#coffee and sleuth

[purlturtle]

The One With The Detective Agency Above The Coffee Shop

I saw this post (in fact, I saw it several times, Tumblr being what it is), and this morning, it sparked off something. Then I showered and some thoughts occurred to me, and I worked on it some more. Here it is now all by itself, so as not to clutter up someone else's post:

”„ \_/=

After Sam’s death, Myka leaves the Secret Service. She can’t handle those kinds of stakes anymore, but she still wants to help people. She’s good at solving puzzles, at reading people, at noticing allllll the little details - getting a PI license is easy.

Finding an office, less so.

She doesn’t have a client base yet, not even a projection of what she might be able to earn finding, what, cheating husbands (or wives, all things being equal and all that) or lost puppies. No landlord (or landlady, all things being equal) is gonna take her as a tenant with nothing to show. But she trudges on; she needs something, she needs to do something, she needs something to take her mind off things. And if it isn’t solving puzzles and finding Fido, then it is scouring the streets – she’s given up on the papers; once a room is put up in there, it’s as good as gone already. She’s never in time, always too late, just like she was for Sam. So no ads, and it can’t be called wandering aimlessly if she has a goal, right?

So she walks. Rain or shine, she walks.  

And then one day she walks past a shop.

The scent coming out of it is heaven, pure and simple. The smooth rich scent of freshly ground coffee beans, the subtler aroma of perfectly brewed tea, the strong overtones of homemade cinnamon buns and... a hint of apples?

Myka hasn’t noticed scents in a while. After Sam died, everything was… gray. Dull. Detached from her, as if she were living on a different plane of existence entirely, and only in this universe by accident, this universe with its people, laughter, rain, cars honking horns, kitchens smelling of food. “Doesn’t this smell just lovely?” her mother had asked, when Myka had last been there, pointing at the oven; Myka hadn’t managed more than a shrug and the attempt at a smile.

This scent though, here in this random street in this random part of town, is enough to turn her head - and in doing so, she sees the sign. “Room to let, reasonable rate, businesses only, inquire inside.”

She would pay good money just to immerse herself in the scent coming from this shop for half an hour – the idea of working above it… She swallows. Swallows and doesn’t think, just pushes through the door.

“Hello darling,” she hears when she enters, above the sound of the perfect little tinkly bell, “I’ll be right with you; I just need to take these rolls out of the oven.” Received pronunciation caresses the words; Myka wonders what someone with that kind of accent is doing here, but shrugs it away. People move.

A sudden waft of steam rises from behind the counter, and the aroma of cinnamon and enriched dough gets even stronger. The scent of apples is undeniable now.

“There we are,” the same voice says. A woman rises from behind the counter, baking sheet in heavily gloved hands, apron of deep burnished copper color, hair wafting with the billows of hot air still coming from her oven. That same hot air has flushed her cheeks, and whatever is on her baking sheet, she’s obviously very proud of, to judge by her expression. “Apple pie cinnamon rolls,” she announces, setting the tray onto the counter. It clinks against stacks of teacups and tall glasses, threatening to topple a row-

Myka jumps forward even though all of this is happening behind the woman’s counter, and short of vaulting over it, Myka has not a chance to prevent anything – chances are, in fact, if she did jump the counter, she’d make things worse, what with the stacks and stacks of crockery.

Still, the woman notices the movement; her smile widens, no longer proud now but beaming with appreciation and not a little amusement.

Myka can feel the blush starting on her neck, but there’s no condescension mingled in the amusement, just a sharing of the realization of what would probably have happened had Myka vaulted the counter.

The baking tray comes to rest, and Myka notices the woman’s hip holding the teacups in place. With one last, deliberate motion, everything is safe.

Myka exhales. A grin spreads across her cheeks, hesitant on unfamiliar terrain (she hasn’t smiled in months, not like this) and unstoppable in her relief that nothing has happened.

The woman behind the counter returns it, along with a happy chuckle and relieved eye-roll. “All safe!” she sings out, and Myka can’t help but think that this is a regular occurrence – the narrowly avoided disaster, the full-body save, the conspiracy of relief with anyone who might have witnessed. “I’m sorry if you want one of these,” the woman goes on, “they need to cool first before I can frost them.” Then she slightly tilts her head, as if listening to her own words. She chuckles again. “Now there’s a sentence for you,” she adds with a droll expression of consternation.

“I like it,” Myka comes to the sentence’s defense. “I like how cool and frost contrast the warmth of cinnamon and apple pie.”

“Neither of which were in the sentence,” the woman points out.

There’s nothing Myka can say against that. Her smile drops away. “They’re in the air though,” is all she can muster. It feels so inadequate; worse, it feels like cheating. The woman is right, this is about words, not about the environment in which they’re said.

The woman tilts her head and narrows her eyes. Then she nods, once, decisively. “True,” she says. “One would have to establish that, if one were to write it.” Then her smile is back. She has tugged off her gloves and is now pointing a slender finger at Myka. “Good catch. Thank you, ...?”

“Myka,” Myka replied, with a rush of relief that brings her right back to middle school and is followed immediately by embarrassment. This woman isn’t a teacher to please – and then Myka realizes that this woman might be her access to the room advertised outside, and impressing her could be a good thing. She fights down her blush. “Myka Bering. I saw the sign about the room?” She points over her shoulder at the door.

The woman's entire face lights up. “Aces!”

”„ \_/=

I have a few more thoughts on this; I've often thought about how usually, Helena is the one who needs Myka's help, how Myka is the one to "save" Helena in so, so many fics. This one could be different. This one could be Myka being mired in grief over Sam's death, and Helena having had several years to come to terms with Christina's death. This one could be Helena helping/"saving" Myka instead.

Also, Helena usually wears jewel or metal colored aprons (very severe tones, in other words), but sometimes she'll wear an apron that swirls in all shades of light spring green. It is so different from the others that Myka notices it immediately, but she can't pinpoint a pattern of when Helena will wear it. (Helena wears it because it makes her think of Christina, who loved spring with all its green.) After a while, Myka notices that on days when Helena wears that apron, she's much more generous than usual, with plenty of things going "on the house" - things that make the recipient happy, such as an extra shot of espresso (or sugar) for a regular who looks peaky, or a cupcake for a regular who usually can only afford a simple cup of tea without a snack. (Because Christina was generous to a fault, and always wanted to make people happy, and this is how Helena honors her.)

And you could make it a Noir AU set in the Great Depression, and Pete is Myka's "male front" as a PI, and Wolly is the official proprietor of the coffee shop. Either way, everyone is just doing their best to muddle through despite everything life throws at them, but I'd really like for the dynamic "Myka saves Helena" to be flipped.

#Bering and Wells #warehouse 13 #mini fic #tumblr fic #my fic #coffee and sleuth

[vavandeveresfan]

It's Sleuth Saturday!

Wake the hell up with sleep-deprived Columbo.

#Columbo #coffee #oh this is brutal #me every morning during a writers convention #detective #sleuth #murder mysteries

[ahogedetective]

@fatexbound liked for a - ❤️ !!! (For Ann!)

"Um, I don't know if I really have a certain style that I wear: j-just whatever feels comfy to wear, I guess?" He meekly smiles. Shuichi was hanging out with Ann today at the underground mall. They were going clothes shopping; more specifically, Ann was going to pick out some clothes for Shuichi. A model would definitely have much better sense of fashion than he ever could, so he will happily let be the one to choose his clothes; ...even if it was admittedly a little embarrassing that a girl was going to, since he's never really asked one to choose an outfit for him before... but he didn't have to worry; he knows he can trust Ann to pick something nice for him.

"Sorry, I know that's probably not a very helpful answer, h-haha... But you always wear such nice clothes, Takamaki-san. I know you'll choose something nice for me! I'll treat you to crepes or whatever you'd like later as thanks.'

#HELLO MY GOOD HOMIE.... #here u go~ I went with your lovely Ann if that's okay!!! #I also saw you mention you moved Akira to his own blog #ONE DAY... we will write with our good coffee bois too.... #But yes I hope you likey~ and that you don't mind it's a bit pre-est!! #I just thought of how cute it'd be if Ann took him clothes shopping hehehe #Maybe she can help him NOT dress like a NERD smh!!!! #HGGFGGF #fatexbound #AU;; Masked Sleuth || {p5}

[misstisalir]

Open Starter: Tim Drake

Downtime was perhaps Tim's least favourite time. The why was simple. He COULD find something to occupy his ever-racing brain, but then he'd be stuck in a loop until he figured out the solution. By the time he was done, it would be patrol, likely as not. At least being Robin was something he enjoyed. Stream of consciousness tonight was a tumbling river. Over and over the words combined in to a weird, raging mess that was hard to make sense of. Flopping down in a chair at the table in the small coffee shop he'd set himself up in, he had his laptop before him, working on one of the current active cases with single minded determination. If ANYONE other than his family bothered him, they might get stared at, but who knew. Maybe he needed fresh eyes on this one...

#v;; Tim: Little Robin #t;; Coffee and Sleuths

[sweet-as-an-angel]

how about yan!dilf finding out that his darling has an onlyfans account?

Yandere DILF! Reaction to You Having an OnlyFans

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Manipulation, Blackmail, Infidelity, Pet Names, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Wordcount: 4364 words

♡ Good Lord, WHO gave this man internet access.

♡ Going to keep it real with you, babe, you’re finished if he finds your OnlyFans account. And so is he (in more ways than one) – but more on that later.

♡ Let’s say Domninic’s many, many hours of internet sleuthing (stalking) have led him to the pearly gates of your Only Fans account, the only thing separating him from whatever lies on the other side being a pay wall. One of the only kinds of walls that can’t stop Dominic.

♡ Of course, he buys a subscription. Of course, he does it under an alias, through an unlisted online banking app, on a burner laptop.

♡ And, upon seeing what you’re offering, he’s glad he took so many precautions.

♡ At first, the two emotions Dominic has felt most commonly throughout his lifetime flash in his ribcage, dance along the edge of his eyelids – make his eyes grow heavy.

♡ Lust and rage.

♡ Lust for the obvious. Rage for that which shouldn’t have angered Dominic.

♡ In a lot of ways, Dominic is a traditionalist; one’s significant other is for their partner and nobody else (even if Dominic doesn’t abide by this logic himself). Thus, to see you, the person he wishes he’d married, the person he knows is fated to be his, spreading their legs for any guy with enough money to buy a coffee, mortifies him.

♡ One, because you’re his. Two, because you sell yourself for such a low price.

♡ Dominic’s too wrapped up in his wrath to see to the vague throbbing between his legs. He’ll just make it Marilyn’s problem later when she returns from book club or whatever it is she does these days – and continue to make it her problem well into the morning when she struggles to emerge from bed, her legs buckling beneath the weight of his anger.

♡ For now, he paces around his office, checks the camera inside the bear he’d given to you months before.

♡ How had he not noticed sooner? He watched the footage from that bear enough times that he can recite everything you’ve ever said, can predict everything you’re going to do, has memorised all the unconscious quirks you adopt when you think no one’s watching.

♡ Dominic comes to the conclusion that you must be conducting your business in another location. One where you won’t be so easily found.

♡ Sure, he could go out, follow you to this location when you think you’re alone. He could even pay someone else to do it. But, amidst his rage, an idea sparks.

♡ No, he has a much better, much more cunning trick up his sleeve.

♡ The next day, Dominic comes to you with an offer he knows you can’t refuse.

♡ “Marilyn and I are going out tomorrow night and we’d like for you to babysit the boys for us.”

♡ You tried to refuse. You tried to make up a reason less nefarious than the one you held in your mind as to why you couldn’t do it. And Dominic only smiled, his eyes never crinkling, the sentiment never reaching them. He looked through you.

♡ He offered to raise your pay to an amount you both couldn’t accept and couldn’t pass up.

♡ This newfound amount was, considering how few subscribers you had on OnlyFans, irresistible. A godsend, in some respects. Especially when Dominic began taking his wife out more and more frequently, needing you to care for his children more often than not.

♡ To Marilyn, Dominic was finally, finally, trying to fix their marriage. To make good on the world he’d promised her those twenty-or-so years ago when he’d imprisoned her in a loveless marriage.

♡ To you, Dominic was being an understanding neighbour who was offering you a chance at a normal living wage out of the kindness of his heart.

♡ To Dominic, it was all a ploy to get you right where he wants you.

♡ The weeks passed. Dominic kept a close eye on your OnlyFans page.

♡ It would soon be time for you to upload your newest batch of material. If you ever found the time to do so, of course. What, with all the extra work Dominic had given you, he wouldn’t be surprised if you’d forgotten. Or simply hadn’t the time.

♡ It mattered little to Dominic now. He knew he had you on the ropes.

♡ The shift from one foot to the other as he offered you yet another night to babysit his boys, only for your eyes to lower. Uneasy.

♡ You’d tried the old “I’m sorry, Mr. Laurier–”

♡ “Please, (Y/N), we’ve been over this.” He smiles down at you. “Call me Dominic.”

♡ You try again.

♡ “Dominic – I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I’ll be able to tonight–”

♡ And Dominic used the tried and tested: “Oh…is it the pay? I can pay you more, if that’s the issue–”

♡ Issue. You’re making a problem out of this, not him.

♡ You backpedal. You sigh. You try to stand your ground.

♡ Unfortunately for you, the ground you’re standing on is merely a sheet Dominic is going to pull out from under you at any moment.

♡ You tried. Really, you did. Tried to reject Dominic’s kindness.

♡ And he looks down at you. He’s too beautiful for a grimace, he knows this. He puts on a mask he’s sculpted just for this moment – the false front.

♡ “I see,” he says, his voice low. His gaze shifts off to the side. He pretends to look for the right words to say. He already has them in his back pocket.

♡ “I understand. It’s just that…well…” He sighs. Places a hand on his hip. A change in posture. Something’s shifted about him. You’re paying attention, the oncoming of regret starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

♡ Dominic looks you dead in the eyes.

♡ “Don’t…tell anyone I told you this,” he looks behind him. Turns back to you. “But, Marilyn and I don’t really trust anyone else with our babies – we only keep asking you because…well, you’re brilliant with them.”

♡ He says it like it’s common sense. Flattery is every manipulator’s best friend.

♡ He senses reservation in you. He keeps going.

♡ “And…no, forget it, it’s fine. We’ll just cancel,” he smiles down at you. This time, the smile does reach his eyes. Makes it look like he’s hiding something else. Sorrow.

♡ You gasp inwardly, you take a step towards him.

♡ “Oh, I’m sorry! No, no, I can watch them tonight. I’ll just…do my work tomorrow,”

vYou try to smile. Dominic’s becomes genuine.

♡ “You sure? We–” Marilyn and I, halve the blame– “wouldn’t want to be keeping you from anything important.”

♡ You assure him they aren’t. That he isn’t. He’s won this round.

♡ He puts his hand on your shoulder. You’ve known each other long enough now that this is no longer a gesture that would inflict upon Dominic a problem he’d be lumbered with until he can, quite literally, take it into his own hands, and that you don’t flinch beneath his touch.

