, shooting the woman in an attempt at a reassuring smile.

#gothicwidow #imagines #lewis imagines #lewis x reader #james hathaway imagines #james hathaway x reader #laurence fox imagines #laurence fox x reader #crime drama imagines #itv imagines

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papertowness · 4 months

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i can’t stop thinking about how wilson’s need to be needed and house’s need to be needed are such twisted mirror parts of each other and house points it out in wilson as a flaw constantly because he sees it himself too , but not in the same way .

because wilson sees his need to be needed as something pure , as something he does because he wants to help , and in a sense this is true . they need me to help them and this makes it the right thing because i will help them . the need to be needed cant be a bad thing because i use it for good . at least in his eyes and a lot of times it’s mirrored that way in the eyes of the audience .

house needs to be needed so he knows he’s not obsolete . he needs people to ask for his help , he needs people to come crawling to him and telling him he was right . it’s an ego boost for him , it’s a fix — i need people to need me to be reassured . and he reconciles with this — he doesn’t think it makes him a good person in the same way wilson does . he doesn’t see it as anything good .

which makes their role - reversals when it comes to this part of them so interesting and why house vs . god is SUCH a good episode because wilson temporarily is in house’s shoes — he’s doing something not because it’s right but because it aligns more with house ‘ need to be needed ‘ . there is nothing good and nothing that he can do to help the patient he goes out with but he does it anyway because he likes the feeling that someone needs him . and house is in the opposite situation , in wilson’s shoes if you will . i need to help you , i need to help her , i need you to see that this is wrong . house sees this — i think it’s why he brings up this subject so heavily in this episode and i also think it’s why he brings it up again in ‘ son of coma guy ‘ .

because as aforementioned house doesn’t see it as a virtue or a good thing . i think that’s why he sees it as such a glaring flaw in wilson , because he sees it in himself . in his eyes , it doesn’t matter how wilson frames it , because he does the same thing — which probably makes wilson more like him than he’s comfortable with .

anyways when the narrative gives two characters the exact same qualities in opposite directions and draws parallels between it it makes me go absolutely crazybatshitinsane

#im so insufferable over this . genuinely why did they do this #lmfao i can imagine the writers reading this post and being like it was really never that deep but ok #i can’t believe i’m analyzing an early 2000s medical drama like this . genuinely fucking embarrassing #anyways #house #house md #houseposting #james wilson #gregory house #greg house #medical malpractice #hate crimes md #hilson #lgbtq #lgbt

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jondoe279 · 6 months

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the old guard is so fun what other comic contains the world’s oldest and most toxic lesbian couple

#comics noriko ILYYYY. she’s so interesting to me….#imagine drowing at sea so many times you achieve evil enlightenment & when you finally get back to land you realize the woman who love(s…d?)#you had STOPPED trying to find you so you immediately delve into multinational organized crime to effectively reverse any good she might #have put into the world. and when you finally seek her out you kill her for fun. NORIKOOO #invented love and drama and romance! andy …. imagine knowing someone for millennia and loving her and LOSING her and when she comes back #she’s the same person with entirely different morals……. and you can’t agree but you’re so tired of trying to atone that slipping into apathy #and disillusionment………. end of vol 2 felt anticlimactic action wise but the way andy ends up repeating what noriko said earlier…. the worst #is that ANDY knows shes wrong and nile tells her that and then nile and they guys leave because they know she’s wrong too! sooo good #i need vol 3 to have the msot unhealthy insane dynamic between them i love it sm #the old guard #noriko #andromache the scythian

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j-eryewrites · 1 year

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A Study in Pink (IV)

The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 Baker Street.

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mycroft is kidnapping people, Sherlock is Sherlock, Sherlock is kidnapping people.

My cringy ass writing because I hadn’t written in a while (I Promise I’m going to edit it)

Y/N meets a Mycroft and gets dragged on a case. What could go wrong?

______________________________________________________________

It was quite late in the morning when Y/N had risen from her slumber. She had spent the night tossing and turning. It wasn’t until a violin started playing unsure of where it was coming from. Even so, she was able to fall asleep...

John and Sherlock seemed to be up and about. Occasionally bantering back and forth like a married couple. Their relationship amused Y/N, but she couldn’t see why John stuck around Sherlock. He was a kind and sweet man. The complete opposite of Sherlock; the rambunctious child with no concern for anyone but himself. Bjørn began to meow for his breakfast. He had been kind enough to let Y/N sleep in, but now that she was awake, he demanded her full attention. “Here you go Bjørn. Enjoy”. Bjørn purred as Y/N patted his head and began to eat. She smiled lovingly down at Bjørn. Y/N spent the rest of the morning unpacking the rest of her apartment.

Y/N decided to stop by Speedy’s once again. It was hard not to get addicted to their warm and fresh breakfast sandwiches and creamy lattes. This was an addiction that didn’t hurt anyone, so Y/N let herself indulge. As she ordered, the sound of a pitter-patter grew in the background. By the time her food was ready it was pouring outside. “Shit,” Y/N muttered. She glanced down at her apparel, “I did not prepare for this weather at all.” She would have made it a run for it, since 221 Baker Street wasn’t that far away, but groaned at the thought of stepping outside in the current weather. A buzzing in her pocket startled Y/N out of her miserable state. Pulling it out she noticed she was receiving a call from an anonymous number. She answered, “Hello?”

