#and i have no idea if i want them to stay like this or if i want to change something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tomsparkyr · 1 day ago

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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!

following episode three of 'inside' — george clarke x fem!reader

by any means i do not own 'inside' and all credit is theirs (!!)

and please no stealing of my work !!

(ps, i just wanna say thank you so so much to everyone helping me, i was so nervous to say something about it and had no idea how to handle it and i'm so grateful for every single one of you i genuinely love you and these chapters are for all of you, please enjoy🤍🤍🤍)

(pps, also anyone who’s requested stuff it will be written once i’ve finished this story!)

wc: 5.6K

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“Insiders, please gather in the living room.”

The blaring voice of Tobi rang out in the bedroom, startling you as you woke up from your slumber. You found yourself curled up into a bed you weren’t familiar with, it didn’t smell like you so you could definitely determine that it wasn’t yours; also the strong arms wrapped around you were definitely not your own.

Your back was pressed against someone’s hard chest, your figure hugged into them tightly. Their head was tucked into the space between your shoulder and your neck, their soft and slow snores tingling your skin. Your hair tickled their face, but they didn’t move as their hands were snuck underneath your bedtime shirt, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts.

You groaned and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, shifting just enough for the person behind you to slip their hands to both sides of your waist, feeling their presence sit up behind you.

Turning around, you saw a shirtless George sitting upright and ruffling his bed hair. You couldn’t help but notice the lack of space between you two due to being squished into the twin bed, one of his arms was wrapped around you in case you fell off the bed.

You stared at him for a moment. Confused, you asked, “Why am I in your bed?” His tired gaze settled on you for a second before his eyes widened and memories from the night before came flooding back. “Oh! You fell asleep on my bed and I didn’t want to wake you and move you,” You nodded along. “So, I just let you stay in mine.”

His cheeks grew a pink colour as he continued and gestured with his hands, “We fell asleep back to back so I also have no idea why we ended up… like this.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“Morning, love birds!” PK shouted from across the room, an exaggerated wave being sent your way. You turned around and flipped PK off with a joking smile, hearing his cackle before looking back at George who was leaning over the bed to reach for his clothes. He maneuvered around you, resting a hand on your thigh for support as you sat cross legged on his bed.

Holding his shirt, he stood up and continued the routine of holding a hand out for you to take, helping you stand up and out of the bed.

Walking over to your bed, you couldn’t find your hoodie to put over your shirt and the room wasn’t getting any warmer at this time in the morning. Seeing your struggle, George walked your way and tapped you on the shoulder.

His black top was halfway on his body, his right hand offering you his navy hoodie. You went to shake your head and refuse but he took your hand and placed the hoodie in your arms, “Please, just take it.” He winked and passed you to go into the living room.

Leaving you behind clinging onto his hoodie, you tried to suppress a wide smile and rosy cheeks. Milli watched from across the room with a cheeky smile and stuck her tongue out at you, “Oh, George is so dreamy! I wish I could sleep in his bed every night!” She mocked your thoughts in a high pitched tone of voice.

Your mouth dropped open at her, leaning down to reach for the ‘horny beast’ that had fallen from the bed during the night and lobbed it at her. She laughed as it hit her face before flicking it away in disgust, “Ew! I don’t wanna know what that teddy saw last night in bed with you and George!”

“Milli!” You groaned as she skipped up to you and linked your arms, leading the pair of you out the room and whispering dirty jokes in your ear about how the name of the teddy lived up to its name.

The pair of you walked into the living room, greeted with the sight of Tobi standing behind a plinth with cards stacked on top of it.

“Oh, fuck.” You mumbled making Tobi laugh. You cursed the game out as you settled yourself down on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder with Milli and sitting across from George, his leg brushing yours as he outstretched his own.

George smiled at you and you reciprocated the action. Farah next to you grumbled, “Jesus. Was cuddling all night not enough for you? Do you really need to eye-fuck each other from across the room?”

You covered your face with your hands as the group bellowed in laughter, Jason slapping George on the back in congratulations (although nothing has happened between you two yet). Tobi’s eyebrows raised and pointed to the cameras in the room, “George and Y/N, there are cameras everywhere and I don’t wanna see any funny business that needs to be cut!” He flickered between the two of you.

You sunk into the couch more, “Tobi! Just ruin our morning and tell us what’s happening.” You laughed, Milli beside you wished she could take a picture of your embarrassed face right now.

Tobi chuckled and complied, “Good morning, Insiders.” Everyone responded with half-hearted replies. “Can I please ask you to clear the front of the sofa and line up in front of it, please?”

You grumbled, sleep still overtaking your body as you reluctantly peeled yourself off of your comfy position on the sofa. You naturally found yourself gravitating towards George and slipped out of Milli’s radar, her smirking at you as you unknowingly got closer to the boy.

George peered down at you as you stood next to him, he ruffled your bed hair with his hand before it slid down your body to settle on your lower back.

“One by one, you’re going to come and collect an envelope from this plinth here.” Tobi explained. However, you were too distracted by George’s completely tired look on his face, smiling to yourself as he stared absentmindedly into the distance. Of course, you wouldn’t admit to yourself that he looked insanely good and adorable here; because he was your best friend! Best friends don’t think about each other like that, although you feared all morals were out the window after you spooned each other in bed last night.

“Do not open it until I say so.” Tobi demanded, all of you still confused about the concept of this challenge, or if it was a challenge.

“George.” Tobi called him up, his hand drifting from its position on your back but still hovering over your figure. PK snorted a laugh and whispered to Whitney next to him, “Can’t let go of his girl for one second.” She laughed and slapped his chest, intensely watching the two of you.

After George picked up his envelope, your name was called. “Y/N.” You stepped forward and took the envelope with dread, a nervous feeling sitting in your stomach at what lies underneath the paper.

While everyone else collected their envelopes, you felt the lack of sleep catching up with you and swayed on the spot slightly, eyes staring ahead. On instinct, you leaned into George’s side and rested your head on his arm; sensing this, George crouched down slightly so you could rest your head comfortably on his shoulder, despite the awkward squatting position he was in, he valued your comfort more than his.

You weren’t aware of this gesture, but still appreciated his response to your touch as his fingers started tracing patterns on your back that was clad in his hoodie.

“I’m now going to ask you to open and reveal the content of your envelope.” Tobi looked at the cuddling pair, “George, please open your envelope.”

George slowly ripped open the envelope and turned the sheet around to reveal a blank canvas with a circle on it. Furrowing your brows, you did the same after to see you had the exact same result.

This continued down the line until it reached DDG, everyone looking around at each other to silently question if they had any idea what this meant. “As you can see, DDG is the only one to have an X.”

“Which means that you will have to pick someone to go home right now.” Your mouth dropped open and your heart fell into your stomach, you had just woken up and someone was immediately going home.

Slipping your hand into George’s, his grip tightened on you and pressed a kiss on top of your head due to the height difference. With your head resting on him, you could hear his heart pounding against his chest and toyed with his fingers to try and relieve his nerves.

DDG stood up and faced the group as Tobi said, “You must now choose someone to leave the Inside house.” Sighing, he looked at you and George.

“Last night we were all hanging out, having a good time and creating a nice bond together.” Your nerves faltered slightly, remembering (before you fell asleep) that DDG was conversing with you and George about how you should ‘cut the shit and just kiss already’.

“And one person just wasn’t vibing at all. I’m sorry, Dylan.” You cringed as Dylan nodded in acceptance and Tobi ordered him to say his goodbyes.

DDG interview!

“I knew if I wanted to get George out, I needed to get Y/N out first. But it’s too soon to vote one of them out now because everyone could see what game I’m trying to play. So I went off initial vibes, and that’s why I voted out Dylan.”

You, George, Milli and Farah all walked Dylan out of the house, bidding your goodbyes and hugging him before he walked out the house. You knew it would feel different without a figure in the house; but it was all part of the game and you understood it.

As everyone gathered in the bedroom, you sat crossed legged on George’s bed whilst he stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind and hugging you close. You looked up at George, “The elimination still hasn’t properly hit me,” He nodded along, “I’m still half asleep.” You grumbled and leaned into George’s touch.

You could hear him laugh from behind you, “Give her an hour and she’ll cry when she realises he’s actually gone.” The others laughed at him as you shook your head and rested your hands on his arms where they were situated around your shoulders.

PK spoke up, “Today is your birthday.” He pointed at Whitney. You all turned to look at her in surprise and all cheered, “Happy Birthday!” As the group sang to her, George swayed you two back and forth.

The sound of a bell chiming broke everyone out of their daze as a couple of people peered their heads around the door to read the screen, “Breakfast is ready!” They shouted. George slipped his arms off of your shoulders, switching his hold on you to lug you up in bridal style off of the bed, one arm underneath your legs. You yelped in surprise and he smiled at your reaction, “Let’s go get breakfast, beautiful.” He whispered to you as he strode down to the shop with you in his arms.

As you reached the shop, he settled you back into the floor but let his hands rest on your hips. “George can’t keep his hands off her for one minute!” Patrice laughed and looked towards DDG and Jason, then laughing and pointing at the pair of you and you stood oblivious to their nattering near you.

Looking at the items listed, George pointed one out. “Custom coffee’s two and a half grand today.” You shook your head, “Yeah, please no one buy that today.” You wanted to try and attempt to save money, the budget was dropping already less than two days in and if you were to win, you’d like some money to take home with you.

Whitney took a step towards you and her eyes flickered to the position you and George were in, “It’s my birthday and Y/N, stop defending your boyfriend. Have your own opinion!”

Your eyes widened and you turned to face George, stepping out of his hold in embarrassment. George felt his heart falter a little bit as you retracted from his touch, missing the feeling of you in his hold.

You saw George open his mouth to protest and snap back at Whitney for her uncalled for comment, but you quickly shook your head and whispered, “Leave it.” You wanted to avoid conflict on the third day, you couldn’t handle arguing with people you barely knew.

time skip!

“Why, hello there!” You jumped from your spot sat next to Milli in the living room, the discussion about the charity match halting as JJ’s voice rang out.

“Are you all good?” You opened your mouth to respond as well as the others, “Shut up! I don’t care.” JJ shouted back, causing you to suppress a laugh.

Everyone walked into the living room as JJ continued through the loud speaker, “It’s time to go to the challenge arena. Get your asses changed and let’s go.”

You groaned and rolled your head back as you mentally prepared yourself for this challenge. As you walked towards the challenge arena, you spotted George a few steps ahead and in a slow walk. You picked up your step to stand behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist to rest your forehead on his back due to his height advantage against you.

You could practically see George’s eyebrows raise, “Well, hello there.” He lifted one arm around his back to stroke the back of your head and chuckled at your dread as you mumbled curses about the Sidemen; something along the lines of ‘God, why did I agree to this?’

The purple colour lights blinded your vision as you rounded the corner into the arena, “Here we are once more.” You heard George grumble, trying to sound somewhat enthusiastic but failing in doing so. “Ye old challenge arena.”

You retracted yourself from clinging onto George and stood on your tiptoes to see the room. Simon and JJ stood behind a circle table with trays scattered around it, and seats accompanying each side for spectators.

Simon and JJ urged you into the room, mocking greetings and laughing at your horror stricken face. You took a seat next to Milli, directly opposite George who winked at you in good luck.

Simon and JJ listed off the rules of ‘The Wheel of Mystery’, the name not exactly helping soothe your nerves but you persisted otherwise. Milli looked over at you and laughed at your face, a sour look etched into your features as you watched Simon shuffle through his cue cards before landing on one and showing it to JJ, then proceeding to laugh with each other and glance in your direction; you just knew they had something up their sleeve for you.

Unfortunately, due to your positioning behind Patrice in the game and his determination to go first, you had to endure an entire game of him occasionally letting one rip. Each time he backed his own ass control, you put your head in your hands to cover your laugh as Milli groaned and rested her forehead on your shoulder with closed eyes.

Once it was PK’s turn, JJ smirked at the question he was given, “This is a juicy one.” He raised his brows, “Rank the girls inside from most to least attractive.”

PK immediately turned round to face Milli and pointed at her, “Least attractive!” You gasped in shock and looked at PK with a confused expression. Milli responded with just as much energy, “He’s just salty I didn’t say he was the fittest!” She laughed with you as PK started spewing facts that she was the most attractive yesterday, but according to his logic, it’s a new day.

He ranked Farah sixth, Mandi fifth, Whitney fourth and Cinna third. PK glanced back and forth between you and Mya, taking a good look at the pair of you and considering his options.

George on the side had his lip tucked in between his teeth and his head tilted to the side, he stared at PK and silently willed him to stop as he watched his eyes trail over your sitting figure. George would never admit that he was jealous, because there was nothing to be jealous over. All friends feel a sick feeling in their stomach when another man practically hits on them when they’re right there, it’s normal! It’s a valid reaction because he is definitely not in love with you! He’d just curse PK out if he even tried to make a move on you; but the mischievous look in PK’s eyes told George that he wasn’t making it out of the challenge with any sense of dignity.

PK stood up and walked over to George, lifting a hand up to dap him up. “George, you’re my man. I’d never take your girl from you, brother.” You widen your eyes and look anywhere but George and PK, catching a glance of George’s mouth open and heat spreading through his cheeks.

George let out a nervous laugh and couldn’t form a witty response to that. Mya beside him could only laugh at his red face and the image of JJ laughing and pointing at him.

PK walked back to his seat, “So, Y/N second and my wife, Mya as first.” Everyone nodded along, still smiling from the previous interaction.

After a couple rounds and wishing you had your phone on you to take a picture of Milli’s unamused face in the banana costume, JJ called Mandi up into the hot seat and asked her, “Which Inside do you think will be the most boring to watch?”

You winced at the harsh question and watched her look between the group before her eyes landed on you, “Y/N.” You raised your brows in shock and swallowed a dry throat; were you really that boring? JJ and Simon exchanged confused glances and cleared their throat, “Why’s that, Mandi?”

She smiled a bit, “You know I love you, Y/N,” She started. You closed your eyes and whispered to Milli, “Fucking hell, here we go.” Milli grabbed your hand for comfort.

“I just think you’re a bit of a cling on to George,” Your face paled slightly, “Like, he has a career on YouTube, so do you but… it’s like you’re just there while he’s doing his own thing.” You stared at her in shock and tried to comprehend her words for a moment, catching eye contact with George as he held a pissed off facial expression.

Jason spoke up, “Wait, doesn’t she literally have more subs than George?” George nodded and pointed at Jason, “Y/N was doing her own thing before I even joined YouTube so I don’t know what the fuck that answer means.” He defended you from across the room.

You shook your head and tightened your grip on Mandi’s hand, “That was kind of uncalled for, Mandi.” You mumbled, looking directly at her. She laughed and turned back to JJ and Simon, “I was just answering the question!”

Whitney pointed at Mandi with a smile, “I’ve got you girl!” The pair laughed and the Sidemen behind them shut them down immediately, “Mandi, open your tray.” They demanded, no longer wanting to hear them slander you, being one of their closest friends and hearing them diminish you to nothing and acting as if they were more successful than you.

Next it was your turn, “Y/N, please join us at the front.” Simon called out.

You ran your hands through your hair as you stood up, “Come on, Y/N!” You heard Milli shout from behind you, turning around and sticking your tongue out at her. You looked over at George to see him staring at you with a smile, nodding at you with encouragement.

You sat down and leaned back into the chair, crossing your arms over your chest as JJ read out his cue card. “Y/N, if you had to share a bed with any male Insider, who would it be?”

You sighed and looked down at the table, knowing exactly who they wanted you to say. You shrugged your shoulders, “Why are all my questions like this in challenges?” You laughed.

JJ behind you cackled and leaned over you, “Maybe take the hint, Y/N.” You faced him with furrowed brows and mouth ajar, Simon laughed at you and nudged JJ in a signal to not give away too much of what they had planned for you.

You scanned the room, “Only male Insiders?” Simon nodded, “Only male.”

You sucked your teeth and sighed, “I mean I’ve already done it by accident, so I would go for George.” You tilted your head to see him trying to suppress a proud smile with his arms slung behind his head, showing off his biceps (ones that you definitely didn’t catch yourself staring at).

The group all awed at your answer, even hearing PK let out a wolf-whistle your way. You showed him the bird and heard his boisterous laugh in the background.

Simon approved of your answer, “Thank you for your answer. You will see the consequences of your decision later.”

You whipped your head around to him, similar to George. “What the fuck does that mean?” You gasped, your heart dropped into your stomach as a cold flush fell over you. Simon only shrugged with a smirk, and ordered you to open your tray. You rubbed your face with your hands and groaned loudly into them, causing the others to laugh at you.

You lifted the lid off of your tray, revealing dead cockroaches laid out on the plate, the label reading ‘Crunchy Delight!” You looked away immediately and screamed, “Fuck off!”

Everyone around you gasped as they looked down at your plate, “That’s fucking rancid, mate!” You supressed a gag, leaning down to rest your forehead on the edge of the table, mumbling curses about how you weren’t getting paid enough to do this.

As the group cheered you on, you quickly lifted your head and grabbed one before stuffing it in your mouth. You wanted to throw up as soon as it entered your mouth and you quickly snatched your water bottle, only to realise you had left it in the bedroom.

Your eyes widened and you screamed with your mouth shut as your hands swiped for soemthing that wasn’t there. No one could understand your body language as you panicked slightly. However, George noticed you fear stricken face and suddenly reached down for his bottle and hopped from his seat, quickly appearing at your side.

He unscrewed the lid off for you and shoved it into your hands as you swallowed the ‘meal’, tilting the bottle back and drinking the cold water that was situated in it. You sighed in relief as the water drowned out any taste of the cockroach.

George was still squated next to you and gently brushed his fingers against your bare shoulder in the tank top you wore, whispering encouraging words and mumbling how he was proud of you. You turned to look at him and whispered back, “Thank you.” And patted his head with a chuckle.

Realising that everyone was watching you two, George stepped back from the interaction and coughed awkwardly, walking back to his seat as everyone congratulated you for not losing any money. Cinna spoke up, “That was cute, Y/N and George!” You swatted the back of her head as you passed her.

During George’s turn he was asked, “Which Insider would you most like to be eliminated and why?”

To avoid conflict and general awkwardness within the house, George reasoned. “I don’t wanna risk my opinion being an actual vote and they go.” You all awed at him and smiled at his response, causing JJ behind him to mock us. “Shut the fuck up.” George groaned, but ultimately lost everyone £5,000.

time skip!

“Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” You hear George ask you as he enters the living room. You were sitting around the table with your lunch situated infront of you, surrounded by multiple members of the house who were now also looking at George who stood awkwardly with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

Confused, you nodded. “Sure, what’s wrong?” George shook his head and looked at everyone around you, “Maybe… just us? Alone?” He asked with a wavering voice.

Your eyebrows shot up and stumbled over your words slightly, not expecting him to have a private conversation with you in such urgency. “Uh, yeah! I’ll come now.” You shuffled out of your stool and walked towards his as he held his arm out for you to link it with yours, knowing that was your usual instinct when it came to him.

The other insiders sitting at the table jeered at you and George, “Come on, Georgie!” You distinctly heard Jason’s voice; and Patrice shouted out, “Use protection!”

As you left the room, you stood in the main area. You looked up at George, “What did you want to tell me?”

He looked around and politely smiled at people walking past, his nerves growing even more which caused concern to grow in you. He sighed and took both of your hands into his, “Not here.”

He walked backwards towards the gym and started speaking to you, never breaking eye contact with you. “I need to tell you something, Y/N. In private.” You nodded and your breathing sped up as he edged closer to the door.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for ages and I figured since we’re living together for the next few days, this could be a good chance to tell you that--”

The door of the gym swung open and Mya and Whitney tumbled out laughing, messing with the pockets of their tracksuit. You yelped as they collided with George’s back before they burst into laughter and ran away, not missing the sound of a rustling packet tucked into their clothing.

You watched the run away with furrowed brows, feeling George slip from your hands and him striding over to a camera tucked into the corner of the room; “There’s no way they think I can’t hear a rusting packet of choccy, right?”

The girls passed you again, this time with composure. “Hello.” They sweetly said as you reciprocated the gesture, glancing at George with a knowing look. George scoffed and walked towards the living room, you hot on his trail. “They think they’re slick.”

You jogged up next to him and tapped his shoulder, “Wait, what were you saying back then before?”

George’s eyes widened and he swallowed, all the courage he worked up to before dispersed now. “Uh, that was-- that was nothing.” You bit your lip, “You sure?” He nodded quickly, walking past you before you could read the expression on his face, knowing him too well. “It’s fine.”

time skip!

You were all sitting in the bedroom awaiting Whitney’s fate as she entered the temptation room, but you couldn’t help but notice something was different about the room.

Sitting cross legged on the floor as you and George passed the jiggly ball between the pair of you, your eyes scanned the room. Nothing was out of place, everyone’s clothes stayed where they were in the morning, nothing had been added to the room and nothing had been altered in the room. Atleast you thought that until you noticed--

“Oh, my fucking God!” You jumped up off the floor, startling everyone in the room.

“What?” George called out from his position on the floor, chucking the ball between his hands.

“My fucking bed is gone!” You pointed at the vacant space that used to be occupied by your bed. All your items were tucked underneath someone else’s bed and your set of drawers had been moved. “Huh?” George hopped up and stood next to you.

“Holy shit!” He pointed out. You followed his finger to see where his bed was, it had been upgraded to a double bed with a note tucked into the pillows at the top of the bed. The pair of you sprinted over to retrieve the note.

Picking it up, you read its contents. “Your wish is our command, Y/N. Enjoy sharing a bed with George for the rest of the week.”

You covered your mouth in shock and dropped the note on the bed, George picking it up to read it himself to see if you were lying. In the meantime, you saw your drawers were settled on the right side of the bed, jumping towards it, you scanned the insides to see if they had messed with anything else of yours.

Seeing one new item, you slammed the draw shut and walked away from it, leaving the room and shouting, “I hate the Sidemen!”

George looked up from the note and furrowed his brows, lunging over to open the drawer you had reacted to. His mouth dropped open and he fell back onto the bed, looking directly at a camera in the room and pointing at it. “You lot are bastards, you know that?”

And as the camera zoomed into the room, more specifically the drawers. You could just make out a packet of condoms situated in the drawer with a sticky note on top of it saying, ‘No baby Clarkey’s on set please!’

time skip!

“Guys, they’ve got a harmonica on the list. Can I get it?”

You turned around mid-drawing Milli a body on her banana outfit. George skipped into the room with a wide smile on his face. You nodded eagerly, “Yes! Get it!” You needed him to confirm his first purchase.

“There’s a harmonica on the list.” He repeated. You dropped the pen you were using to draw on Milli and apologised to her, “Sorry, I have to be there to witness George lose his purchase virginity!” You skipped over to him as he awaited with open arms.

Milli scoffed jokingly, “Won’t be the first time.” You ignored her comment in ignorant bliss as George skipped in utter glee over to the shop.

“I’m gonna get myself a bloody harmonica!” George jumped into the room, his hand linked with yours as he swung your arms back and forth.

He hopped in front of the camera with a little noise, “Hello. Could I please confirm an harmonica? Please? And thank you.” He smirked into the camera.

You jumped onto his back and he tucked his hands under your thighs, hoisting you further up and you felt his back move with the way he laughed. “I’m gonna serenade you every night now, especially with those condoms in our--” “For fucks sake, George!” You pushed yourself off his back laughing, a smile spread across your face as you heard his giggles and him clapping his hands as the trap doors opened. “Open up, give me my--”

He cut himself off with a giggle, “Thank you!” He stared at you and started playing the harmonica, causing you to laugh and bury your head into your hands. He nudged you, “What? You don’t like it?” You opened your mouth to answer, “You don’t think it’s sexy? A guy playing an instrument?” He finished.

You laughed and pointed at the harmonica, “You think that’s an instrument?” George mocked the offense and snatched the item away from your reach, leaning down dangerously close to your face. “No serenading for you tonight!”

time skip!

“I feel like a side piece to George now.” You thought out loud.

Cinna, beside you, barked out in laughter as you stared at George from across the room. “What?”

You shook your head and gestured towards him, “Look how he’s always attached to that harmonica now. That used to be me a couple hours ago!”

Cinna put her head in her hands and continued laughing, “Y/N, you’re so funny.” She nudged you, seeing your mock hurt face as George repeatedly blew on the harmonica, sounding the same two notes over and over as you all patiently waited for Whitney to return with her present.

Cinna looked at you, “He’s literally sat there with party hats as breasts and you’re jealous of a fucking harmonica?” You looked at your lap in shame and tried to cover up a laugh, but Cinna leaned into you which broke you from your attempts to suppress any chuckles.

Whitney appeared back in the room holding a massive box and a card, she opened the card and started reading it out. “Okay, it says, ‘Happy birthday from the Sidemen.’” You nodded along, feeling George settle himself next to you on the sofa and his arms rest on the cushions behind you; his finger gently brushing your shoulder.

“The highest spender is PK Humble. And the lowest spender is Uncle P.” You all turned to glance at the respective people, nerves brewing at what the Sidemen had cooked up with this information

“The highest and lowest spender must make their way to room 19 and agree on someone to eliminate. They have 20 minutes.”

Your jaw dropped to the floor and your hand slipped into George’s, his fingers intertwining with your own as you looked at each other. You willed the other one to stay, neither of you could go home this early and there was a large risk that you could. Your lips trembled slightly as you could feel PK’s eyes on you, swallowing a large lump in your throat as you knew you would be considered an option.

George drew your head close to his, pressing a soft kiss on your temple. “I’m not letting you go.”

taglist (how are u all pookies):

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quarterlifekitty · 1 day ago

Note

When reader is kidnapped, what is the setup like?

Do they get their own bedroom? Basement? Free roam of the house? Put into the bedroom of the kidnapper? Broom closet?

Well, this is a very open ended question with a lot of dependencies! I think this depends on who you are, why you’ve been kidnapped, and what they’re holding over you— are you someone they’re expecting to try to run?

cw: this is dark stuff. Kidnapping, manipulation, etc.

I think Price, generally, gives you free roam of the house. He’s a thorough person— he has something that keeps you inside out of your own self interest. Much easier than having to worry about locked windows and doors. Maybe he’s made you a fugitive, maybe he’s tracked your family, maybe he’s led you to believe the property is trapped— but you stay because you’re afraid. And besides— what kind of wife doesn’t have free roam of their own house? And if he wants you to get used to being his wife, keeping you cooped up in just one room won’t do.

Similarly, Gaz is playing mind games. He keeps you in one room, one of your own, to start with— but he makes it clear that everything you have is a privilege that can be taken away. Starts you at the bottom, so that once he trickles in little kindnesses, you’re conditioned to be very grateful. If you to try to leave, you’ll be met with locks that are fingerprinted and combination based, and he will make your already small world smaller as punishment as much as he has to. But he always explains it gently. Like he hates to be doing it, but has no choice. Until you start to believe it.

Johnny keeps you in his room. So much of your role to him is as a bed warmer, it just makes sense. He also has the sort of primal idea that the more forced proximity, the more skin to skin contact, the more mingling of scents, the more a bond will form between you. He has plenty of locks and bolts to keep you in, but he also has a terrifyingly good read on you. He’s generally extremely perceptive and can tell what makes people tick when he cares enough to observe them closely. So he’ll purposely say things that scare you as much as possible. He wants you trembling and crawling to the only source of comfort you’re allowed— him.

Ghost is the most physical in his restraints. He keeps you in a basement, thin slits for windows you could never squeeze through, a line of locks like he’s trying to keep a pet werewolf. Of them, his lack of a positive self image makes him the least confident that you would ever choose to stay with him. In that same vein— he will tempt you into trying to run. It’s a form of self flagellation for him. He’ll leave the locks undone, you’ll run away, he’ll tracks you down and drag you back all while his heart aches at the reminder that you don’t want him. Maybe you never will, but he can’t bring himself to let go. He also loves the chase. He hasn’t told you this, and he doesn’t know if he ever will, but he faked your death and no one in the world is looking for you.

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #john soap mctavish x reader #john price #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #john price x reader #cw dark #cw obsessive #cw manipulative #cw kidnapping

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valentina-writes · 2 days ago

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Here's an idea for a Azriel x reader fanfic if you're interested! Azriels mate is pregnant and she is a cauldron made high fae. While he's away on a mission. She is taken by his half brothers and put in the cell he spent the early years of his life. Azriel must go rescue her. We love a protective azriel

no grave (can hold my body down)

Azriel x reader

summary: shortly after you find out you're pregnant with Azriel's baby, two illyrians kidnap you on a mission. But it turns out they're not strangers, after all.

warnings: physical violence, predatory behavior, pregnancy, hurt/comfort

genre: angst, (a bit of fluff) | words: 4.3k | masterlist

A/N: Thanks for the idea, anon! Funny enough, I was thinking about opening requests again when this came in (I'll update you on that soon). I really hope you like it ;)

It was a routine mission, nothing more. A quick trip to the illyrian steppes to gather healing herbs, at your own request. To free your head. You had done this countless times, winnow in, pick herbs, winnow out. But not this time.

You were crouched in a meadow, trying to identify the many plants. Every now and then, you pulled out a little booklet with descriptions of the herbs you were looking for, comparing them. But your mind was elsewhere. This morning, Madja had visited you, after weeks of feeling unwell, vomiting and utter exhaustion. Her beaming smile, the wrinkles forming in the corners of her eye, had been a shock, much like her words. You're pregnant, dear.

Pregnant. And instead of being excited, you had felt sick to your stomach and immediately fled from Velaris before Azriel returned from his own mission. And here you were now. It wasn't that you didn't want this baby, or that you were scared Azriel would be anything but elated. But it would change your lives so drastically, so suddenly.

You quietly hummed a sweet melody to yourself. What would he say? What would you do?

Over your song, you didn't hear the birds stop chirping and the wind stilling. Lost in thought, you kept hacking away at the plants before you.

"Who do we have here?". You stilled and then turned, drawing your knife.

It was Azriel standing before you, your beautiful mate. You let your knife sink. His big wings were folded against his back, his soft dark hair blowing in the breeze. You opened your mouth in surprise. He stepped closer. "If that isn't little Y/N".

Why was he here? Why was he talking like this? He was unlike himself, but you couldn't quite make it out. Something about him was different, you mused. Your gaze wandered over him, trying to understand. The wind stilled, and then you saw it. There were no shadows. And the hand, hovering over the knife, that wasn't truth-teller, was unmarked.

You bolted, dropping the pouch you had gathered the herbs in. That had been the first lection Azriel had ever given you. Run. Bring as much distance between you and the opponent as you can and then winnow.

Five steps. That was how far you got, because right before you, another illyrian dropped from the sky. He looked less like Azriel, but the similarity was still startling. So much that you lost a precious second staring at him. A second he used to grab your arms in place and throw away your knife. And he blew something into your face, a kind of powder that left a heavy metallic tang in your nostrils. Faebane. Strong hands gripped you by your neck from behind.

"My favorite sister in law", Azriel's brother before you crooned, "what a shame the invitations for the mating ceremony got lost. I would've loved to see the bastard-union". The faebane burned in your nose and in your mouth. The grip of the male behind you was so strong around your neck that you were fighting for each intake of breath, trying to cough out as much of the poison as possible.

Don't panic, you thought to yourself, fighting to stay composed. You gathered all of your magic, tried to fold the cosmos and step right into the next world. You imagined the old woods and fields of fire-like flowers and gathered all your energy. But the power escaped your grasp. It wasn't enough to winnow. Not to a different world, not to Velaris, not even to the other side of the meadow. The power inside you had dwindled into a small spark.

And the bond. The mating bond inside your chest numbed down, its glow being cast into darkness. You grasped at it, but it escaped your reach. With your last spark of power, you grapped the bond, refused to let go, even when it ran tight and fickle, and tugged. Hard. Harder than ever and only let go when the bond went fully dark.

"You will die". They didn't expect you to fight. The surprise was on your side when you kneed the one in front of you straight in the groin. His eyes widened and the warrior dropped to his knees, but still wouldn't let go. A second kick made him groan, dropping his arms and cursing under his breath. But there was no way you could shrug off the other one, his hands still tight around your neck. Not without the knife. You clawed at his hands, kicked at him, but he was just too big and you were too exhausted. Your cauldron-given powers were stolen from you. Under normal circumstances they would've been dead the second they laid hands on you. Not today.

He was hard against you now. Bile rose up in your throat at the feeling of him rubbing against you. "What a feisty little bitch you are", he whispered into your ear. And then he squeezed your neck hard and the world turned dark.

It was dark around you. A blackness so infinite you couldn't make out your own hand engulfed you. You had no recollection how you got here. The stone floor you lay on was nastily cold and wet, draining any warmth from your body. Any energy from you and the baby. The baby. Your hand shot to your stomach and chains rattled on the floor at the movement. They had shackled you. The cuffs were ice-cold around your wrists and so tight it hurt. A whimper escaped your lips. With soft strokes, you caressed your stomach. How unfair it was for this little baby. In a few weeks, you would start to show, you realized. You forbid yourself imagining what Azriel's brothers would do to your unborn child if they found out.

You sat upright. The chains that bound you to the wall allowed you to move through the cell. You explored every inch of it. There was nothing but cold stone and a bucket to relieve yourself. No door. Not even a window. This was the place Azriel had spent his childhood in, you were sure of it. He seldom talked about this time period. But from what you knew, from what he screamed during his nightmares and afterwards whispered to you, gasping for breath, this was it. Now, often you woke up screaming, too, haunted by dreams of a little winged boy sharing your cell. But you didn't allow yourself to cry. Not once.

Had he even felt the last tug you had given the bond? Azriel was on the continent, as far as you knew. Maybe your magic had been too weak, the distance too far. There was no way of knowing whether he was aware that you were gone. But then again, you tried to console yourself, Rhys knew exactly where you had last been. They will rescue me, you repeated again and again. They will find me.

You couldn't tell how much time had passed already. In the beginning, you screamed and shouted and tugged on the shackles, so hard the skin rubbed away and left a bloody mess. Every now and then, you tried reaching for the bond, for your mate. But it was gone, just like your powers.

The only thing that disturbed the emptiness of the cell was stale bread and water. Sometimes it seemed like not even an hour had passed between meals, sometimes it felt like days. The food was poisoned, you were sure. But, after a few days, hunger won over all else, and you ate the faebane. Everytime you ate, you prayed to the Mother. Not the baby. Let it survive. Don't let the poison affect it.

There was no way to tell the time, not even a sound from outside the cell reached you, but more than a week must have passed before they came to see you. Light broke the dark void. Violent beams of it hit your eyes, blinding you almost entirely after - what? - days? weeks? in the darkness. You had no clue how long you had been here already.

"How is little Y/N?", a deep voice sounded. His face was unrecognizable, so blinded were you, but it was the one you had kicked in the balls, you were fairly certain. His tone was pure mockery. "Tired of this yet?"

You wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing your distress. "What do you want?"

"See how my little bastard sister in law is doing, of course".

"If you're so concerned for my wellbeing, maybe you shouldn't have put me in a cell"

"No, I think you're exactly where you belong. Where he also belongs". Your heart twisted. Azriel had spent years in this cell. Images of his child-self forced its way into your mind. His hands, freshly burned and torturingly painful. His wings, useless and limp because they had never taught him to use them. You slowly breathed in. Now you needed to be strong for all three of you. Not despair.

"Let me go. I haven't done anything to you. I don't even know you. Let me out"

"You're right. But word says not only the Archeron sisters came out of the Cauldron and took something from it. That when you were made you bargained with the Mother herself and she loved you so much she gave you a power like no other". Your blood ran cold. Thoughts of the day you came out of the Cauldron swirled through your head. Azriel's face as he watched in horror, half-dead. The bond snapping immediately. The Mother. The gift.

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to offer a bargain myself". You didn't answer. It was clear what he wanted.

He tried once again. "What is it that the cauldron gifted you? That has the high lord make the mountains shake in rage at your disappearance?". Finally, you could make out his face. You studied him quietly. His face was twisted into a sneer, eyes dead. There was no empathy in his gaze, no sign of remorse. And it didn't seem to occur to him that Rhys would always go to the end of the world to rescue his brother's mate, no matter their power.

You stilled, thinking. He didn't even know what powers you possessed exactly. Was it all an act of speculation?

He grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip was so strong it brought tears to your eyes. "Answer me, bitch"

"Maybe you should've investigated on my powers before throwing me in your little dungeon", you hissed. He dropped your head immediately. His big hand met your face with a thundering bang, so hard the back of your head met the stone wall with a sickening thud. A pained gasp left your lips. Your cheek burned where he had striked and your skull. Your skull was ringing, throbbing so hard you saw stars and a wet patch formed at the back of it. Hot, blazing pain killed every thought in your head but one. Not the baby.

"All talk, no bite", he chuckled and kneeled down before you. "Let me get this straight. You service me and my brother with your power and in exchange you get to leave the cell". It was such a shitty bargain, under normal circumstances you would've laughed. But all you could do was sob at the pain blooming in your skull, the sounds of it ricocheting off the walls.

Another voice, right at the trap door. The other brother. "Try not to kill her"

The male before you retreated.

"Leave her. She will come to her senses soon".

They left you there, bleeding on the floor. No healer came. The wound stopped bleeding after a while, but the throbbing pain remained. You drifted in and out of sleep, only awake long enough to retch up the little food you got. You would never return home. Azriel would never get to meet his child, not even know he was a father.

He came back regularly. Each time, he offered the same bargain. Each time, you refused a little less violently.

"Tell me about your powers", he would demand again and again. And you would shake your head until he hit and kicked you, until you were a sobbing mess on floor of the cell. But you didn't tell him.

Until, one day, the other one came. The one with the predatory glint in his eye, the one who had gotten hard at your tries to get away from him. He was so tall he had to crouch before you. And when he threatened to touch you, when he whispered into the darkness how he would use you, you had broken down. The words had spilled out of you like your tears and for a moment you were scared he would touch you anyways. I can winnow between worlds. But he only grinned and left. He had what he wanted. The next time he'd ask, he knew you'd accept whatever bargain he would offer.

That night, the darkness around you felt different. It wasn't empty. Something was watching you. You tried to ignore it, to simply fall asleep, but its presence made it impossible. So, you searched every inch of the cell. On hands and knees you crept through the small room, trying to find whatever it was. You found nothing but cold hard stone. But it was there. Everywhere. And when you finally closed your eyes again and laid your head against the cold stone, the darkness became a thing. And you could have sworn it sung a lullaby to you, in the language of the wind.

The trap door swung open once again. Blazing Light blinded you and you could barely make out a tall illyrian landing before you. He was too big for this cell. His wings scraped against the walls on both sides, and his head was ducked low as to not bump into the ceiling.

You scurried away from him, using your hands on the wall to guide you into the farthest corner. Inside you, your heart hammered against your ribs. This was it. He'd force you into the bargain.

The male extended a hand to you. You couldn't see more than his outlines, so blinding was the light. "Y/N, it's me".

You bared your teeth at the male and hissed. "I'll do what you want but if you touch me one more time, I'll fucking kill you".

A sharp intake of breath. "I'll get you out of here, Y/N. Please. It's me, Azriel". His tone was pleading, his voice oh so familiar. But it couldn't be him. Just another one of their tricks to get you to comply.

You dropped your head against the cold stone. "At least make it quick this time", you mumbled.

The male crouched down before you. Slowly, your eyes adapted to the light and you could make out his features. He looked like your mate. The golden specks in his hazel eyes, the dark locks of hair. But then again, his brothers looked so similar. It must have been wishful thinking. A trick of the light.

"I'm here to bring you home", he whispered, his voice breaking. Soft tendrils of air swirled over your shackled wrists, tugging at the cuffs. Dark and silky, kissing your raw skin where you had rubbed it open trying to free yourself. The male's hands met your face, stroking your cheeks. Scarred hands, wiping away tears that were running from your eyes.

Your head snapped up. "Azriel". It was more an outcry than anything, strangled and barely understandable. You flung yourself at him, as far as the confines allowed.

"Shhh, I'm here, I'm here. We're going home. Everything will be okay". Another figure appeared behind him and the shackles dissolved into thin air. Azriel was all over you in an instant. His strong hands roamed your body, pressed you tightly against him as if to never let you go again. You sobbed into his shoulder. He had come for you. He had saved you. "It's over. It's over. You have been so strong", Azriel whispered to you. He pressed a kiss to your temple and threaded his hand into your hair, where he met-

"Ow", you sobbed harder as he touched the wound. Azriel's hands immediately let go and curled aaround your shoulders instead.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry they did this to you".

"Get her out, Cass and I will handle the rest", the other person said. You had almost forgotten about him. Rhysand, you registered. Azriel picked you up, your limbs curling around his strong body. Your face buried into the crook of his neck, still whimpering against his shoulder. But it were tears of joy. His wings closed in around you immediately.

"No. I want to see the light leave their eyes for what they have done to my mate". His tone was cold, unyielding. So unlike the soft hand stroking your back, the nose buried in your hair, breathing in your scent deeply.

"Then I will keep them alive. But first, you leave. Now".

He stepped through the wind with you in his arms. You didn't feel it in his tight embrace, but he must have winnowed because moments later he sat down on your bed with you on his lap. His wings folded around you half-way, so that light could still come through. The familiarity of the sight took your breath away. You'd thought you would never be with him like this again.

"You're at home", Azriel whispered to you. "It's okay, we're at home". Strangled sounds filled the room, sobs and whines and only when his rough hands stroked your back and he told you to breathe, you realized you were crying and you were making the sounds.

"My love, I've got you. You're safe here". You forced yourself to breathe and dropped your head to his chest.

"Shh, I'm here. They can't hurt you anymore". Azriel kissed your head. You counted his breaths, trying to mimic them, In – out – in – out, and took in his scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

You didn't know how long you stayed this way until you could breathe again and stopped sobbing. Only then did you realize what had happened.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you forced out. Tears were welling up in your eyes again, but you willed them away.

For a while, you only stared at him, marveling his beauty. The way the sun illuminated the gold and emerald streaks in his eyes. His hair that was already a bit too long for his liking and fell into his forehead. The gloriously full lips you loved so much. How could you have ever mistaken your captors for your mate?

"How did you find me?", you finally asked with a hoarse voice.

"I felt the bond". Azriel nearly choked on his words. "That last tug – and then it went dark and I thought I had lost you". A tear rolled down his cheek and you tightened your grasp around his waist. "We searched the steppes for you, but there was nothing. And then, last night... my shadows called out to me. Across the entire court". The darkness singing a song to you, the thing in the night. You hadn't made it up.

You stared at him in awe. "How?". They never strayed far from him.

"I send them into every corner of Prythian and... it had been so long and I didn't think they'd find you. But then they were called to where they came from". He dropped his face onto the crown of your head and pressed a kiss to it.

"It was so dark in there". Your breath hitched at the thought of the cell. Lightly, you rubbed over the scabs at your wrists behind his back. "And I was so alone. Until I wasn't"

"What do you mean?"

"Something was there - it... it watched me. And then it turned into something else. And sang me to sleep." Realization hit you. "I think that were your shadows".

"Was that... was that what it was like for you as well? When you were in that cell? I thought about you every second, how you spent your childhood in there and..." He frowned.

His gaze was very far away, centuries ago. "It was the same. Only that nobody came for me". HIs eyes met yours and turned soft at the pain that was painted on your face. "I'll tell you all about it. In a while, when you feel better".

You laid your head onto his shoulders again and held onto him. You weren't quite sure who was comforting who now. Maybe you found solace in each other, through the hardhips you had shared.

But there was something else you shared. Someone.

You drew back slightly and locked eyes with him again. "I was so scared, Az. I thought I'd never see you again". You grasped his hand and laid it on your stomach. The anxiety you had felt the morning you had found out about the pregnancy was all gone. "I thought I'd die and you'd never even know that you are a dad".

His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"That day, Madja came to see me and told me. That's why I went to the steppes, to free my head and think before telling you". Tears ran down your cheeks again now. "I wish I had just stayed home and wited for you to return", you weeped.

"You're pregnant?" There were tears pooling in his eyes as well. "My Y/N. My mate. Thinking I had lost you was the worst I've ever felt. But to think I could've lost both of you, without even knowing...". Azriel broke off and pulled you into a tight hug, his hands shaking.

He took your face in his hands and kissed away the tears.

"Are you happy, Az?". Your voice was barely a whisper.

"I couldn't be happier now that I have you back. And I couldn't be happier about our baby". Azriel's lips met yours in a soft caress. He tasted like home.

You didn't leave the bed all day. You stayed with him, curled underneath the covers. Azriel kissed away the pain and held your hand when Madja came to check on the baby and your head. You both were healthy, thank the Mother. And when Madja was gone, Azriel wrapped you in his arms and wings and never let go. He didn't urge you to talk any more about what had happened. Maybe the frail wisps of midnight air that circled around you now had told him everything already.

"I will kill them for what they did to you", Azriel whispered after he had made love to you slowly. Your naked limbs were still tangled with his, his entire body splayed over you, as if shielding you from the outside world.

Your breath hitched in your chest and Azriel planted a soft kiss on your jaw.

"No". His entire body turned rigid and he rolled off you without letting go.

"Why no? Y/N, I can't let them live after what they did", he murmured, kissing up your cheek, "I wasn't there to protect you. This is the only way I can make up for what happened".

Your hug around him grew tighter. "It's not your fault. I reacted too late. There is no debt to pay me, Az. And even if there was, you would've paid it back the moment you brought me home". Your hands threaded into his hair.

Azriel buried his face in your neck and his shadows stroked your cheek. "Please. I will never forgive myself for leaving you both unprotected. Please let me make it up to you. To the baby. If you were any other male's mate, if you were Cassian's mate or Rhys's they wouldn't have done this to you. It's because of me".

He meant it. Your heart dropped at the realization. He thought he was responsible.

"It's not your fault, none of this"

He wanted to interrupt you, but you didn't let him. "Not for this and not for what they did to you as a child. I don't want you to kill them for me. At least not only for me. I want you to kill them for what they did to you as well"

He stilled for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I can live with that".

"Good". You closed your eyes and soaked up his warmth. There was no other way you wanted to spend your future with him. You'd die a happy death in a thousand years if all you did until then was lay in bed next to your mate.

A wisp of air circled around your wrist, darted over chest and pooled over your stomach where it stayed, humming.

"It's yours now", Azriel murmured into your hair, "that's the one that found you. It told me it won't leave your side again".

Your fingers threaded through the shadowy tendrils and you could've sworn they purred at your touch.

"And I will also never leave your side", he whispered before his lips met yours.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #acotar writing #azriel x reader angst #azriel angst #azriel x reader fluff #azriel fluff #azriel x you #azriel x reader imagine #azriel hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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lunarxcity · 2 days ago

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Why her? (Part V to Why me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort ( I mean did you guys really thing I would let them have a smooth reunion? cackles maniacally in the background**)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Parts I, II, III, and IV if you missed them!

You were a fool for thinking that Rhys would allow you to discretely come back to the Night Court after being away for so long and even more a fool for thinking that he wouldn't find any excuse to throw a party. The details of your mission had been classified so Rhys couldn't exactly disclose that it was a welcome home party for you, but no one in their right mind will question the reasoning behind a Night Court ball.

Rhys' extravagance extended to his parties and they were some of the most revered in Prythian. Even Beron, the grumpiest high lord who hates anything to do with fun or laugher, would look forward to attending, dragging his gaggle of deplorable children along.

You're going to attend the Ball with Lucien and Eris and then stay in the Night Court, marking the end of your time in Autumn. Autumn has always been a place of change. The leaves of trees are always flickering between shades of red, orange, and brown some falling and some staying without being enticed by the prospect of winter of winter.

You do have to say the eternal Autumn does live up to it's namesake. In just 3 short months you've been changed, well not physically, but the way you think about yourself and how you go about the world. You would have to find some way to thank Eris for that. You did the work, but he pushed you to start and showed you the way and in return you hope you had taught him how to not be so unbearably uptight all the time.

You would miss your friend, Rhysand would never forgive you for thinking this, but he reminds you of Rhys in a way. You smile at the thought of your brother's reaction to this accusation. He would huff and cross his arms, immediately disagreeing with you. You know Eris would do something similar. He will make a good high lord.

You continue to get ready for the ball, ditching your normal colour palette of blues and purples for a Night Court black dress with gold adornments along the bodice. You had to pay homage to your time in Autumn, but you are still Night Court. The way the gold snakes around reminded you of golden vines rather than the shadow-like designs you've been accustomed to.

You were related to Rhys and Mor, it was in your blood to go over the top with these kind of things. It was Eris' idea to add leafs to the golden vines to the dress and also Eris' idea to match his suit to your dress. Lucien thought that the gold and black designs were way too much for him, but you were able to convince him into wearing the matching cuff links. You knew what kind of message that you and Eris matching would sent to the courts and to a certain spymaster, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. If you wanted to match with Eris so be it who cares what they think?

Your thoughts begin to stray back to a certain spymaster, it had been 3 months since you'd last seen him and 3 months since you had found out that you guys were mates. The mating bond had become nothing more than a dull feeling in your chest and you don't even think you could tug on it if you wanted to. That is how far removed you had become from the bond, how far you have become removed from Azriel.

Azriel. You were still trying to decide how you would deal with him. Right now, you are leaning towards being polite to him when you see him and then dancing and talking with everyone else all evening in order to avoid his presence. You decided to not give him the amount of your attention that he has become accustomed to. You will set your sights on connecting with your family and friends; he, of course, will be included in that but only on a polite, friendly level and not on the all-consuming level of a mate.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. Eris walks in with a hand behind his back. His face is nuetral, but his eyes are almost solemn. He begins to speak, "It has been a long time since I've had the pleasure of being around decent company." Eris is not a sentimental person, so you understand that even this much is a lot for him.

He approaches you and his hand comes out from behind his back to reveal a gold necklace. It was a simple necklace with a gold chain and a small pendant on the end with a fox sitting on a moon engraved in it. He delicately places the necklace in your hand.

You smile up at him, "Thank you, Eris, I love it." You walk up to him and look in his eyes, the enemy of the Night Court that was somehow your saviour in this dark tie. You don't know how you repay him. You wrap your arms around him in an embrace and he freezes. He must not have hugged someone in a while because he immediately stiffed and then put his arms around you. If anyone saw this they would assume that this is proof that Eris Vanserra had a heart and that he needed to learn how to hug because it looked like you were holding him hostage.

Nevertheless, you got excited, he had never let you hug him before. He sighs, "You know you could just stay here, who else is going to look after the foxes." You thought back to the first day, you arrived in Autumn a complete and utter mess and in your drunken stupor had dragged along Lucien and domesticated a whole family of foxes. You had come a long way since then, when the fate of yours and Azriel's mating bond had been the only thing on your mind and the world felt tilted on it's axis.

Eris' voice interrupts your thoughts, "Who else am I going to terrorise on the daily?" You chuckle, "You will always have Lucien."

He lets out an exasperated sigh, "He's been much too boring lately. He doesn't appreciate my schemes." You let out an immediate retort, "Your brother doesn't want you to make an enemy of every court? What a pity." In all his spitefulness and maliciousness, Eris had been your rock lately and you don't know what you are going to do without at least a little bit of his mischief in your life.

Your eye strays to the window, and you look outside and see the trees swaying in the wind. The scene almost reminds you of a painting with Autumn leaves swaying in the breeze against the backdrop of a golden sunset. You had always believed the Night Court to be the most captivating of all the courts, you believed that nothing could rival the beauty of the stars that danced across the Night Court sky, but the golden Autumn sunset had you rethinking your decision. There was something about the warm, enticing glow of the Autumn Court sunset that had made you forget about the beauty of the Night sky that you had loved for so many years, but sunsets were fleeting and as soon as you began to appreciate the moment the sun had disappeared below the horizon it was over.

Sun disappearing below the horizon? By the Cauldron you were running late to the ball. You jump away from Eris and run to put on your shoes, "Loving this bonding moment we're having here, but we are running late and my brother will literally come here and drag me to the ball if we don't leave immediately."

He laughs and lets out a sarcastic, "Your command is my wish, Your Royal Highness of the Court of Night. Or is that not regal enough? Your divine goddessness-"

Yo roll your eyes and laugh. "Oh my god shut up Eris lets go." He drops into a dramatic bow and holds his hand out. You know he's trying to distract you from thoughts of Azriel, and you appreciate the effort.

He looks at you with sincere eyes, "You ready?" You answer right away, scared that if you give yourself a minute to sit and contemplate you're going to change your mind and run away like you did to Autumn. You nod, softly you say, "Ready as I'll ever be."

With that you take his hand and the world falls away as you begin to travel to the Night Court.

Azriel's a nervous wreck. He may be dressed for a ball, his usual leathers traded for ball attire. Azriel has never been one for especially opulent attire, Rhys has always been the most fashionable out of the three brothers, but he really wanted to look good for your guys' reunion. He had actually asked Mor and Rhys for outfit advice, which had left both of them speechless due to how out of character it was.

They dressed him in an elevated Spymaster's uniform, which was more flair than practicality. His tunic was much too tailored to be for fighting, and the cobalt cufflinks and designs would not help with blending in to the shadows. A useless outfit for spying or attending to any spymaster business, but a perfect outfit for a Night Court ball.

Mor and Rhys made him shave, get a haircut, even made him use this enchanted eye cream to get minimise the dark circles that were permanently etched on his face from all the sleepless nights in your absence. Mother knows how excited he was to see you. He had barely thought of anything else since he was told of your arrival and has thought of a thousand different scenarios of how your reunion will go. The last one involved you running into his arms and him happily spinning you around.

The remnants of your scent still linger in your room. Azriel would know, considering he's basically moved into it, but it's not enough anymore. Azriel needs more.

He's been pacing for nearly an hour, Cassian had become dizzy from watching him go back and forth for so long. "Brother, you are worried for nothing. You will see her and all will be well again." Cassian tries to assure him.

Azriel responds by walking over the counter and pouring a glass of whiskey. He stopped when it was about three-quarters of the way full. "Brother, I implore you to think about your decision." Azriel walks the glass over to him and Cassian gives him a smile. "See I'm proud of you, you made the right decision."

Azriel gives a small smile back and walks over to the counter. He then grabs the bottle of whiskey off the counter and presses it to his lips, beginning to chug the remnants. Cassian jumps up and runs to him yelling, "NO-"

The bottle was already finished by the time Cassian got to him. Sulking, he sat down and began to drink his own glass, scared that Azriel might come over there and down it too.