♡ There will be time enough for that. He knows this.

♡ And so, Dominic leaves you with an estimation of the time of his outing and his arrival. 

♡ “We’ll be back before you know it,” he says. He smiles at you from the front door, the handle in his grip. He leaves, his victory ringing in his head, making his heart thrum.

♡ And he didn’t even need to bust out the old ‘My marriage is failing’ shtick.

♡ True to his word, Dominic and his wife leave early into the evening, a rehash of their sons’ bedtimes and snack preferences no longer necessary. Second nature to you now.

-

♡ Your work – your OnlyFans content – played on your mind for the whole evening. Time seemed to slip away and stand still – paradoxy – as you pleaded inwardly for Dominic and Marilyn to return.

♡ The hours bled into one another, tearing away from what you could have been doing instead of guarding the house while Marilyn’s children slept upstairs, for truly they were more Marilyn’s offspring than they were Dominic’s.

♡ A half hour passed. Forty-five minutes. An hour.

♡ You came to face the possibility – the likely reality – that you would simply have to announce to the few followers you had that there would be no new content this month; that you would supply them with what they paid for twice over in a few weeks’ time. And pray that you actually had an audience patient enough to outlast your absence before that.

♡ Amidst your planning of damage control, an idea poked its head from the shadows. A failsafe. A sequel to your desperation.

♡ You could always just…take a few pictures here.

♡ The idea flashed in your mind like a life alternate to your own; past, with the certainty of already having been lived. All consequences already tangible. Foreseen.

♡ Perhaps that was why the anxiety associated with such expeditions into unfamiliarity had failed to catch up with you.

♡ Or, perhaps something masked it. Desperation, or one of its subsidiaries.

♡ Of course, you tried to stifle the idea. Tried to suffocate it with the smoke through which it walked. Though, its fiery grasp had mastered the art of survival.

♡ It wouldn’t go away. Much like Dominic’s lingering gaze whenever his wife was out of eye-shot and only you remained.

♡ Ten minutes crawled by and you almost wished for the rapidity with which the last hours had passed to find you, seek you out amidst this frozen landscape Time had entombed you in.

♡ And, as is the folly of man, you entertained that which should not be. You considered the likelihood – the schematics – of indulging such a proposition.

♡ Nobody was home and the boys were asleep, out of the way. Most rooms were large enough and devoid of personality so to mask your location – especially if the Lauriers had more of the sterile white sheets they laid their bed with.

♡ Then, a memory.

♡ A basement, tucked away between the folds of your psyche as its location within the house. You recalled the couple having one – a sizable one at that – when Dominic had invited you down there with him to retrieve more seating for his lawn party.

♡ You knew where it was. Knew where the keys were kept.

♡ And so, with a hammering heart and a withering step, you sought your fortune.

♡ The keys were easily enough discovered. As was the creaking door of the basement. And, upon your descension – biblical in your visage as the light from the hallway, dim as it were, cast a glow about your silhouette amidst the depths of the basement – you found precisely what you needed.

♡ A space – clean, untouched – equipped with white sheets covering a mass of boxes. Sure, they were creased; stained with Age’s attempts at youth, gripping onto the sheets and leaving his spectral marks – wrinkles – in their cotton-thin sheets, but they were there.

♡ You cast a keen ear to the ceiling, the living room floor, every few minutes as you looked for a place to start filming, a place to lay the sheets down, something to cover your face.

♡ You find a place, retrieve a Halloween mask from one of the boxes, and, without much deliberation, begin filming.

♡ What you do is nobody’s business but your own. Well, yours and the hungry men who survey your account for any crumbs you deign to feed them.

♡ What you don’t hear through the conduct of your business is the return of the home’s owner.

♡ Dominic hung up his coat, made little show of announcing his presence, and went straight for the basement.

♡ Don’t ask how he knew you’d be there.

♡ His steps grew more deliberate, louder, the closer he grew.

♡ You didn’t even know he was home until it was too late.

♡ At the height of your percussion, just when you were about to reach the moment of your video that would make the lead up worth it, something hit the floor behind you.

♡ You jumped. Whipped round to see what had happened.

♡ And there was Dominic. Hair black as the corners of the room, eyes void of any discernible emotion as he looked down at you, arms crossed over his chest, the top of his shirt undone by two buttons, not even out of his work clothes.

♡ You fumbled, the apologies, explanations and defences lodged in your throat as you choked to get them out, slamming your thighs together and reaching for the camera in your bid to shut it down. You tore the mask from your head, revealing blushed cheeks and a light sheen of sweat forming from the neck up.

♡ Dominic made sure to stay out of the camera’s line of sight, to remain only an anonymous spectator as he circled the room. He said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched and waited, walking.

♡ It was only after he knew the camera was off, your confidence in tatters around you, that he approached.

♡ You tried explaining, but he just shushed you.

♡ “No need to explain, my Dear,” he told you. He sighed, deeply, brought the corner of his lip between his teeth. He donned the veneer of disappointment.

♡ “I suppose I’m just…shocked,” he said. He leaned against a stack of boxes, solid against his back. He ran a hand through his hair and looked off somewhere. “I never knew you were…that kind of person,”

♡ The way he said that, like it had bleached his tongue just to speak it, made your heart sink lower.

♡ “I mean, what do we do now?” He made sure he gave you an incredulous glance, feigned disappointed abashment. “I pay you to look after my sons and I find you here, doing…” He looked to the camera, briefly, then away. As if he could still see what you had done on the tiny screen attached to it.

♡ You apologised profusely, tried to defend yourself: “Mr. Laurier, please – I didn’t– I never–”

♡ He didn’t interrupt you. He let you tie yourself in knots. Like a pretty present, all for him.

♡ Once you had exhausted your ability to explain yourself, Dominic let your fear hang for a moment, let it sink before you like a darkness bowing the ceiling above you. The singular lightbulb flickered.

♡ Dominic sighed. Pushed off the boxes. Came to you.

♡ “Honestly, (Y/N), if you were that desperate for money, you could’ve just asked.”

♡ He knew that wasn’t why you were doing this. But he also knew you’d accept whatever out he gave you. You listened.

♡ “Have I not been paying you enough? Have I misvalued your capabilities for this position?”

♡ The way his eyes flickered to your locked-together legs as he said position made your skin shiver.

♡ “Or…” he looked down on you. Relaxed his posture.

♡ “Is there perhaps some other reason you chose to…conduct yourself here?”

♡ When you didn’t answer, trying to decode his crypticism, he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side.

♡ “Could it be that you…wanted me to find you like this?”

♡ You tried to deny it, tried your utmost to say you’d never do such a thing to anyone, least of all your married neighbour and employer, but Dominic would hear none of it.

♡ “I’m flattered, really.” He says. He cast his eyes down, as if mulling over a secret. “My wife and I’s deteriorating marriage must be worse than I thought if it was so apparent to you of all people.”

♡ You knew such a comment, especially under these circumstances, shouldn’t have stung the way it did. Dominic only let you ruminate on it for a moment.

♡ “Maybe you wanted to show me something you knew Marilyn couldn’t.”

♡ Your jaw dropped. Dominic came to stand behind the camera. He toyed with it, general, not looking at anything in particular. You begged that he wouldn’t find a way to review the footage.

♡ Domonic stood back, looked down at you.

♡ “How about a compromise,” he offered. You watched him, eyes wide, heart pounding, stomach churning, breath short. He gave a pale smile.

♡ “You help me burn off some of the tension I’ve had building up over the last few weeks,” his eyes darkened. “And we’ll never speak a word of what happened here tonight.”

♡ Your words caught in your throat again.

♡ You knew Dominic was attractive, sure, but to help him cheat on his wife? And one so kind and loving as Marilyn–

♡ Your head span. Dominic had thrown you a lifeline.

♡ With a sigh, you evaluated your options.

♡ Your OnlyFans rarely made enough money to keep you financially independent, even for a short while; you had more to lose if you couldn’t keep your babysitting job. And you knew there was no chance Dominic would let you babysit again if he thought this was what you’d be doing during the dark hours of the evening.

♡ And what if he told Marilyn? What if she told their neighbours, your parents–

♡ In your vulnerability, your worry for your own preservation, you quietly agreed.

♡ And besides, you rationalised with yourself as the weight of the situation, of Dominic settling behind you, sank in. Better for Marilyn that he’s doing this with me rather than someone she doesn’t know, right?

♡ Given your bottom half was already bare, Dominic didn’t have to waste time undressing you himself. Though, under any other circumstances, he’d have jumped at the privilege.

♡ He’d often dreamed of this entire process being slower, gentler, and in the comfort of a bed in some lush space – usually a hotel. Not the sheet-covered ground of his cold basement.

♡ That evening, the mask Dominic wore was that of the common thief, for from you he stole your dignity. Your future.

♡ What you hadn’t realised was, as Dominic had been stood by the camera, he’d set it to record. Premeditated.

♡ You didn’t question why he pulled the mask from beside you onto his head. You just assumed, in your post-panic haze, that this was something he was into. Something he hid from Marilyn.

♡ Dominic still wore his work pants and had them pulled down to the bottom of his thighs. He’d also done away with his shirt from what you could feel of his skin; he radiated heat like you’d never felt before, even when you’d been in close proximity to him prior to this.

♡ You didn’t even have chance to think of much, to let the guilt and abashment of this whole situation weigh in on you as, with Dominic’s hands about your waist as if to steady you, he pushed in, filling you by an inch or two. 

♡ You were easy to penetrate given your recent activity, but that only served to quell the stretch by a slight margin. You gasped, jolted, and Dominic’s grip about your middle tightened. He pulled you back, inadvertently pushing more of himself into you. You bit your lip, trying not to enjoy the mortifying implications of this entire affair, the feeling of being filled by the man who held your future in his hands.

♡ He was, regardless of whether you’d done this before, nothing like you’d ever experienced. He alternated between being gentle and rough, eventually lodging himself inside you entirely and guiding you up and down his shaft at a rate that suggested patience. Just a minute later, he’d pick up the pace, pulling out and slamming back in, pushing you down so he could reach the deeper parts of you.

♡ And all the while, you could feel a tightness below your stomach. One which, to your panic, strengthened whenever you considered that you were helping a married man cheat on his wife, that your situation was buried beneath so many layers of complexity you feared you’d never see the light of clarity again.

♡ A married man. One who, if his soft touches and stifled moans were anything to go by, held rather a fondness for you in this moment.

♡ Dominic didn’t talk at all throughout the entire encounter, opting only to communicate with an occasional squeeze to your thighs, reaching around to your front to touch you in ways that had you whining and crying, and tugs to your hair whenever you tried to hide your face in your hands.

♡ The whole sordid affair hadn’t unfolded exactly how Dominic had wished – dreamed – it would.

♡ In his dreams, it had been gentler – consistently so. More private. Though, no less taboo.

♡ Now, he was harsher. Rough, though not enough to hurt you. Just enough to make sure you felt every inch of him; just what these subscribers of yours would pay to see.

♡ Dominic pressed close to you as the camera recorded, your face exposed for whoever came into possession of the video to see.

♡ Of course, so long as you remained an obedient little pet, Dominic would never have to release it to anyone.

♡ The transaction, one which left you breathless and sweltering, finished only when Dominic did. He made sure you were satiated, too, something to think about over the coming weeks as you curated more content for your subscribers, every moment no doubt a reminder of your encounter with him.

♡ Afterwards, he removed himself, though with much hesitance. He’d finally, finally attained that which he wanted most – you – and yet it hadn’t been under the circumstances he’d romanticised for so long.

♡ He tried not to think about it, storing it with the rest of the undesirable humanisms he had locked away elsewhere in his psyche. He focussed only on how explosive it had felt, how…alive he was in comparison to all the other times he’d been with someone, using them as nothing more than a mannequin to pump himself with rather than someone to give himself to.

♡ He let you lie on the floor, a blanket draped over you as he sorted himself out. He clicked the camera off, took out the memory card and kept it firmly attached to his palm – all while you weren’t looking, weren’t listening, senses still dazed with all Dominic had given you, done to you.

♡ As he removed the mask, there was a sheen to his skin and a passive glint in his smile that suggested something inhuman and false about him. Something you discovered too late, it would seem.

-

♡ After that evening, you had no choice but to continue on as if nothing had happened. For so long as Dominic was in possession of that night – that memory card – nothing had. You, of course, knew nothing of the card at first. Not until Dominic had let it slip that the camera had been rolling the entire time.

♡ And still, you didn’t question his use of the mask. The serendipitous timing of it all. You could hardly breathe for the ocean boiling in your stomach, your heart bleaching white and your brain paling as you realised you’d just filmed a sex tape that could ruin not just your life, but Dominic’s too.

♡ Oh, if only you knew just how little Dominic cared.

♡ Dominic told you not to worry, that he’d salvaged the memory card and put it somewhere safe only to now return it to you.

♡ He’d duplicated the video, of course. That, he kept somewhere even safer.

♡ Sure, he’d allowed you to upload it to your account when you asked him with wide eyes, your face blurred and his figure already unrecognisable to any of your simps. You still needed content, after all, so why not profit off your late-night tryst with your neighbour?

♡ Which was what led you to come to him now, eyes downcast as he stood before you, arms crossed, smile ready to split his face in half and reveal the parasites that made up his interior.

♡ The truth you gave him? Your account had garnered a great deal of traction since your…uploaded encounter. About three thousand new subscribers, to be exact.

♡ “Oh?” Dominic offered. “And why are you telling me this, mon Chèr? Do you plan on splitting your earnings with me?”

♡ He graced you with his charm, his humour. Tried keeping the situation light.

♡ A redness rolled across your face. Dominic smiled, slim and sly, and allowed you to foster his silence, his attention.

♡ You suggested filming something else. Something that could make the guilt you felt for your last encounter with him feel half worth it.

♡ Nothing ever would, of course. But you could at least try.

♡ And so began a lustrous alliance between yourself and Dominic, the man who had once been your neighbour, then your employer, now your owner.

♡ He used you as he pleased, donned the mask and bent you over under the guise of being the conduit for your growing fanbase. In reality, the scorching, pulsating, blistering reality you inhabited with him, you were his. His star who he made and will break when he sees fit.

♡ So long as he had that memory card, and the growing catalogue of blackmail you keep adding to in your bid to chase what you thought was the weight of your self-worth in cash, you were his.

♡ Infidelitous, yes. But that mattered little to Dominic. Nothing mattered more now that he had you in his hands, whimpering for him, coming undone for him, all while he maintained the safe anonymity of both his mask and the façade of a loving, caring family man.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #original yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere smut #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #yandere blog #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere imagines #yancore #yandere headcanons #yanderecore

[sanguineterrain]

Feel like I’m so basic but Jason Todd with a crush and him having zero social skills and just being super clumsy despite being highly competent when he’s in the field. Crush is like real sweet and kind maybe a service worker ✨

anon u are so true and real for this bc jason is definitely an unsocialized cat when he has a crush 💓

jason todd x gn!reader. shyish/anxious jason with a big fat crush. baker reader. annoying customer. the duality of jason todd. 1.6k words.

also i fully believe that silently leaving huge tips as a way to flirt is like. a wayne trait. 100% that family does that bc of bruce.