Her ears are met with a very posh man’s voice, “There is a security camera in the building to your left. Do you see it?”

An unsettling feeling began forming in Y/N’s stomach as her eyes caught glimpse of the security camera. “Who is this?” Her voice quivered. “Who’s speaking?”

The voice ignored her question, “Do you see the camera Ms. L/N?”

“Yes.”

“Watch,” the voice commanded. She did as she was told and watched how the camera swiveled away turning to look directly at her. “There is another camera at the back of the building. Do you see it?”

Y/N’s eyes glanced around the room looking for the security camera and she found it. Like the other, it was looking directly at her. “Yea…”

“And finally, in the middle of the building there sits a man in black on your right.” Y/N gulps and the grip on her phone tightens.

“Okay, who are you and why the hell are you doing this?”

Again, the voice ignored her inquiries and demanded, “Get into the car, Ms. L/N.” At that very moment, a black car with windows is dark as midnight pulls up to the curbside. The man from the cafe gets up and opens the door. He holds it open for Y/N, handing her an umbrella. She hesitantly takes it and he motions for her to enter the car. “I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.” Then the phone goes dead silent. Reluctantly, Y/N gets into the car, clutching her breakfast close to her.

After sitting down, she comes face to face with a young woman sitting beside her. The lady’s eyes were solely fixed on the phone in front of her, typing away. Y/N’s breathing becomes tenser as she feels a cold sweat creep up on her neck. Her eyes begin to dart toward any possible escape as the car drives off to its destination. Suddenly a hand squeezes her knee.

“My name’s Anthea. He only just wants a word with you.” Anthea reassures.

“Great,” exclaimed Y/N sarcastically. “Any point in asking where I’m being taken to?”

Anthea smiles briefly at Y/N, “None at all…”

Nodding, Y/N looked down at her breakfast deciding that she no longer had an appetite. She tried pulling out her phone to help distract her from the impending doom of who wanted to talk to her, but after receiving a warning from Anthea, she chose to occupy her mind in other ways.

The man over the phone obviously had some power. Enough power to control the security cameras, have secret agent-type people and black cars pick up unsuspecting women. In the best-case scenario, it was a hot mafia man who had coincidently fallen in love with her. In the worst-case scenario, it was the government and not just the government; someone high up in the government whose path she just so happened to cross.

Sometime later, the car came to a stop, pulling into what appeared to be an empty warehouse. Well, the hot mafia man is out the window. The man from the cafe opens the door for Y/N and she steps out leaving her breakfast behind. Standing in the center of the open area is a man in a suit. His umbrella is nonchalantly hanging from his side. In front of him is a chair. The man lifts his umbrella and points toward the chair. “Have a seat, Ms. L/N”

Reluctantly she does. “Definitely not a hot mafia man,” she murmurs. After settling in the chair as best she can, she begins, “I have a phone, you know. You could have just called me instead of kidnapping off the street.”

“When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.” He motions to the room around them. The man has a pleasant smile on his face.

The mention of Sherlock Holmes catches her attention. Immediately sitting out of the chair. “This is because of him?!” The man seemed a bit taken aback by her attitude. “Look, Mister. Tell Sherly that no matter what he does: fake kidnapping, barging into my home in the late hours of the night, shooting his gun whenever he’s bored, or his crazy experiments will get me to leave! I am here to stay.”

The man’s eyes squint. “You don’t seem very afraid.”

“Well forgive me, but I grew up in America. I'm sure whatever Sherlock Holmes could throw at me; I’ve been through much worse.”

“Ah, yes. The bravery of a woman. Bravery is by far the kindest word stupidity, don’t you think?” He looks at Y/N sternly. “What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?”

“Other than him being my annoying neighbor. None.” She folds her arms and stands up straighter. “Now, my turn to ask questions. Who are you?”

“An interested party.” He responds.

“Interested in Sherlock? Well, I can’t help you there, buddy. He seems quite infatuated with himself. Wouldn’t want any of that.” Y/N chuckled.

“Excuse me?”

“If this is some plot to get Sherlock to show interest in you. I’m not your guy. The man is basically my nemesis.”

“Well, in his mind, I’m an enemy. If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his archenemy. He does love to be dramatic.”

Y/N scoffs and looks around the warehouse. “Well, thank god you’re above all that.” Suddenly the phone in her pocket buzzes. She pulls it out of her pocket and looks at the message.

Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.

“I hope I’m not distracting you,” the man enunciates.

Rubbing the back of her neck she placed her phone in her back pocket. How in the hell did Sherlock get her number? Probably from her aunt. “Not distracting me at all.”

“Good, do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?”

“Don’t get me wrong, but isn’t that none of your business by the way if I have anything to say about it? But to answer your question, no.”

“I could be my business.” The man responds as he takes a notebook from his suit pocket. He opens the notebook and consults it as he continues. “If you do, make Sherlock an associate and continue your stay in two hundred and twenty-one Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.” He closes the notebook at puts it away, making eye contact with Y/N.

“Why would I agree to this?”

“Because you’re not a wealthy woman and you’re currently out of a job.”

“True,” acknowledged Y/N. “What would I be doing?”

“Providing me with Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.”

“Why?”

“I worry about him. Constantly.”

“Well, I’m sure someone’s got to,” Y/N chuckled.

Taking a beat, Mycroft continued. “But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship.” Before the man could finish his proposal, Y/N’s phone buzzed again.

