hamburgerhelpersotherhand

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

HI! Can I be added to the taglist for Infatuation? I'm not sure if you are accepting taglist requests but you are I would love to be a part of it :) It's the best JoexReaderxLove series I've found and it's keeping me on my toes lol Hugs n Luv <3

I’m asked this very often, but I’ll be real with you all… I don’t know how taglists work!!! Even as a veteran Tumblr user… I’m pathetic.

But — Thank you for the kind words!!!! I really appreciate it!! Hugs and luv to you too, darling ❤️ xoxo

#ona talks

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Hellooo I LOVE your writing and was wondering if you could do another part of 'Papier' the story with Joe Goldberg 🥹 Thank you and Have a wonderful day!

Of course!

I’ve since finished the new season entirely and found it just fine. I heard quite a few unfavourable things before going into it, but I actually didn’t feel pulled in that same direction… it wasn’t that bad.

Warnings: power imbalance, Joe being a creep.

My eyes skim the pages, all different, all beginnings, unused introductions that didn't quite make the cut. You're good at this, at writing and adding... but you never quite rid yourself of the past. You tuck it away for later; perhaps a better thought will emerge from stirring the mind with old prose or, maybe, you have a fear of losing things.

I glance over the paper and look at you, sitting on the chaise in front of my desk, in my office, legs crossed and hands resting atop your knee. Your bag is by your feet. I smile and lower the draft.

"These are good," I say. "but you've given me better."

You nearly deflate at my words, chewing on the inside of your cheek as your eyes burn holes into the back of your paper. It's not what you had handed in for your midterm, but it is an older copy for us to look through.

I blink, tucking in my top lip for a moment as I think.

"What's up?" I ask.

Your eyes flick up to mine.

“What?”

I move back and sit on my desk, discarding the papers by my side to give you my full attention.

“You seem to have something on your mind,” I point out.

“I just…” You pinch your lips momentarily, timidly moving your eyes somewhere along my desk. “I feel like I’m moving backwards.”

“Would you like to unpack this feeling?”

“I don’t see how it’ll make a difference.”

At that, I smile.

“Sometimes talking things through can help. What are you worried about?”

You look away for a moment, pensive. You’re thinking of what to say, or perhaps you’re searching for a way to say it.

“Failure.” You admit plainly.

“Do you think you’re failing?” I then ask, and you shift in your seat.

“Yes, and I want to do something about it. Anything.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

After a moment’s silence, I push myself off my desk and take a step to you. Your eyes look up into mine as I approach.

Once your chin lifts, and I’m intimately close to your sitting form, I speak the question I had been dying to ask since your ass sat down in my office.

“Would you like me to give you some options?”

You gulp, the action drawing my eyes for a split moment. I grind my teeth, wondering loosely if this had been how Beck’s professors felt about her.

“What are my options?” You whisp, unsure of what you’re truly asking from me.

My hand rises, and I pretend to catch lint off your shoulder. I flick it away with a broadening smile. My fingers follow the knit of your sweater, then, languidly stroking my way down to your collarbone.

“When I’m not holding a class, I’m frequently in my office. The first option is simple: we meet here, five days a week.”

Your eyes swirl with fear. “I can’t do that, I’m full-time. I don’t have availabilities every day.”

“If the frequency of our sessions is going to be a problem, the other option will have to include longer sessions.”

Watching your face contort uncomfortably as you think over your dilemma has me giddy with excitement.

“Are you alright with studying late?” I ask.

You shift in your seat. No. You’re not okay with it. What will become of the little social life you’ve managed to maintain? The small amount of me-time you’re going to lose?

You nod and my hand finds your shoulder again, giving you a reassuring squeeze as you tense below my fingers.

“I can do nights, but my office can’t stay open past a certain time. I hope you understand that. I’ll gladly accept you into my home, if you’re willing to try. Two nights a week, maybe? How does that sound?”

“What nights?” You ask.

“Tuesday and Thursday.” I respond, watching you closely.

“I can do that.” Your voice is small as you speak, you’ve shrunk. Defeated. You don’t want to accept my terms, but you know you have to.

I pull my hand away, turn, and scratch at my beard with a pleasant hum. My hands ache with the need to touch you, to touch myself, but I reach for pen and paper instead, scribbling down my address.

#joe goldberg x reader #yandere x reader #joe goldberg #you imagine #netflix you #yandere #x reader

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Now that Infatuation is OVER, I can focus on what really matters… like Infatuation 2.

#ona talks

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Infatuation P13

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Masterlist

Warnings: post murder, drugging.

Notes: Wait... it cannot be... the final part of Infatuation? Posted? Pinch me, I must be dreaming! This has actually been sitting in my drafts for years. Not kidding. Ever since I finished Part 12, this has been collecting dust. Please enjoy, as I prepare some other goodies...

~

To put it simply, I’m frozen.

My instincts have me searching the room rapidly, but an emotional pull draws me to Love’s wide-eyed stare. She’s crouched by someone who’s laying limply on the floor. Well, I know they’re not just laying there. With that amount of blood, they’re surely… dead…?

I— I shake my head. No, no. Focus, observe.

The reasonable part of my brain tells me Love had something to do with it, but I can’t help but hold off on the assumption. Love couldn’t. She—

She stands and I feel myself stiffen. As she makes her way toward me, Im drawn to the blood staining her sleeve. I visibly gulp.