The sun was beginning to set over the horizon, which means the ball was starting soon. Azriel felt as though he couldn't breathe. He was a mix of excitement, nerves, and fear. His chest felt heavy in a way that he has never felt before and he half-contemplated jumping out the window and flying away and never coming back.

It was rare that Azriel would be the one freaking out and Cassian would be the one calming him down but here he was. His brother came over slapped an arm over his shoulder and was grinning at him. "You ready for what could possibly be the greatest evening of your life brother?" The way that Cassian was looking at him and the knowledge that you were going to be there made him almost believe that it could be.

You arrive to the gardens of Velaris, the site of the ball, with Eris in tow. To absolutely zero surprise, Rhys had spared no expense for this party. Fae lights swirled around the trees and plans lighting up the gardens while mage lights floated throughout the grounds lighting up in a variety of colours. The garden was illuminated in a way that made all the flowers glow, which was only enhanced by the full moon lighting up the sky. All in all it was the perfect welcome to the Night Court.

Azriel has never believed in fate, the idea of an entity controlling his destiny never sat well with him, he believes that he is the one in control of everything he does. He wakes up at the time he chooses, goes to the places he wishes, and will do what he wants. Azriel believes that fate is an excuse for those who fear action. The idea that fate will one day bring to you what you need, so why bother working for it had always bothered him to such a high degree. Azriel believes that he is the master of his fate.

If he is the master of his fate, why are his shadows screaming at him to follow them? Why is he feeling a physical pain in his chest from resisting the pull of his shadows? His shadows had only ever informed, but now they are commanding. They are a part of him and he is meant to have control over them, it's not supposed to be the other way around.

Their whispers had turned into screams and now the shadows were roaring at him to go.

Go where?

They say in unison. He takes a deep breath and tries to hone in on the where the shadows are trying to take him. The world becomes too loud, too bright, too overwhelming and he falls into the pocket of world that only he knows, the one where darkness is a comfort and shadow reigns supreme. The realm of shadow is both a veil and a comfort and under the light of the full moon, he closes his eyes and becomes one with the night.

He is led by pure instinct, letting the shadows carry him through the ever-surrounding darkness of the night. He doesn't know where he is going, but he knows that he needs to be there. Where there is he doesn't fully know yet, but he knows what there feels like. He feels like he's walking towards a comforting light.

He remembers a time in the Illyrian mountains when he was caught in a snowstorm. Devlon said the treacherous conditions didn't matter and made him continue to train his shadowsinger abilities. He took him up the mountain and when they were done with training, Devlon had an evil smile and had wished Azriel luck and winnowed back to camp without him. 12 year Azriel didn't know how to winnow yet, and he was left on the mountain by himself in the midst of a raging blizzard.

The conditions were some of the worst that Azriel had ever seen and he had no idea where he was. He was still learning how to fly, his late start due to his father, and he had no idea how to navigate back to your guys' home. He took a deep breath and imagined what he would come back to once he got home, and everything that he would lose if he didn't make it back alive.

He closed his eyes and began to fly as best he could. He thought of his your mother making everyone hot chocolate, like she always would on a stormy winter day. He thought of Cassian and Rhys fighting over the chair that was closest to the fire. He thought of you. You who would likely be sitting in your guys' spot, pretending to read your book while constantly looking at the door to see if he made it home safe. You with your warm smile and bright eyes, who would refuse to take your cup of hot chocolate Azriel was right in front of him.

He could see the scene as clear as day and feel the warmth and comfort of the cabin. Azriel didn't know how. He just felt it. He followed that feeling of comfort. He refused to die in this storm. He refused to leave you worrying about his whereabouts any longer. He flew and flew - the ice was freezing his wings, and the wind had increased the coldness tenfold. All he could see was white and all he could hear was the howling of the wind, but he kept going forward until he hit a wall.

Not a wall, but a door. He opened the door to see the exact scene he was seeing in his head. The scene that led him here. He had no idea how he got here with no visibility or sign of where he was going.

Rhys' mom had ran to him before anyone else could. His ears and wings had been covered in frostbite, and she immediately threw him into a warm bath. Once he got out, he went to the living room and saw 3 worried faces looking at him. Cassian and Rhys froze mid fight over the chair and you looked up from your upside-down book. He grabbed one of the four hot chocolates on the counter and sat next to you. He finally let out a sigh of relief. You had handed him a blanket and he finally felt at peace. Just the simple act of having you next to him had helped comfort him from all he endured that day.

That's how Azriel was feeling right now. Like he was flying through that storm again towards that feeling of comfort. Towards that feeling of home. He didn't know where his shadows were leading him at first, but now he has a good idea.

He gets out of the realm of the shadows and the first thing he sees is your back. You’re standing next to Eris at one of the entrances of the gardens of Velaris.

He’s hiding behind one of the hedges, contemplating if should go up to you right now or wait until you’re inside when you turn around.

He knows you had always been beautiful, but standing here in front of him with the backdrop of the fae lights and under the glow of the full moon you looked downright ethereal. His heart stopped and his breath caught. It felt like the ground beneath him gave out.

He took a deep breath and it was your scent that had permeated through the air and he felt it all. The feeling of comfort. The feeling of home.

He felt it snap and the world as he knew it came crumbling down.

Mother almighty you were his mate.

note: This chapter had gone very different than I originally planned, but it spoke to me and this is what demanded to be written besides who doesn't love a good cliffhanger. I do hope it doesn't feel rushed, but I feel like Azriel needs to suffer the way the reader did. Now he's dealing with a fresh mating bond and she's the one who's indifferent and he has to try to act normal and you know Eris won't make it easy for her. The next chapter is going to be complete chaos and I can't wait to see you all next time for it, until next time loves <3

note note: I may have lied about the whole editing thing, I'll go back and fix all the chapters...eventually...

taglist: @alimarie1105 @chaosabroad @bbontenswhhore @tele86 @ashblooddragons @circe143 @i-am-infinite @princesssunderworld @thestartitaness @tiffany-xx @cpfantasybooks @lucia-valentinaa @jennigsonl @ivy-34 @firefly-forest @k-homosapien @coeurdeveea @cherryjain17 @bckynatt @becstersworld @rcarbo1 @gojospearlycim @atluky @juliebluehufflepuff @willowpains @abadfantasybook @neverendingstay @hellohauntedturnstudent @highladyofhogwarts @littowl @iluvyewman-blog @lunaticpotatoe

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darkmatilda · 2 days ago

Text

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer reid tries to focus on work, but keeps getting distracted. first by an unexpected phone call. then by the way you start flirting with another agent right across from his desk. but in the end, why does it even bother him?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spender reid x diva!chemist reader, reader kinda threatens to poison him, but its not a threat, just their silly way of showing mutual affection <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request. heyyy wonderful people, just letting you know that your request was the second-to-last in my inbox, so im opening them again! feel free to send me your ideas for the diva reader series, im already grateful in advance :>

Spencer usually gave out his phone number only to the people closest to him.

That way, he didn’t get unnecessary calls distracting him from more important matters, and he could be sure that if someone truly needed to reach him, they wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

So, as he walked through the Quantico office, planning to track down Hotch—who supposedly wanted to see him—he was so absorbed in their case that he pressed his phone to his ear without thinking, without even looking at the screen, fully expecting to hear a familiar voice. Someone from the team, maybe.

Instead…

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slightly raspy male voice. Spencer immediately estimated the caller to be around forty, judging by the subtle rustling sound—whoever it was, they were holding the phone just a little too close to their mouth.

Spencer froze in place.

His first thought—a wrong number.

His second—another one of Morgan’s pranks.

Just in case it was the latter, he didn’t hang up immediately. If his friend had planned something, he needed to find out what—so he could properly retaliate later.

"We met last night, don’t know if you remember," the man continued after a brief silence, caused entirely by Spencer’s confusion. "I hope you do. Because I sure do. Hard to forget a face like yours. You still there, sweetheart?"

In case anyone had any doubts—Spencer was not the intended recipient of this conversation.

He hadn’t gone out the night before, let alone given his number to a stranger. In fact, he had been in an entirely different state.

"Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me mad now. Or maybe you’re staying quiet because you’re curious how much I remember about you? Want me to remind you what you were wearing?"

Suddenly, it clicked.

After a brief second of pure disbelief, Spencer rolled his eyes upward, staring straight into the glare of the overhead lights. He blinked slowly.

His brain was exceptionally sharp that day. Even more so than usual.

Which meant it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. A quick mental chain reaction, linking scattered fragments of information into a single, clear conclusion.

The man on the other end of the line thought Spencer was the woman he had met the night before.

Spencer had a few female friends, but everything—literally everything—pointed to her.

First of all, he was nearly certain none of the others had gone out last night. They had all been working together, after all.

Second, and somehow more importantly—none of them, except her, would have found it remotely funny to give his number to a random guy.

As a joke? Was that what this was supposed to be?

“There’s no need for that,” Spencer cut in sharply, before the man on the other end could start poetically or less poetically describing her outfit.

This time, the silence came from the other side, laced with clear confusion.

Spencer couldn’t stop the faint crease forming on his forehead, nor the subtle tension drawing his shoulder blades together. The entire conversation left a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t just because the guy was wasting his time.

It was his voice.

Self-important. Smug. Wet in a way that made simply listening to him an unpleasant experience. The kind of voice that could turn an otherwise neutral or even affectionate word sweetheart into something damn near degrading.

Years of experience profiling people meant Spencer had no trouble picturing exactly the kind of man he was dealing with. And the distaste coiling in his gut only sharpened.

“For future reference,” he said, barely pausing for breath, his grip tightening on the phone, “I’d suggest double-checking the numbers women give you when they’re trying to get rid of you. Because this isn’t your sweetheart. This is the Behavioral Analysis Unit, which, for your information, is part of the FBI. And your utterly pointless, time-wasting phone call could be considered obstruction of justice, which, surprise, can land you several years in prison.

A loud silence followed—one that left Spencer with a strange feeling. Satisfaction, maybe.

The man cleared his throat, and Spencer would bet good money that there were one or two silent curses mixed in there.

“This whore must’ve given me a fake number,” the guy muttered, no longer speaking directly into the phone.

The sudden shift from sweetheart to whore was so blatant that Spencer couldn’t hold back a sharp, mocking scoff.

“Well, I’m guessing you didn’t think of her as a whore when you were trying to hit on her last night—”

He barely finished the last word before the line went dead.

For a moment, he remained motionless, the phone still pressed to his ear, analyzing his own reaction. He was completely taken aback by it. Almost immediately, though, he forced himself into a nonchalant shrug, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation at an unwanted call.

Work. Right. Work. He had work to do, he had to meet with Hotch…

…but he had barely covered a few meters when his gaze caught a familiar stride and silhouette crossing one of the hallways. And before his mind could even consciously make the decision, he found himself heading in that direction—despite originally going somewhere entirely different.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked as her hand pressed the elevator button.

She didn’t look at him at first, though she must have heard his footsteps. It wasn’t until he spoke that she slightly turned her head toward him.

“Not too bad,” she admitted casually. Her hands immediately moved to their usual position, arms crossed over her chest, and a small teasing smile danced on her lips.“How about your morning? Any interesting phone calls?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not expecting to be so transparent. He also felt a bit confused by her enigmatic, calm reaction. The elevator stopped, and she confidently stepped inside first.

Spencer followed her.

“I don’t quite get it,” he admitted, furrowing his brows. “Was that supposed to be a joke at my expense, or that guy’s?”

They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder in the small elevator space. He looked at her, and she stared ahead. She slowly shrugged.

“Maybe both,” she replied, inspecting her nails. Spencer clenched his lips, holding back from saying that she could at least spare him the ignorant, irritating attitude for once. “Or maybe I just wanted to get rid of the pushy guy by giving him the first random number I could think of” She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “And maybe I was hoping you'd scare the shit out of him with some long lecture, preferably about the law. Was I right?”

She shifted her gaze fully to him, her piercing eyes locking onto him with such intensity that denial was out of the question. He didn’t even need to answer—the flicker of expression that crossed his face gave him away instantly.

Her short laugh filled the elevator.

He always felt a little humiliated, standing there in silence while she laughed at his expense. So he spoke first, blurting out the first thing that came to mind—the thing that had been sitting there for a while now.

“Does that happen a lot? Guys being pushy?”

She gave him a closer look, maybe because of the unintended seriousness in his voice. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that way. Clearing his throat, he tried to appear more indifferent.

“Well, yes,” she said simply. Stating an obvious fact, a reality she was used to. “Every time. But getting rid of them isn’t hard. A well-placed conversation, and they run off just as fast as they showed up.” She scoffed. “But sometimes I’d rather just, you know, actually enjoy my evening instead of dealing with them. And that’s when the fake number trick comes in.”

Spencer caught himself listening with genuine interest. He was well aware of the effect she had on people—how she drew eyes just by existing, how so many of those looks were filled with nothing but desire. He also had the impression that, for the most part, she regarded them with mild disdain—or maybe even enjoyed being the center of attention.

He hadn’t considered that sometimes she’d had enough of them—so much so that she had an entire list of strategies to get rid of them just as quickly as she attracted them.

He realized he had fallen silent, lost in thought. The elevator stopped at her floor—he hadn’t planned on getting in with her in the first place, which meant he was now stuck pretending he was going somewhere else.

She took a step toward the open doors before his voice stopped her.

“Wait, you’re not even going to say thank you?” he asked. “I did waste some time on that guy. That was a solid lecture.”

She stood in front of the open doors, facing him.

“I have a suspicion,” she began, one brow arching as a teasing smirk tugged at her lips, “that you enjoyed it way too much to actually need my thanks.”

She gave him a small wave—just her fingers, really—before the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from each other. Spencer hated to admit—even to himself—that she had a point. Okay, a lot of a point, he realized as he recalled that fleeting rush of satisfaction when the call abruptly ended, punctuated by a hint of panic on the other end.

And maybe that was what ultimately decided it—because from that moment on, on the rare occasions he received similar calls, he always had a long, meticulously crafted, stern lecture at the ready. One that, just before the inevitable abrupt hang-up, sent the smallest, most satisfying shiver down his spine.

"You have three hours."

"I can handle it in two."

"Do it in one."

Spencer remembered these words, muttering a soft shit under his breath. The massive stack of papers that not only needed to be read but also carefully analyzed seemed to be getting no smaller. The hour on the clock, however, kept ticking forward.

"Hm? What's up? Do you have something?"

He slowly shifted his unwilling gaze to the man he was trapped in the room with. Well, not literally trapped, but that’s how it felt. Dean Bradley, an agent who’d been working on the case they’d just been assigned to for years, knew it inside out—naturally, he had been assigned to cooperate with them. His current role, however, seemed to involve nothing more than pretending to write something on the whiteboard and occasionally throwing out a theory that supposedly brought them closer to the solution but, in reality, only pushed them further away. Bradley was incredibly distracting to Spencer.

"No... I just... nothing." Spencer replied rubbing his throbbing temple. That case had been exceptionally exhausting, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the coffee he had just drunk hadn’t helped at all. "Nothing. Just...can you not say anything to me for a while?"

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him but Reid didn’t really care. Simply buried his nose in the papers again, reading, or rather, devouring the pages with his eyes. There hadn’t been the best atmosphere between them ever since Spencer had ignored his outstretched hand for a greeting. Well, that was because he had seen Bradley leaving the bathroom earlier, and even if he had washed his hands, he had immediately touched the door handle that everyone in the building touched, half of whom hadn’t washed their hands. Honestly, Spencer would have preferred to kiss him as a greeting. It would have been safer.

For a moment, Bradley was actually quiet. He didn’t stay that way for too long, though—just long enough.

"So, where are those lab results? Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?"

"They were. So, I’m guessing they’ll be here any minute," Spencer replied shortly.

"It’s taking a while. Maybe I should just go grab them myself?"

Yeah, please do, Spencer nearly begged. He even opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swung open and a woman stepped in, moving with quick, confident steps, but this time with a bit of frustration in her stride.

Completely ignoring the man's gaze landing on her, she stepped up to his desk and dropped the promised lab results onto it with a sharp motion.

"Could you tell me," she began, one hand still resting on the papers, preventing him from immediately going through them. Because she was standing while he was sitting, her figure loomed over him, forcing him to tilt his head slightly to meet her eyes. Naturally, he did, his gaze moving from her hand with neatly manicured fingers to her beautiful face, her bottom lip slightly protruding as she prepared to speak. "When exactly did I become your secretary? Because I don't remember that moment."

Spencer didn't even blink before responding, so used to thir verbal sparring and the fast pace she always set, just like her steps.

"Well, maybe since you started handing out my number left and right," he shot back instantly. Without breaking his gaze, he grabbed the empty cup sitting within arm's reach. "And since you consider yourself my secretary, would you be so kind as to make me a coffee?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Agent Bradley watching their exchange with fascination, focused on only one side of the conversation. No need to specify which side. Meanwhile, the woman tilted her head slightly to the side, a certain gleam lighting up her eyes.

"Sure," she replied, to his surprise. There was something devious in her tone. Suddenly, Spencer didn't want the coffee anymore. "But I’m not sure I’d be so kind as to make sure those ten teaspoons of sugar you put in your coffee are actually sugar, and not, say, arsenic..."

Instinctively, he pulled the cup closer to himself.

"Not ten," he mumbled.

"Oh, my eternal apologies, I exaggerated a bit. Five?"

"Well, now you're getting closer..."

Their conversation, or rather their verbal sparring, was interrupted by a cough.

“Reid,” Bradley said his last name much friendlier than ever before, with a mischievous grin on his face. “When you said the chemist would bring us the lab results, I imagined, I don’t know, Einstein with his hair sticking out in all directions. Did you really lock such a treasure in the lab?” he chuckled. “So it wouldn't distract y’all?”

Spencer looked up at the woman in front of him again, who had only just noticed the third person in the room. Her hand slowly slid off the papers she’d been resting on, though it stayed on the desk. She half turned her body toward the new speaker, casually sitting on the desk. There was something hypnotic in the fluid, clock-like motion as she crossed one knee over the other. For a moment, he just watched, realizing after a while that he wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe I locked myself in there,” she replied. Her tone calm, too calm, as it always was before she’d throw words, like precisely aimed darts, at the other person. “So I wouldn’t have to listen to the same tired lines from agents with the same tired faces, thinking they’re being creative.”