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

Business has been slow.

It's not like you expect your cafe to be packed to the rafters all day long, but you've had a grand total of four customers today. One of them only came in to ask where Starbucks was.

Frankly, you're not sure the cafe can afford to stay afloat for much longer. Gotham isn't known to preserve small businesses, and the conglomerates (cough, Wayne Enterprises) are taking over the world anyway.

So today is a reading day. You might even close early.

You're at a table in the back, so absorbed in Poirot's sleuthing that you don't hear the door open. It isn't until you turn the page and look up that you see your resident lurker waiting quietly at the display case. You flinch so hard that you spill iced tea on your jeans.

"Shit," you murmur, grabbing a wad of napkins and patting yourself dry.

Jason (as is written on his coffee cup) looks up from the pastries, teal eyes wide. You smile briefly at him. For such a big guy, his footsteps are astonishingly soft.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, voice rough like he doesn't speak much.

"Yeah, fine. You just startled me—I didn't hear you come in. Were you waiting long? Sorry about that."

"Oh. No, I wasn't. Sorry." He shifts weight between his feet. "You seemed pretty engrossed in your book. I didn't, uh, want to disturb you."

"Oh, hey, don't worry about that! It's literally my job to be here," you say, though you can't help but melt over how freaking sweet that is.

Jason visits you a minimum of twice a week. He's been coming for a couple of weeks. You know a whole three things about him: he's a university student, he pretty much only dresses in red or black, and he's unfairly cute.

At first, you were reasonably wary of him because it's Gotham, and he's so damn quiet. It's a little scary. You thought maybe he was an undercover spy casing the joint. Now you know he's just awkward.

"Slow day?" he asks.

"Slow year, more like. How are you? How was your exam?"

He blinks. "Exam?"

"Didn't you have an American lit exam last week?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Wow. Yes, I did. It was okay. Got an A."

"That's great! I knew you'd ace it."

His cheeks turn pink. Okay, you actually know four things about him: he blushes a lot.

You go to start the coffee machine. "Do you think you'll—"

"I-I have to go."

You watch, stunned, as he hurries out the door. That's when you notice the fifty dollar bill in your tip jar.

You don't know if you should bring up yesterday. Jason's back; that probably means everything's fine, right? You're not sure if you said something wrong, though. You've gone over the interaction a hundred times since and you can't figure out why he's so skittish around you.

"Hi. Hibiscus tea, please," he says, stoic as always.

You prepare his order, yesterday's interaction still fresh in your head. You should say something, shouldn't you? Or...

"Sorry about yesterday," Jason blurts, so fast you almost miss it. "Running out, I mean. I was, uh—I forgot something."

Well. Looks like he's going to bring it up for you.

"Oh, you don't have to apologize! If I said something wrong..."

Jason shakes his head fervently. "No, God no. You're perfect."

Your eyebrows shoot up. He turns red this time.

"I mean—not perf—well, you're amazing, don't get me wrong! Except, like, what is perfect, y'know? My brother has gotten into the habit of calling everything perfection like some kind of sitcom character. Alfred will make pie, and Dick'll go, "Alfie, that was perfection." And I feel like it's such an exaggeration—"

Jason's mouth snaps closed. He rubs his forehead.

"Um, I actually have chronic foot-in-mouth disease. It gets really, stupidly bad. Sorry."

You're trying hard not to giggle. You want to smother him in frosting and take a bite.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you say.

"I'm really not," he says with a sigh.

"Not true. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

You go into the kitchen and return with your latest experiment: matcha cream puffs.

"Do you mind trying these for me? You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

Jason's shoulders hunch. "Are you sure you want my opinion?"

"Of course I'm sure," you say happily. "I trust you."

"You trust me," he repeats quietly.

"Yup!"

Jason takes a puff and bites. He starts to nod.

"It's really good. You're really—all your creations are—yeah. It's good."

You squint. "No notes? Really?"

"They're perfection, as my brother would say."

Fuck, you like him so much.

"Have another one," you say, pushing the tray towards him.

"I shouldn't—"

"Wait! I'll pack you some!" you interrupt, flitting back to the kitchen to get a Tupperware.

Jason helplessly accepts the container of puffs you shove into his hands.

"Let me pay-" he tries to say, but you shake your head.

"Nope! I won't accept payment for these. Not from my favorite customer."

"Your favorite?"

"My favorite," you confirm, grinning.

"Oh." His ears turn pink as he walks to the door, cream puffs in hand. "Uh, right. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Jason? Don't you want your tea?"

"Shit. Yeah." He returns to the counter and takes his drink. This he insists on paying for, so you let him, because you do have rent to pay, after all.

"So nice to see you!" you add, because the stiffness in his gait is kind of throwing you off.

He just nods, slipping out the door as quietly as he came.

Today, Jason's in a red workout tank. You have to make the conscious effort to not ogle his arms.

"Hey, Jason!" you say cheerily.

"Hi," he says softly.

"The usual?" you ask, and he looks up in surprise.

"You know my order?"

You gently roll your eyes. "Of course I know your order, silly. Favorite customer, remember?"

"Oh." He looks away, brow furrowed. Then he turns to you and his expression smooths over. "Yes, please. Thanks."

"Sure. Give me one second? I just have to finish decorating some sugar cookies."

"Take your time," Jason says, then goes to skulk by the window.

The door is suddenly swung harder than necessary, thumping the glass.

"Hey!"

You look up from the cookies. A man in a suit is waving his phone impatiently.

"I ordered a dozen muffins. Where are they, huh?" he demands.

"Oh, right! Well, you called ten minutes ago, so they won't be ready till six, sir. Can I get you something while you wait?"

He scoffs and stomps to the counter. You almost back down, but you don't; that's exactly what these bullies want.

"This is exactly why no one eats at dinky cafes like yours. You can't even do this!" he fumes, shoving a finger in your face.

"Sir, like I said, the muffins are baking..."

"I know the city's health inspector personally," the man spits viciously. "One call, and I can—"

"Say one more word."

You blink as Jason is suddenly between you and the customer, stood at his full height. He's all muscle and broad shoulders, looming over the guy. You peek around him.

"What the fuck, man?" the angry customer squawks. "Move!"

"No, you move," Jason says, tone lethal. "Sit quietly at a table and wait for your muffins to bake. Then you can thank the nice baker for waiting on your sorry ass and you're not gonna come back. They have far more patience for entitled fucks than I do."

"Fuck you," the man spits.

Jason calmly closes the distance between them and whispers in his ear, hand like a vice around the jerk's shoulder. You watch as he turns pale, eyes growing wider.

"Sound good?" Jason asks pleasantly, all teeth. The man gapes at him.

Wow. Yeah. This is really doing something for you.

The oven dings. You go to retrieve the muffins, packing them as quickly as possible. You give him the box and the man nods.

"Thanks," he mumbles, then scurries out of the store.

Jason turns to you, and it's like looking at a completely different person.

"You okay?" he asks, posture stiff like he's still prepared for a fight.

You nod, a little dazed.

"Yeah. Wow. Jason, I... you didn't have to do that. I mean, thank you for doing it, but..."

"Hey, that guy was a jackass. And if you have trouble with him or anyone else, call me, okay?"

This side of him stuns you. If you didn't know better, you'd think he had this exchange regularly.

"Call you?" you ask, smiling. "How will I call you if I don't have your number?"

He freezes, eyes wide. "Oh. Uh. Um..."

You lean over, elbows on your counter. He watches you. You cup your hand around your mouth, pretending to divulge a secret.

"This is where you, the cute guy who frequents my struggling cafe, gives me your number."

"You think I'm cute?" he asks.

"Devastatingly so," you say, grinning.

He's quiet for a long moment. Your smile starts to dim.

"Did I read this wrong?" you ask. "If I came off too strong..."

"No!" he says a little too loud. Jason winces. "Sorry. No. I... you're... fuck, I'm not good at this. I don't even really drink tea or coffee, to be honest. I just come in to see you."

"You do?"

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Shit. That's creepy, isn't it?"

You laugh and he visibly softens.

"No, Jason," you say warmly. "It's sweet."

"So can I still ask you on a proper date? Not coffee."

You grin. "That would be perfection."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #batman fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #coffee shop au #bakery au #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

[petorahs]

shuake works because it feels like akechi's the only one who listens to akira and prompts the otherwise quiet leader to talk.

in a game about defiant teens making their voice heard, goro akechi listens to akira's voice from the get-go. out of detective-sleuthing/work duties, sure, but over time it's clear that akechi genuinely finds akira interesting.

in fact, akechi's confidant route regardless of which game is being played starts with him deeming akira the antithesis to his thesis, a "worthwhile debate partner". akechi values joker's opinions.

its always nice to see people point out that in that one 3rd sem phone call with akechi, its the most involved akira's been in a conversation in-game. i myself remember inserting a lot more input during that story-sequence which usually i can put on autoplay otherwise. akechi, in a whole different reality, still seeks out joker's opinions on it. it's like he trusts no one but him.

and imo this gives a lot of character to akira. he talks the most with akechi. the quietest people have the most on their minds, and it shows with akira. but akira never gets a say in anything, and who would listen? he's less than a nobody in reality since society dictated that. so he pointedly made himself silent, hiding his thoughts beneath an impenetrable mask. during important story moments, akira favors doing more than saying. his teammates and confidants are all directly inspired by his actions over the course of the game.

but with akechi, it's different. actions seem to take a backseat as they continue with their verbal back-and-forth. in rank 7 of royal, they play pool while talking, but it's clear to the outsider that the focus is in the layered conversation they're having. they primarily talk everytime akechi's in the coffee shop, because they dont usually see eachother in their busy schedules. it's not just "hi, hello, how are you?" with them but "i find you and everything you stand for interesting. let's talk more."

there's something to be said about how two people with vastly different and opposing views seek eachother out to further discuss things instead of antagonizing eachother. its why maruki said "despite being enemies, your relationship was never based on hatred or ill will".

their relationship was never a one-sided thing. akechi helps joker as much as joker helps him... arguably more. he eggs joker on, shows him that he can do better. otherwise, the leader would remain stagnant and unchallenged. there is no progress where there is no thesis and-- you can finish the rest.

#persona 5 #shuake #goro akechi #akira kurusu #been defensively quiet lately and was thinking how nice it is to have someone listen to and validate my thoughts. #maybe not always agree but. making me feel like my words are worthwhile #aishi.docx #and then i realized thats exactly what akechi does with joker. damn rivals... #they should exist irl too... #oh to have a smug pretty n intelligent boyfriend telling me im smart while he twirls his spoon in the tea i made him... #anyway i really like the topic of joker's quietude cause i feel like it makes sense that he wasnt always like that at all. #him becoming quiet after getting shut down over and over is like. so humbling and a real epidemic i fear... #this is a personal post more than anything i feel HSJDBJS me giving joker my fears and pains. but actually joker copied ME #(said like a totally normal person)

[piratefishmama]

Pt1

It continues, also with Robin. She leaves Steve on that floor, pathetically cycling through this random metalheads video game music repertoire, sending a silent apology for her fallen friend to the lady in the apartment below them, sure she got to hear Steve practicing his songs every now and then which was a blessing, but she also now had to deal with his pathetic puppy crush as well.

Sorry two (definitely not house-trained) poodle owning lady, Robin sent her condolences for her hearing. But only a little condolence, one of those dogs had left a steamer in the elevator and it was a tall-ass apartment block. Karma really, sweet sweet karma.

It continued because Robin had a mild gift for hunting people down on the internet, it was a skill she’d developed and honed purely to hunt down the assholes who occasionally popped up on Steve’s insta with threatening messages and dumb as shit behaviours that a best friend refused to abide by. Steve had never allowed her to do anything with the knowledge, but one day, one day, the dogs of war would be released, and she would rain fury down upon them for making him make the sad puppy eyes.

He was just a dude, sure he grew up with wealthy parents, sure he had connections since birth to help him get to where he wanted to be, but… that didn’t make him any less of a soft-ass with a genuine love of sports, and sweaters, and listening to audio books in reading nooks with mugs of coffee like some kind of pinterest mood board model.

That didn’t make him any less of an actual mother hen to several child actors and young musicians ensuring they got fair treatment, ensuring they were never taken advantage of by the industry or the people around them.

It continued because within an hour of sleuthing, Robin poked her head back around from Steve’s guest room (read: Robin’s second home), and proudly announced “Found him!” As loud as she could to get over the cover of the final boss battle from Banjo and Kazooie that Steve absolutely did not recognise but was clearly vibing to.

“Found who?”

“Your mystery hater! He’s a—”

“Robin!! You can’t dox people!!”

“I’m not doxing him, I’m telling you exactly where he is so you can go confront him.”

“That is exactly what doxing is. How did you even find him?!”

“Dumbass posted a pic of a newspaper article that his friend wrote, which, uhm, that’s pretty cool I guess, but it had her name on it! All I had to do was search LinkedIn for her and boom, I gottem.”

“…Okay so he’s basically asking to be found is what you’re saying right now.”

“EXACTLY, can we go? Can we? I wanna see him squirm like a little bitch baby when you turn up to confront him.”

“All you’ll see is my pathetic attempts to flirt with him because I don’t know how I’d be anything but pathetic around him I mean have you seen his hands? Do you remember the Hemsworth incident? Do you remember the Hemsworth incident, Robin?” The incident in question involving a low doorway and a concussion that left him delirious in the fantastic arms of the God of Thunder.

“Do I remember you acting like a drunk school girl with her first crush around a guy with biceps bigger than your head? Yes. Yes I do. It was hilarious and you gained a handsome Aussie as a life-long friend out of that pathetic display—"

“I was concussed.”

“Drunk school girl. That doesn’t mean you can’t manage to charm a little bitch from Indiana, we’re from Indiana, we have common ground, you can bond with him!”

“Oh, because being born within the same state makes for such a conversation starter… should we really go?” Would that be stupid? Would that be crossing a line? Would that be absolutely batshit insane?

“For true love—" and champagne in First-Class "I think we should.”

“…Fine.”

Part 3

#Steddie #PirateWrites #ficlet #I DONT EVEN HAVE A NAME FOR THIS ONE #but it's in demand apparently so here #take it #Stranger Things AU

[kimberleyjean]

Aziraphale's Illustrated Bible

There are a lot of interesting items stored within Aziraphale's bookshop and one I find fascinating is the bible (or bibles) that are typically on the stand next to his desk and which they use for the Job flashback/memory sequence. Here's what these books look like in episode 2 - the blue detailed folio, the beige folio held by Aziraphale, and this same beige folio when opened to Job:

You might not have noticed yet, but there are several other images shown in this book in the second season! Often the book is out of focus and far from the camera, but some sleuths on reddit were able to identify the particular images being shown.