“I-It was self defence.” She says, nodding her head as though she were trying to convince herself as much as she were trying to convince me. She‘s making herself small, caving in with partially hunched shoulders and hands that don’t quite fit comfortably by her sides.

My god, she really did it. I could’ve believed the lie if I hadn’t seen the evidence caked on her… or looked at whatever remained of the neck, but I crouch and reach for the corpse’s face anyway.

When I drag her sticky hair out of the way, I feel an odd sense of satisfaction and relief. Now, I don’t have to worry about Candace… but this isn’t really any better. Love— she’s… she just took a life, and with a witness too.

I glance to you and Love drops the locker door behind us. I flinch.

“Does anyone else know you’re here?” I ask Love, feigning a calm demeanour. On the inside, I want to tear her apart— but I need a clear idea of what’s happening. You’re… here too. I can’t risk doing something drastic while you’re still in the room and looking this way.

“No.” She replies dryly before stepping back. “A-actually, yeah. Her phone—“.

“Do you have it?” I ask. When I glance back and up toward Love, she slips it out of her pocket and holds the device loosely toward me.

I take the device and examine Love’s face at the same moment. She seems erratic, so I tell myself that keeping myself together could benefit her as well, I need to be our anchor… lest I wake what’s underneath.

I place the phone in-front of Candace’s face and it unlocks.

“Check the call history.” Love rushes to suggest.

I look at her and squint. “…Why?”

“Someone called her.” Love says, and I’m already rubbing my forehead out of anxious habit. Oh, for fucks sake.

“Who?” I ask, shaken.

Love blinks, her expression shifting angrily. “I don’t know, Will—! I picked it up and I didn’t recognize any of it!”

“W-What did they say?” I stand up, looking at Love for answers. I’m getting frustrated.

She hesitates for a moment, but I can see she’s trying to wrap her head around it. “They said ‘get out of there’.”

I start scrolling through the call history with a shiver. All along the way, I see Forty’s name, and at the very top— the very last call received- I recognize the unnamed number.

I take out your phone, and open it swiftly. Love watches me and leans in curiously. And wouldn’t you know it, that same mysterious number litters your history too.

“This number called? It’s all over Y/N’s phone.”

“Wh-what the fuck does that mean?” Love asks me, stuttering and furrowing her brows like it’ll get her an answer. But then she looks to you.

“What the fuck does it mean? Who is that?-“

“Calm down.” I immediately regret my statement when Love’s face whips to look at me. She grimaces but hesitates to open her mouth. For the first time tonight, I see Love catch herself from what I can only assume is dawning realization that she looks and sounds absolutely ballistic.

“Why is she locked in that cage?” Love whines out about you, and I don’t know how to feel. She’s making me the villain, pointing fingers, but may I remind everyone in the room of who’s covered in fucking blood? You’re trapped in this glass container because I got carried away and made a selfish decision... but she did something worse, wouldn’t you agree? But stating this isn’t going to help anyone, especially our hysterical guest over here.

“I did this for you.” I reply instead, my voice just above a whisper. Love’s face softens into one I’ve seen countless times before. Yet… something in me has changed. I don’t feel warm when I see it anymore.

“We’ll get out of this.” She mutters, wiping at her eyes as though something were actually there. “We just— we just have to clean up a bit, yeah?”

And in an almost comical fashion, we both turn our heads to the cage— but more specifically… toward you.

You sit still in your corner. Your eyes are open and blown wide.

“We need to clean up...” Love mumbles again, this time drifting off as she observes you fondly. I can’t help but stare at her with an astonished look in my eye. She’s insane and it’ll be my unfortunate responsibility to do something about it.

“There’s some flunitrazepam in the desk.” I regrettably say, and a part of me feels terrible over the mere implications that flash through Love’s mind.

“I don’t even want to know why you have that.” She nearly spits, changing her demeanour once again. I have to clench my fists by my sides not to absolutely lose it in such a sensitive and integral moment. Love carefully makes her way to the desk and shuffles through the drawers.

In a minute, Love’s standing in front of the cage’s door, uncapping the water cup I got for you.

“Y/N. Look at me.” Love says. “You see this?” She holds a small grey pellet in between her index and thumb. “Im going to put it in this,” She wiggled the cup lightly, “and you’re going to drink it.”

You shake your head horribly, trying to shrink further into the corner.

“This is the easy way, Y/N. The hard way is going to hurt a lot more.” Love looks to you sympathetically. “Don’t take the hard way, babe.”

Babe… I gulp.

You don’t let up. You’re standing your ground and being stubborn, and I can see Love’s not having it. But you’re — you’re traumatized. I know you are because, hell, even I’m shocked at the scene I’ve stumbled into. We’re discovering something about Love we hadn’t known before… and it’s not easy. It’s never easy. Love takes in a deep shaky breath before facing me.

“Force her.” A shiver runs up my spine, and I hesitate. It’s not like she and I have gone through this before, had a plan, or even discussed the implications of her… hard way… but I think I know what she wants.

As I pull the key out from my pocket and unlock the door, I watch you cower. You’re just scared, but there’s really nothing to be scared of anymore… well, actually… I glance at Love.