“Sorry, just got to…” She pulls out her phone again, checking the message.

If inconvenient, come anyway.

The audacity that Holmes has. After silencing her phone, she immediately responds with, “Yes.”

“But I haven’t mentioned a figure,” said the man who seemed a bit taken aback as to her agreement. Had no one agreed to this proposal before?

“Doesn’t matter. As you said. I need a job and if you’re paying me to spy on my neighbour and relay the information back to you. I’d gladly do it seeing as you are a fellow enemy. An enemy of an enemy is my friend. Now I assume, you’re the type of man who can take care of things after I’ve agreed to this situation, correct?” The man nods his head. “Great! Well, I have places to be and people to spy in on, so are we done here?”

“You tell me.” Y/N looks at the man for a long moment then begins to make her way back to the car.

“One last question” Y/N proposed after stopping a few feet away. “What’s your name?”

“Mycroft,” he responds.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mycroft.”

The car door opens, and Anthea walks out and relays to Y/N that she’ll be taking her home. After getting into the car, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, glancing at Anthea. With no rebuttal from her, Y/N opens it. Seeing yet another message from Sherlock.

Could be dangerous.

How did you get my number?

Y/N

Your Aunt. Now come.

(Read)

Anthea asks, “Address?”

Glancing up from her phone, Y/N says, “Uhh…221 B Baker Street.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

When Y/N enters 221 she tries to be as quiet as possible as she tiptoes her way to her flat. The voice of Sherlock breaks the silence as Y/N winces, “Y/N, I know you’re there.” Reluctantly she heads up the stairs and towards Sherlock and John’s flat. After entering the flat of 221B, she is met with John sitting uncomfortably in the red cushion chair, eyeing Sherlock as he’s sprawled out on the sofa, his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms. A few buttons at the top of the shirt were unbuttoned as well and his face looked a bit flushed. His eyes snap open as sits up to greet Y/N.

“You’re here. Please sit down,” Sherlock states. Y/N could have sat on the couch next to Sherlock, but he looked crazy, like a child who had consumed too much sugar. John began to ask Y/N how she was doing when Sherlock cut him off.

“John, can I borrow your phone?” Chimed Sherlock.

“What for?”

“Don’t want to use my phone. There’s a chance it could be recognized.”

“Not now Sherlock. I’m…busy.”

“You are busy staring at Y/N. Your phone is not. John, your phone.” Sighing, John reluctantly pulled out his phone and handed it to Sherlock. Quickly Sherlock opened the phone and began typing. Once he was satisfied with his work, he threw the phone back to John. Finally, Sherlock looked towards Y/N. His eyes widened. “Why are you here?” Inquired Sherlock.

Scoffing at Sherlock, Y/N grumbled, “So now you acknowledge me. I’ll have you know a certain someone asked me to be here.”

“Well, I don’t need you anymore.” Sherlock explains. “Additionally, you are distracting John and I. Leave.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched at his demand. She slowly rose from her seat, glaring at Sherlock. She gave him a soft smile that made John’s stomach clench in fear for Sherlock. She carefully made her way out of the room, head held high. If Sherlock wanted to play this game, then she wouldn’t let him win. Why did I even come in the first place?

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and took a seat on the couch. Extending his legs making himself comfortable. “Read,” instructed Sherlock. John turned to him, his face a mix between confusion and shock. “Read the messages.”

John looked at his phone reading what Sherlock had written. “What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. What the hell is this Sherlock?!”

“Just keep reading.” Replied Sherlock calmly.

John’s face flashed with uncertainty as he continued reading. “Please come to 22 Northumberland Street.” He looked back up at Sherlock. “What’s this then, Sherlock?”

Sighing, Sherlock stood up from his seat and made his way to his room. Moments later, he returned with a pink suitcase in his hand. John exchanged confused looks. Placing the suitcase on the table, Sherlock unzips it, revealing all its contents.

“Sherlock, why do you have Jennifer Wilson’s suitcase?”

‘I found it.”

“Okay...where did you find it?”

“I figured the killer would feel compelled to get rid of the case. It wouldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to dump the case somewhere. So, I checked every backstreet within a five-minute radius and found it.” He glanced up towards John, giving her a smug smile. “Now tell me, John, what’s missing?”

John slowly made his way over to the table to observe the contents of the pink suitcase. There was all manner of lingerie and explicit materials. Where’s the… “The phone?” blurted out John. Still quite upset with his friend.

“Correct! There was no phone on the body and no phone in the case. The only logical explanation would be…”

To this, John replied, “The killer has the phone. Wait a minute, did you just text a murderer with my phone? You really are digging yourself a deep hole, Sherlock.”

Before Sherlock could reply, a ringing sound came from the phone in John’s hand. An unidentifiable number. “Imagine the killer receives a text that can only be from his last victim. There’s only one thing he would do...and that would be panic.” Sherlock practically leaps for his trench coat and swings the door open, waiting for John to follow suit. “Coming?”

“No.”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows in shock. “Why not?”

“No, I won’t be doing anything with you until you apologize to Y/N.” Giving Sherlock a stern look. Similar to something you would see a church mother give to her misbehaving child.

Sherlock's jaw clenched as he rolled his eyes in defeat. “Fine!” With that, he marched downstairs to Y/N’s apartment.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Y/N stood in front of her bathroom mirror. The glass fogged up from the steam of her hot shower. She wiped away the fog to get a better look at her face. Brushing the hair out of her face. Y/N grabbed her loungewear set and fuzzy socks and put them on. Sighing she exited the bathroom. Her hand was running through her wet hair. She made her way to the couch, Bjørn meowing at her feet, and plopped down.