Let's take a look at those images and where they occur in the show. All of these images are famous illustrations by Harold Copping:

1. "Joseph knows his brethren" - Book of Genesis, Old Testament

This image is on display in episode 1 and looks like this on camera. To spot it, I used the little telltale shadow that is created on the ground:

The story of Joseph may be more familiar to you as "Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat". I've certainly had to brush up on my bible knowledge myself, so please, if you know more than I do and I've gone wrong anywhere let me know. Joseph is rejected by his family and they believe him dead. He then gets promoted to a high-up position in Egypt. The image depicted is when Joseph is reunited with his estranged brothers and they don't recognise him at first (something which happens a lot in season 2!). However, Joseph recognises them and he pretends to be a stranger to them at first. Eventually, he clears the room and says to them "I am Joseph! Is my father still living?". I'm sure there is more to unpack in this story but I'll leave that for someone with better biblical knowledge.

2. "Jacob's vow" - Book of Genesis, Old Testament

This image appears in episode 2:

In the episode, it first appears in the background looking like this:

According to comments on the reddit post, this image could refer to "Jacob’s vow in Bethel, that’s when he promised to worship God if God took care of him, and it was the day after his famous dream about a ladder in heaven. It is generally a symbol of the link between heaven and Earth." Here is a quote from the exact passage: "Genesis 28:20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and keep me in this way that I am going, and give me bread to eat and clothing to put on, so that I come back to my father's house in peace, then the lord shall be my God. And this stone which I have set as a pillar will be God's house, and of all that you give me, I will surely give a tenth to you." We see a lot of emphasis on food giving this season. The Eccles cakes get offered to Maggie then handed to Crowley. Gabriel offers up lots of little snacks at the ball. The Metatron gifts Aziraphale the coffee. At the ball, we see people being given new clothes as well - is that what this could be referencing? Why do you think these particular images have been chosen?

3. "The Brazen Serpent" - Book of Numbers, Old Testament

What do we think of when we hear "serpent"? Anything snake-like refers to Crowley in this show, so that's where my mind immediately goes.

This appears in episode 3 looking like this (partially occluded):

The story is that God had sent fiery serpents to attack the Israelites for making complaints about God and Moses (no asking questions, no complaints? What kind of organisation is this? They really need to unionise). However, God seems to then have a change of heart and commanded Moses to erect a snake upon a pole, referred to as "Nehushtan", so that anyone bitten by the snakes can just look at this pole and they will survive.

We get some pretty wacky stories about God's fickleness in Good Omens, especially in the S2 Job flashbacks. Is this a reflection of that theme, perhaps.

4. "By the rivers of Babylon" - Book of Psalms, Old Testament

If you don't have a Christian background, you may be more familiar with the song than the story itself. From the wikipedia article: "The song is based on the Biblical Psalm 137:1-4, a hymn expressing the lamentations of the Jewish people in exile following the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem in 586 BC".

It appears in episode 5 and looks like this:

One Redditor has explained it as such: "The rivers of Babylon symbolize deep grief and longing for freedom by people exiled from their homeland and doomed to live in captivity."

5. Closed Book(s)

The book also appears closed at times. Let's take a look at the scene where Aziraphale retrieves the book for the Job flashback. We see him getting out the beige folio and putting it onto the stand but over the top of an almost identical book. The only difference is that the Job one has blue detailing and the other is a plain/beige cover (seen here in this third image with Crowley, episode 6).

So what is this other book? Well, looking online, it appears that Harold Copping's illustrated bibles could come in sets of two - one for the Old Testament, and one for the New Testament. All the illustrations we see in S2 are from the Old Testament, so why would the New Testament also be there? When explaining this to someone they mentioned that Aziraphale has a lot of misprinted bibles in his collection. So could they instead be two different versions of the same text - one with misprints and one without? I'd be keen to hear your thoughts.

6. Bonus Season 1 Appearance!

In Season One, we also see a Harold Copping illustration - Adam and Eve after the Fall.

The book is in the same place inside the bookshop, as show in episode 1 (26:21) and episode 2 (51:40).

Beyond supporting the themes of Good Omens these books are useful in another way too - finding discontinuities! If you are interested in the discontinuities of Good Omens S2, then please check out this post:

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens theory #good omens clues #harold copping #ineffable mystery #good omens analysis

[helpimstuckposting]

Coffee shop AU where Nancy keeps getting love letters written on napkins and can’t figure out who it is. She thinks it’s maybe Jonathan because he’s artsy and probably good with his words, or Steve who’s getting Eddie to write them but neither really make sense. Robin helps her try and sleuth out the admirer but they keep hitting dead ends because Robin is deliberately sabotaging the hunt. She doesn’t want Nancy to figure out she’s the one writing the letters because she’s much better at talking on paper and doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they’ve just barely started

#think Nancy and Robin in the archives s4 #but Robin keeps leading them to bogus dead ends #and Nancy is a little sad because whoever is writing the letters really seems to get her #the way no one else really does #imagine it guys #IMAGINE IT #I think I’m on to something here #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things #prompt #helpimstuckwriting

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part two: "The One-Sided Pining"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your journalistic sleuthing skills helped you break a case for Nelson, Murdock, and Page. They meet you at a coffee shop so you can hand over the documents you uncovered.

Or

You internally pine over Matt while Karen and Marci pitiably watch you as a pretty blonde interrupts to give Matt her number.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 2.3k

a/n: Once again, sharing a few of these installments from AO3 over on my tumblr now! Trying to get a few of them up today (there are 74 parts currently on my AO3). You can find the list of installments currently on tumblr for this series here or on my Masterlist!

You took a sip of the warm coffee, letting it calm your nerves as you stared at the manilla folder in front of you. Thankfully the four of them were finally making their way towards your table near the window, their own coffees in hand. You had been here anxiously waiting for them to arrive for the last fifteen minutes, having only vaguely filled Karen in over the phone.

"Hey," you greeted the group as they reached the table. "So I think I found what you needed for that case you're working on."

Karen settled into a chair on your right, setting her coffee on the table so she could shrug out of her coat. Marci was taking the seat beside her, shooting you a friendly smile as Foggy seated himself next to her, clearly too nervous to take off his own coat as his fingers drummed on his coffee cup. Matt, who you had become all too aware of every time you were around him over these past three months, was setting his coffee and folded cane onto the table beside you. And then he was sliding out the chair next to you and settling into it, slipping out of his black winter coat. His arm bumped into yours and your cheeks instantly burned as they often did any time he touched you, accidental or otherwise. 

"Sorry," he muttered beside you. 

"It's fine," you answered quietly, eyes darting away.

Karen raised a brow in your direction, a knowing look on her face. She had already called you out on your ridiculous one-sided crush on Matt months ago. You'd been at her apartment for a girl's night with her and Marci and ever since that night when you’d accidentally word vomited how attracted you were to Matt they had kept trying to convince you it wasn't a one-sided thing at all. Apparently the pair of them saw something you didn't.

But Matt had never asked you on a date after that first night at Josie’s three months ago, even after asking for your number that evening. You assumed you were only friends. He did, after all, use your number to invite you out to Josie’s again four days later with Karen, Foggy, and Foggy’s girlfriend Marci. Clearly it had not been a date. He had even walked you home that night and told you he’d called because all three of them had enjoyed spending time with you that previous Monday night and wanted to see you again–not just him. You had somehow become the interesting and quirky new friend among the group with, as Matt called it, the ‘unique and charming ability to make a situation highly amusing and uncomfortable in seconds.’ And there was clearly nothing sexy about that.

"So what'd you find?" Karen pressed, leaning her elbows onto the table towards you, her eyes darting down to the folder in front of you.

"A name," you told them. "A company name, at least."

Karen’s eyes widened as she exchanged a look with Marci beside her. Foggy's fingers only drummed faster on his coffee cup. The five of you had been trying to dig into this for a couple of weeks now for one of the clients at Nelson, Murdock, and Page. Foggy had even brought Marci in on it for help because they’d been so desperate.

"And how did you get that?" Matt asked, leaning in towards you as well, a frown fixed to his mouth just under his dark glasses. 

You cleared your throat nervously, tapping your fingers along the manilla folder. "I uh, may have pretended to be an employee," you muttered, shrinking a little in your chair as you felt Matt's burning gaze on you behind the dark lenses. "At night. After–after swiping an ID card."

"That does not sound safe," Foggy called out. 

"No," Matt nearly growled beside you, jaw clenched, "it doesn't. The security guards could have caught you. Or worse."

You let out a nervous laugh, both of your hands rising to grip the warm coffee between your hands for comfort. "I actually got the information from the guard," you admitted sheepishly. 

Karen's brows shot up to her forehead as she leaned in further across the table. "How?" she asked.

Your eyes darted to your coffee as your cheeks reddened again. "I flirted with him?" you admitted nervously.

There was a brief pause before the table erupted in laughter. Even Matt's stern expression gave way to a faint upward curve on his lips. You rolled your eyes and slid further into your chair, burying your face in your hands.

"I'm sorry," Marci said behind a hand, trying to control the laughter, "I know this is serious but I just–I can't picture how that worked out."

"I've seen your flirting," Karen agreed, "it is…something, that's for sure."

"Well clearly it was successful enough since the guy told me what I needed to know!" you shot back, cheeks further reddening.

"Or he took pity," Marci teased lightly.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head and leaning forward, your focus on the manilla folder. "Okay, well, if we're all done laughing at my awkwardness as per usual," you grumbled, "I have proof of all of those shell companies linking back to a Pessel Corporation."

"Pessel?" Matt asked curiously, his tone and expression shifting back to serious. 

"Yeah," you answered, opening the folder. 

You passed a set of papers around to everyone at the table before sliding a couple of sheets towards Matt. His hand instinctively darted out, his lips parting no doubt about to tell you he couldn't read the paper, but his mouth abruptly closed, his head tilting to the side. You saw his mouth twitch at the corner as his fingertips brushed across the page again. A warmth filled you at the faint smile that grew on his lips.

"I had to go further to find a print shop that had a braille printer," you told him gently. And then you cleared your throat, your attention returning to the others who had already been reading the papers. "That should be everything you need to help your client prove that it was Pessel who was behind the thing of which I'm not supposed to know about," you told them. "All public knowledge just very well-hidden."

"Shit," Foggy breathed out, eyes wide as he skimmed the papers. "Yeah, this will do it. Matt, this is exactly what we needed!"

"Glad to be of help," you said, sitting back in your chair and taking a triumphant sip of your coffee. "If you have future need of my sleuthing skills and awkward flirting, don't hesitate to ask."

Matt's shoulder bumped yours and you bit your lip, basking in the satisfied grin on his face directed at you. "I might have future use for one of those," he teased you. 

You felt your heart flutter in your chest, sweat dampening your palms as they rested along the paper coffee cup. Turning your head away, unsure of how to respond to Matt's occasional flirtatious comments, you spotted Karen and Marci both shooting you very pointed looks. But a beautiful blonde approaching the table just behind them instantly caught your eye and you frowned, noticing her eyes glued to Matt directly beside you. You knew exactly what was coming next because it had happened often whenever you were out with Matt. Immediately your shoulders fell and you slumped over the table, chewing a thumbnail in frustration. You wished desperately that you could just turn and grab Matt and kiss him hard before she could even open her mouth so she would just turn back around and walk away. 

But Matt wasn't yours and jealousy didn't suit you. And now you were just thinking about kissing his flawless lips again.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," the blonde said, wide smile on her face as everyone's attention landed on her. "I just–I've seen your friend here a few times and thought I'd actually come say hi today."

When her eyes landed on Matt, who was smiling as if he already knew it was him she was talking about, you rolled your eyes. Across the table Marci and Karen were shooting you matching pitying expressions. 

"You mean Matt?" Foggy asked her, entirely oblivious to what the other half of the table was picking up on with you.

The blonde’s smile somehow widened as she nodded at Foggy’s question, her eyes still on Matt. "Yeah, I uh, thought maybe this time I could give you my number?" she said to Matt.

She held up a piece of paper in her hands before sliding it across the table towards him. His hand fumbled briefly along the table until he found it, a charming smile spreading across his lips.

"I'm flattered," he said, raising the paper up before gesturing towards his glasses. "Unfortunately I uh, can't actually read it."

"Maybe your friend can help you put it into your phone?" she suggested, her eyes landing on you when she'd mentioned his friend and your stomach knotted uncomfortably. "My name is Samantha, by the way."

"Well it was lovely to meet you, Samantha," he told her, that little flirty smirk on his face. 

She blushed before turning and leaving and you felt your mood darken. Beautiful women were often approaching Matt and giving them their number, though this time was significantly tamer than what the last woman had propositioned him with. It never ceased to ruin your day though.

"How do you always manage to land pretty women just throwing their numbers at you?" Foggy asked Matt in astonishment. "You weren't even doing anything!"

Matt chuckled as he shrugged a shoulder, one hand twirling the paper with the beautiful blonde’s number on it. 

Mood officially soured and job already accomplished, you began slipping your arms back into your coat. As you were buttoning it up, Foggy noticed your abrupt decision to depart.

“Where are you going?” he asked, brows creasing together. “You just saved our client, you’re the woman of the hour right now! Stay and at least finish a celebratory coffee with us!”

Your gaze landed on Foggy across the table as you forced out a strained smile. “I actually have to finish up an article at the office,” you told him. “Deadline’s in a few hours and I’d rather not end up on Ellison’s shit list again . He’s still pissed at me for chasing that string of arsons last month–which totally ended up being worth it.” You sighed, sliding your chair back and grabbing your coffee in one hand and folder in the other, shooting your friends a smile. “I’ll see you all later this week at Josie’s?”

“Yeah,” Karen assured you with a soft smile, her eyes telling you that she knew exactly why you were leaving, “we’ll be at Josie’s Friday night, as usual.”

You rose to your feet, stepping around the chair and pushing it back into the table so Matt wouldn’t trip over it when he later got up. As you turned to leave, Matt’s hand flew out, somehow easily finding your wrist and pulling you to a stop. Your eyes snapped down to where his hand was holding onto you before shifting slowly to his face. He was staring hopefully back up at you behind the dark lenses.

“Let me at least walk you back to the office?” he offered.

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the proposal–you’d love nothing more than to have Matt walk you the four blocks back to The Bulletin. Four long blocks of having Matt’s undivided attention on you. Alone. Possibly flirting with you, though you never knew how to respond to the flirtatious remarks or even why he was making them in the first place. And he’d be holding onto the crook of your arm as you both walked, you guiding him like you’d often done. You enjoyed the feel of his hand there; it was always warm and comforting. 

Yeah, the idea of him walking you back to the office sounded nice– very nice.

But that was the thing–you had spent the past three months taking Matt up on his offers to walk you home from Josie’s or back to your office if you’d had lunch with him, Karen, and Foggy at their office. You’d spent the past three months blushing every time he flirted with you and dreaming about kissing his perfect mouth. Three months wishing that when he called it would be him finally asking you on a date. Three months picturing what a first date with him might be like. Or, shit, three months wondering what sleeping with him would be like no thanks to Katy constantly reminding you that he was rumored to be amazing in bed.