“We can’t waste time, come on.” She says.

I step through and observe you for a moment. You try to stand up and I see it in your subtle move to get away that you'd expected to dodge me, but I’m quicker than you thought and you don’t have much room to wander. I hold my arm out and you run into it, allowing me to spin you around and firmly hold your arms to your sides and your back to my chest. My free hand simply grabs your jaw and squeezes.

Love steps into the cage as well, holding the cup in her hand and a face of… disappointment? Or maybe it’s shame, from the way I’m holding you still against your will.

“Y/N, I… I gave you options, okay? You chose this for yourself and we have to go through with it so we can move past it.” Her words are meant to reassure you that things could’ve been better, but I can’t help but feel as though she’s unlawfully justifying drugging you to herself.

As she gets closer, your squirming and panic gets worse. It’s not much to fight off, you never have been difficult to hold down.

Love’s hand takes my place and grips your jaw. You whimper, of course, and it’s such a gentle sound. You must be tired. She holds the cup to your parted lips and begins to tilt it into your open mouth. You sputter for a moment, and then your eyes shut tight.

“She’s not swallowing it.” Love grits and discards the empty cup. She loosens the grip on your jaw and, with her free hand, pushes your chin up to shut your mouth. Come on, Y/N… it shouldn’t be this difficult.

Love gently caresses your cheek and allows her hand to slide downward. I watch over your shoulder as her fingers run across your neck and, with a precise flick to your throat, you whine.

“You have to swallow.” Love states sternly as she tilts your head back some more. “Then it’ll be over.” You whimper again and I bite my cheek.

After another minute of your resistance, you start to move and it finally goes.. all the way… down.

It’s not long before you slump in my hold and I sit you up against a wall to think. What happens now?

I glance to a container of plastic bags. I wrap the body up, bring it out of town. A quick look to the phone in my pocket reminds me. I cover her tracks. But wait… teeth, finger prints, hair. Did Love take Candace’s car? And the messages… We can be compromised before we’ve even left the building.

When I look to Love, she’s nervously pacing back and forth. When she stops in front of me, I realize she’s been talking. “Are you even listening—?!” she panics. “Oh my god, we're so fucked!” Love grabs at her hair and looks around.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and I begin to wonder what our relationship will be like now. This isn’t going to work. My heart starts to race and I begin to heat up. She’s not meant for this. Will she let you go? I think we have to let her go.

I don’t hesitate to grab Love by the collar of her shirt and shove her against the glass cage.

"NO — W-WAIT," she tries to scream. My hands find her throat but before I can squeeze, she shouts.

“I’M PREGNANT!” and I still as my blood runs cold. My eyes run down her body then, quickly.

“You’re…” I hesitate to repeat after her, my terrifying future flashing before my eyes as my hands pull her closer by her shirt. I breathe out as my eyes meet hers again. I witness the… worry? Fear? Somewhere in her swirling sight, I feel exposed to sincerity. She’s telling the truth.

My arms fall limp to my sides, my attention growing dull. As my head swirls with thoughts, she slips out of reach. My eyes follow her movements until they settle on you, slouched, unconscious.

“I know how to fix this,” Love sniffs, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Just — please… take care of the body.”

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn x reader #love quinn #yandere #yandere x reader #x reader

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

I work two jobs (one where my manager hates me, the other being my backup since I lost so many hours at the first), I go to uni, went through a break up with my long term partner, and had my grandma move in because of health complications. I am not alive, but I’m finding time to write.

Sorry for the prolonged silence, I hope to be posting again soon.

#ona talks

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Snap

Will Graham x Reader

Warnings: brief crime scene description, violence.

Notes: Will becomes your chiro. HONESTLY -- this isn't even an x reader, at this point. However... what is an x reader, if not an opportunity to discover facets of relationships that exceed platonic and romantic? Anyway, I wanted this out of my drafts.

~

It was nearly morning by the time you’d arrived to the scene.

An unpleasant phone call had roused you from your sleep, interrupting what was meant to be one of your only nights off from work. Days typically felt endless, and the few nights you had to yourself shortened considerably. It hadn’t been for nothing, however… For the entire span of a month, an unavoidable tension and haunting silence settled upon the precinct. These types of cases rarely made for good conversation anyway, but you'd be damned if you said you didn't want the current atmosphere to just snap and dispel back into the playful chatter that once occupied the air. In short: you never quite found yourself catching a break.

When you finally managed to roll over, stretch your arm out, and answer the call, you were met with the familiar gruff voice of one Jack Crawford.

While he talked, you grunted in acknowledgment. Or, at least, you had hoped the strained sound that escaped your throat evoked it all the same. Either way, you agreed to his unpleasant request and returned the phone to your side. You had desperately wished for more sleep -- at every word and syllable that left Jack's mouth, you held on to the dream that he'd allow you some rest before the day would begin. Jack didn't care about your aspirations today.

And so you had begun by dragging yourself out of bed, pulling your smelly clothes out of the hamper and back over your arms and legs, and pouring yourself whatever was left of your cold, day-old brewed coffee. You hung your badge on your hip and decidedly brought your flashlight along. It was still dark out and most wouldn't be awake for another five hours. Unfortunately for yourself, you weren't most.

The car ride was achingly tedious, with street lights feeling brighter than you'd remembered them being.