“I would like to apologize,” said a baritone voice behind her. Causing her to jump out of her seat, grabbing the Bjørn and holding him up as if he was a weapon. When she saw the familiar figure, she relaxed a bit. Letting Bjørn jump out of her grip.

“What the hell Sherlock?!”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?!” inquired a confused Y/N. She was still trying to process the whole Sherlock being in her flat.

“I was brash. I’m…I’m not saying it again.” barked Sherlock. Y/N cocked her head to the side. This sounded like a rehearsed apology.

“I don’t forgive you.”

“Yes, alright, let’s get a … you don’t forgive me?” Questioned Sherlock. His blue eyes regained their cloudiness.

“Correct. Now if you’d please…”

“No, I said sorry. You have to forgive me.”

“No.”

“Y/N” seethed Sherlock. His voice was deep. Almost as if he was daring her to say no.

“Do you want me to say it in Spanish? NO!” yelled Y/N. She crossed her arms and began glaring at Sherlock. Frustrated, Sherlock shook his arms in the air, hands tense. Rolling his eyes he approached her, forcing her to back up against her coffee table. “Sherlock, what are…” He was painfully close. Y/N could feel his cold breath on her face. All the calmness and compassion from early gone from his face. His stare bore into her. Her breath began to get heavy. Suddenly Sherlock picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “Sherlock!” screamed Y/N.

“John, grab her shoes and coat and meet me outside,” instructed Sherlock as he carried a flailing Y/N. John stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide. Sherlock then opened the door, leaving John standing in the entryway of 221 by himself. Mrs. Hudson had come out of her flat after hearing the ruckus.

“What is going on?” Asked the elderly landlady. Her eyes filled with worry for both her niece and her favourite detective.

“He was supposed to apologize” was all John could mutter before he made his way to Y/N’s flat to grab the required items.

________________________________________________________________

They were going to stake out 22 Northumberland. Y/N was pissed. If she could, she would have given the police at Scotland Yard a very gory crime scene. Sherlock purposely put her in the seat next to him. His arm wrapped tightly around her so she wouldn’t try and escape. This was his sorry excuse for an apology. John sat uncomfortably next to the two of them. Occasionally offering Y/N a sympathetic smile.

Sherlock had dragged her and John to a restaurant. They were seated at a reserved table by a large window. Immediately sitting down on the bench, putting Y/N in the middle. John and Sherlock were sitting on the ends. Y/N was still sitting quite close to Sherlock. The very man she would be glad to slap again. Sherlock made himself comfortable. “22 Northumberland,” Sherlock stated, nodding his head to the street out the window, “keep your eye on it.” Dissatisfied with his view of the street, Sherlock moves closer to Y/N, hardly leaving any space for her. His arm draped over the back of her seat on the bench.

“Sherlock,” politely (well in her best fake polite voice) asked Y/N, “do you mind scooching back? I need to breathe”

Sherlock just stares at the girl and only then does Y/N realize how close Sherlock is to her. John shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Breathing? Oh, breathing’s boring. You need to accept my apology first.”

“I will when you give me a decent apology.” Grunted Y/N.

Scoffing Sherlock, rolls his eyes at the brunette. “That was a flawless apology.”

“Of course, it was!” exclaimed Y/N sarcastically. “I could tell that John was…”

Just then a man approaches the table. “Sherlock! What a pleasure it is.” Clasping his hands as a bright smile lit his face, “John, how do you do?”

John barely looks up at the man as he replies, “Good, thanks, Angelo.”

“Anything on the menu, free, for you, your date, Sherlock, and John.” Immediately Y/N froze. Her whole face turned a bright red as she grasped the implications the man was assuming.

“Oh no, I’m not…”

“John will have the chicken parmesan, and Y/N will have the fettuccine alfredo.” casually replied Sherlock.

Angelo nodded his head, clasping his hands together. “Anything for you Sherlock.” Turning his gaze to Y/N and Sherlock. “I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.”

“I’m not his date.” Exasperated Y/N. Once Angelo had gone from the table, Y/N elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. “I’m not your date.” Sherlock took the warning and moved back to his original seat, rubbing his ribs. “Stop being a child,” explained Y/N.

“I’m not a child.” Replied Sherlock

John chimed in, “Oh no, he is.” Flashing Sherlock, a sarcastic smile. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock continued to look out the window.

By the time their food had arrived, there was still no sign of the taxi. Thinking that it was a waste of food, she began to eat the creamy and velvety plate of alfredo in front of her. John ate away at his chicken parmesan, practically moaning with delight as he crunched into the chicken. Drumming his fingers on the table, Sherlock stared out the window, lost in thought. Eventually, John breaks the silence. “Sherlock, how’s Mycroft?” Upon hearing the name Y/N froze. Mycroft?

Unphased, Sherlock replies, “How should I know what my brother is up to?”

A slight chuckle escaped Y/N’s mouth. Mycroft is Sherlock’s brother?!

Turning to glance at the woman next to him, Sherlock inquired, “What’s so funny?”

As she came up with a response, Mycroft’s words of indiscretion pop up in her head. “Just umm, did not take you as the sibling type. But now that you say it, I can totally see you as the youngest sibling.”