But in reality you’d spent three months pining over this wonderful, handsome, outspoken man who was constantly garnering the attention of beautiful women everywhere he went. And you’d spent months watching him accept phone numbers and flirt in return. You had spent three months wondering why he’d asked you to stay for a drink that night at Josie’s and asked for your number to only friend-zone you. Not that it surprised you; as you’d told Katy that very night, men like Matthew Murdock did not fall for women like you.

So even as it killed you, staring back at Matt’s hopeful expression, the slight upward curve of his mouth directed solely at you, you knew what you had to tell him this time.

“Don’t worry about it, Matt,” you answered, an ache forming in your chest as you spoke. “I can find my way back just fine.” You pulled your wrist from his grasp, your eyes returning to the rest of the table, a tight smile on your face. “I’ll see you all at Josie’s Friday night.”

With a quick wave you ducked out of the coffee shop, clutching the manilla folder tight to your chest like it would help keep your heart inside of your ribcage instead of trying to crawl back to fall at Matt’s feet.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #matt murdock fanfic

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

TW for SA. Steve was violated, too. He deserves to have a voice, too. These guys need a lot of healing and love. They're going to get it.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Steve’s POV

It was early in the morning on Saturday, and Steve was staring at his closet, trying to decide what to wear. He was pretty sure that Eddie was joking when he called it a date. . .hadn't he? Spending time lately with Eddie Munson and Nancy has been a surprise, but he was finding it quite enjoyable. He was definitely still in love with her, but he was also starting to have feelings for Eddie. It didn't take the kiss to realize that, but it definitely helped. He and Eddie hadn't really talked about it, nor had he talked about it with Nancy. It had been a vulnerable moment for Eddie as he thought he was dying, and Steve wasn't sure how to approach the subject. He wasn't sure how to even deal with his feelings for two people, and he couldn't help but wonder if this is how Nancy felt struggling with her feelings for two people had gone. . .if Nancy had feelings for him at all. If only there was a way for him to date both of them and for them both to be okay with it.

"This is crazy," Steve muttered.

After what seemed like forever, Steve decided on a striped red and blue polo. He straightened the red collar and stared at the lip gloss sitting on his dresser. He debated with himself and finally decided on wearing it. They've seen him in Scoops Ahoy before wearing lip gloss. He puckered his lips and started putting it on, trying not to think about smearing it across Eddie's mouth with his own. Steve stood back and started doing a slow turn in front of the mirror. Were his jeans tight enough? Maybe they were too tight? Or too loose? Steve slapped his own ass. No, just loose enough. Steve winked at himself in the mirror and shot himself finger guns.

"You got this," Steve whispered, and then he deflated. "This is not a date. Stop acting like it's a date."

A loud knock on the front startled him, and he headed downstairs. He told them where to meet, right? When he opened the door, Hopper was standing on his doorstep.

"Hey, kid, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Hopper asked.

"No, I'm not heading out until later," Steve said and stepped aside. "Come on in. I made coffee not too long ago. Would you like a cup?"

Hopper shut the door behind him and smiled.

"That would be great. Thanks," Hopper said and followed him into the kitchen. "You got a big date later today?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a date," Steve blushed. "I'm meeting Nancy and Eddie later to look through my grandfather's things at his old salon. Nancy wants to work on her sleuthing skills. I doubt she'll find anything newsworthy."

"Maybe not newsworthy but maybe worthy to you. What brought this on?" Hopper asked, taking a sip of the coffee Steve set in front of him.

"Well, I kind of want to go to cosmetology school to become a barber," Steve said, tapping the counter nervously.

"You would be good at that. I remember going to your grandfather's shop. He'd be the only one my dad would trust with his hair. You do remind me a lot of Otis," Hopper said.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, he'd be proud of you," he said. "And I think he would be touched that you wanted to follow in his footsteps."

"Thanks," Steve said, swallowing thickly.

"You thinking about reopening the shop?" Hopper asked.

"Well, with the mall taking up most of the businesses, I'm not sure that would be the smartest decision," Steve shrugged.

"Well, you'd be surprised with how many people loved Otis," Hopper said. "Think they'd love to go to the salon again, knowing his grandson was running it in favor of going to the mall. People used to come in from out of town to get their hair cut by him."

"Wow," Steve said. "I didn't know that. I was really little when he had to close the store."

"Well, if you need any help setting it up, I'd be happy to help out," Hopper said.

"Thanks, Hop," Steve said, smiling.

They fell into silence for a while as Hopper finished his coffee.

"I don't know if Nancy talked to you, but. . . ," he trailed off.

"She said that you needed to talk to me about something," he said.

Hopper sighed and pulled a small object out of his pocket. He placed it on the table. It was a role of film. Steve looked at him questioningly.

"I don't exactly what happened the night Barb died, but I do know that Jonathan was looking for his brother and stumbled onto your little get-together," Hopper sighed. "I also know that he took a picture of you and Nancy getting. . .close. Particularly, of Nancy taking her shirt off. I know when you found out that you tore up the photos and broke his camera, which I have to applaud you for not decking him. Turns out he kept the film strip all this time."

"He kept it?" Steve asked softly.

"Nancy found it when she went to pick up her things," Hopper said.

"She didn't say. . .was she okay?" He asked.

"She was a little shaken up. She was probably trying to prepare herself to talk to you about it," he said. "I'm going to ask you the same thing that I asked Nancy. Do you want to press charges against Jonathan?"

"Charges?"

"For violating your privacy, harassment, stalking, and trespassing," Hopper said.

"What did Nancy say?" Steve asked.

"I'm not going to tell you until you tell me your answer," he said. "What do you want to do?"

His stomach churned as it did the same damn day he saw those photos. He remembered seeing them for the first time, and he couldn't help but hate the guy who took them. He remembered how worried he had been at the idea of Nancy seeing them. While over eager sometimes, he always made sure that his sexual partners felt safe and comfortable with him. . .to think that someone did something like what Jonathan had done. . .to make Nancy not feel safe doing that when she clearly wanted to. . . Well, it pissed him off. Jonathan had come into his backyard and took a picture of something that was supposed to be private. Not to mention that he saw Barb sitting there looking all sad and lonely, then left without asking if she was okay, but he made sure to take her photo. Both Steve and Nancy had thought she had gone home. . .Jonathan had been the last one to see her alive. He could have done anything and maybe the demogorgon. . . No, it would have taken him as well or killed him. He took Nancy's photo without her permission and Barb's photo because. . .what?. . . He thought they were saying something? He also knew that Jonathan probably still meant something to Nancy, that he definitely still meant something to Joyce and Will. He liked them both.

"No, I don't want to press charges," Steve sighed heavily.

"What do you want to do then?" Hopper asked.

"Chuck this fucking film role at his head for starters," Steve said and Hopper laughed.

"It's exactly what Nancy did," Hopper said. "It's alright if you're angry with him. You're allowed to feel all that and let it out in a healthy way. Don't learn from me. I've kept so many things bottled up until it's stormed out of me. Release a little bit of a time, and it won't break the glass. Getting angry doesn't mean you're anything like your dad. You have every right to be hurt by what Jonathan did."

"You keep saying that you don't give good advice, but that seemed pretty good to me," Steve sniffed.

"It was a rare moment, probably won't happen again," Hopper said, and Steve laughed. "Come here, kid."

He pulled Steve into a hug, and for the first time in a while, Steve realized that this was what it was supposed to feel like to have a dad. Steve pulled back from the hug, wiping his eyes.

"You need me to stick around?" Hopper asked.

"No, I just . . . Need time to myself. I need to think," Steve said softly.

"I get it," Hopper said. "You know where to find me if you need me, kid. I'm here. I'll get someone to dispose of the negatives."

Steve nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from saying 'thanks, dad', but he managed, and then Hopper was gone. He stood in the entryway for a while, just staring at the wall as his mind went blank. He slowly walked up the stairs to his room and stared at it from the doorway. He glanced at the plaid walls and the plaid curtains as well as the plaid blanket on his bed. Whenever his parents were gone, like they were now, Steve always felt much safer with them out of the house. He felt like he could breathe again. His parents didn't like clutter. They liked everything orderly, just another way of letting people know that they're better than other people, especially Steve. At the same time, it was also another way of hiding their differences like their freak of a son who wasn't allowed to have the things that mattered to him. He kept them tucked away in a box so his parents wouldn't give them away. They loved to give away stuff for 'charity' to make themselves look good. They especially loved using his stuff. So when they were gone, he would pull his things out and set them up. He felt safer when they were up, but he had yet to pull them out, and looking around the room, he suddenly felt overwhelmed. He wanted Nancy to feel safe with him that night, and it failed to happen for both of them.

Barb had died that night while they were together, and a part of him would always feel guilty about that. He also knows that him and Nancy weren't doing anything wrong. They both wanted to be with each other that night, Steve had made sure that it was what Nancy wanted as well. If he learned anything from his parents' relationship, it's what not to do. Steve wandered over to the window, the very window that Jonathan had taken a picture of, and stared down at the pool. It felt like it was taunting him. The only time he had ever really felt safe here was when his grandfather lived here for a while, then when he had become friends with Tommy, and then Nancy came into his life. When she was there, it felt like nothing could go wrong, and then shit had hit the fan. His heart got broken, and the kids came tumbling into his life as well as his house. All these people. . .they had made it a home because that's what they were. . . Not the house itself. No matter where he went, they would follow him nestled safe inside his heart, and he could turn anything into a home. . .except for this house. Suddenly, he knew that he couldn't stay here anymore. He had to find another place to live. It was the final nail in the coffin.

"Fuck you!" Steve screamed, tired of holding it all in. . .tired of trying to remain 'perfect'.

He grabbed the flimsy, shitty curtains and tore them down. He ripped them in half easily. Stupid, ugly cheap curtains. He stared at the red car poster hanging in his room, the only thing his parents let him keep, and then his eyes landed on his bat. He picked it up and swung. It hid the picture, the glass breaking as the nails pierced it. The picture clattered to the floor. He turned to the haunted window and swung again. The glass flew outward as his bat went through the window. He stared at the plaid walls and let out a yell as he hit it with his bat, careful to avoid the studs. He hit the ugly wallpaper over and over again until he accidentally hit a stud, and his bat got stuck.

He slid to the floor, tired, and stared at the destruction he had caused. He started to laugh until his laughter turned into tears, and then he was just crying as he thought about the night that led to the downfall of his relationship with Nancy. He thought about Barb and how he wished desperately that she was here, that he could get to know her. He wished that Jonathan hadn't been in those woods, that he didn't have a reason, too. He wished that the Upside Down didn't exist, and he could still have all of the important people in his life. He wished his grandparents were still alive so he could have parents who loved him. He wished his parents were different. He wished for so many things, but most importantly, he wished people could see him for who he truly is. . . The person he always tried to be.

Steve cried so hard that he knelt on the floor with his head in between in his knees as he released all of his pain, his anger, and his sadness. He released everything, including the contents of his stomach, all over the floor. He wiped his mouth and didn't bother cleaning up the room. He moved his boxes and clothes into the guest room, leaving everything in his former room just the way it was. He made sure to grab the bat, though. He changed clothes and brushed his teeth but didn't bother reapplying his lip gloss. He put on his comfort sweater and ate some toast. As he munched on his toast and drank some water to rehydrate, he wondered how Nancy had handled it. He sighed. He needed to see Nancy. He wasn't going to push her to talk, but he kind of needed at least talk to her about it.

He played soothing music as he drove to Nancy's, and he realized he hadn't called first. Shit. Oh, well. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door. After he knocked, Steve was relieved to see that Nancy had answered the door first.

"Hey, I thought we weren't meeting at the Salon until later?" Nancy asked.

"Uh, something came up. I wanted to talk to you about it. Do you want to go to the quarry?" Steve asked.

"Sure, let me get my purse," Nancy said.

The drive to the quarry was silent, as was the walk down to the bottom. They sat on a small patch of earth, took off their shoes as well as their socks, and put their feet in the water.

"Hopper came to see me this morning," Steve said.

"He told you about the film strips," Nancy stated.

"Yeah," Steve said softly and paused.

"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready," Nancy said gently.

"I don't know, I think I might have overreacted. I just stared at my room, at the window, and just started hitting everything in the room with the bat. I lost it, then I started laughing and then I cried. I cried so hard I threw up. I don't know, it was like on top of everything in that house that happened to me. . . To us. . .it was just too much. Either that, or I really am crazy," Steve said.

"Steve Harrington, you have every right to feel the way that you do," Nancy said. "You're not crazy for finally letting it all in. You've held in so much for so many years. At first, I was just mind of numb. I was in shock. I kind of let everything in that I had been ignoring and pushing away. I told myself that it wasn't that, not compared to what happened to Barb. When I got home and took a nap with Holly, it helped to know she was there. Yet later that night, I woke up in the middle of the night from yet another nightmare about Barb, and I puked my guts out. We've been holding it all in, don't you think it's time we feel it?"

"Yeah. . .it's just . . . It was you he took a picture of, Nancy. Do I even have a right to feel this way?" He asked softly.

"It was your house. . .your room. I was taking my shirt off to sleep with you. It was our intimate moment, and he violated that moment for both of us. You have every right to feel that way, just as much as I do," Nancy said.

"I can't believe he kept it," Steve said.

"He said he forgot it was there, which might be the case, but it still makes me feel weird," Nancy said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to like the guy, Nance," Steve admitted honestly.

"And that's okay, too. You don't have to like him just for my sake," Nancy said. "It was really sweet that you tried to."

"I really wanted that moment to be special for us, Nancy. It meant something to me that you wanted to be with me like that. I want you to know that," Steve said softly.

"It meant something to me too," Nancy said sweetly.

"Do you think I overreacted?" He asked.

"You reacted exactly the way you felt you were supposed to when something like this happens," Nancy said. "You just need to let it in. We both do. Feel it now and forgive him later. . .not for him but for us."

Nancy put her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. Steve stared at the rippling water ahead of them. It really was beautiful out here.

"Do you think that one day we're going to think about what we did that night without thinking about what else happened then, too?" Steve asked.

"No, I think we're always going to remember, but I do think, I hope that we can finally stop being scared of the intimacy we shared that night," Nancy said softly. "It was never a mistake. . . Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I never apologized for calling you bullshit. . .for putting the blame all on you," Nancy said. "You didn't deserve that. You weren't a shitty boyfriend either. You were the perfect first boyfriend and I fucked it all up. Don't say it was okay, either."

"It wasn't okay, but neither was what happened that night. After spending time apart, we both had time to think. I think I forgave you the moment you walked back into my life, Nancy Wheeler," Steve said.

Nancy opened her mouth to say something else but closed it again. He kissed her forehead. Steve sighed and leaned his head against hers. He felt closer to her than he ever had before. Maybe it was going to be different this time.

Chapter Seven

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #nancy wheeler x steve harrington #stancy #eddie munson #nancy wheeler x eddie munson #edancy #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie #nancy wheeler x steve harrington x eddie munson #stedancy #nessie #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #pansexual nancy wheeler #pan4bi4bi #stranger things fanfiction

[teaspoonnebula]

Bit of sleuthing, coffee and a concert with your bestie.