When you slowed near the address, you parked across the street, on the side of the road, and stepped out of the car. Outside the house, right across from you was the cruiser tasked with an overnight stay, overlooking the crime scene's privacy.

You made your way over to the vehicle, noticing the officer inside had dozed off to sleep. He's from the precinct, you recognized. You lightly tapped the window.

He nearly jumped at the sound, opening his eyes and looking your way. A beat later, he starts the cruiser and rolls down his window.

"Has Graham left yet?" you ask, opening your flashlight and pointing it toward the ominously parked car behind him.

The officer rubs his eyes thoroughly, looking in his rearview mirror. The only other car on the road, a Volvo, was parked directly behind him. It was empty.

"No, he hasn't. Did you get Crawford's call?" he responds, and you yawn before shuffling through the pockets of your coat.

"Yes... He's still inside then?" the officer looks past you, watching the home's kitchen light turn on. He straightens his back suddenly and you turn to watch the house.

"Someone definitely is."

You turn back to him in an instant and flash him your badge, exasperatedly.

"I'll get him," you say, sighing. "but, hey... maybe don't sleep on the job?"

You pulled the caution tape over your head as you passed through and made your way toward the front door.

It was quiet inside, and dark. An ongoing investigation meant the bank couldn't put her back on the market just yet — not that she'd sell well in this state, without a thorough and deep cleaning. An entire family being butchered in their own home wouldn't quite leave the air of such a tight-knit town either.

The light in the kitchen suddenly turns on, noticeable by the faintest click and a sudden warm glow that peered through the doorless arch. You stopped yourself from moving any more, noticing yellow evidence tags littering the floor where dried blood grotesquely stretched. Without the sudden light, you might've stepped right into it.

"Will?" you call out.

Nothing but silence.

Stepping into the kitchen, you’re quick to notice the toppled-over vase, dead flowers, and scattered glass shards. With a quick look around, you see the light switch across the room and by the dining room arch. The thought of shutting the lights off crosses your mind, and so you make your way further into the room and around the kitchen island, careful not to step on anything on your way. The yellow tags continued into this room.

You jump at the sight of Will, his body walking into the kitchen with only a few steps from the dark dining room. The strangest goosebumps suddenly littered your skin.

You shift uneasily.

“Will, you shouldn’t be here at this hour.” You state bluntly, but he should already know this. He doesn’t react as he continues to stare you down with familiar, distant eyes.

Will Graham is not a violent man, or rather… he doesn’t give the impression of ever having been one. You recall the few past instances of him interacting with evidence — that same glassy look in his eye as he’d do so. Jack was always there to catch his attention and to snap him back to the present but, much like you find yourself now, you’ve not always been so fortunate to have him around.

“C’mon. If you’re not feeling great, I’ll drive you home. We can pick your car up in the morning.”

Will’s lips move momentarily, but nothing reaches you. He’s too quiet. You take a sudden step forward and, at that same moment, his hand shoots up to the light switch. The lights are shut off. In that mere fraction of a second, your hand reaches for your gun, no — your flashlight — and you stumble back.

“Will —!“ you begin to call out, unhooking the cool metal object. Just as it unfastens, something makes contact with your gut.

You keel forward with a wheeze, your hands grabbing onto what you immediately realize to be a coat — Will's coat. You hold onto him for dear life, chasing your breath with quick and uneasy gasps.

You make an attempt to speak, despite breaths of air being difficult to come by, but a firm and quick jab hits you straight in the throat.

No sound escapes you as you fall backward, hitting your back against the solid wood floors just outside the kitchen and displacing many of the yellow evidence tags. You're stunned, curling in on yourself the very instant you landed, and just as your mind attempts to reel itself back together. You can't find the air you so desperately need — you can't move off your own volition — hell, you're certain you dropped your flashlight back there.

Unfocused, you barely take notice of Will's few steps forward before a click sends a bright light straight into your watering eyes. You squeeze them shut and flinch away, your eyelids suddenly painted with bright blinking spots. He must've picked it up.

After a moment, he turns the light upwards and the brightness becomes more bearable. A few blinks bring your sight back onto him, a sinister upcast glow on his grizzly face as his eyes remain vacant and familiar. You wheeze uncomfortably and hold your neck.

"I punch you in the throat so you don't make a sound. Your screams would alert the neighbours," he says, a tilt of his head giving away his roaming yet unregistering stare. "and we can't have that."

He takes a step forward and, just as his free hand reaches for you, your leg shoots upward to kick him in the jaw. He trips back into the kitchen with a crash, the flashlight waving about as pure darkness comes and goes, and you waste little time rolling over to crawl as far away as possible. The floor is sticky and unpleasant.

With a grunt, Will rights himself and walks back into the living room, the flashlight pointed to your back and casting your shadow along the floor. He gently places it at his feet and reaches you in only a few drawn-out steps, dropping to your level and restraining your arms behind your back with ease. Before you are the large shadow of his silhouette, looming over with sinister intent.

“I focus my attention on the spine.” He grunts, reeling your arms in further and causing a painful pull to your chest. “At this point, permanent damage doesn’t matter.”

Another wheeze leaves you as you attempt to plead, desperate. He hears nothing as he places his knee on your upper back and shoves down with all his weight.