For a moment, he completely forgot about the pile of papers waiting to be analyzed. He watched what was unfolding in front of him, a small smile involuntarily starting to form on his lips. However, it faded the moment he noticed Bradley’s expression. He had expected him to be shut down. Speechless, maybe. Hurt in that characteristic, pathetic way typical of fragile male pride. Instead, Bradley was grinning like an idiot.

“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” Bradley commented lightly, not in the slightest bit put off by her words. In fact, the fascination on his face only grew.

Spencer couldn’t help but glance at the profile of the woman sitting motionless on the desk. Her gaze was now also more focused, following the person across from her. Her eyes seemed even more concentrated, intrigued, and entertained than during their conversation. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, physically making himself look back at the papers. Work, right, work. He had to focus on it, despite how distracted he was by their presence. It was, after all, natural. They were speaking rather loudly, right in front of him. He began reading the text on the page, concentrating only on it.

“You must feel like some princess locked in a tower,”

His ears, against his better judgment, picked up Bradley’s next words. He shook his head. Text. A quick glance at the woman’s face. Text.

“You know, that German fairy tale from the 18th century…”

Spencer, from his own experience, knew that info dumping wasn’t the most effective way to flirt with a woman. Especially when it wasn’t even accurate.

“17th century,” he corrected, unable to stop himself. Both their gazes landed on him, but he didn’t respond to either, keeping his eyes fixed on the papers. He was reading them, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. He started analyzing the same paragraph again, continuing, “Assuming we’re talking about the German version of that fairy tale recorded by The Brothers Grimm. Because, actually, this was developed from the French literary fairy tale Persinette by Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force, which itself is an alternative version of the Italian fairy tale Petrosinella by Giambattista Basile.”

A long silence fell. The woman shifted slightly in her seat, pretending to be focused on her work, and he tried not to look at her face. Was there pity or amusement on it? Why did it matter to him so much to figure that out? What mattered was only one thing: they were bothering him. The two of them. With the noise they were generating, to be precise.

The sound that filled the room was probably just a long breath from Bradley.

“Wow,” he repeated, thrown off. “Thanks for the clarification, Agent Reid.”

“It’s Doctor Reid.”

He couldn’t stop himself and looked at her. She closed her eyes when a smile spread across her lips. She didn’t try to hide it or hold it back. It was simply there. Bradley noticed it too, his arms, which had been casually resting on his hips, sliding down along his body.

"Didn't you have some urgent documents to analyze?" he began, trying not to sound confrontational, but he failed. He sounded confrontational. "The ones you kept reminding me about every five minutes since we got here?"

Reid didn't have a sharp retort ready for that one; in fact, Bradley had hit the nail on the head. He did have a lot of urgent documents to go through, but for reasons unknown to him, he'd decided to engage in this pointless conversation instead. His silence only seemed to fuel the satisfaction on Bradley's face, which was broken only by the movement of the woman. Specifically, her rising from the desk.

"You could've just said we’re interrupting," she remarked, stretching one leg after the other, every movement fluid. "Especially if it's something important. Is it?"

"Well, actually, yes..."

"In that case, I suppose we're in the way. Shall we go, Agent Bradley?"

She must have read his last name off the badge pinned to her chest. Both Spencer and Bradley looked at her, but only one of them slowly cracked a smile. The other let out a sigh, pretending to feel relief, though deep down, he genuinely did—finally, he could focus on what he had wanted to from the start.

They both made their way toward the door. Unused to her quick pace, and still a bit surprised by the attention she had given him, the agent trailed after her like a lost puppy. As they crossed the threshold, she turned back to him over her shoulder, looking like a kid bragging about winning a bike race.

Spencer merely shook his head with pity, and when they both disappeared in the same direction, he scoffed.

He returned to his work.

After a while, he found himself thinking that perhaps he preferred their conversation to be within earshot, rather than out of it.

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 days ago

Note

I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Freelance Inventor #Part 8 #Danny comes to terms with his feelings #Fluff #Pinning #spirit halloween ship #The slow burn is picking up heat #Have some family moments

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standingbeetle · 11 hours ago

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There are several players in the United States' history of land use, and things have changed a lot across the history of the US, with a lot of people getting things wrong across history and now. I don't know every bit of history, but this reminded me of an interesting thing I had learned while studying wildlife management.

One debate as national parks and the like we're being established was the debate between Conservation and Preservation. Conservation being the idea that public lands should be utilized for multiple uses, but in a sustainable, managed way, so that those resources would last perpetually. Preservation meanwhile was the idea that these public lands should be preserved in their "natural state" with a great deal of people in this line of thought going as far as to say, no one should be able to set foot on these lands except for scientists (only white, wealthy scientists, mind you). Just reading tidbits of some of the folks who advocated for Preservation, it becomes kind of apparent that they just don't want any race, nationality, or class but those in power to be allowed anywhere near the natural world.

Luckily, Conservation won for the most part in the US, but even so, racism, classism, etc still heavily impact the way conservation has been practiced. Huge strides are being made, but we still have a long way to go.

The outdoors are for everyone. No matter who you are, you should be able to go outside and enjoy the natural world without fearing for your safety, or feeling that you do not belong. Research backed management of natural areas should continue to be funded by the government and by all of the other people who make it possible, Indigenous people should have these lands returned to them, and should be given the reigns to maintain the natural areas which they have maintained since time immemorial.

Support Indigenous voices, learn about the land in your backyard, the wild life there and the history of the land. Change won't happen in a day, but we can do our best to get outside when people would rather we stay indoors, to connect with our communities and our native plants and animals.

You know what the most frustrating thing about the vegans throwing a fit over my “Humans aren’t Parasites” post is? I really wasn’t trying to make a point about animal agriculture. Honestly, the example about subsistence hunting isn’t the main point. That post was actually inspired by thoughts I’ve been having about the National Park system and environmentalist groups.

See, I LOVE the National Parks. I always have a pass. I got to multiple parks a year. I LOVE them, and always viewed them as this unambiguously GOOD thing. Like, the best thing America has done.

BUT, I just finished reading this book called “I am the Grand Canyon” all about the native Havasupai people and their fight to gain back their rights to the lands above the canyon rim. Historically, they spent the summer months farming in the canyon, and then the winter months hunter-gathering up above the rim. When their reservation was made though, they lost basically all rights to the rim land (They had limited grazing rights to some of it, but it was renewed year to year and always threatened, and it was a whole thing), leading to a century long fight to get it back.

And in that book there are a couple of really poignant anecdotes- one man talks about how park rangers would come harass them if they tried to collect pinon nuts too close to park land- worried that they would take too many pinon nuts that the squirrels wanted. Despite the fact that the Havasupai had harvested pinon nuts for thousands and thousands of years without ever…like…starving the squirrels.

There’s another anecdote of them seeing the park rangers hauling away the bodies of dozens of deer- killed in the park because of overpopulation- while the Havasupai had been banned from hunting. (Making them more and more reliant on government aid just to survive the winter months.)

They talk about how they would traditionally carve out these natural cisterns above the rim to catch rainwater, and how all the animals benefitted from this, but it was difficult to maintain those cisterns when their “ownership” of the land was so disputed.

So here you have examples of when people are forcibly separated from their ecosystem and how it hurts both those people and the ecosystem.

And then when the Havasupai finally got legislation before Congress to give them ownership of the rim land back- their biggest opponent was the Parks system and the Sierra Club. The Sierra Club (a big conservation group here in the US) ran a huge smear campaign against these people on the belief that any humans owning this land other than the park system (which aims at conservation, even while developing for recreation) was unacceptable.

And it all got me thinking about how, as much as I love the National Parks, there are times when its insistence that nature be left “untouched” (except, ya know, for recreation) can actually harm both the native people who have traditionally been part of those ecosystems AND potentially the ecosystems themselves. And I just think there’s a lot of nuance there about recognizing that there are ways for us to be in balance with nature, and that our environmentalism should respect that and push for sustainability over preserving “pristine” human-less landscapes. Removing ourselves from nature isn’t the answer.

But apparently the idea that subsistence hunting might actually not be a moral catastrophe really set the vegans off. Woopie.

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shroomyv · 2 days ago

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ᢉ𐭩-GOOD BOY(‘S) [2]

Pairing: mark grayson x sinister mark x Mohawk mark x viltrumite mark x F!reader

Synopsis: continuation from the first story. It gets absolutely feral in that room with the other variants. IT GOES DOWN.

Warning: 4/5 sum, oral sex (male and female receiving), anal (f!receiving), harsh words, struggling, cum (lots of it…🌝😔), possibly corny dialogue

W.c: 2,899 (we went even bigger)

A/N: …so, I’m here with the 2nd part. I most definitely stayed up till 3am writing my little freakish thoughts out. I’m genuinely hoping I didn’t fuck up this story for everyone but it’s def a lil icky icky in some spots and places. Rmb this is a smut story it was always intended to be a smutty story. (This may not be the end of the series…WHO KNOWS WHO KNOWS) thanks for all the love on the first part and I hope I didn’t permanently fuck up the story for u guys being a little freak of the night. (But srsly I hope I didn’t fuck up the story for u guys ☹️😭)

Tag list: @weaponxgames @martinys-world

“No.” You replied with a stern voice continuing your way down the long hall with Your Mark by your side. You had confidence in your walk, you were on a mission and you would make it happen.

“How about now?”

“No.”

“Now?”

“No!”

You two went back and forth like this until you reached the end of the hall. Your card swiped, opening the cell door. The marks lifted their heads to look at you as they looked like they wanted something from you…like they needed something from you. You had a smile of pure confidence on your face.

“Mark…My Mark, can you stand over there at that wall.” You pointed towards the wall with every mark lined up on it as he joined the lineup—the major difference was that he wasn’t locked up in metal to make sure he didn’t get away.

You observed all 4 of them, your mind running wild with every possibility whether it was gonna be good or bad. You had to think it out as carefully as you could. Your arms crossed as your back turned to all of them. You needed absolute and genuine focus. You had plans for every one of them. Your brain finally clicked. You had your idea.

Your eyes stared at the camera in the room for a few seconds before you used your mind to the best of your ability to have it freeze on the last frame it got. You then walked up to your mark as he was a bit confused by your behavior struggling to keep following it. You looked him up and down and up one last time before kissing him. His arms flew up for a second in shock before wrapping around you. You two stumbled around the cell kissing each other hard. Your tongue snaked into his mouth as he fought back grabbing yours right back—it felt hot…your mouths fighting for control of each other. Eventually, you separated for air—a line of spit connected from both of your lips. Mark looked bashful as you looked hungry and starved for more.

The other marks stared in shock each having their own things to say

“You’re just gonna fucking do that in front of us. Are you trying to get to us or something” sinister Mark shouted in a bit of a jealous tone. He didn’t want to show it but he clearly was.

“If she’s trying to get to us…it’s honestly working…I don’t know…” Viltrumite Mark said back in a low tone trying to look everywhere but at the sight in front of him.

“If you two are just gonna fuck get out of here…fucking tease…” Mohawk's mark snarled out as he stared at you and your mark in a bit of a jealous way. He blew a little raspberry at you which made you laugh a bit.

You kicked off your heels—dropping in height a bit as your mark was most certainly confused now.

“What are you-“

You cut him off quickly with the raise of your hand as you walked to the other marks cells. The first mark you released was viltrumite mark. He flicked his wrist enjoying the feeling of his body being free again. He was confused as to why you had even let him go—he couldn’t get a read on you or your behavior at all. He stared at you and you stared right back in silence. The air was thick…it was like you two were having a contest—who could eye fuck the hardest. Eventually, you called your mark over not wanting him to get angry or left out at all. You kissed viltrumite mark harshly sucking on his lip. His eyes shot up in a bit of shock but he leaned in pressing himself against you.

Your hands sprung up—one hand was rubbing Viltrumite Mark's face, letting him know he was doing good. The other hand moves to your mark, letting him know to trust you and lean in. He leaned in kissing at your neck softly as you wanted to melt to his touch but knew you had to try and stand tall as much as you could. You were sloppily kissing Viltrumite's mark before swapping over to your mark's mouth. Whenever you switched to another mouth, the one you were just kissing looked absolutely needy and desperate for more.

Your mark kissed you softly while you matched his energy a bit more roughly to let him know he could go as crazy as he wanted and needed to. Viltrumite Mark kissed you roughly—he couldn’t get enough, he needed more of you. You kissed him softly forcing him to savor it and fold at your whim or else he wouldn’t get more. Eventually, you squished both mark's faces in your hand having them stop for a second.

You saw how Mohawk Mark and sinister Mark were starting to get pissed now that they still weren’t in on the fun nor let go off. You stood at both their cells staring them down. You went up to Sinister Mark first whispering in his ear sensually.

“If I let you out…are you gonna be good?” You softly nibbled on his ear causing his head to jerk a bit from pleasure as you waited for a response.

“Yes…” he replied a bit desperately as he wanted to join in already. He felt like he was being fucking tortured just watching the fun.

“Yes, what?” You said with a tease sucking on his neck softly as you waited for another reply. He choked up a bit not expecting it in the slightest. It felt so fucking good…he felt like sinking into your hold

“Yes ma'am! F..ngh...FUCK!” Sinister Mark shouted out quickly just wanting to be let free already. You swiped your keycard letting him free. You gave him a minute to stretch before you walked over to the last one…Mohawk mark.

“How about you? You gonna play nice?” You asked him with a smirk waiting for a response

“I’ll try, that’s the best I can give you…” he said feeling content with his answer until you walked up to him. You lifted his chin softly before licking his Adam’s apple. He was being teased and he loved it…he could only take so much though.

“Yes ma'am! Let me free fuck!” Mohawk Mark shouted as he began getting more squirmy.

“Good answer!” You replied before swiping your card. Freeing him as he dropped out of his hold.

You stood in the middle of the room as the four marks surrounded you. You gave an evil smile before rubbing each of their faces. You were gonna have the time of your fucking life with 3 versions of your boyfriend…and him of course~

It was like a fucking war in the middle of that room. They were all fighting to get to your lips. Your mark had latched onto your lips first kissing you sloppily as he wanted the most of you. He was yours, obviously, he deserved the most. Mohawk Mark hadn’t even gotten a turn and wanted one. He stayed at your left fighting for your lips whenever you were free from your mark's clutches. Viltrumite mark desperately kissed your neck and collar bones. He needed more of you but had to wait his turn. Finally, sinister mark stayed at the back of your neck sucking hard to place marks, hickeys, and bruises wherever he fucking could.

You got to breathe for 5 seconds at most because whenever you went out for air another pair of lips were snaking at you. They needed you…they yearned for your touch and hold. You felt yourself growing wet and you had to keep it going. The pile of marks and you—now on the floor as they still snake for kisses while you struggle to unbutton your shirt. Sinister Mark saw this as he grabbed onto your collar roughly.

“You won’t be needing that anymore.” He said before tearing the shirt from the back

The other marks saw this quickly joining in as they all ripped off bits and pieces of your clothes before tearing off bits and pieces of their own. You were all like snakes, raggedly ruining everything just to get to each other. Your panties were drenched as they all leaned over you watching you catch your breath. You hadn’t even started and you were already in pure bliss

Your mark spoke to you softly “You ok baby?”

“We haven’t even started yet and she’s already dying…may just be pathetic.” Mohawk Mark said with his arms crossed as if his fun was ruined

You weren’t gonna let him talk about you any kind of way and get away with it. You held yourself up with your elbows before grabbing at his hair. He yelped in pain a bit before his face was roughly shoved against your cunt.

“Well? Get to fucking sucking.” You tried to look as mean as you could, you needed him—no, them to know that you meant absolute business.

“Y..yes.” He choked out as he looked surprised at you standing your ground even though it was 4 against 1.

He began sucking at your pussy quickly as you felt your thighs getting ready to shut on his face. Before they could crush him to death, Viltrumite Mark grabbed at a thigh holding it still as best as he could.

“I’ll take this for you.” He said in a snarky tone before he began sucking on your thigh harshly. He wanted to leave marks everywhere.

“Oh…oh fuck.” You moaned out softly. It felt amazing. However, that was only two of them—there were two more who needed their hunger satisfied. Your mark rushed over to your lips in a heartbeat beat trying to keep them all to himself as best as he could. Sinister Mark went to your breast dragging his tongue across the hard nipple trying to get you to cum as fast as he could so he could get a turn at you.

All of them on you, each focusing on different parts and areas felt absolutely fucking intoxicating. Your mark was basically devouring your moans—sucking and kissing at your lips with every chance he got. Mohawk Mark kept sucking at your pussy, were you tensing the hell up due to all the pressure.

They were eating you alive—you basically threw yourself in shark-infested waters. Your eyes shoot to each of them not knowing which one to focus on.

“Oh god…! Ngh- you…you guys…mhgn…fuck-“ you breathed raggedly as your mark just kept plunging his tongue into your mouth. You were practically choking on your moans

“You close? I call dibs next!” Viltrumite Mark said hastily as he sucked on your thigh. He couldn’t get enough of it, it was soft, and he wanted to latch onto it forever.

“There is no dib…she’s a person…” your mark said with a snarl reminding them that you were a person, not an object. Them arguing over you was honestly turning you on more and more having multiple versions of your boyfriend that each acted differently go crazy over you was absolutely intoxicating.

It was all too much for you as your legs finally gave a little shake before you came. Your mark and Mohawk mark were the first to notice. Mohawk Mark lifted up with a cum covered face as he leaned back catching his breath waiting for whatever command you were gonna throw out next. You shook your leg getting viltrumite mark off of you as he gave you a sour look. You had to practically shove sinister mark to get him to unlatch from your breast and your mark moved as soon as you told him to.

“Listen…” you said panting for breath as you were thinking of the next activity to do with them. You sat yourself up as you grabbed Saint Mark's arm having him lie on the floor.

“Finally…my fucking turn.” Sinister Mark said readily. He wanted whatever you threw at him. You had your mark and Mohawk mark get on the side of you and viltrumite mark sat in front of you. You touched their faces once more before getting ready to act.

You mounted yourself on Sinister marks cock. Your breath hitched but you kept going, you felt like you were gonna collapse but you had to pull through. Besides he was already huffing just from you sliding on his cock.

You began to pick up your pace—your moans and huffs picked up as you struggled to keep balance. Luckily, your mark being a fucking saint, helped you balance yourself. You had two free hands….so you got to work. You slowly stroked Mohawk's mark and your mark off while Viltrumite's mark had to do it for himself.