“And how would you know that?” Sherlock asked leaning closer to Y/N.

Clearing her throat and nervous at Sherlock’s closeness, she replied. “You have a…youngest-child-air to you.”

Sherlock squinted his eyes at the woman in front of him, analyzing every detail about her. John recognizing the signs of Sherlock ability about to create havoc on Y/N, he decided to change the subject. “Y/N,” said her name a bit too loudly, “tell us about yourself. What do you do for work?”

“I… don’t have a job right now. Just looking for one,” responded Y/N as she moved her attention to John. Not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of the glaring game that was going on between the two of them.

“Splendid. Boyfriend?” inquired John. Sherlock tore his eyes away from the woman towards John. The glare from before never leaving his face.

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?” John’s voice faltered a bit sensing this conversation wouldn’t lead anywhere.

“No. I’m single. What about you?” Asked Y/N, returning the favor.

“I’m… erm, single as well.”

A sigh escaped Y/N. The atmosphere grew quiet. John began to fiddle with his fingers. Y/N, wincing at thought of even asking Sherlock this question, she continued, “I’d doubt you’d have anything to add, Sherlock.”

Taking his gaze off of 22 Northumberland Street, he bore his pale blue eyes directly at Y/N’s eyes. The flickering of the candle reflected off of the specks of blue, making them seem like sparkling sapphires. “I consider myself married to my work. Besides, sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.” The two of them continued to stare into each other's eyes until John coughed, signaling that a cab had arrived in front of 22 Northumberland Street. All of them turn around to face the window. “Look, no one is getting in. No one is getting out” stated Sherlock. Immediately Sherlock jumped out of the seat, fetched his coat and scarf, and was out the door. John and Y/N exchanged looks and scrambled out of the bench to follow him.

The three of them stood outside of the restaurant eyeing the car. Suddenly the taxi pulled away from the curb. Sherlock takes off, running into the road ignoring oncoming traffic, almost getting hit. John, doing what he did best, apologized as he ran after Sherlock. Y/N stood on the sidewalk shivering as the wind began to pick up. Sherlock and John were out of sight, so Y/N then decided to call a cab but not before taking the Sherlock had ordered her and the others to go. Free food was free food.

________________________________________________________________

Turning sharply, Sherlock dove into a nearby alleyway, jumping over various forms of trash that had been scattered about. Doing his best to follow, John slowly caught up to the consulting detective who was flashing Greg’s police badge at the taxi. John runs up to his friend, “Sherlock! What are…”,

“Y/N. Where is she?” inquired Sherlock.

“She was right behind me,” replied John as he glanced behind him. “It was dark. She must have lost us.”

John looked to Sherlock for reassurance to which Sherlock nodded. “Let’s go back to the flat. It’s getting cold. I’m sure Y/N found her way back.” John couldn’t help but agree with Sherlock. The evening had gotten colder, but that was not the cause for goosebumps appeared on his arms. He couldn’t help but feel as if something terribly wrong was about to happen.

________________________________________________________________

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handkinkbis · 9 months

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It's Destined With You day and I want confirmation for whether Shin Yu's under a spell or not at this point

#destined with you #i want proper confirmation give it to meee #but lord knows i'm so monogamous with my dramas and can't let a mystery go that i'll still tune in to find out #even if they drop the bomb during the second to last ep #this show's like a crime drama but some of the hints may or may not be figments of a character's imagination #tune in for more of the drama that may be fantasy-or-psychological-thriller! nobody knows for sure!#bo ah and rowoon mentioned a daughter in a bts clip #👀👀👀#so they had a daughter during their past life together? interesting #assuming the past life isn't just from shin yu's dream #at this point i assume everyone's a witch but we'll see

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nostxlgiax · 4 months

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at least (i'm not alone) | jjk + pjm

title: at least (i'm not alone) | jjk + pjm (18+)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader / park jimin x reader

genre: slow burn, dark, angst, mystery, fluff, drama, smut

word count: 5.7k

status: complete

synopsis: reader seeks dark and ugly truths. they’re pretty and full of light; she couldn’t knock them if she tried.

warnings: mentions of crime, mentions of death, mentions of injury, near death experiences, unprotected sex, polygamy, reader's a relationship anarchist (got all the love to give, no categories), absolutely fucked yoongi once or twice (more than thrice), fucking under the influence (consensual pls)

she recounts everything to jungkook, skipping details of jimin and his pretty pink lips, shiny rings, suckable fingers and skin.

they’ve reviewed all they had, now snacking on vending machine delicacies.

he tosses rice puffs her way, and she crumples a seaweed chip between his lips.

“jungkook,” he sucks her fingers til his checks hallow. “fuck off.”

he’s shameless when he let’s go, “fuck me.”