Honestly, the perfect date.

#letters from watson #the red headed league #sherlock holmes #sydney paget

[mslowlife]

Mad(e) For You - Part III

Part I Part II

Pairings: Yandere! Ethan Landry x Yandere! Reader

Warnings: Murder, blood, violence, stabbing, swearing, possessive reader

Summary: No one deserved Ethan, especially her. You were going to make sure of it. Only you deserved him.

Word Count: 947

A/N: This part is really short I'm sorry ;-; i've been so busy last few days but I still hope you enjoy <3 thank u all for the support as well <3

Lydia Marrol. What a name, you thought. You repetitively told yourself that of course he had an ex girlfriend, there would always be another before you, but it still made your blood boil. How dare he. He should have known, he should have just been patient and not given in and dated some lowlife like Lydia. Lydia just seemed so amazing, Lydia had the perfect nuclear family, Lydia was just so smart with her scholarship. Gosh, why are girls so dumb you thought, just accepting any follow request they get for the sake of another follower. She practically let you into her life, to her ‘private’ online world. She did this to herself. 

And even though they had been broken up for nearly three months, she still seemed so hung up on him. Always posting some cheesy breakup quote on her story with a sad song, or posting some stupid and unconvincing ‘i’m totally not in love with my ex’ motivation crap. Scrolling through her older instagram posts, you found old photos of Ethan and her together. God. She probably didn’t delete them because she thought they’d get back together. Well they weren’t, you were sure of it.

-

It didn’t take long to find out who Lydia was, you see with some simple sleuthing you could find exactly what school Lydia Marrol attended, what classes she took down to the exact times and days, and what dorm she stayed in. 

Adjusting your coat, you slipped your boots on and headed out the front gate. Finding where Lydia would be this time of evening wouldn’t be too hard, considering she usually spam posts what she’s doing at every time of every day. 

Looking at her timetable, you found she just finished class minutes ago. Perfect. Then, you went on her instagram, knowing she would have just posted some unrelatable crap on story, and yes of course, she did. “study timeeee someone bring me coffee and i’ll love you forever”  After her insufferable story post, you went back to her first story of day, showcasing her ‘OOTD.’ Perfect again. Now you know what to look for.

-

Winter was truly showing how harsh it could be, dark clouds rolled over the city, making the sky darker than it was. Droplets of rain fell from the sky, and in a matter of seconds, rain gushed down in violent showers, causing people to run for shelter or pull out their trusty umbrellas. Taking shelter in a nearby bus stop, you waited patiently. She shouldn’t be too far away now. Lydia took the bus home from school on days like today.

In just the corner of your eye, a blurry figure approached through the spitting rain, they wore a tan coloured coat, a grey beanie and dark blue jeans with a tote bag they kept under their arm. There’s Lydia, you thought. Wiping the seat with her hand, she sat down. Offering a friendly smile to you before reaching for her phone in her bag. You glared at her up and down, how could Ethan have loved her? Loved her? What if he loved her? Why would he? Just the thought of him loving her alone made you fuming.

But rather than losing your cool, just yet, you took a deep breath and scanned around you. Ensuring no one was walking nearby, or any cars were around. 

Lydia’s face lit up from the glow of her phone. She wasn’t going to see this coming. Reaching into the inside of your coat pocket, you pulled out the silver blade by the heavy wooden handle. 

Here goes nothing.

In sudden force, you twisted your body to Lydia, before plunging the knife into her stomach. Her body contorted, buckling beside you as she gasped for air and groaned. Her eyes bulged, swelling with hot tears. Using your free hand, you silenced her by grabbing onto her jaw and covering her mouth. In and out, in and out was the motion of the knife as it punctured her stomach. Blood covered your hands and shirt as you straddled her motionless body to get a better angle of her torso. 

“He’s mine. Only mine” You hissed.

Lydia couldn’t even respond, all she could do was gurgle and choke out incoherent words as blood oozed from her mouth.

“Fuckin’ bitch, think he still loves you?” 

Still no response. You twisted the knife in her guts, she deserves this.

As your adrenaline surged, you ploughed the knife hard and deeper into her stomach until your arms began to ache. 

“Can’t even fucking answer me, can ya?” You berated breathlessly.

Lydia spluttered her final breath, the entirety of her life in the last glimpse and blink of her draining eyes. 

You watched as the blood seeped down her torso, onto the bench seat then as it dripped onto the concrete. Her lifeless body spread on the bench, arms flailed apart from her body and painted with her own crimson red blood. 

The scene to you was beautiful. Your own artwork on display. 

Admiring your work was consuming and all, but as you came down from your adrenaline high, you realised you needed to go. Now.

Before leaving, you quickly changed coats with a new one stuffed away in your bag, then swiftly walked home.

-

Arriving home, all you could stare at yourself in the mirror. The intricate blood splatters on your body, the way it was smeared over your chest and arms. It was fascinating, surreal even. But what would Ethan think, would he hate you, or would he love you for this? Because after all, you did for him. You killed for him.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist @volturi-girl-imagines @poisonousgem16

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry headcanons #jack champion #yandere #ghostface #scream x reader #scream ethan landry #scream jack champion #scream 6 ethan landry #series

[daisynik7]

A Bento for Kento

Chapter 3: Love Language

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: none, just fluff and delicious food

Summary: You do some internet sleuthing. Ren visits Jujutsu High for the first time. Nanami keeps a secret in his pocket. And a wild Gojo appears!

Notes: This chapter’s bento is inspired by this recipe: Chicken Meatballs. Thanks for all those that have read, reblogged, liked, and/or commented so far, hope you’re enjoying it!

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A Bento for Kento Masterlist

If you want to join the taglist, let me know in the comments, or interact with the post A Bento for Kento Taglist!

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This week’s bento features teriyaki chicken meatballs over a bed of white rice with a side of steamed broccoli. You elegantly drizzle teriyaki sauce on the top, the finishing touch is a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Aesthetics matter, you think to yourself, impressed by your arrangement. You repeat the meticulous process inside the Hello Kitty bento box.

When you’re done, you admire your creation. An idea pops in your head, inspired by the many viral videos you’ve watched. As a cute, personal touch, a small note can be included in the meal. It’s usually words of affirmation, sometimes even a funny joke. You take two sticky notes from your desk and write a different message on each, smiling proudly as you insert each one inside the cover of the containers.

Ren comes out of his room, ready for his Monday lesson. He joins you at the table to eat breakfast. “Morning, sis!”

“Morning! Are you excited for your lessons this week?” you ask, taking a bite out of your toast.

“Yeah! We might do one of our lessons out of the office. Nanami said he wants to show me around the school. I’m excited.” He takes a forkful of eggs into his mouth, grinning. 

“That sounds fun. It’s nice to change scenery once in a while.” You take a sip of coffee. “So do you like your mentor? Nanami, right?”

“Yup, he’s pretty cool. At first, he seems super serious, which he totally is. But I think we’re getting along well. He knows I’m taking these lessons seriously. I think that’s why he likes me.”

“Is he the grumpy old teacher type?” you ask, jokingly.

He chuckles. “He’s definitely grumpy. But he’s not old. He’s probably your age.”

This sparks your curiosity. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, just to put a face to a name.

Ren continues. “Anyways, we’re making a lot of progress together. He’s a really good teacher. He’s opened my eyes to a lot of things.”

Part of your smile fades as you say, “Well, it sounds like you’re learning a lot from this Nanami guy. I hope you’re not planning on replacing me with him.” You’re kidding, of course, though there is a hint of actual jealously there. 

Smirking, he reassures, “Don’t be jealous, sis! He’s not as fun as you are, trust me. I told you, he’s super serious. Sometimes I wonder what he does fun. He probably reads.”

“Hey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that!” you exclaim, throwing a grape at him. “He sounds interesting. I should meet him one day, just to size him up.”

In all seriousness, you actually want to check this guy out, confirm that this man isn’t negatively influencing your sibling in any way. You still have no idea what these “lessons” consist of, or what this Jujutsu High is. This creep could be teaching your baby brother how to be a deviant.

Finished with breakfast, he gets up to retrieve his backpack, bentos packed securely in place. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s a good guy.” He pats you affectionately on the shoulder before leaving.

You sit at the table for a little while longer, contemplating while you play with the stray crumbs on your plate. Minutes later, you text Ren:

You: What’s your mentor’s full name again?

Ren: Kento Nanami

Ren: why?

You: just curious, thanks!

Let the internet sleuthing begin.

~~~

This week, Nanami plans to take Ren on a tour of Jujutsu High. He insisted Gojo visit sometime on Monday to give Ren an overview of the rules and general layout, hoping to prepare his student before he first steps foot on campus. It can be overwhelming for a first timer, he’s well aware of that.

As expected, Gojo does not give him an exact time for when he’ll arrive. Nanami’s attempts at extracting an answer from his flake of a friend are useless. I’ll get there when I get there, Nanamin! I’m a busy man! is all Gojo texts him, after being pestered for the third time about his current location.

The day isn’t wasted, however. In typical fashion, Nanami planned accordingly with some new material to teach Ren, already predicting this type of behavior from Gojo. Lunch time approaches and he still hasn’t shown up. Growing impatient, Nanami decides to take their break now. If Gojo pops in while they’re eating, he’ll just have to wait.

Ren hands the Hello Kitty bento box to Nanami, this gesture becoming a small tradition between them. “Thank you, Nakamura,” he says, walking over to his desk. “I’m going to the break room to make my tea. Would you like anything from the vending machine?”

“Hm, maybe a Pocari Sweat?” 

After Nanami brews his tea and a purchases Ren’s beverage, he returns to the room, ready for another delicious treat courtesy of the older sister. As he sets the drink on Ren’s desk, he sneaks a peek at his open container, spotting meatballs and some type of glaze over a bed of rice. The smell is intoxicating, his mouth watering from the inviting aroma.

Surprisingly, the food is untouched. Usually, when Nanami comes back from the breakroom, his student is halfway finished with his meal. He glances over at Ren to see what’s distracting him. He is staring at the inside cover of his bento box, a warm smile spread across his face.

Curious, Nanami asks, “Is everything alright?”

He looks at Nanami and answers, “My sister left me a note.” He flips over the cover to show it. In neat handwriting, the memo reads:

Happy Monday, booger! Have the best day ever!

A little heart and smiley face are scribbled at the end.

Nanami raises a brow, amused. “Booger?”

Ren chuckles. “Just a little nickname she calls me sometimes. Maybe there’s another one for me in your box! Can you tell me what it says when you see it?”

Agreeing, Nanami sits at his desk. For some reason, he’s nervous to open it. As if he’s intruding on something intimate, something personal. He uncovers it slowly, examining the top for a note. In the same handwriting as the other, a message is displayed:

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

There’s strange tightness in his chest upon reading those words. He glances at Ren, who is now his normal self, devouring his meatballs whole. Focused back on his desk, he quietly takes the note off the cover and pockets it.

Ren, mouth full, asks, “Is there anything?”

Nanami contemplates for a few seconds, then responds, “No, there isn’t.” He starts eating a meatball, which tastes even better than he imagined. Though, his mind is distracted by the fact that he just lied about something so trivial, so insignificant. Why?

“Ah, okay.” Observing his own note again, Ren laughs. “Can’t believe she’s still calling me booger! Ha!” He takes a sip of Pocari Sweat and continues to eat, blissfully unaware that his own mentor is hiding a secret in his pants pocket.

Nanami stuffs more food into his mouth in silence, questioning his own motives regarding this damn piece of paper. His hand slides into his pocket, feeling for it, remembering the words scrawled over it.

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

He knows it wasn’t written for him. Of course he knows that.

However, there’s an odd sensation coursing through his being. An unusual tightness in his chest spurred by a simple statement attached to the back of Hello Kitty’s face. Whatever this sensation is, Nanami reasons that this is what compelled him to lie about the note. 

A few more moments of contemplation, he realizes something as he finishes his last meatball. The true reason why he is acting this way.

He wants to pretend it’s for him.

Gojo finally arrives as soon as Ren and Nanami are finished with their food. “Hello, my dear friends!” he greets happily.

Nanami wipes his mouth with a napkin and closes the box. Just as he’s about to hand the empty container to Ren, his friend squeals, “Nanamin, wait. What is that?!” Even behind the blindfold, it’s obvious that Gojo’s eyes are filled with glee.

“It was my lunch,” he answers, nonchalant.

Gojo’s grin widens, as he squeals again. “I need to take a picture of this! You and Hello Kitty! Nanamin, this is just adorable.” He takes his phone out and starts snapping away before Nanami can hide his face behind his hand.

“Stop it. You are awful.” He slides the bento over to Ren, still trying to conceal himself from his annoying friend’s ridicule.

Gojo turns to Ren, showing him what he captured. “Isn’t this so precious? Little Nanami with Hello Kitty. This day can’t get any better.”

They giggle with each other while Nanami sighs heavily, palm pressed against his forehead in aggravation. “Can we just get on with this, Gojo? And delete those photos immediately.”

“No way. The world is better a place now because of these,” Gojo teases, swiping through his phone, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Nanami begins to blush, remembering the note. He sticks his hand in his pocket and feels for it again, making sure it’s still there. He clears his throat, speaking a bit louder. “Okay, enough. Let’s move on.”

After more snickering between Gojo and Ren, they finally get back on track. As Gojo introduces Jujutsu High to Ren, Nanami takes this opportunity to zone out. He stares at his desk, thinking of food, Hello Kitty, and his dumb friend taking those incriminating photos. Occasionally, he brushes his hand over his pants, rubbing the outline of the note. The one that is not his. What’s the harm in pretending? It makes him feel good. It makes him feel appreciated.

He slyly removes it out of his pocket and sets it inside his suitcase, where it’s safe. The last thing he needs is Gojo having any more leverage against him than he already has. If it accidentally falls into the wrong hands, specifically Gojo’s, he’d never hear the end of it.

~~~

During your break, you decide to investigate Ren’s teacher. You type the name “Kento Nanami” into the search bar. The top result is a blog post from a finance company you’ve never heard of. Clicking on it, you notice the article is a few years old. It features five different employees from the company, each one having a picture with a small blurb beside it. You scroll towards the middle of the page and find what you’re looking for.

Name: Kento Nanami

Age: 23

Position: Senior Stockbroker

About: Kento Nanami is one of our youngest and most successful stockbrokers. He started working for our company straight out of high school and has excelled ever since. Hobbies include eating, drinking, cooking, and reading. He enjoys helping others and has been an asset to us during the onboarding process for new employees. His favorite part of working for this company is the salary because it helps him fund his addiction to bread.

You laugh out loud at the last part. Then, you notice his picture. It’s a professional headshot, probably taken in the office for the purpose of this post. His blond hair is parted on the side with loose strands falling over his forehead. He has a sharp nose and cheeks that are slightly sunken, maybe due to the stress of being a stockbroker. The spotted tie he’s wearing over his navy-blue button up stands out. It’s an interesting pattern, but for some reason, it works. His expression is neutral, neither smiling, nor frowning. He looks serious, just as Ren described him. 