#will graham x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #yandere will graham #yandere #yandere hannibal #x reader

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Papier

Jonathan Moore (Joe Goldberg) x Student!Reader

Warnings: power imbalance, sexual tension but it's only in his head. Joe isn't as excusable of his own actions in this as he is in the show.

Notes: God help me … AHHH!!!! I have a very deep hatred for teacher/student dynamics, but something horrible came over me. This is set in a University, not unlike the one in the latest season.

I rarely find the chance to look your way when class is in session, but the few glimpses I’m granted by the seldom silent room, as I search for someone to speak, have allowed me to catch your thoughtful expressions. I especially enjoy the sight of your pen between your teeth as you unknowingly chew your way through.

Of course, the silence is by cause of thinking, typically as a result of a question or remark the students hadn’t expected to be posed. Usually, and always quite consistent at that, the class is occupied by students who love to open their mouths and talk. You’re not quite like that, I realized fairly early on in the semester.

I don’t believe you’re actually shy, but I do wonder when and if you’ll ever raise your hand to speak. So far, nearly everyone else in the course had spoken — except for you. You can lose marks for that, you know… But that doesn’t make you dumb. Oh, no. On the contrary, while your classmates endlessly bicker and discuss the previously presented lectures and assigned readings, their written works cannot compare to what you’ve submitted to me thus far.

Your essays have given me a peek into you — into your mind — and I am enthralled by not only your position, but the overall manner in which you bring your perspective into the written world. The fashion in which you articulate your thoughts feels natural and organic, nothing like the endless well of regurgitated information that typically summarizes the essays of newly admitted students. I can’t quite call what I feel as being love, lord knows I’ve jumped the shark a handful of times, but I’d certainly consider it admiration of the highest regard.

“Midterms have been graded. When I call your name, come to the front to pick it up.” I say, ten minutes before class is dismissed. “My office hours remain the same as it appears on the syllabus, and I will gladly discuss your midterms with you then.”

There is a short duration as I list off the students, one by one. When I eventually call your name, you rise from your seat and make your way around the other students. I watch you stride over to me, your eyes observing the stack of papers in my hands. I slide your essay off the top and hand it to you, all the while my eyes roam your face with obsessive interest. Your expression drops from curiosity to absolute academic horror as the red ink on the front page comes into your view and your life surely flashes before your eyes.

“If you’d like to stay after class, we can discuss your grade,” I tell you quietly. You say nothing — big surprise — as you press the stapled paper to your chest and steel yourself. You make your way back to your seat not a moment later, and I call up the next student.

By the time the papers are distributed, everyone is packing up quickly. Everyone, but you. Conversations are being thrown about, laughter and words of encouragement are being shared, but you remain silent as you slowly bring your things together. You’re embarrassed, I’m sure of it, and you’re desperately hoping no other student saw even a glimpse of the wretched red ink atop the page, signifying your horrendous grade — a mark I had given to you like a desperate fool for your time.

Despite your work being one of the best in the class, I gave you a failing mark. It hurt me to even consider it, but we'll both laugh about it at a later date — when all of it is far behind us.

Once the room is emptied and only you and I remain, I lean back on my desk and cross my arms.

“I can’t speak to you about the midterm until at least twenty-four hours have passed since you received your grade,” I say.

“Then this is redundant.” You respond. I’m stunned for a split second, nearly enchanted by the way your lips moved.

“You’re struggling in this class and I thought it’d be good to talk,” I tell you, following it with a prolonged silence as you fail to meet my stare.

“The midterm can’t be taken again,” I continue. “But you can still, sort of, earn points for participation. Although not enough classes remain for a positive mark in that category, I can arrange for replacement assignments to make up for it.”

When you look down at your essay, deep in thought, I step away from my desk and make my way to you. I watch the way you chew on the end of your pen, deliciously, and the way your hands carefully caress those wretchedly red-stained papers.

I clear my throat to catch your attention, once more. You look up at me and I feel myself becoming worse. Before I speak, I lick my dried lips like a parched animal.

“Would you be willing to meet with me at an allotted time… for these needed marks?”

#yandere joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #jonathan moore #yandere #x reader

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Hi! I was wondering if your going to be doing a part 2 of "visit"?

Ah, the riddler fic ☕️🧐

Maybe eventually, but my intentions are rarely ever to continue one shots. Sometimes the vaguest nudges and concepts of a narrative is stronger than any fully fledged story… at least to me, that is!

Buuut I still like to daydream about the possibilities… if I were to write a second part, I’d probably want to uncover what had gone down on the night he references when he says:

“Sometimes I wonder… where would I be If I had actually gone through with it — if I had killed you that night”.

#ask #ona talks #edward nygma x reader

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

don’t reread your old fics late at night, worst decision of my life (I hate them and am now spiralling)

#ona talks

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Do you still write for Hannibal Lecter?

Yessir!

Actually, my next post will most likely be a Will x Reader that’s been sitting in my drafts for centuries. However, in terms of Hannibal Lecter himself, I don’t have anything lined up.