Keep Reading on AO3

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slythereen · 7 months

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What's that last anon on?? I saw the post and thought u were a hater tagging max on everything lol then I checked ur page and there was literally nothing that would justify that ask

oh naur that's my little meow meow 😭 i will defend max's crimes b/c he has never committed any in his life !!!!

i think it is most likely lestappen related, which is a fair concern, but usually i try to tag that relatively carefully so i'd be curious to know if there is something off about my system tbh

#*oracles #i feel like i should do something scandalous so that investigating my crimes would be more entertaining #can you imagine the disappointment of thinking youre about to find DRAMA and TEA #and then its just me minding my business #dont worry i will start committing crimes i will be your villain etc etc

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lord-squiggletits · 1 year

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pharma really is such an interesting case. one thing i’ve always felt with pharma is that he absolutely doesn’t want consequences. and facing up to it requires a lot of looking at and showing people what he’s done and you know. the consequences. i mean hell he’d rather start a plague than say “hey i got coerced into doing a very bad thing by the djd”

I do understand what you mean about Pharma not wanting to face consequences, but on the other hand, I kind of understand why Pharma made a plague rather than admit to medical malpractice/murder? Because like, the thing that I don't see brought up often enough with regards to Pharma is that blackmail... is blackmail. Like, as someone who's unfortunately been on the receiving end of blackmail, the entire point of blackmailing someone is that you corner them into doing bad things by convincing them that they CAN'T turn to an authority figure to ask for help. Like, the person doing the blackmailing generally convinces the person who's getting blackmailed that if they try to reach out for help, the law/authorities/etc either won't care about their predicament or will punish them for the bad thing they did that they're getting blackmailed about.

I kind of feel like (and this isn't an attack on you, just a commentary about the nature of blackmail) when someone like Ratchet looks at Pharma and says "but you could've called for help or shut down the clinic or anything!", it kind of ignores the fact that...... when you're being blackmailed you're fucking terrified, and people who are terrified generally don't jump to the most rational, safe solutions possible? When you add in the fact that Pharma was blackmailed by Tarn of the DJD, notorious hater of Autobots and fanatic leader of a torture club, it's not hard to imagine that Pharma was both afraid and in pain (or threat of pain) while at Delphi and thus wouldn't be thinking straight about it.

I don't know, like. Yeah, on one hand Pharma made a plague and killed a bunch of people to try and cover up his crimes and maintain his career. But he didn't just do it for ego related reasons, he was also almost certainly facing threats of torture and death.

#squiggle answers #pharma apologism #i think i'm biased on this issue so anyone can come in here and add their thoughts or correct me #i guess it just bothers me because like. i've kind of been in that situation (not as serious as pharma's) where i didn't ask for help #and when i got in trouble for not asking for help afterwards and instead choosing to lie or go behind someone's back or whatever #it was generally bc i was more afraid of punishment by The People In Charge #than i was afraid of lying or breaking the rules or doing other bad things #and when i got accused (by the people in charge) of seeing myself as above the rules or thinking i was better/smarter than them #it always pissed me off because i was like. bro i didn't lie to you for fun and games i lied to you because i was afraid #that if i asked you for help you would just shun me or get pissed off at me and punish me #also re: the blackmail i was a victim of. the thing about that is it was over something ultimately petty (stupid internet drama)#and i was PROBABLY never in any real danger but like. the issue was that i FELT like i was in danger #fear is powerful. fear of being threatened at any time or having the things you care about taken away is especially powerful #i had nightmares p much once a week for months during the ordeal and still sometimes do now #like idk i really am biased on this matter but like. just bc pharma made the plague to cover up his crimes #doesn't mean that that's the ONLY reason is what i'm saying #when ppl lie and cover up things about that it's not just about ego but about dumb animal terror #and i mean. to get back to the pharma apologism brand. ratchet KNEW pharma was being blackmailed but he fucking ditched him anyways #this is the guy who was supposed to be his bestie of millions of years and he fucking told pharma he was dead to him #and that's the guy who pharma thought would UNDERSTAND. imagine what he thought other autobots would think of him #also i have a theory that tarn probably psychologically tortured pharma by telling him the autobots would just lock him up for his crimes #as a way to get pharma to not tell anyone and keep supplying him cogs. because you know. blackmail

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biteghost · 1 year

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I can wait to see what happens to Brutus because in chapter 6 you left us on a cliffhanger

Thanks! I, too, am excited that Chapter 7 is putting Leadfoot's backstory in the spotlight to explore a deeper part of who she is as a character! I'm having a lot of fun sharing it, and I'm glad you're having fun watching it unfold week-to-week! 😊🙏💖

#sorry this is sarcastic but like...#BACKLASH is not about... the night warning...#getting asks like 'i'm so excited for literally not the main plot and anything that isn't about the main characters' is a little...#disheartening!! lol!!#we will get back around to all the big crime lads i promise but for now #it's leadfoot's time in the spotlight 👍#chapter 6 was huge and we spent so much time with the night warning #now they are resting while we deal with some internal drama #imagine brutus sleeping until it's time for him to come back to the stage okay he is just taking a nap #asktime #not art #BACKLASH

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emotinalsupportturtle · 7 months

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Just started watching Jonathan Creek and Alan Davies is an absolute babe. Jonathan is already my favourite socially awkward genius, rude-yet-charming detective ever

also Alan’s line delivery of those dry rebukes is absolute gold

#jonathan creek #90s tv shows #crime drama #alan davies #i feel like he is sort of the blueprint for lots of similar tv/movie detectives we love to see #obviously they've been there in literature for ages #just in recent years we seem to have more of an obsession with this sort of character in movies and tv #for example take sherlock #i'm just imagining a sherlock and jonathan creek faceoff #i feel jonathan whould just call sherlock a c*** and walk off #Sorry Sherlock jonathan is the og

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fandom-imagines-stories · 9 months

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What the Hell are You Thinking

Raylan Givens x Reader

Words: 2222

Part One

Summary: The reader comes home from a less than voluntary meeting with the Chamberlains. Raylan tries to get her to see his side. The quarreling couple are interrupted by another frightening message.