You stare at him a bit longer and you smile to yourself.

He is handsome.

But why the sudden change in career? Based on his description, he was doing well as a stockbroker. Why would he leave? And what exactly is he teaching your younger brother? Surely it isn’t lessons on stockbroking. Or is it? Is this some sort of pyramid scheme? They have their lessons in an office building, which is very suspicious to begin with. 

You continue your web search and find nothing else outside of his previous occupation in finance. He doesn’t have any public social media pages and there is nothing mentioning current employment. Curious, you search Jujutsu High, only to be redirected to pages related to Jiu Jitsu, the Brazilian martial art. Anything related to Jujutsu doesn’t exist on public record.

Your inner alarm bells are ringing. This is strange. You’ve made it almost a month blindly trusting your brother, not asking too many questions. How much longer can you hold out for? You have no clue what Ren has gotten himself into and the constant mystery surrounding it has you worried.

Also, you know nothing about this Nanami fellow. He could be a creepy cult leader or a shady ex-stockbroker roping innocent youths into a Ponzi scheme, hiding behind an attractive suit and a pretty face. Either way, it’s suspicious. 

Retrieving a small journal from your drawer, you jot down questions you want to ask Ren. You need answers to give you peace of mind. The rest of the summer can’t go on like this. If something terrible were to happen to him, you will never be able to forgive yourself. You have to know the truth. 

~~~

On Wednesday, Nanami brings Ren to Jujutsu High. He can tell that Ren’s mind is blown as soon as he steps foot through the protective barrier, jaw dropping and examining the campus, speechless. 

They walk through the training grounds, watching students spar with each other. Ren observes them carefully, looking away briefly only to scribble notes. They watch for nearly an hour, Nanami explaining their moves and typical training regiments that are expected of first years. 

Their tour through campus continues. Ren gazes up at the buildings, appreciating the architecture. It reminds Nanami of his experience as a Jujutsu High student. He doesn’t dwell on the past all too often but being here makes him reminisce, as if he never left. 

Currently, there are no classes in session, so they take this opportunity to peek into each of the empty classrooms, ending with Gojo’s. There are plenty of windows, a sparse number of desks, and one big blackboard, displaying the remnants of whatever was taught in the most recent lesson. Nanami takes a couple of minutes to go over this with Ren.

Afterwards, they decide to take their break in one of the courtyards. Nanami is handed his usual bento box with Hello Kitty. He looks around to make sure Gojo isn’t nearby to tease him. With the coast clear, he uncovers the container, finding a note attached to the inside again. He purposefully positions himself across from Ren so that he can read the message in secret. Glancing over at his student, who is distracted by his own meal, Nanami focuses on the familiar handwriting:

Have the best day ever! I love you!

Followed by three hand drawn hearts in a row.

His lip twitches into a small smile, admiring the words in front of him. Once again, he removes it and secures it in his pocket. He’s not exactly sure why he’s keeping them. Maybe he likes having it within reach for a quick pick-me-up. Yesterday, he met with Gojo to exorcise a low-grade curse, and when he was home, he took Monday’s note out of his briefcase to read it again: The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

The words replayed in his head as he soaked in the bath that night. It lingered in his mind as he prepared dinner, even when he was in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. That message gives him validation. What he’s doing now as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, and even as a mentor, makes a difference in the world. He is important.

However, this new note offers a different reaction, right in the pit of his stomach. A strange, fluttering feeling. He can’t remember the last time someone told him, “I love you.” In fact, he’s barely heard that phrase throughout his entire adult life.

Is he this desperate for affection? Enough to pretend that these words are actually for him? He’s actually envious of Ren for having someone like this in his life. A person who constantly reminds him how much he is loved, how special he is to this world. When will Nanami experience this for himself? He wonders if that will ever happen. 

He catches himself, scoffing as he continues to eat. It’s silly, sentimental, and immature for him to be feeling this way. This is unlike him. 

Ren breaks the silence, bringing Nanami back from his deep thoughts. “Hey Nanami, words of wisdom from my sister. ‘In life, we should all aim to be like meatballs: Well-seasoned and well-rounded.’” He flashes a smirk as he lets the joke sink in.

Nanami genuinely chuckles at the corny pun. “Clever.”

“She made huge ones today, just for fun. Wanna see?” Ren offers, scrolling through his phone. He faces his screen towards Nanami, showing a picture of a woman around Nanami’s age, wearing a black apron over pajamas. She smiles brightly at the camera, holding two massive meatballs in her hands, like trophies.

“She was so proud of them she had me take a picture,” Ren laughs, pulling his phone away.  

It isn’t the giant hunks of meat that captures Nanami’s attention. It’s her smile, bright and endearing. Inviting and welcoming. The second thing he notices are her pajamas, obscured partially by the apron she wears over it. They are wasabi green in color with different types of sushi as the pattern. It’s cute. As much as Nanami despises using that word, there’s no other way to describe it.

And it’s not just the pajamas. She is cute. 

He almost chokes on his meatball upon this revelation. Guilt sweeps over his body, ashamed that such a thought comes to his mind in front of his student. In front of her brother. He doesn’t even know this woman. One picture and he’s already thinking she’s cute.

A blush creeps up on his cheeks as he clenches his jaw, uncomfortable with the flurry of thoughts rushing into his head. He tries his hardest to stop thinking of her, but it’s too late. He imagines her standing in front of him smiling, holding out the Hello Kitty bento box filled with glorious food, reciting the words she scrawled on those pieces of paper. 

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that. I love you, Nanami.

His entire face is hot, certain that it’s red all over. Thankfully, Ren is distracted by his phone as he munches on a piece of broccoli lazily.

Nanami can’t believe himself. He’s making up scenarios in his head about a woman he’s never even met before. No one should see him like this, so it takes all his willpower to calm down and remove all these ridiculous thoughts from his head.

With perfect timing, Gojo joins them in the courtyard, eating an apple and chatting with Ren. He takes a moment to tease Nanami, Hello Kitty still in front of him, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he’s focused on appearing calm and stoic.

He decides for himself that he wants to know more about Ren’s sister, mentally noting what type of questions to ask without giving his true intentions away. Ren constantly praises his sister, it’s only natural for Nanami to wonder what she’s really like. The woman behind the bento. 

It’s just curiosity, Nanami tells himself. That’s all it is. Nothing more.

~~~

Friday arrives and you send your brother off with his two bentos. Tonight, you’re going to demand the truth. Not every single detail, but anything to put your mind at ease. You plan to butter him up first by going to the local street food fair and buying him all the Yakitori he desires. Then, maybe after some delicious soft serve, you’ll ambush him.