God it was an absolute struggle—tears of pure pleasure leaving your eyes as you struggled to please all of them at once

“Fuck…I’m so…” sinister Mark huffed and whimpered out breathily as he was struggling to not explode inside of you already

Your mark and Mohawk mark were struggling to keep you and themselves up as their hips were bucking due to being stroked off. Luckily for you, sinister Mark had finished off…he came inside of you quickly—laying back to catch his breath.

You struggled to keep wake—you stroked off Mohawk mark and your mark as fast as you could to get it over with. 1 mark cummed inside of you…the other 3? They cummed on you. Your face, tits, and side are coated in semen. You were pleased with your work but knew they were still hungry. You were so exhausted though.

You slide sinister Mark's cock out of you as you laid back on the floor huffing for breath before they stood over you again.

“She’s struggling,” Mohawk Mark said as he was catching his breath

“Shit…she’s basically been doing all the fucking work, 1 of her against 4 of us mother fuckers.” Sinister Mark said as he gave the rest of the marks a glance.

“Let’s do this one for her…” your mark suggested as they all stopped in silence for a second

They shared glances and looks before looking back at you for some sort of approval. You felt like you were gonna pass out but you knew you had one more in you…

You nodded as they put whatever they had in mind into motion.

“Let’s stuff her like one of those donut things.” Mohawk Mark said with no remorse as they lifted you. Your mark was first up—they lifted you before slowly sliding you on your mark's cock. You felt like you were gonna crash.

“Can’t…can’t keep up-“ you whimpered out as you shed a little tear from the overstimulation.

“You got this…trust us.” Your mark said softly reassuring you as they continued. Mohawk Mark used his fingers to softly pick up some of the cum on your tit as he rubbed it on your anal hole. He slowly entered you feeling your hole wrap around him quickly. Your breath was hitched now as you had two people in you at once.

Viltrumite Mark kissed your lips softly for once before he moved his dick to your face. You knew what was next as you opened your mouth a bit allowing him to enter. He knew you were already struggling—he wouldn’t go that deep and kill you. They needed you alive.

Lastly, sinister mark had you raise your hand. He wanted a handy. You stroked as best as you could while being used up.

“MPHM- ngh!-“The only thing that could leave your mouth was muffled moans because the only thing that was entering it was cock. All your senses were being attacked. Each hole was being filled to the brim. Tears left your eyes as you were struggling to even stay awake from the overstimulation at this point

They went as fast as they could to please not only themselves—but you. Everyone struggling and hitching for air as you finally tighten around your mark giving him a stare of satisfaction. You cummed harder than you ever had before as the other marks quickly followed suit

Viltrumite mark cumming in your mouth as he watched you swallow every last bit like it was good. It was salty but god you just couldn’t stop yourself from swallowing it.

Sinister mark came over your hand and arm before rubbing your head being satisfied with your work

Your mark filled up your vagina as best as he could before sliding himself out of you like you were some donut, and Mohawk Mark did the same thing with your anal hole. You were absolutely sore—it hurted everywhere. But with that pain, so much fucking pleasure came to. You were absolutely satisfied covered in marks or bruises. (no pun intended)

All of you obviously reeking and covered in sweat—laying in a pile as you were struggling to keep yourself awake and catch your breath.

“You…all of you…you’re coming home with me,” you said with as much sternness as you could before passing out asleep in a pile of marks. You were fucked to sleep and now in complete bliss.

(A/n: there will definitely be another part sometime soon 🚪🚶‍♀️😗)

#invincible mark grayson #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson smut #mark grayson x reader #shroomyvfics #invincible smut #dividers by adornedwithlight #invincible #sinister mark x reader #mohawk mark x reader #viltrum mark x reader

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eileenrry · 3 days ago

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ROOMMATES pairing: Roommate!Harry x Fem!Reader summary: You and Harry live together, but with the huge amount of responsibilites you're lately carrying, he starts missing you (maybe more than he should) word count: 2.7K contains: FLUFF, teeny tiny bit of angst, roommates and best friends trope + little song reference (let’s see if you’ll find it) a/n: My first writing, please be kind! Would be grateful for feedback, ideas, anything! My dms are opened always. Also HUGE THANKS to my beloved @this-is-tiny-mia, prof-read by the best one! All my love, E

The sun had already dipped behind the horizon when you shut the door of your apartment. The rushing world was finally left behind for a second, giving you the much needed oasis of calm, a moment to breathe.

Muffled sounds of some British show made their presence as they seeped through the thin walls to the hallway, following by an unmistakable scent of Chinese takeout. A clear sign that your roommate, Harry, was home.

You kicked off your shoes quickly without a second thought, not bothering about each one being on the other side of the room or even putting them neatly by the front door, and made your way into the living room.

“Hey H, I’m home-“ You stopped in the mid of sentence, your breath hitching at the sight of your best friend’s half naked form lazily sprawled on the couch, his tattooed arm draped over his face to shield his eyes from the light and lips slightly parted, each steady breath turning into quiet snort and blending with low hum of the TV.

Judging by the mess of his hair, damp and unruly, he must have showered not too long ago.

Your expression softened instantly and without hesitation, you put your overstuffed bag with groceries and textbooks on the floor and grabbed a fluffy blanket from the armchair, carefully covering his bare chest to prevent his body from cold. In a hoarse baritone a small ‘thank you’ came out from his velvety lips as he snuggled into a pillow he’s been leaning on, mistaking it for you. You watched him for a few seconds before reaching for the remote beside him and switching the TV off. The room was instantly enveloped with darkness, only faint light came from the connected kitchen.

You grabbed an open bottle of wine from the coffee table, along with a full glass that seemed untouched since he’d poured it and you took a long sip, letting the maroon liquid warm your body in slow waves.

A quiet growl of your stomach reminded you how hungry you really were and within seconds you were heating up the Chinese food Harry had put aside for you - just like he always did.

Some nights, Harry stayed up and waited for you, just to make sure you arrived home safe. Other nights, like tonight, he wasn’t that successful. In these cases, he left you a sweet little note on the fridge or on a mirror in your bedroom and food on the kitchen counter.

“Mhm… Love, you’re home?”

You jumped in shock at the sound of Harry’s raspy voice, his hand rested lazily on your shoulder.

“Harry! You can’t sneak up on people like that- oh god…”

You gulped down the last drops of wine before setting the glass in the sink and turning your attention back to the timer on the microwave.

1 minute and 32 seconds left.

Harry shuffled behind you and leaned against the counter, making his presence known by clearing his throat.

“Umh, I was thinking if you’d want to come to the studio with me tomorrow. Or just you know… hang out. It’s been a while.”

It’s been ages.

Harry said softly, fidgeting with his hands in his lap and avoiding your gaze.

“H, you know I can’t. I have to finish the essay I told you about… And I have some other work too.”

A long sigh left your lips before you even get the words out and Harry’s eyes flickered up to meet yours instantly.

The thoughts of all the things you did and still had to do for school rushed through your mind, making you only nauseous again. The frown on your face only emphasized your feelings.

“No way you’re gonna spend another day buried in work. You need to rest…” Harry was quick to argue, not satisfied with your response at all.

The blanket he’s been wrapped in slipped from his shoulders and pooled around his feet on the cold wooden floor as he took a few steps closer, his hands finding home on your shoulders again, firm yet gentle.

“Harry…” You mumbled under your breath, cursing yourself for not just going straight to bed instead of letting this conversation happen.

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me!” he shot back, voice pitching higher in a dramatic imitation of yours. You only roll your eyes, refusing to let him know how eerily accurate it was.

“Your essay, work, the bachelor party - it all can wait a day or two. You need a break. I see it on you!” Harry pressed, his voice more stern.

“You won’t fool me with the little makeup you use to cover the dark circles under your eyes, those fake smiles and the many mugs of coffee you drink every day…”

You froze, your breath hitched at the confrontation. You didn’t expect him to pick up on every little detail. The extra time you spent in the bathroom every morning to cover the evidences of restless sleep. The bachelor party you’ve been planning for your close friend and mentioned just once or twice in passing.

You swallowed hard. “Uh… thanks?” Shaking his hands off your shoulders, they slowly fell down your arms, his fingers burning your skin as they stopped at your elbows.

“Ugh just… you’re not you.” His voice got quieter, softer even with each word and breath, speaking until his lungs stopped him and with his grip on your elbows tightening, he only emphasized each letter. Like if he was mentally preparing himself for saying something more - something final.

“And I miss you.”

You felt like you didn't hear him right, maybe not at all. He whispered it so quietly, it would be easy to miss it. Your head felt like spiraling and you weren’t sure where this conversation was coming from or even worse, coming to.

“What…?” You shook your head at his statement, a nervous laugh slipping out. “That’s- that doesn’t make sense. That’s silly”

You dropped your gaze down to your bare feet, your toes curling against the hardwood as you tried to ignore the way his stare could burn a hole through the crown of your head.

“We barely spend any time together. You’re always in school or work, and when you’re home, you’re studying. And I don’t care how crazy or desperate I sound right now, because in ten minutes, you’ll be in bed, and by the morning, you’ll be gone again to library! Please, love. I miss you. I miss us.”

Harry whispered the last three words like if they were the most precious thing in the world, barely audible, yet you both knew you heard them right - there was no space left between you now.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to process the whole situation. He was right, of course he was. You couldn’t even remember the last time you two did something together, aside from the occasional late night dinners you ate in silence.

“You don’t miss it?”

His voice was raspy, heavy on emotions he’s been treasuring deep inside. His left hand delicately traced your arm up, like if he was touching a baby deer, while his right cupped your cheek gently.

You felt at loss for words. Of course you miss him too.

When your body collided with his, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and face buried in his bare chest, few moments haven passed. Silence. Heavy, defeating silence.

This time, Harry was the one caught off guard. But almost instantly, his arms encircled you, holding you close without hesitation and his lips were pressing soft kisses in my hair.

“Are you crying?” He murmured quietly before pulling back just slightly to see your face.

"No I'm not!" You lifted your head, chuckling as you gave him a sincere reassuring smile and without any more words said, you nestled back.

Harry’s heartbeat was frantic as yours and breath was uneven. You could feel his fingertips tracing slow, gentle patterns up and down your back, making you shiver.

It felt strange, but not unwelcome.

His hands kept moving subtly - up and down, up and down, lower and lower until they found their place on the curves of your ass.

You could feel your breath hitching at the sudden touch, and for a moment, it felt like the kitchen was losing oxygen. Like you forgot how to breathe.

But when Harry gave you a slight squeeze, suddenly every thought and worry from your mind disappeared. Your fists tightened around the fabric of his grey sweatpants, gripping his waistband so hard your hands started to ache.

Harry’s long fingers, decorated with a few silver and golden rings slid lower again, gripping the backs of your thighs. Instinctively, you tightened your hold on his upper body as he lifted you up with ease, securing you on the kitchen counter where your dinner had been just few minutes ago.

Harry stood between your parted legs, his fingers toyed with the loops on the waistband of your jeans, bringing you even closer to his body by them. Your eyes locked, holding each other’s gaze, unwavering, and didn’t look away even for a second.

"I don't wanna ruin this..."

"You won't"

Your hands slowly traced their way from his back, across his stomach, and up to his chest. Your left hand came to rest over his heart, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath your palm that quickened with every touch, matching the unsteady rise and fall of your own breath. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Harry’s breathing grew heavier, louder. You felt it ghosting over your lips before his mouth finally found yours. But it wasn’t a kiss. Not yet.

Your lips brushed against his, barely touching, and yet he didn’t push for more. He just waited, patient, still, expecting you to pull away any second now.

He was ready for you to start screaming in his face, calling him crazy and stupid, demanding to know why in the hell he did it.

Ready for you to tell him this would only make your friendship complicated.

Ready to feel the sting of your palm against his stubbled cheek before you’d run off to your room, tears streaming down your face, slamming the door behind you as sobs would echo through the walls.

But none of that happened.

You didn’t yell at him. You didn’t run away. Your eyes stayed dry. The door remained untouched. No cries filled the space where your bed is.

And your hand didn’t meet his cheeks in anger. Instead, one rose slowly and with your fingertips grazed his skin before settling down. Soft, warm, careful.

The moment your hand made contact with his skin, he shivered. Not from cold, not from fear, but from the realization that every worst-case scenario running through his mind had just been proven wrong.

Harry opened up his mouth slightly and let himself drown in the slow movements of your lips, softer than he could ever imagine and with the hint of red wine. Your nose brushed against his one snuggly, taking in the scent of him before his hands moved from your waist up to your cheeks, cupping them in his palms in firm yet gentle grip.

You let out a quiet moan, not able to hold yourself back anymore, when he took your bottom lip between his teeth and started sucking on it lightly. The corners of both your mouths curled into small, knowing smiles at your reaction, soft giggles escaping between the shared kisses. Yet neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to. You need each other like flowers need the sun. His tongue traced over your lower lip again, a silent plea for more, and without hesitation you obliged him, slightly parting your lips.

With every second, every kiss, the craving for more grew stronger—his taste, his touch, his hands, the warmth of his body against yours. He was like an addiction. You couldn’t stop the quiet moans slipping from your mouth, your lips parted further as the kiss deepened, pulling you deeper into him.

“Harry-” you hummed against his mouth, but Harry was quick to shush you with whispers between soft pecks and kisses, his voice dancing on your tongue. “Shhh, darling.”

Another kiss, this time more hungrier, landed on your lips, it felt as if he was diving into you - exploring every part, every curve, everything you’re willing to give him and more, yet still it’s not enough. His curls, darker than the night surrounding you, tickled your forehead and burning red cheeks and you slid your hands up into his hair, brushing away a few stray locks before settling on the back of his neck.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as your mouths pull apart, but only slightly - your lips still brushing, foreheads resting together. The only sound in the overly quiet apartment was your heavy breathing, you were both struggling to steady and you had to blink a few times before your eyes found his. He slowly drifted his right hand down to your hip, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your jumper in an innocent manner. Harry thumbed your skin gently in slow circles, leaving hot touches behind and making you shiver. You both glanced down at his touch before your eyes met again and you tried from all the left strength put a few words together.

“Harry… I’m tired.” you mumbled quietly, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you bit down nervously.

“I know, darling. I know…” he murmured in an answer, tracing comforting circles on your skin in an attempt to calm down your racing mind.

“Take me to bed?” you whispered against his lips, your own pouty and voice barely more than a breath. Your eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, lashes brushing softly against your cheeks as a soft sigh escapes you. Though your body felt numb, your grip on his neck only tightened, desperate to be as close as possible to his bare chest.

It didn't took much, nothing at all, and you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck while his hands caressed your thighs in a firm hold, carrying you effortlessly as he made his way to the nearest bedroom.

“I meant my room…” You took note of your surroundings, realizing your body was sinking into his mattress. Harry just tsked at your quiet remark and sitted down on the edge of the bed as his gaze lingered on your body, still dressed in jeans and soft jumper.

“Lay with me, please.” Your quiet mumble echoed between the four walls securing you in safe and secure space and you buried your face in Harry’s pillow that smelled just like his cologne and a little scent of musk. Reaching out your arm to him on the empty and cold side of the bed, you pleaded for his presence in the sheets.

“Of course” Harry muttered and the sound of shuffling covers and the slight dip of the mattress beneath his muscle-covered body made you aware of him actually joining you. But for some reason, he wasn’t as close as you had hoped and a small frown tugged at your lips, drawing his attention fully to your face once more.

“Everything okay, love?” He asked, turning onto his right side to get a better view of you, though he still kept some distance between your bodies.

Had he already started regretting the kiss?

The lust and tension between you were undeniable and the electricity only grew as you slowly moved your hand toward his, your fingers hesitantly slipping through his. His breath, just like yours, hitched at the sudden touch. His palm felt warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help but notice how much bigger his hand was compared to yours.

“So, what are our plans for tomorrow?” You whispered, your lips still swollen from the kissing and your eyes slowly fluttered shut. Meanwhile, Harry brought your intertwined close to his face, pressing soft kisses to each of your knuckles.

“Anything but library, sweet one.” Harry murmured against the back of your hand, his gentle touch making you even weaker for him.

“Good night, Harry… And thank you.” The last words of the night left your lips before exhaustion embraced you fully. And Harry, he followed just a few minutes later - only after he was sure your sleep was peaceful. But with him, it always was peaceful.

#eileenrry #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #one direction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine

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effieotto · 3 days ago

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Sunrise on the reaping bellow, you know the drill

“I know that,” she says. “I’ve known who you are ever since you helped with my makeup box. And I know your position could not have been easy.”

It’s surprisingly touching. “Thanks, Effie.”

“But they really are for a greater good. The Hunger Games.” And now she’s lost me.

this scene really struck me, because…does she really think that? I find it funny how fast she recognized the anti-government edge of her speech, implying that “she knows his position could not have been easy, thus she felt sorry he had to go through it”, and how it went against the whole purpose of how it was all the great sacrifice she was supposed to believe, and just as fast made sure to reaffirm that it all was for a greater good. Even though it sounded out of place.

Stay with me —since the beginning, when she broke into the apartment with those outfits in hand, telling everyone they should work hard because “A lot of people lost their lives to guarantee peace and prosperity for their nation”, effie wasn’t giving her opinion on the matter, she was repeating the propaganda the government sold. Word for word.

which reminds me how she wasn’t clueless to the consequences of their acts during the first two books. How upset she was every time Katniss did something reckless, because she knew it was going to affect “all of them”. How she knew about Seneca’s not-quite-suicide, and was terrified to know that Katniss did know too…all of it doesn’t imply the sky-level of ignorance we usually associate with her.

the trinkets were somehow disgraced in society, hence effie had to do the double duty of clawing her way back into the high class to be respected in the field and still try to protect her sister’s reputation and, more likely than not, her safety. This was hard labor and it probably gave her some privileged knowledge of how it all really worked. She was the victim of a dictatorship, and i feel like she knew exactly what it meant…she did believe in the propaganda Snow sold, at some level,but she also knew she didn’t have a choice of supporting it or not

which brings us back to the scene— effie was in the bugged apartment of District Twelve with a dozen of peacekeepers standing right behind her, her little speech about her recognizing haymitch as a real person, and feeling sorry (or the closest thing of remorse she could afford) was risky (if you know how not-understanding a dictator is when it comes down to anti-government speeches, you know that she was in danger only for feeling sorry) and she knew that. she had a sister, she had a reputation, she had a family and friends, and years of life…is it really a surprise that she would jump right into her parrot-mood when she noticed she was that close to imply she didn’t really agreed with the whole ordeal?