Notes: I’m trying to do something different with the narrative structure for this mini series, so I guess we’ll see how this goes. Honestly, I just love writing Raylan.

Warnings: Mentions of trafficking, violence, assault, etc.

More Crime Drama Imagines HERE

You stepped through the front door with your eyes closed, waiting for the storm inside. But it was as quiet as the sky before a hurricane. The click of the lock was like thunder in your ears. Your heart pounded in your head, a single image swimming in your vision.

Beth’s body, still and cold on her kitchen floor, wrists slit- the source of the pool of blood beneath her.

They said they made hers look like a suicide.

It wouldn’t be hard to do the same for your husband.

Unless you gave them what they wanted.

You leaned against the door, trying to blink the horrible picture out of your mind. Tears welled. It was hard to breathe.

What have you done?

Your vision cleared to see that familiar pair of fire-filled golden eyes.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“I just went for a drive,” you said, slipping past him towards the kitchen. His booming footsteps followed you. You opened the cabinet and scoffed. “Where’s the damn bourbon?”

“We’re out.”

“My lucky day,” you muttered, keeping your eyes anywhere but his.

“Are you seriously just going to stand there and act like nothing happened?” Raylan exclaimed. “I’ve had half the cops in the county out looking for you. The only reason I wasn’t out myself is because Art thought I needed to be here in case someone called in for a ransom.”

“I was gone for two hours.”

“And you could have been gutted and buried for all I knew!”

“Well, obviously I wasn’t.”

You opened the fridge to look for a beer. Raylan slammed it shut.

“Goddamnit, look at me!” He shouted. Raylan flipped you around, pinning you between the cold metal door of the fridge and his body, his skin burning to the touch. He leaned, face breaths from yours. “I have spent the longest two hours of my life picturing every way you could possibly get killed, ending with your head on the front porch, and all you have to say to me is ‘I just went for a drive’?”

You tried to look away again, but the intensity of his gaze held you. You took a shaking breath.

“I didn’t have a choice. They called me from Beth’s phone, told me they were going to kill her.”

“So you waltz out of the Marshal’s office and into their waiting arms?”

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Your stare became distant, those pictures flashing through your head again.

Raylan’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

You just stared, chin starting to tremble.

He took your face in his hands. “Baby, what does that mean?”

“They’d already killed her,” you cried. “Beth’s dead and for all I know so is her daughter. All of this was for nothing. And now…”

You leaned your head against his chest, taking a few deep breaths to keep from breaking down altogether. You couldn't afford to. Not now.

“I don’t know what to do, Raylan,” you whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

Give the Chamberlains every bit of research you had, and get any files from the Marshal’s office for good measure. Oh, and find them a girl to replace Beth’s daughter, since she had too many ties that had to be cut.

If you didn’t, you’d be helping the Marshal’s service find pieces of your husband across the county.

“Well,” Raylan said, pulling back to look at you again, this time, his eyes softer and filled with the panic you knew you were the cause of, “if I remember right, sweetheart, I thought we had an understanding last night. That we were going to take care of this together.”

“That was never explicitly stated,” you laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah, well, I thought it was implied.”

“By you.”

“Are we really going to argue about that right now?” He raised a brow.

You sighed, a small smile finally finding your lips. “No.”

“Okay. Let's get back to the office and you can make that statement you were gonna make this morning.” Taking your hand, he started to lead you to the door, but you stayed put.

“Raylan, wait,” you said. In all of the haze, in the fear and the facing killers, there was only one thing you wanted.”

He paused, waiting for you.

“Can you just…” You inhaled. “Hold me?” Stupid, embarrassed red flushed your cheeks. You tugged on his hand. “I just spent two hours looking at the man who killed my friend, took her daughter, and described to me every possible way he could end my life. Though he didn’t say anything about leaving my head on the porch, so creativity points to you, I guess.”

Raylan cupped your face again, his touch gentler. Reassuring. He pulled your lips to his and wrapped his arms around you in a way that reminded you that, with him, you would always be safe, no matter what.

Now it was your turn to keep him safe, in any way that you could.

“I got in over my head, I see that now,” you said, that feeling of being at the principal’s office coming back as Art looked at you with concern. “But there isn’t much I can tell you, really. It’s just some theories cooked up by me and a desperate mother. Hell, the guy from the parking lot probably did just want my wallet, but didn’t have the balls to finish me off and take it.”

You were better at this than you thought you’d be.

Art took off his glasses, looking grim. “So you’re recanting everything that you said to Raylan about the Chamberlain family?”

“I was scared and not thinking straight. Who would after getting busted around the head, right? I’m surprised Raylan took any of my rambles seriously.”

You didn’t dare look at your fuming husband, whose rage you could feel radiating from the seat next to you.

“And about this drive, you said you went for…”

“One of Beth’s relatives wanted to tell me about her in person. I was pretty upset about it, of course, so I stayed with them for a while before coming home. I’m sorry about all of the trouble it caused.”

Raylan’s hand twitched.

Art nodded, not looking convinced, but not able to do anything about it. “Alright, Mrs. Givens, you are free to go. Take care.”

“You too, Art. Thank you.” You put on a big smile and hurried out of the room, hoping to at least make it to the hall before Raylan started yelling. He let you get all the way to the elevator, stepped in with you, and hit the button to close the door.