But I’d like to quickly bring up that I’ve received a lot of requests for this show in the past, and most (if not all of them) had themes I am no longer comfortable with writing per request, such as but not limited to: self harm, suicide, and even some that cover EDs. I am a believer in writing whatever you want and not limiting your palette (as even the taboo can be interesting to cover), but… with that being said, I had never before written at the request of strangers before and, now that I have this experience, I am changing how I approach it. Moving forward (and while these themes may appear in my own personal work), I will no longer be writing the Reader struggling with any of the above, at length, to fulfill requests sent to me in asks.

#ask #hannibal lecter x reader #Ona talks

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Are you gonna do a part 3 of TLB Lost? I really like it!!!! It has so many questions left unanswered, and the cliffhanger!! Just curious

I actually very much enjoyed writing Lost and it’s follow-up, and I’d be glad to sit down and write some more for it — buuuuut, with that being said, I don’t even know if I could!! I’d have to sit down and reread it, tbh… im super forgetful. I didn’t even remember I wrote a 001 fanfic, like who did that……

I’d like to hear your questions, though!! I would absolutely love to discuss the things I write, or just generally talk about characters — but I mostly just get very specific requests.

I simply want to feel a connection 🥺😢❤️

#ask #ona talks #the lost boys x reader

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Alive and Well

Viktor x Sick!Reader

Warnings: Blood.

Notes: Hextech could do more than power lightbulbs. This is a bit of a late Halloween piece, I guess!

Viktor could’ve been considered a workaholic, if it hadn’t so much to do with enjoying the process over seeking results. Of course, he was far too preoccupied with the end goal of his escapades, which had always been the central focus of his studies, with his fixations always drawing him to new and innovating ideas. Truthfully, he wanted to make Piltover a better place, even if it meant diving deeper into his work than he had ever before.

And so, he focused this ambitious necessity with the body. His body. Your body.

Your health, much like his own, had been on a spiralling decline for quite some time. However, unlike himself, your weakness lay purely within your own heart. It was frail, like glass that could shatter and splinter you from the inside. Though, you barely acted as though a simple fall could as easily break your spirit. You spent your days in the laboratory, by his side, and completely aware of the dangers that accompanied new inventions. You didn’t seem to mind, your studies clearly outweighing any other reason.

You had always been a shining beacon, here at the academy. Even far after the days were done, you kept that same smile plastered throughout, and kept that cheerful lull that could too easily put anyone under your spell.

Your insight, as he’d fiddle away at different contraptions, was welcomed with an open mind. Though, you often found yourself speaking grandly about Piltover’s numerous festivals and events rather than the discoveries at hand. You always preferred the world outside of these walls, and so Viktor found himself in awe at the notion that staying here, in the laboratory, with him, had still been a willing choice.

Yet, despite what you were owed by life for your own goodness, it still found its reasons to betray you so well. You’re lucky, he sometimes thinks, that he couldn’t stop himself from generously extending his arms to you, letting you fall right into a long awaited plan. Viktor wanted to see you well — the both of you, really. He wanted you to prosper and see the world. But, with your heart, you never found the chance.

The natural way was becoming obsolete. Hextech would replace it, remove the unnecessary teetering of fate and validate all existences of any kind. This would be the medical breakthrough Piltover desperately needed because, after all, everyone deserved to walk, to breathe, and to live.

He was going to save you, he had to.

It was only to his misfortune that he found you falling unconscious at the most inopportune time. He wasn’t prepared, his plans needed much more polish before entering its testing phases and— and he hadn’t found the time to suggest the idea to you, to hear out your thoughts, your opinion, if you even wanted this for yourself… but you wouldn’t make it till then. Your heart had completely stopped and no amount of pushing and pressing was helping. He needed to act quickly, and quickly did he act. As he began working through his drafted plan, he dragged your limp body to the table at the centre of his laboratory and wasted no time fetching the necessary tools.

There was blood, so much of it, as he cut your chest open and reached inside. Your body was still warm, and he knew it would only get colder from then on. How long could it last? How long could he take, afraid to quicken his pace any more and risk harming you irreversibly?

Viktor wiped his hands on his shirt, the blood smearing across as he thought about his next step. His eyes darted to his notes, and he found himself rummaging through, leaving behind red fingerprints as he did. He was frantic and inconsolable.

Holding up one of his many grotesque sketches, and staining the paper with his hands, he knew what he had to do next. His grip shook as he uncapped a loose container of something purple. Shimmer. A gift from an old friend.

Loading it into a syringe, he punctured the juncture above your newly opened chest cavity, somewhere below your neck and nestled between bones. Ultimately, the placement of such a thing wouldn’t matter.

His next step would be his last, though the fear that flowed through him matched his equally fascinated mind. This was his first run of such an idea, something he had planned to do with himself, too — could Hextech replace flesh as a necessary component to life? Could this be the solution to the world’s greatest miseries?

He reached for it, the Hexcore that made its home on his desk. This was just as much of an experiment as any of his other attempts to tap into its power. Ultimately, he hadn’t a clue what would truly occur, but his assumptions and reports could give him an idea. It was unfortunate that you’d find yourself in this position, as nothing more than a test-run… but Viktor saw great opportunity with your dilemma.

But, peering it’s ugly head in Viktor’s mind, he suddenly wondered what you would think of him — of this outcome. Perhaps it was your time to go, but even Viktor couldn’t see the logic in that. And, once more, he wondered solemnly: What would you think of this? Would you see it as your destiny, just as he had? In his hands, your life would not be in vain.