Was Effie truly a loyalist who buys into the capitol propaganda, or is she just a person under a totalitarian regime who knows the boundaries of safety? She was terrified of the president, you can see that when she said “HE asked you to wear it”. she had people to lose, she had her own safety on the line, should she risk it all for a boy she barely knew?

I am not saying she didn’t have her controversial opinion, or that she didn’t believe in the idea that the games guaranteed her safety. What i am saying is that she saw it more like an unavoidable social dutty than a necessity, and she’s aware that she couldn’t speak against it if she wanted to see the sun rising the next day. She is a much more complex character than just “a selfish loyalist who truly buys the entire propaganda” or the “innocent daughter of Panem”

#It’s crazy how the meaning is lost by those who never experienced it #haymitch abernathy #hayffie #sunrise on the reaping #sotr-effie #character study #thg sotr #sotr #thg series #katniss everdeen #hunger games #effie trinket #thg

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angrenwen · 1 day ago

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“Her count’s at fourteen, to my certain knowledge.”

“And you’re sure she’s not just a very clever serial killer?”

They usually ask that. It’s understandable, if a bit annoying. “Not only have I been physically with her at the time three of the murders were committed, two were committed before she was born. That’d be pretty damned clever, don’t you think?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Yes. If you’ve got any old missing persons cases, or unsolved murders, get the files out and refresh your memory. I’d go back at least fifty years, if I were you. Focus on anything mysterious or that got covered up.”

“She’s likely to find a fifty-year-old corpse?!”

“I was standing right there when she found a hundred-and-nine year old set of remains in the walls of an old church she was helping to renovate, less than five minutes into the renovations.”

He let out a heartfelt groan. “Oh no.”

“It’s not so bad,” I said encouragingly. “Maggie’s better than a cadaver dog for finding remains, although even she doesn’t know how she does it, and even better at putting together evidence. She’s got a knack for seeing patterns where nobody else does. Whatever case she turns up, she’ll help you solve it within… oh, probably a few days, a week at most.”

“Really?” The Inspector sounded like he was wavering between skepticism and hope. “I’ve heard stories about Carrion Crows and their closure rate, but I can’t say I ever believed them.”

“Believe them. The longest it’s ever taken her was a month, and that was because she spent two weeks in hospital in the middle of it, and there was a delay on some of the evidence.” I leaned back in my chair, putting my feet up on my desk. “She’s pretty cooperative, as a rule. Not one of those ones who wants to beat the police - she’ll work with you if you let her. If you don’t, she’ll solve it anyway and make you look like a real chump, so let her. Stay on her, though, because she’s got a bit of an impulse control problem when she’s on a scent.”

“She’s likely to run into danger?”

“Mmm, no, not often - she’s just turned fifty, she’s slowing down a bit - but keeping her from touching the evidence can be a problem. She knows not to, but sometimes in the heat of the moment she forgets.”

“Ah. Yes, I see.”

“If you’ve got any strapping young lads or lasses who show some promise, assign one to her. She’s usually pretty nice to anyone under thirty if they make a mistake, but she gets snippy at someone she thinks is old enough to know better. They’ll learn a lot.”

“And she won’t ditch them?”

“Almost never if they’re polite, especially if you ask her to keep an eye on them. Just make sure they don’t argue with her too much, or scoff at her deductions, or she will absolutely ditch them and they will never know how she did it. Even I don’t know, and we’ve been working together for years.”

“I see.” He sighed, and the faint rasping was probably a hand rubbing over his chin. “A real Carrion Crow. Does she know… why?”

“What made her Death’s favourite girl? No. They usually don’t. I know there’s always stories about the murder of a loved one setting them on the path, but that’s actually pretty rare.” I’d done a lot of research, after I realized what Maggie was. “Most Carrion Crows have no idea why they start finding bodies. There’s no consistent trigger for it.”

“No kind of pattern at all?”

“Well, no, I didn’t say that. There’s no consistency about trigger events, but Carrion Crows themselves do tend to conform to a certain type. They’re usually very detail-oriented, and good at analyzing patterns. They’re always curious. If presented with half a story, they can’t resist finding the other half. They’re usually self-employed, or retired on a moderate income, or in a job that allows them a lot of snooping time, like a reporter or researcher.”

“That makes sense,” he said slowly. “The… gift, or whatever it is, comes to people who have the time and ability to use it.”

“Almost invariably.” I examined the scuffed toe of one of my boots. “And they care about people. They’re compassionate. I’ve never encountered or heard of a real Carrion Crow who was selfish.”

“Carrion Crows are always good people?” Now he just sounded confused.

“That depends on your definition of good. Criminals have been Crows in the past. One of the earliest confirmed cases of a Carrion Crow was a young pickpocket in London in the 1820s. But they’re people who care about other people. It’s one of the reasons they find out so much more than we do - people under pressure respond to kindness and compassion. It makes them want to confide.”

“Ahhhh.” He sounded enlightened. “That I understand. I have a sergeant like that. Got a face like a gargoyle, but everyone loves him because he’s just… kind, to everyone. People tell him all sorts of things.”

“Maybe don’t pair him up with Maggie, or they might achieve some sort of critical mass. A tea-party could spontaneously form around them.” I laughed at that mental image. “Anyway, if a tiny little middle-aged lady with big brown eyes and a horrible cardigan shows up and tells you there’s been a murder, take her seriously.”

“Will do. Thanks for the warning.”

I left my name and number, in case they needed more help, then hung up.

Nobody knows what causes a person to become a Carrion Crow. They’re not common, and you can spend a whole career in law enforcement without meeting one. But sometimes, for reasons nobody’s ever been able to explain, a hitherto perfectly ordinary person turns into a magnet for murder. It’s as if Death itself just taps them on the shoulder and says ‘you’. As if Death itself wants murders to be solved, the lost dead found, the unknown dead named, and their killers brought to justice.

Who knows? Maybe it does. All I know is, they need a close eye kept on them. A lot of Crows wind up murdered themselves, by someone desperate not to be caught. That’s why I call ahead every time Maggie leaves town. Why I’ll even follow her, if I can’t get the local police to listen to me.

Maggie cares about people, living and dead. And I care about Maggie. Anyone trying to kill her is going to have to get past me."

The Strange Case Of The Amateur Detective

At some point, surely someone must notice the pattern… right? Note: Beginning slightly edited for clarity.

It took a while, but I’ve convinced Maggie to tell me when she goes out of town. I’ll feel better, I say, if I know for sure where she is when a body makes the news.

Which is true, of course. The sheer frequency with which that little lunatic does it keeps me awake at nights. But it also enables me to take certain precautions.

Like this one.

“Hello, Branford County Police Station, Constable Ford speaking.”

“Hello, Constable Ford, this is Detective Inspector Winsbury. I’m going to need to speak to whoever is in charge there about a possible murder.”

As usual, there was some back and forth at that point, but eventually I got through to an Inspector. “What do you mean, a possible murder?!” he asked, irritated.

“Just what I said. Tell me, Inspector, have you ever had dealings with an amateur detective? The real thing, I mean. The genuine Carrion Crow.”

His tone went from hostile to guarded. “I’ve… heard some things. Never met one.”

“You’re about to. Mine’s visiting Branford, ostensibly to see an old school friend, and I wouldn’t bet you the price of a beer that she’s not going to show up to report a murder within a few days.”

“You can’t possibly - “

“Her count’s at fourteen, to my certain knowledge.”

Keep reading

#It's Story Time

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freakycafetomoe · 1 day ago

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Not Even the Gods Can Keep Me from You

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵pairing !! : Odysseus! Gojo Satoru x Penelope! Y/n

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵Summary !! : What is perseverance, if not love? What is strength, if not the will to return? Satoru Gojo was never meant to be a man of peace. A warrior crowned in legend, a king bound by duty, a man who challenged the will of gods themselves. He had conquered battlefields, torn through myths, and stood unshaken before death. Yet, for all his victories, there was only one war that truly mattered—getting back to you. Ten years of war. Ten years of wandering. And still, his heart only knew one home. You. Always you.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵contains !! : heavily! epic the musical inspired. heavy angst with eventual comfort. yearning. war themes. divine intervention. unwavering devotion. Gojo being dramatic as always. poetic prose slow-burn but inevitable love. a decade of suffering. a reunion worth every second of it. forced separation/longing. implied captivity (calypso arc). enough pining to make even the gods weep. Greek mythology elements.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵word count !! : 2,095 words

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵playlist !! : here

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚꩜ ︵︵A/N !! : no beta reading we die like men. Okay, so hear me out! this idea grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go. I was just minding my business, vibing to EPIC: The Musical, and then suddenly my brain went, “What if Gojo Satoru was Odysseus?” And now I’m here, emotionally invested in a story where my baby is out here fighting gods, monsters, and curses all because he just wants to go home to you. Like, yes, he’s the untouchable but at the end of the day? He’s just Satoru. He’s fought wars, conquered empires, and defied death itself—but nothing, nothing compares to the battle of getting back to you. If that’s not peak romance, I don’t know what is. jkjk let’s be real, Gojo is exactly the kind of person to get cursed by the gods and just laugh in their faces. Zeus could strike him down and he’d be like, "Damn, that’s all you got?" And then proceed to survive out of sheer spite. ANYWAYS. This is just the beginning because, of course, I couldn’t stop at just one headcanon. This is a whole series now. I am deep in the trenches of this story, and I plan on taking you all down with me. If you want to be tagged for future parts, drop a comment! I love you all so much—thank you for the support, the reactions, and for indulging my unhinged brain 🫶💙

Odyssey? More Like Gojo-ssey. Now, let’s watch Gojo Satoru try (and probably suffer dramatically) to get home. 😌✨

⇢ read on ao3 here !!

Odysseus! Satoru who was never meant to be a man of peace. From the moment he first gripped a sword, fate carved his path in blood and war. He was the strongest, the untouchable, the king who could not fall.

Odysseus! Satoru who was never meant to stay in one place. His soul was made of storms, his heart set to the rhythm of conquest.

Odysseus! Satoru who was the strongest warrior, the sharpest mind, the man who could bend the world to his will. But for all his power, truly one thing he longed for. Home. However, home had never been a place. Home was you.

Odysseus! Satoru who had never feared the gods, not even when they whispered warnings of fate and ruin. He laughed in the face of destiny, dared to challenge the will of Olympus itself. He mocked them, defied them, dared them to strike him down. But the moment he met you, the moment he saw a future beyond war in your eyes, he knew he had something far more terrifying than divine wrath—something to lose. The moment he took your hand, the moment he called you his wife, he realized that strength was not in defying the gods, it was in having something worth defying them for.

Odysseus! Satoru, who was not a patient man, but love, had taught him patience. This man fell in love like a storm crashing against the shore. sudden, unstoppable, inevitable. You were not just another prize, another conquest. You were the one who saw him, saw past the whispers, saw past the power, saw past the arrogance that kept the world at a distance. As in return, he swore to be yours in a way he never truly belonged to anyone else. In this lifetime and futures to come.

Odysseus! Satoru who would sit in the gardens with you, listening to the way you spoke, memorizing every shift in your expression, every lilt in your voice. He who had faced death countless times, but nothing unnerved him more than the way you could bring him down to his knees with a just a single look. The strongest man in the world, utterly undone by you.

Odysseus! Satoru who was a force of nature in battle, and yet, he was the softest thing when he was with you. He could split mountains with a strike, command armies with a word, yet he would abandon it all just to press a kiss to your temple in the quiet hours of the night. The world could call him untouchable, unstoppable—but you had always known the truth. He was only human in your arms.

Odysseus! Satoru who swore he would never leave you. He never wanted to leave you. But war does not care for love, and kings do not get to choose their fate. When duty called him to Troy, he kissed you one last time and vowed, “I’ll come back to you, my love.” A promise whispered against your skin, a prayer uttered to gods he never truly believed in, but for you, he prayed. But war does not wait for love, and kings do not get to choose peace. The moment he stepped onto that ship, the moment he sailed toward a war he had no choice but to fight, he made a silent promise.

Odysseus! Satoru would come back. No matter the cost.

Odysseus! Satoru who had faced monsters before, but nothing compared to the beasts that awaited him on his journey home. The sea churned with curses, the land crawled with creatures that wanted nothing more than to tear him apart. But he did not waver. He did not fear. Because what was pain, what was suffering, if it meant holding you again? And so, he fought through curses, blood, and suffering, but the only thing stronger than the wrath of the gods was his will to get back to you.

Odysseus! Satoru who had never known helplessness. He was a man who bent the world to his will, who carved his own fate with bloodied hands and an indomitable heart. He had faced gods and monsters, defied curses and storms, and laughed in the face of death itself. But for seven years, he was caged. Seven years stolen from his hands, wasted in the embrace of a goddess who was not you.

Odysseus! Satoru, who had washed up on her shores broken along with his wrecked ship, his men lost, his body battered by the sea’s wrath. She found him like that, defeated in a way he had never been before, and she took him in. Nursed his wounds. Promised him peace. Promised him eternity. However, eternity meant nothing if you were not in it.

Odysseus! Satoru who was worshipped as a god on that island. She adorned him in silk, kissed the battle scars on his skin, whispers of forever in his ear. She called him hers. She swore to love him, to keep him, to give him a kingdom untouched by war and pain.

However, Odysseus! Satoru who was already yours. No matter how soft the sheets, how gentle the hands that held him, the weight of you never left him. Your absence clawed at his chest, a dull, aching wound that never healed. He was fed the sweetest fruits, given the finest wines, and yet, everything tasted bitter.

Because you were waiting. Because he had sworn to come back. Because seven years was too long to be away from home.

Odysseus! Satoru who was given the choice to stay. to be immortal, to be unburdened, to be worshipped as he had been all his life. But gods, if there was one thing he had learned after all these years, it was that peace was nothing without you. So he demanded to leave. He raged against the walls of paradise, cursed the heavens, swore that nothing, not gods, not time, not fate itself, would keep him from you.

And in the end, the gods relented. the moment he stepped back onto the sea, the moment the wind carried his ship forward once more, he whispered a vow “I’m coming back to you, my love.”

Odysseus! Satoru who after 10 yeras of war and 10 years of isolation in a gilded cage. After all the temptation, after all the stolen time. Nothing had changed. You were still his home and he was still yours.Odysseus! Satoru had always been told that the greatest glory was in war. That men like him were meant to be remembered for their victories, for the blood they spilled, for the kingdoms they claimed. But as he carved his way through gods and monsters, as he fought tooth and nail to return to you, he realized—glory was meaningless if you were not there to share it. He was a man who had something worth fighting for. Each island, each battle, each moment of agony was a step closer to you.

Odysseus! Satoru who would fight for eternity if it meant getting back to you. Because the world could take his crown, his titles, his power—but they would never take his love for you. He knew that time would change things. That Ithaca would move on, that suitors would circle you like vultures, that the world might convince you to forget him. But he never doubted you. Not once. Because if there was one thing in this world stronger than him, stronger than war, stronger than the gods. it was your love.

Gojo Satoru was a man of great renown. A warrior who had never lost, a king who stood above all, a force so untouchable that even the gods whispered his name with caution. He was myth and legend, conqueror and survivor, the man who had defied death itself. And yet, in your eyes he was just Satoru. Not a king. Not a warrior. Not a name etched into history. Just a man. A man who laughed too loudly at his own jokes, a man who pressed kisses to your temple when no one was looking, a man who smirked like a child when he won an argument. A man who made himself at home beside you, tangled in linen sheets and lazy mornings, whispering secrets only meant for your ears. The world called him untouchable. You knew better. You knew the warmth of his hands, the softness of his voice when he murmured your name in the quiet of the night. You knew the weight of his heart, the way he carried the burden of war, of loss, of the endless battle between duty and desire. You knew the boy beneath the legend, the fool who fell in love like it was the only battle worth losing. And he had lost. To you. Because for all his victories, for all his power, the greatest thing he had ever done was love you. Not war, not glory, not the sea of men he had left in ruin. You. Always you. It had taken years, lifetimes, an odyssey of gods and monsters and curses. In the end, he had won the only war that ever truly mattered. Because after everything, after all the pain, after all the years stolen from him. He came home and when he looked at you, and you looked at him, he knew. You had never stopped waiting.

The moment he stepped across the threshold, the weight of a decade settled onto his shoulders. The war, the gods, the monsters—all of it had been nothing compared to the torment of being away from you. And now, as he stood before you, a man worn down by time and trials, he found himself breathless.

You stared at him, silent, unmoving. As if blinking would make him disappear. As if you had seen him in your dreams so often that you weren’t sure if this was another cruel trick.

“Satoru…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it shattered something inside him.

He inhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath for years. Maybe he had. “I’m home.”

A silence stretched between you. It wasn’t empty. it was full. Full of lost time, of unspoken words, of all the things the universe had tried to take away.

Your fingers twitched at your side, hesitant, trembling, before you reached out. The moment your hand brushed against his face, tracing the lines that time had carved into his skin, something in him broke. He leaned into your touch as if it was the first warmth he had felt in years. His hands found your waist, hesitant at first, as if he feared you would disappear. But when you didn’t, when you only gripped him tighter, his restraint crumbled. He pulled you against him, arms wrapping around you so tightly it was almost desperate.

"You took your time," you murmured against his chest, voice thick with something between relief and sorrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, though it was weak, exhausted. “I had to make it dramatic.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers curling into his tunic. There were so many questions, so many things you wanted to say. But in the end, you only whispered, “This time… will you stay?”

His grip on you tightened. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

You let out a breathless, a broken soundhalf a laugh, half a sob. “You idiot… You think after all this time I’d want anyone else?”

Satoru gave a smirk, but his voice was quiet, almost fragile. “I don’t know… figured you might’ve realized I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

You shook your head, a real, genuine smile breaking through the tears in your eyes. “You always were.” Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading through his silver hair like a lifeline. “But you’re my trouble.”

Satoru swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as if memorizing you all over again. “And you’re my home.”

A sob escaped before you could stop it, and that was all it took for him to press his forehead against yours, closing the last remaining distance.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “No more wars. No more running. No more losing time.” His voice softened, turning into a promise. “Just us.”

Your fingers curled tighter around him. “Just us.”

The words settled between you like an unshaken vow. And for the first time in forever, there were no battles left to fight.

No gods to defy.