“I know what you’re going to say-” You started.

“So what the hell was that back at the house?” He said, voice mockingly sweet. “‘Hold me, Raylan’ ‘I don’t know what to do’ ‘We’ll do this together.’”

“I didn’t say that last one.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall. Exhaustion was making you dizzy.

“Well you just fed my boss a bunch of horseshit so I think I’m allowed my inaccuracies.”

“What did you think I was going to do?”

“Tell the goddamn truth, goddamnit!”

“Now you’re just being redundant.”

“Jesus Christ, woman, it’s like you’re lookin’ to get killed.” Raylan took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t want to get the other marshals involved, fine. Then I’m getting you out of this place until I can figure this out.”

Your head snapped up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

You hit the emergency stop, skidding the elevator to a halt. You stepped closer to him, putting your hands on his chest and looking into his eyes.

“Do you think I’m not scared?” You asked. “Baby, I’m terrified. But I can’t run away. Not now. There’s too much to lose.”

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

Pressed against him, you could feel his heartbeat and you were sure he could hear yours the way it pounded. The two of you stood there in the silence and confinement of the elevator for what seemed like hours. You kissed him, telling yourself it was to calm it down, but really you just wanted to stop the rest of the world from invading your mind. You wanted to stop seeing the face of Derek Chamberlain every time you closed your eyes. To stop seeing Beth’s bloody body.

You pulled apart and pressed the button again so the elevator would finish its descent. The doors slid open and you stepped out, reaching for your husband’s hand.

“Let’s go home.”

Neither of you had slept in almost a day, so the minute you got home, all you wanted was to curl up beneath the covers and fall asleep in each other’s arms. Raylan, however, went right to the fridge and opened a beer.

“You’re still mad, I take it?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I don’t know what I am.”

“So I guess asking you to trust me would be a bad idea.”

“Probably.”

“Well, I’m gonna ask anyway.” You took the beer in his hand and took a swig. “Do you trust me?”

You could turn a grown man to puddy, he thought, the way you had him melting now.

Of course, he wanted to trust you. You were his wife, the love of his life, and his partner through this shitstorm of life. But he didn’t trust you to keep yourself safe if it meant saving someone else. The martyr instinct in you was too strong. Something the two of you unfortunately had in common.

“Raylan, do you trust me?” You asked again.

He exhaled, leaning his forehead against the fridge door. “You know I want to.”

You set the beer on the counter and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back and listening to his heart like you had in the elevator.

“That’s good enough for me for now.” Your hands trailed up and down his chest. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss the nape of his neck. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

It was possibly the truest thing you’d said all day. Everything ached, from your beating heart to your tired feet. You needed something to chase away the nightmares going on in your mind. You needed a reminder of why you were so desperate to keep him safe that you would put him through all this.

“I have some things I need to do,” he said, turning to face you.

“Are any of them more important than making love to your wife and helping her fall asleep after the worst two days of her life?” You challenged.

There you go again, turning him to mush.

You watched his eyes fall to your lips and smiled, knowing that you had at least won this battle.

All you wanted was to forget for a few hours. You wanted everything to melt away. Everything but Raylan. You just wanted to forget.

And they wouldn’t even grant you that.

After what felt like a blink of sleep, you stirred to the sound of a lighter clicking. Your eyes fluttered open.

Derek Chamberlain held a finger to his lips.

“Shhhhh.”

You bit back a scream.

Derek motioned with his unlit cigarette to your husband. “Go ahead,” he said. “Wake him up. He’ll want to hear this.” He put the cigarette in his mouth.

The lighter clicked.

You smelled smoke.

“Raylan.” You shook his arm. “Raylan honey, wake up.”

Raylan groaned. “What? What is it?” His face remained pressed against the pillow.

You shook a little more forcefully. “Raylan, get up.”

“What?” He snapped, craning his neck to face you.

“Evening, deputy,” Derek said.

Raylan’s hand shot to the nightstand.

Derek cocked his pistol.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he warned. He aimed the gun at your head. “Unless you want me to mess up your wife’s pretty face.” He grinned. “Again.”

“What do you want?” Raylan growled.

“Well, first, you know the drill, I imagine. Toss the weapon over here.”

Gritting his teeth, Raylan obeyed. Instantly, he moved in front of you, arm outstretched and pushing you back.

“I told them I was mugged,” you said. “I told them that I was wrong. That I was paranoid and chasing a red herring.”

Derek just laughed and took a long drag, blowing the smoke in Raylan’s face.

“But did you get our file? Did you find us a girl?”

“There isn’t a file,” Raylan barked. “The Marshals don’t have shit on you guys. All I’ve ever heard is rumors. Watercooler talk.”

Your hand found his, holding it so tight you worried you’d break it.

“Then consider this a mere… introduction, deputy.” Derek stood, dropping his cigarette and twisting it into the carpet beneath his boot. He picked up Raylan’s gun from the floor, unloaded the clip, and tossed it to the other end of the room, throwing the gun to the opposite side.

“Are we done?” You gulped.

“Well, sugar, there’s still that matter about getting us a replacement girl for, you know, the one we had to kill?” He winked at you. “But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

He backed up, opened the door, and closed it behind him.

His big, black boots echoed down the hall as he went.

#raylan givens #raylan givens x reader #justified imagines #justified #timothy olyphant #crime drama #kentucky #this man has such a chokehold on me its not even funny

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