The best plans begin with food, right?

~~~

Gojo suggests taking Ren on a low-risk mission, which Nanami hesitantly agrees to. He’s aware his pupil will not be the one fighting; he’s only there to observe. Still, he’s nervous. Although more mature than some other kids his age, he is a child that Nanami has temporarily taken under his wing.

On Friday, they stay in the office for the first half of the day, going over every possible detail he can about this mission. They agree to eat before heading out, following their usual routine: Ren distributes the bentos, Nanami heads down the hall to brew his tea and grab a drink from the vending machine for Ren. The two of them sit at their desks, eating their lunch while exchanging casual conversation. 

Today, Nanami’s note says: Can’t wait to spend this weekend watching movies and baking cookies with you!There’s a doodle of the Cookie Monster surrounded by chocolate chip cookies. He takes it, sliding it into his briefcase, wondering what movies they enjoy watching together. He smiles thinking of the cookies, how wonderful their house will smell as they bake in the oven.

He looks over at Ren. “Any words of wisdom today?”

Ren shakes his head and responds, “Nope. All she said was ‘Happy Friday to the best brother ever.’” He stares at the note with a small frown.

“What’s wrong, Nakamura?”

He sighs, setting his fork down. “I don’t know. I feel guilty. I haven’t told my sister anything, and she’s been so great and supportive, but I just…” He stops, unsure what to say next.

“I understand where you’re coming from. What we do...well, it’s not easy to explain.”  

“Exactly. Like, what do I even tell her? Hey sis, I think my biological parents were involved with some curse users and killed. Then I somehow inherited these strange powers and now I can see curses. How crazy would she think I am?!”

“Well, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

Ren scratches his head anxiously, not responding. Then, Nanami says, “You always talk about how supportive your sister is. Don’t you think you should give her some credit? She might be more understanding than you think.”

Still frowning, Ren replies, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I just have to tell it to her straight and hope for the best. I mean, we’re going on a small mission today, right? We might be going on bigger ones in the future. What if something happens to me? She’s gonna see my mangled body and not even know what happened. I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her.” He goes back to eating his meatball, brows knit in deep thought.

Nanami is honestly impressed. Ren is a teenager, but he’s surprisingly mature and responsible. “So, do you think you’ll tell your sister tonight?”

“I think so. We’re planning to go to this street food festival nearby. Once we’re full of Takoyaki, I’ll tell her.”

Sounds fun, Nanami muses. “I hope your talk goes well.” He gives Ren a small smile, then returns to his lunch.

“Do you like street food, mentor?” Ren wonders, sipping on his drink.

“I do. I like Takoyaki as much as anyone, but I’m partial towards Taiyaki.” Pancake batter filled with sweetened red bean paste and shaped like a fish. Of course it’s Nanami’s favorite.

“Ha, you’re the same as my sister. She loves Taiyaki.”

Grinning, he wonders what other foods she might like. What other things they have in common with each other. Trying to play it cool, Nanami asks, “What’s your favorite, Nakamura?”

“Oh, it’s definitely Yakitori. I love meat!” Ren exclaims. He turns to face Nanami. “Hey, do you want to go to the festival with us? I’m sure my sister wouldn’t mind.”

Nanami’s heart thumps, actually considering it. Street food on a Friday night sounds amazing, but he should decline the offer. Tonight will be important for both Ren and his sister. The last thing they need is a gloomy Nanami hovering over them like a rain cloud.

“That’s alright. You have important matters to discuss, so I don’t want to intrude.” He pauses for a few seconds before adding, “But thank you for the invite.”

Ren smiles politely. “Maybe next time then. I’d really like you to meet her.”

Nanami thinks it at first, then decides to say it out loud.

“I’d like that, too.”

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Tag List: @liliorsstuff-blog @hughugh20 @lucyrocks86 @bloompompom @vampyra-needs-food @extrasugafree @deepcloudspyhairdo @invisible-mori @justnamuaf @syynnaaah @unknownspecies @goldencattto @maqqiekwon

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #a bento for kento #daisynik #jjk anime #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #jjk fluff

[skylarsblue]

Hi could you do the slashers with a yandere s/o who also happens to kinda brutally kill people? Thanks 😊

(This is the ask where I wrote like, 500 words, and then it deleted itself. The audacity. Also, fun fact, when I redid this it refused to save. So I had to go through and copy/paste everything. I barely managed to do it all before the site crashed again. I might do more of these later on, but for now, I'm only gonna do four of them.) Trigger Warning; Descriptions of murder, blood, & gore, kidnapping(mentioned), stalking(implied) Unhealthy relationships and an unstable (Gender Neutral) Y/N. Barely proofread.

Ghostface; Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson (A sweet-faced & doting lover; A House Spouse)

Danny had been stressed out of his mind. More so than usual. Combinations of his day job and his "passion project" were intense enough most days, tiring but manageable for his twisted mind. Though recently, a new variable had made it increasingly more difficult. Trying to keep his hobby a secret was easy when he wasn't close to anyone, being overly cynical and critical of others made it easy to keep himself socially isolated. Keeping appearances without risk. However, conflict arose when he met someone he genuinely enjoyed the company of. You.

Danny had managed to go years without this kind of outcome. And yet, here he was, straining himself more than usual to try and keep face. All you had done was move across the street. He'd done his usual sleuthing, played his All-American mask, charmed his way into your home. It was meant to be the same thing as before. Yet somehow, against all kinds of barriers and obstacles, you'd wormed his way into his psyche and stuck there. He knew he was fucked when his thoughts would drift off in the middle of writing articles. Especially when his beloved cat decided you were good enough to like. Months of late-night talks on his lawn chairs or inviting him over for coffee and something you had baked. He mentally berated himself for liking your cooking so much. He'd even opened up to you slightly. Complaining about the woman who wouldn't take no for an answer at his job, how it gave him headaches. The way you portrayed yourself would work so well with Jed. Polite, a bit playful, helpful. It almost made Danny jealous, of himself no less. It felt ridiculous and added a tremendous amount of strife to keep you from seeing anything incriminating. He found himself exhausted as he parked in front of his house, rolling his neck, allowing it to crack loudly. The brunet huffed and took a quick glance at your home. He stopped when he noted something…off. Danny knew your schedule to a T, even if it was a bit sporadic sometimes. The typical times you woke up, what you tended to have for breakfast, hell, he knew how you did your laundry. So seeing all the lights off, curtains drawn so tightly, it sent his nerves alight. Curiosity mingling with…worry? "God, I'm pathetic." Danny huffed as he made his way over to your home. He knew every exit, every lock, every shaky window. Your front door being locked didn't deter him at all. It felt odd doing this in his work clothes, however. With skill and practice, he jumped over your small fence and approached the side door that lead into the garage. Its lock was old and rusty, easy to jiggle out of place. The man let himself in. There wasn't a sound he could discern, no TV or kitchen noises. He shook off the idea that he was concerned for you and chalked it up to only being perplexed by the sudden change in your behavior. Even spaced steps lead him to the door that went from the garage to the main portion of your home, as he walked in silently, he could faintly pick out your humming. He carefully stepped down the hallway toward the sound, seemingly from the kitchen. The closer he got the more he could smell the heavy, chemical scent of bleach and peroxide. Turning a corner revealed the only light on in your home was the small light above your sink. One you essentially never used. For once, Danny showed a bit of apprehension as he went to the doorway to your kitchen. His breath hitched at the sight. A half-cleaned scene of carnage. Blood stained the tile and a few spots on the wall. Some spots were pink and streaked, clearly wiped over. Two bottles of bleach sat on your counter. Where he often had morning discussions with you. Caramel brown eyes looked to the corner where a body lay on trash bags. His coworker, the one he'd complained about. Stabbed so many times her torso barely resembled a body anymore. He tore his eyes from the corpse and finally looked at you. Sat on the floor, pleasantly humming a song he'd shown you from a high school mixtape, back turned to him. Wiping up a plethora of blood from your floor. Dressed in one of the aprons he, almost shamefully, had fantasized you in with nothing underneath.

It took you going to dip the rag in a blood-water bucket for you to notice him. There wasn't a moment of fear or panic. He watched you gasp and then smile sweetly, standing up. "Jed! I didn't know you were coming. I would've cleaned up faster." You said, stepping closer with an aura of peace & joy. Danny looked down at your face. Blown out pupils, a gentle gaze, he could practically hear your pulse. He glanced at the body in the corner. "Oh, right." You speaking made him look back to you. "I know you complained about her, and she was already upsetting me, so I figured I could get rid of her. You already work so hard. She shouldn't be making it any worse." Your explanation was affectionate. As if you'd done him a service… And indeed you had.

"So that's why you were busy today…" Danny smiled, allowing himself to tuck you closer by the waist. He felt bubbling pride at the way you didn't hesitate to melt. "You did a wonderful job, you know that? How about I help you clean up?" He asked softly.

"Then I can reward you."

Leatherface; Thomas Hewitt (A rough-edged soft-souled partner. A protector.)

The Hewitt family was always seen as odd in the tiny town of Fuller. Luda Mae was known as a hardass and Monty certainly seemed a bit off his rocker. Charlie was seen as a jack-ass, pretty rightfully so. But the member of that family that was most rumored about, most insulted, and most disputed? Thomas Hewitt. The baby pulled out of the trash. Luda swore he was her son and would go through hell to defend him. Anyone in Fuller who knew who Thomas was had an opinion, just about every single one of them was negative. It seemed that it was just his existence to be called ugly and stupid for the rest of his life. It got a bit better when he was pulled from school at age fourteen, but the rare time that the family needed to head into town, he could hear the muttering. However, unbeknownst to Thomas, for the longest time, there was one resident who didn't view him that way. Even when you never approached him, your opinion had never changed. You'd viewed Thomas from afar for the longest time. Usually in class when you two were younger. It crushed you when he suddenly stopped showing up. You hadn't forgotten him once despite having yet to see him again. He often plagued your thoughts, even now as a young adult, working for your family. It was easier to do than trying to get a job anywhere else. Cleaning the little shop run by your father now took up a large portion of your time. The world seemed pretty dull. Keeping to yourself and day dreaming about the boy you'd never had the confidence to approach as a child.

And then, like the heavens opened up to hear you, a somewhat familiar woman wandered into the store. Ms.Hewitt. You didn't approach her right away, simply listening to her discuss what she needed from your father. You winced when your father demanded more money. Followed by Luda asking for a favor, it was all the money she had. "I'll cover the rest." You said, setting the broom against the service counter. Luda Mae blinked in awe at the sudden act of kindness and you brushed off your father's arguments. "Just give this woman the food crates, pa. It's not like they're sellin' extra well anyway." You retorted, setting some money in the register before turning to get the cart that held said crates from the back. Luda Mae found herself smiling, though it wasn't very wide, it wasn't any less genuine. "So, how we gettin' these into your truck, Ms.Hewitt?" You asked as you dragged the cart out the door. "Oh, I brought my boy Tommy. He can handle it." She explained. Unbeknownst to her, your heart began to soar.

It was then that you watched the long-lost muse to your dreams get out of the truck. He'd grown so much. At least 6'4" now, if not taller. You swallowed as you watched him saunter over, a mask covering his face. He took only a second to glance at your face before he looked down, almost ashamed. "Well, he seems like he can handle the heavy lifting, that's for sure." You commented almost playfully. It made Thomas's attention flick for a moment. "That he can." Luda replied. Finally, after years, you managed to look Thomas in the eye and give him a smile. Something you used to be so fearful of. "Nice to see you doin' well, Tommy. Missed you when ya left school." You were confident he wouldn't really remember you. Even if he had noticed the quiet kid at the back of the class, your newfound confidence almost made you seem like a new person. Still, you felt the words needed to be said.

That day made such a difference. Luda remembered you and anytime she had to make a run to town, with Thomas or not, she'd make sure to clue you in on the family happenings. News about Thomas especially. Never before had someone regarded her son with such kindness, and she was intending to try and keep it. Naturally, word got around Fuller, and you became subject to some public ridicule. Much to your father's annoyance. He took his reputation very seriously, so hearing you had been heading out to the Hewitt house didn't go over well. But, as an adult, he couldn't force you anywhere. You remained there even when Fuller's population began dwindling. Staying in the tiny house about a mile from the Hewitt home despite your family's arguing.

And when the meat plant went out of business, Thomas and Luda were insistent that "Hoyt's" idea stay in the family. That not a word of it reached you. Lest you see Thomas as a monster like everyone else. Charlie & Monty didn't care for you. Harshly opinionated and far from submissive, but Luda refused to get rid of the only person that regarded her precious Tommy with such adoration. And then one day, you showed up unexpectedly, with some canned produce you felt they could use. Staying longer than the family wanted you to. You were about to ask where Thomas was when rapid footsteps and a scream resounded from the basement. Naturally, you turned to look. A bloodied woman arising from the steps and the rev of a chainsaw. Luda felt her heart sink at what you seeing this meant, Hoyt silently rejoiced that this meant he could get rid of you. Thomas was caught off guard by the sight of you, and it gave the fleeing woman ample time to jab him in the thigh with a screwdriver.

"Damnit boy! Pay attention!" Hoyt demanded as the girl went running again. There was nothing in the way of the front door, nearly home free. Bleeding, panicked, but all she had to do was run. She'd be home free.

The sound of something swinging, a blade colliding with bone and tissue, a choking-bubbling sound, and the dripping of blood on wood floor. The house fell oddly silent as the Hewitt family looked at you. Holding an axe grabbed off the wall, the rusted blade implanted deep in the woman's skull, face rather blank. You glanced up at Thomas, then his thigh. With a gasp, you let the body drop and rushed over, disregarding the blood on his hands and the chainsaw he held. "Tommy! Goodness, that's got to hurt like hell! Here, sit down, we need to get that out and disinfected. I don't want you gettin' sick." You insisted, gently pushing him to sit in a dining room chair. Not leaving any time for the family to process what they'd watched you do as you doted over Thomas. Said man however watched you with wide eyes, some of it shock, but so much of it adoration. He'd been so afraid that you'd flee from him if you ever saw what he was doing. Yet you didn't hesitate to keep his family safe and care for him. You pecked his cheek as you got the first aid kit, his breath stuttered in response. "If you're gonna be gettin' your food this way, you're gonna need to be more careful, Tommy. I don't want to see a single drifter put their dirty hands on you again." You said as you held his face tenderly. Whether Monty or Hoyt liked it, you were very clearly staying.

The Shape; Michael Myers (A childhood friend, loyal follower. An Accomplice)

When you arrived in Haddonfield as a kid, the last thing you wanted to do was make friends as your parents so insisted. You'd moved so much and every time you were always rejected by your peers. Then your mother forced you to meet the neighbor's son. A small blond boy, only a year older, with blue eyes so dark they resembled the ocean's abyss. He was offputting and quite frankly rude. Always so blunt the few times he'd spoken. Yet somehow, the universe seemed to shove you two together more and more. Much to your dismay, you found you had far more in common with the boy than you had with anyone else. So you allowed yourself to tolerate him.

Then, with things like bullies, your mother's pressure to live up to her standards, and then your father's growing absence? He seemed to be the only thing stable enough to keep you above water. Finding it easier to cling to him, despite his growing behaviors that clearly caused concern. Overlooking things like pictures of dead animals and ultimately the admission he'd thought of killing someone. It broke you apart the Halloween he finally decided to do it. Having him dragged away from you in a cop's car, sanctioned away from society for over a decade. Not once would your mother allow you to find him, even forced you to leave Haddonfield's safety. The first town you ever genuinely settled in.

Michael's presence remained a key fixture in your life well into adulthood. Never straying from the idea that he'd come back to you. Leading you back to Haddonfield, leading a bland life, a lonesome one. Why bother knowing anyone else when they weren't him?

And then Halloween came once again. Immediately followed by bloodshed, life broadcasts of new bodies being found, the ramblings of a doctor swearing he knew who was behind it all. You'd been out at the time. Leaving a job's late shift, weaving past giddy children on the sidewalk. You loved Halloween and it always ached to experience it alone again. It was when you turned to take a shortcut that you felt the weight of a stare fall on your shoulders. One so oddly familiar and distinct. Turning revealed an impossibly tall man, broad shoulders, dressed in a stained mechanic's suit and a white mask. A bloodied knife in his hands. Fight or flight arose, steadying yourself to run, only for something particular to catch your eye. His knife. A large switchblade with a decorated handle, blue and black. One that used to settle in the hands of your best friend. "Michael?" You uttered under your breath.

He staggered when you unconsciously rose your bracelet. As if to rest if he'd remember it. And it worked, he didn't kill you. Though he certainly wasn't the Michael he was when you were kids, it didn't matter in the slightest. Despite every change, enough stayed the same to ignite the flame in your chest. You snuck him into your home, patched up wounds, and scrubbed away evidence. Managing to keep him safe under your roof even as he continued his rampage. You knew fully what he was doing. You didn't care. Not when you, out of all the people he'd killed mercilessly, you were the one allowed to wash his hair. Make him food, clean his suit, sharpen his knife. He allowed you to see his unmasked face, lean into his side with a movie playing, see the faint playful side that he swore he lost long ago.

But he was on the run, and with the continued homicides, people were bound to go poking around. One of them being a rather snoopy neighbor, a man who'd shown interest in your aloof nature. Mysterious, as he called it. He was pushy and never seemed to take a hint or a no. Hence how why he ended up in your house, allowing himself in despite your attempt to stop him at the door. Ruining a perfect night with Michael.

"You need to leave." You insisted again, gritted teeth and burning anger. "Oh relax, I'm just checking in on you! There's been a maniac going around stabbing people, you live all alone. Don't you want someone around to protect you?" It was more a statement than a genuine question. You clenched your fists and ground your teeth together. Anxiety high. Michael was still in the house, if this idiot saw him, it could mean the end of your peaceful moments with the man you'd built a life around. "I don't need anything from you. Get out." You repeated. Your neighbor scoffed a little laugh. Turning around casually. "Man, it's almost like you want to get murdered..." His voice trailed off and his shoulders tensed as his gaze fell on the Shape. Standing at the end of the hall. Mask and all. Your blood pressure rose with your adrenaline as the realization settled over your neighbor. It all went so quickly. Michael took a step forward and your neighbor turned to run. You did the same, but not for the same reason. The fool neared the front door only to be stopped by what you held in your hand. Having cut him off via using your kitchen. His throat landed right into a sharpened blade kept on the counter from dinner. Your heartbeat filled your ears as life left the man's body, sliding off the knife and falling back on the floor, face now permanently locked in a state of fear. You stood with shaky breaths and a tight grip on the knife. Slowly rising your gaze to look at Michael who stood in front of you, taking in what you'd just done. There was no guilt. He watched you take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Mikey, can you get rid of him? Far from here? I can't have the cops seeing anything like this near you..." You asked, voice a saccharine whisper. Michael raised his chin slightly before stepping forward. Like the man weighed nothing, he picked the corpse up and hoisted it over his shoulder. Your posture relaxed and you graced him with a smile. "I'll have brownies for you when you get back." This didn't change anything. He'd still have a safe place with you. No one would take him, not again. Not ever again.

The Problem Child; Bo Sinclair (An unassuming face, sadistic urges. An Actor.)

Out of all three Sinclairs, Beauregard was the one that left the most for his own wants. Lester had to leave for his job daily, but it was rare to catch him strolling through the neighboring cities just to enjoy himself. And of course, Vincent never left. Bo liked to stay in Ambrose but every once in and while it got stuffy. So heading off to a bar or small diner was what he usually did. A small moment to himself to enjoy himself. It was there that he met you. A new bartender at a small biker bar. With a shiny smile and a good sense of humor, he didn't see any reason he couldn't indulge in a bit of conversation with you. Turning up his charm and dusting away his secretive sadism. Of course, he was a little surprised when one day you wandered into town. He didn't notice until you entered his shop. He left the garage and saw you perched up on the counter, flipping through a magazine he knew he had hidden in his truck. Then again, he bought it in an average corner store, you could've just bought one of the same copy. You glanced up and gave him a smile. "Pleasure seein' you again, stranger. How's business been?" You asked charmingly. You didn't allow him to answer though. "Pretty slow probably, last person to come by was two weeks ago, yeah?" Bo blinked at the comment. It was true, but how you'd known that was beyond him. He shook it off as a fluke. "Yeah, you need somethin' done, sweetheart?" He questioned. You nodded. "Oil check and a new set of front tires. Weirdest thing happened, looks like someone jabbed at them. Crazy huh?" You replied. Bo swallowed and nodded. He mumbled something about you bringing your car around, a bit of a struggle with such low air in the back tires but you managed fine. Bo went into raising your car. He wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping up like he was actually going to fix your car. You were alone, it would've been easy to just deal with you now. Though, he supposed it wouldn't hurt keeping you alive a little longer. You were good with conversation. So, you made yourself comfortable seated on one of the tables in his garage. You kept up a conversation while flipping through that magazine, little mutterings about things that had been happening since he last showed up at the bar. As Bo went to take off your tires, propping the car up off the ground, you began speaking about the wax museum.

"It's really impressive, yeah? The entire building is wax. Not to mention in this heat? Your brother's got to be stressed trying to maintain it." You said. Bo paused and his shoulders tensed. He glanced behind him. "Pardon?" He asked, a suspicious glare falling over his face. You looked up from the crinkled pages with a calm smile. "Vincent's his name yeah? You two make quite the impressive duo, really. Gotta say though. I think your methods are a bit more favorable. Maybe that's just the gun though. Y'all been hurtin' for bases though. You can't seem to keep'em, huh? Just last week you had this pretty lil' red head so close to comin' home with ya." Your jovial tone and calm smile sent Bo on edge. Something rather difficult to do. His fist clenched around the X-wrench he held, patiently waiting for you to finish so he could just...whack you? Probably a poor plan but it was the best he had. "Honestly, I was surprised. But can't say I wasn't a lil' happy when she marched her happy ass away from you. Playin' hard to get and all? Annoying, right? Especially when I'm sure your brother could use her as a, hm, maybe a nun in the church? Or do you think she'd fit better as a cashier in the boutique?" You leaned forward a bit. Bo's eyebrow raised and his grip on the tool loosened a bit. Now more curious than on edge. You hummed at his lack of verbal response. Just then, a sound signaled from the back of your car, making Bo's gaze snap to it. He then glanced back at you with shock. You merely shrugged. "Eh, I'm sure you two can figure it out." Bo didn't respond to you as he popped the trunk. Barely conscious and bound, the redhead he'd failed to lure back to town. He looked back at you again as you picked up the magazine. "Oh, and by the way? The lock on your truck is a bit shotty on the back left door. Might wanna work on that." You added cheekily. After a moment to process everything that had just been laid out, Bo gave a little amused huff. He shut the trunk of your car and shook his head. "Darlin', you seem a bit off your rocker." He spoke. "Crazy even." You threw your hands up in mock surrender. "Only for you, big guy.~" The edge to your tone made his blood burn. He sighed and adjusted his hat. "Well if that's the case, maybe I can talk my brother into keepin' ya. After all, you've been a big help" He smirked at the way your pupils expanded. Bo was a playboy, he'd been able to charm just about anyone he wanted. But the crazier the person, the more fun it was.

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