With twitching fingers, he loosened the tongs and dropped the Hexcore into the cavity of your chest. A flash of blue lit up the room as your body jolted. Fixing his goggles over his eyes, he fell back in his chair and observed the reaction with shocking surprise and equal curious fascination. He should’ve been taking notes, but Viktor was far too captivated by the scene.

The core seemed to be fuelled by the shimmer, moving your limbs with subtle twitches as it shook the table below. The skin around the core began to sear, appearing as a dark purple burn that reached further across your chest and slowly crept up your neck. It was consuming you, like a godly sacrifice on an altar, and he briefly wondered if removing the core would be possible at this stage.

Just as Viktor abruptly stood, and with one significant jolt, you breathed in violently — your first breath that night and, despite the sudden panic that overtook him, Viktor felt elated. Your arms shot up to your chest, but the surface above the core had already begun to fill in. Your hands clawed at it desperately as you slurred frantic pleas, like an itch you’d never be capable of scratching. His heart raced as he watched you, his own fear bubbling to the surface. This had become increasingly difficult to watch, but Viktor couldn’t imagine tearing his eyes away for even a split second. You were alive, he thought blissfully.

Alive and well.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #yandere arcane #arcane #arcane x reader #yandere league of legends #yandere #x reader

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is there going to be a part 2 to ‘reader runs off’ lost boy yandere where reader stumbles into michael then maxs video store? that ending had me in a choke hold and really hope maybe there’s more to it 👀👀👀? Hope all is well and have a great day!!!

I reread the fic just now and I'm utterly embarrassed I posted it like that, heh. It feels stiffer than I remember and, as the ever-impulsive creature I am, I obviously quickly made some changes. Forgive me!

Looking back, I think my initial idea was to have the reader be somewhat of a Star replacement. If you remember Michael’s original role (being Star’s key to true vampirism), you can probably see where this could go! I think a sequel would be interesting...

You can try to run away but, by a devastating and utterly regrettable mistake, you’ll always be fettered to them. Michael could simply be another incentive.

#ask #ona talks #the lost boys x reader

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I just read all of your infatuation fanfiction with Joe and love and I love it one of the best YOU Fanfictions I've read so far. I was wondering if you have any other like Joe X reader fanfiction recommendation?? Or even Joe and love X reader fanfics?

I’m glad you like them!!

Surprisingly, I actually don’t have anything to recommend. I originally began writing because the things I wanted to read weren’t being written by others… (at least not in a way that I liked) and, just off the top of my head, I actually don’t know if I’ve ever read a complete YOU fanfiction that isn’t my own. I kind of stopped looking, heh.

I can recommend some other things I've written, at most:

This is a pretty good place to start. It's a different perspective from usual, but it feels more ~mysterious~ and ~thought-provoking~ this way. Just for you, I decided to go back and freshen it up a bit! (Joe x Reader x Love)

And this is one of the rare pieces of fluff I allow to my readers, every so often. It's rather short, but you can't get too greedy on me! (Joe x Reader)

Lastly, there's always this to return to. It isn't an outright Joe x Reader but, with the ambiguity, it very well could be. It's also kind of raunchy compared to other things I've written. (Forty x Reader ft. Joe)

#ask #ona talks #joe goldberg x reader #love quinn x reader

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Just got around to watching the teaser for YOU season 4 and all I’ve got to say is… hello, you… 😘🫵

#ona talks

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Visit

Edward Nygma x Reader

Warnings: Brief mention of past abuse/attempted murder.

Notes: Okay, so, Gotham is a pretty decent series sometimes… but constantly bringing people back from the dead is laaaaame! Anyway, my favourite character is probably Zsasz. Also, I thought I’d post this now since I don’t see myself really improving on it anytime soon.

You heard the familiar sound of the lab’s door. It creaked open, then shut with the light kick of a heel.

Having been pulled into your work, hunched over your desk with a single lamplight, you couldn’t quite tear your full attention away. Besides, your back was turned to the door and you were more than certain you knew who had stepped inside.

“Hey, Lee —“ You greeted mindlessly, going through the paperwork in front of you one more time. You had things worth confirming with the examiner regarding the most recent case.

“Hello,” A soft voice spoke with your name following closely behind. You stilled.

Though you stared at your papers, you couldn’t quite take in the words in front of your eyes. Your thoughts were behind you, further into the room where an old friend most certainly stood. It... couldn't really be him, right?

At the sound of footsteps, you inhaled.

“It’s been a while since we last spoke.” A touch to your back sprung you into action as you dropped the paperwork onto the desk. Your posture straightened and you spun around with an open mouth.

“Nygma,” You said suddenly. “They let you out of Arkham.”

He was smiling brightly, hand rubbing his fingers together after having touched your back. You grimaced. The tension which already began to build in you was tight but unavoidable.

“Yes, it was quite an enlightening experience.” He spoke giddily.

“Don’t tell me they gave you your old job back.” You say, watching as he slides his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. He chuckles at the statement, but ultimately shakes his head.

“Of course not. I have something better now.” Ed responds, not seeming to mind your interrogative greeting. His gaze wanders around the room briefly, passing by the various cabinets he’d often rummage around in and warmly settling onto the autopsy table. “Though, I do miss—“

“Why are you here?” You cut him off. He glances at you, that earlier bright smile now twitching on his face. He’s being patient.

“Can’t I visit an old friend?” He teases.

“We are not friends.” You bluntly state.

His smug smile fades as he chews the inside of his cheek. He’s getting annoyed.

“Why are you really here?” You try again.

Edward slowly inhales and sighs with grandiose falling shoulders. He watches you for a few moments, taking in your face, your posture, your clothes… his eyes wandered with a tilt of his head.

“I wasn’t kidding, baby.” He purred disgustingly. “I'm dropping by to say hello to some old friends. Arkham was so lonely, you know? Well, it was crowded… but loneliness was never about the physical.” He glances down briefly, somewhere below your neck, and you frown. “Though it could be.”

You abruptly stand, now only a few inches away from him as you look into his head. You’re repulsed.

“Get out.” You demand. “Coming into a private workspace and putting your hands on me is hardly a visit.”

He scoffs, looking around the room and biting at his lip. He’s thinking, but he knows he has to respond quickly.

Ed's eyes fall back onto you, suddenly aware of the distance. He takes a step forward. You take a step back, startled by his unusual boldness.

“Get out.” You repeat, but something in your voice wavers. You don’t sound as sure.

He takes another step, and another one after that, and you’re beginning to feel scared. The chair rolls back as you bump into it, attempting to further the distance between yourself and Ed. Your behind hits the desk as the chair tucks beneath it.

He grins drunkenly, his tongue tracing along the curves of his teeth. You continue to scowl at the image.

“Sometimes I wonder…” He sighs dreamily, his chest pressing against yours. Your neck cranes back, still trying to find space away from him. “… where would I be if I had actually gone through with it—” His hands leave his pockets, one settling onto the desk behind you and the other fixing your white coat back into place. “-If I had killed you, that night.”

He smoothes out your coat, his fingers sliding upward as they uncomfortably settle around your throat.

“Would I have gotten away with it? In a way, you would’ve been with me… forever.” He toys with the idea, his gaze running over where his hand rested. He’s lost in thought, and you’re sweating right through your clothes.

A particularly hard press to your windpipe has you whimper, and he’s drawn back to the present. He quickly notices the new placement of his hand, the one right on your neck.

“You can hold me without using your hands or arms. What am I?” He suddenly asks.

You bit your tongue and refused to answer. Being unresponsive was something Edward greatly disliked, but you simply couldn’t find the words. How long had it been since you last indulged one of his games?

The room was eerily quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you made out the slight pull of his suit’s fabric as he leaned closer to huff in your ear. “Your breath. It belongs to me, completely.”

You let out the shakiest puff of air. You gulped, and he felt it along his palm. His hold was unpleasant, but not unbreathable at this time.

At the crack of the door, Ed suddenly tears himself away. Your hand shoots up to your neck as he pretends to find interest in the autopsy table again.

You spot Lee at the door, a surprised expression having crossed her face.

#gotham x reader #riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #yandere #yandere x reader

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Absence

Edward Cullen x Reader

Warnings: Implied character death.

Notes: This is very short, but I’m mainly testing an idea.

It was early in March, and the last time anyone had seen Bella was hours ago.

You sat at your desk during your afternoon course, the empty seat beside leaving you feeling cold. She should’ve been there to fill it, but nobody on campus seemed to care as much as you.

A day later, the local police department had issued a curfew along with a statement to all citizens.

She was missing.

There was no reason to believe the recent animal attacks were connected, despite what some residents liked to assume. Bella was spotted walking with an unidentified suspect. You feel a guilty jab in your chest at every mention of the case.

You knew something the police didn’t.

On the day of her disappearance, Bella Swan was accompanied by Edward Cullen into the woods off the side of the campus.

Bella’s absence was everywhere. It made her the talk of the town for weeks. You couldn’t go a day without hearing her name or seeing her face on one of those wet posters stapled around town. But, Edward seemed to be the complete opposite. After that day, he seemed to completely vanish with barely a trace or mention. The other Cullen kids were still around but they seemed less care-free, more tense. You wondered if they knew, too.

The Cullens always stood out from the rest. They were distant, but relatively friendly if your paths did cross. You recall a brief exchange between Rosalie and yourself, the exact subject was lost to you. She was nice, but didn’t push the conversation any further and neither did you. It was suffice to say the Cullens often kept to themselves, but that hadn’t quite been the case with Edward.

Earlier in the semester, you recalled the looks Edward gave in your direction. You’d nudge Bella into attention but both of your gazes never really deterred him into looking away. Who was he looking at? You wondered aimlessly.

It wasn’t until the final few days of the semester that Edward would show his brooding mug once more. He stuck around his family, never departing unless attending a class. They seemed to follow him everywhere, as though it were an obligation, but it did little to discourage that awful stare.

Halting at the top of the front courtyard stairs, you watched the Cullens hover near the fountain. The sky looked to threaten a rainfall. You thought back on that same day in early March and remembered the similar look in the clouds, then. Whether you were right or wrong, one thing would remain true: Edward had been the last to see her alive.

Without another beat, Edward’s hard stare met yours from across the courtyard.

#twilight x reader #twilight #edward cullen x reader #edward Cullen #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere edward cullen