No time to lose.

Only him. Only you.

Only home.

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moonstruckme · 10 hours ago

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hello lovely mae! saw your call for requests and couldn't help but respond - maybe something w wolfstar where it's nearing the full moon and remus only wants sirius for something or other and it hurts reader's feelings? only if it takes your fancy of course, thank you!! <3

Thank you lovely <3

cw: migraine

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Remus’ pain is making you nauseous. You can’t hear it or see it, but you know it’s there, just on the other side of the bedroom door. You keep glancing that way against your will, the evening news passing in an unnoticed blur on the telly.

You love the flat you share with your boyfriends, but it feels suffocating on days like today. Too still, too quiet. Haunted by the approaching full moon. Even when you aren’t wanted, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

You pretend not to have been watching when Sirius steps out of the bedroom.

“How is he?” you ask as he settles down next to you on the couch. It’s late enough for shadows to wrap themselves around his features, his mouth solemn. You don’t know why you ask; it’s not like he’s going to say good.

“He’s sleeping,” Sirius replies, his hand finding yours. He kisses your fingers. “How are you, my love?”

You smile. “Oh, that’s not very fair.”

“What’s not?”

“You shouldn’t have to comfort Remus and then come comfort me.”

“You make it sound so burdensome.” He keeps your hand tucked in his, bringing it to his lap as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I’m sorry he upset you.”

“It’s fine.”

“He didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know,” you say, “he didn’t mean it any sort of way. It’s really okay. You’re better at it.”

Sirius doesn’t deny it. He knows as well as you do that, for whatever reason, the scalp massages he gives Remus to relieve his migraines simply work better. Maybe it’s that he’s been doing it longer, or just that he really does have the magic touch, but whenever you try it seems like the physical contact hurts Remus more than it helps him. Best for you to leave them to it.

“I saw your face when he asked you to go,” Sirius says, very softly.

You shrink.

“It’s okay if you’re upset.”

You are upset. It’s undeniable in the tight, achy feeling sitting right in the center of your sternum, but you don’t want to be upset. You wouldn’t be if you could help it.

“I’m okay,” you say. Sirius looks unpersuaded. “Remus is the one who’s in pain.”

He hums. Thumb moving over the bumps of your knuckles one by one. “He is,” he acknowledges. “He’s asked for a cuddle, though.”

You give him a look. “You don’t think he really means that.”

“Do you think I’d come relay the message if I thought he didn’t?” Sirius asks. “He knows there’s no way to get rid of the pain entirely. I think he just wants comfort more than he wants to try for that right now.”

Your heart throbs for your poor boyfriend. “Why didn’t you stay?”

“He asked for both of us.” Sirius presses another kiss to your hand. “I’m just selfish is all, I wanted to see that you were alright first.”

You feel your lips curve slightly. “So selfish,” you say, allowing yourself to be tugged up by your hand.

You kiss him once on your way to the bedroom, his hand sweet on the small of your back, but when you enter you both only have eyes for one man.

It’s somehow even quieter in here than the rest of the apartment. The sheets barely whisper as Sirius crawls in behind Remus, slipping his arms around your boyfriend’s waist. You try to be just as soundless getting in on the other side.

Remus doesn’t open his eyes when the mattress dips beneath you, but you know he’s awake.

“Hi,” you murmur, softer than soft, with a barely-there kiss to his jaw.

“Hi,” Remus rasps back. His voice is so coarse with pain your throat tightens at the sound of it. For a moment you think this was a bad idea, you’re making things worse, but then his arm comes around you. Curling you closer to him. You hold him back, brushing against Sirius as you do.

You’re afraid to say anything more, worried the sound will agitate his migraine, but Sirius asks, “What can we do?”

Remus sighs. “Just this,” he says, and it sounds like relief. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

You kiss him again. Gently, meeting Sirius’ eyes over his shoulder. Neither of you have to say it aloud: there’s no place else you’d be.

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ollyissleepy · 2 days ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x uninterested!male!reader summary: After being caught red handed stealing, (name) finds himself in the Wayne Manor, surrounded by his new family. (Name)'s disinterested in bonding is met with equally not caring siblings and father. As he spends his days alone, (name) realises his new family might care much more than he originally thought the did. cw: stealing, swearing, a/n: there isn't really anything triggering in this part yet, but I want to start warning from the beginning since it will turn dark in next parts based on this idea I had

part: one | two | three | and more…

Commissioner Gordon makes another lap around the interrogation room, trying to think of something that would make his detainee finally talk. He looks back at the teenager. Gordon knows he can't keep the boy there for long as he's still underage. The commissioner is used to the teenagers that were caught giving out any needed information easily, most too scared of the possible consequences they might be facing. The teenage boy who was brought in today seemed like a hard one to crack, with a few police officers giving up on trying after the first hour of the boy being there. Usually Gordon would send for yet another officer to try to rip out any information, but after hearing one of them suggest to just let the teenager go with a warning that next time he would be caught, it wouldn't be so nice. The commissioner couldn't just allow them to release the boy, knowing that he matches the description of a thief who was roaming around the area and also finding multiple stolen items in the boy's possession.

It had been an hour since Gordon came in the interrogation room, thinking it would be a quick task. He thought that the years of experience he had would make gathering information about teenagers' parents an easy job. As it turns out, Commissioner Gordon couldn't be more wrong.

"Listen, we not only caught you stealing but also in possession of stolen goods." The commissioner states, pretending to read over the files other officers filled in on the boy. "If you tell us a way to contact your parents, I'm sure we could sort this out without a big punishment." He looks up at the teenager, making sure his voice sounds as sincere as he can muster it to be.

Gordon watches the teenager carefully, waiting for the smallest of changes. Nothing happens. The teenager's expression remains stoic; not a single muscle moved at the mention of his parents. The boy's sight never leaves the one stop he picked at the table, his eyes remaining locked there, even when Gordon first came inside the room.

"Kid, I understand that you might be scared, but I promise you that I'll talk to your parents and explain everything to them." Gordon chooses his words carefully, using every trick he learnt over his years as a commissioner, hoping to gain a grain of trust from the boy.

"I don't have parents," the boy responds after a while, his eyes never meeting the commissioner's.

Gordon is taken aback by the teenager's statement. For a moment he thinks that he might be crossing a line, his mind wondering if the boy might truly not have any alive parents. But then, he takes another look at the teenager, who didn't even move any unnecessary muscles, apart from the ones needed for speaking. Something about his stoic face made Gordon believe that the boy was simply hiding the identities of his guardians. The commissioner sighs, trying to think of a different approach, something to make the boy talk. He decides to sit across from the teenager, grabbing his case file.

"Let's start with something easier then." Gordon reads through the little information previous officers managed to gather on the boy, picking something he believes would be easy to give out. "Why don't you tell me your name, just your first name? That's all I want."

The teenager stays quiet for a while, making Gordon think he chose the wrong way to go about it. Just when the commissioner was about to ask a different question, the boy looked up from the table to stare directly into Gordon's eyes. Both of them hold eye contact for a while before the boy speaks up, catching the commissioner off guard:

"(Name)." The teenager's voice was barely audible in the quiet interrogation room.

"What was that?" Gordon leaned forward, straining to hear.

"I'm (Name)." The boy repeated louder, finally looking up from the steel table to meet Gordon's eyes.

"Alright, (Name)." Gordon wrote the name in his file, the scratch of his pen unnaturally loud. "And how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

The commissioner nodded, filling in another blank. His shoulders relaxed slightly – finally making progress. "And your parents' names?"

"I don't have any." (Name)’s expression didn’t change.

"Don't make me bring out the big guns, kid." Gordon's pen stopped mid-word.

"I'm not lying." The boy's voice stayed flat. "I don't have parents."

"Listen, everybody has parents." Irritation crept into Gordon's tone.

"Well, I don't." The teenager shrugged, his face unreadable. "Not as far as I know, anyway."

The boy's response made Gordon realise he might be talking to a kid that was either thrown out of their house recently or an orphan. He looks over the file, trying to think of how to learn the kid's parent's current status. He knows that without that knowledge, his hands are practically tied.

"I warned you, kid," Gordon's voice deepened, his eyes filled with irritation.

Commissioner Gordon doesn't wait for (name) to reply; he stands up, leaving the room. The man's leave brought confusion to the teenager. Just as the boy started standing up to look for a way to escape the interrogation room, the door opened. Gordon came inside with two more people trailing behind him, one of them carrying a briefcase.

"I'm afraid you left us with no other choice," Gordon states, his tone stripped of any emotion. Every person in the room can tell he's tired of this situation. "We're going to have to run a DNA test to determine your parents whereabouts. You'll also be staying in here until that's figured out."

None of the adults in the room wait for the boy to respond, as they begin to set up everything for his DNA sample. He doesn't protest, already knowing where his parents were. Or at least where his mother was, as he never really met his father. (Name) highly doubted they would be able to contact his father, and he could use not having to worry about food and water for the next few days. He's planning to enjoy the luxury of the amenities a cell in the police station offers. After the test results return, he'll make sure to escape before they manage to do anything about them.

Gordon is amazed about the lack of fight from the boy, watching him politely open his mouth so the officers could take the sample. The commissioner starts to wonder where this energy was when the teenager was asked questions.

When the officers were securing the sample, Gordon brought (name) to one of the cells. He decides to put the boy into the only single cell they have, not wanting him to be stuck in a small space with dangerous adults. The commissioner makes sure to go over the rules and the time dinner is brought as he uncuffs the boy. He lingers around the cell, a part of him hoping that (name) might say something, only to be met with silence. Gordon sighs before returning to his office, leaving the teenager alone.

A few days later (name) finds himself standing on his tippytoes, trying to see if he could remove the bars from the window, when two voices from outside his cell catch his attention. He recognises one of them as Commissioner Gordons. The boy thinks the unknown one must belong to a recently caught criminal or somebody's bail. As he hears them approaching, he quickly moves away, not wanting to be caught planning out his escape. The teenager sits down on his bed, finding an interesting crack in the wall to stare at.

"That's him?" The man dressed in a suit asks, his eyes brushing over the boy in the cell. Gordon confirms, also staring at the boy, trying to think of a way to tell him who the man is.

"(Name), we have found your father." Gordon doesn't want to beat around the bush, knowing the boy long enough to know it wouldn't work on him. "I want you to meet Bruce Wayne."

The teenager looks at the man the commissioner introduced as his father, judging the way he presents himself. Seeing the man dressed in a fancy suit, looking as if he owns the place. It's making (name) regret not begging the police officers to just put him through trial like an adult. Perhaps then he wouldn't have to meet his 'father' that looks like he has a stick so far up his ass it might burst through his mouth at any moment.

Bruce, after noticing the boy staring at him, also takes a moment to take in the way his supposed son looks like. The man sees the way (name)'s eyes move from one part of his body to the other. Bruce studies the teenager's face, the clothes he has on his back, and the way the boy is sitting on the bed. The more Bruce is staring at the teenager, the more similarities he finds in (name).

"It's nice to meet you." Bruce's voice is much lower than the boy thought it would be. He wasn't sure how to feel about the man that's supposed to be his father.

The teenager doesn't reply; if it weren't for the rises and falls of his form as the boy is breathing, Bruce might just mistake him for a statue. The two of them continue staring at each other before Commissioner Gordon grabs Bruce's attention. He explains to the man how (name) seems to only respond when he deems it necessary. Bruce nods, asking about the papers he might need to file to get the boy out of the cell. The commissioner asks the man to follow him, and both of them leave, not looking back at the teenager in the cell.

(Name) isn't left there for too long; he doesn't even have much time to process what just happened. Next thing he knows, some officer is opening his cell, asking him to come out. The teenager follows the officer, making sure to look out for any possible runaway route. The wonder in his eyes around the space the boy is in doesn't go unnoticed by Bruce.

"You're going to behave as we walk into the car; no running away." Bruce makes sure his is only heard by the boy in front of him; he doesn't have time for games. "If you pull something like that, I'll send you straight back into that cell."

When no response falls out of the teenager's mouth, Bruce turns around and starts walking out of the police station with the boy quietly following him behind. The police officers, who had the pleasure of meeting the kid on his first day there, fully expected (name) to put up a fight or maybe even run away. When neither of those things happen, they're shocked but glad they didn't have to run after a runaway kid.

The walk to Bruce's car isn't long, as the man parked right in front of the building. Bruce gestures for the boy to get inside as he walks to the other side of the car. (Name) decides to sit in the backseat, hoping to create as much space between himself and the stranger as it was possible. The soft humming of the car relaxes the boy a bit, but not enough to put his guard down.

As Bruce drives a familiar route through the city, it hits him that he hasn't heard his son's voice even once since he met the boy. He sees the opportunity for a conversation when the car is forced to stop at a red light. Bruce uses the rearview mirror to check on (name) in the backseat. He notices the way the teenager is sitting, staring out the window. Bruce studies the boy's expression, the way his eyes are watching something outside in melancholy. He tries to think of something to say, anything that would make the teenage boy finally answer him.

"I heard about your mother; sorry you had to go through that alone," Bruce says, his voice as soft as he could make it be.

The teenager's only response is a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the window. Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He knows what (name) must be feeling; Gordon told him that the boy probably lost his mother recently. He, however, believes that the loss of a parent doesn't excuse the teenager from acting like a brat.

The rest of the ride is quiet, neither of the people inside the car wanting to speak up. Bruce gave up on further bonding with the child, fully labelling him as entitled and deciding that if (name) wants to act like a brat, then he will be treated like one too.

Bruce pulls up into the driveway; he spares another glance at the boy in the backseat before telling him to get out of the car. He exits as well and starts walking up to the front door with teenagers silent footsteps following behind. Both of them barely making it to the door when a man with grey hair, dressed in a butler's clothes, opens them.

(Name) unsurely steps inside the manor as every fibre of his body is screaming how he doesn't belong in there. As they step in further into the space, the boy takes a moment to look around, making a note to check for every possible escape route, just in case. (Name) is so focused on analysing the room he's in that he doesn't notice that his 'father' began walking up the stairs, clearly no longer interested in the teenager. Only Bruce's voice snaps the boy out of the trance:

"Alfred, please show the boy his room" is the last thing Bruce says before retreating upstairs.

The butler nods at his 'father's' request, asking the boy to follow him. In an instinct, he moves to grab whatever the bag the child may have, only to notice that (nae) doesn't have anything with him other than the clothes on his back. Alfred makes a note to ask other boys in the manor to borrow some of their unused clothes for their new brother to wear.

As the two of them make their way into the boy's new room, (name) once again becomes extremely wary of his surroundings. He makes sure to remember how many doors they have passed. The teenager can't help but wonder at how effective the huge windows in the hall would be as an escape route. (Name) quickly gets rid of this idea, knowing that the windows in his new room would be a thousand times better for that.

"And here's your room…" Alfred begins his sentence as he opens one of the doors far into the hall. "My apologies, young master, I'm afraid I haven't caught your name."

"Alfred, right?" The boy asks, unsure if he remembered correctly what Bruce had referred to the older man as. The butler nods, smiling softly. "I'm (name), just (name). Please, don't refer to me as 'young master'; it would mean a lot."

"Of course, (name). I would keep it in mind," Alfred replied, causing the boy to smile ever so slightly. "I shall leave you to get comfortable and check if anyone is willing to borrow their clothes," he adds as he steps closer to the door, getting ready to leave.

"Please, don't." The boy's voice stops Alfred in his tracks, making him turn around. "I would rather wear my own."

"I must insist." Alfred wants to reason with the boy, noticing the grime on the boy's clothes.

"It's fine, really," (name) reassures, forcing himself to form a small smile, hoping the butler would just give in. "I could go back home to grab them tomorrow or something."

"Then I shall accompany you," Alrder declares, his back straightening slightly, showing the teenager that he won't back down.

"I could go by myself," the boy said, the last thing he wanted was to bring anyone from his family to his home. His real home.

"I'm more than happy to help you with the move, (name)." Alfred smiles, wanting to reassure the boy that he doesn't mean any harm. (Name) sighs in defeat.

"Alright, if you say so," the boy mumbles, his shoulders slouching. He's not sure how much longer he'll be able to put up with all of that, being way too used to being alone.

Alfred leaves, letting the boy know that someone would come and bring him over to the dining room for dinner. Once (name) is sure that nobody will be barging into the room anytime soon, he looks over the entire room. He makes sure to check every piece of furniture, every drawer, for anything that he could use in case he had to protect himself. Upon not finding anything useful, he gave up, hoping that his fists would be enough in case of an emergency.

Since the boy didn't find anything in the room, he moves over to the bathroom, wanting to clean himself up. He couldn't really do that at the police station. In the room he finds small versions of everyday products like some shower gel, some toothpaste and more. The teenager now knows that he must be in one of the guest bedrooms in the manor. That thought made him feel a little better. Being in the guest bedroom means he probably wouldn't be staying there for too long.

Feeling freshened up, as much as he could be due to the clothes he was forced to wear for the past few days, he decided to rest on the bed. (Name) already had a chance at feeling how comfortable it was when he was checking the room. He decided to lie down for just a minute, not wanting to put his guard down too much. The warmth of the bed successfully distracts the boy from all of his fears, pulling him into a slumber.

It wasn't till a few hours later that a knock on the door pulled (name) out of his sleep. The boy shoots up, not wanting to be caught vulnerable. He shifted his position into one he could easily take down the attacker. When the doors finally open, just to reveal that Alfred was behind them, (name) relaxes. He knows the man won't be much of a threat.

"I left Master Damian in charge of calling you over for dinner; it seems as if he forgot," Alfred explains, his face stoic. "I have brought you something." He puts the plate he was holding onto the desk, the aroma of the food slowly filling up the room.

"That's alright, Alfred," the boy said, his eyes not leaving the food the butler just brought. "I wasn't that hungry anyway," he lies; he might be hungry, but he's not hungry enough to risk getting poisoned.

"Please, eat up." Alfred encourages the boy, noticing the hunger in his eyes. "I'll make sure that your absence won't be overlooked by the family anymore."

With his declaration, Alfred leaves. (Name) once again is left alone in the room. He stares at the food the butler has brought, unsure if he should eat it or not, still not trusting anyone in the house. The smell of the food, however, made the boy give in. He grabs the food from the desk, slowly munching on it, still sitting on the bed.

As (name) eats the food prepared by Alfred, he tries to think about his next step. He hoped that the butler would allow him to collect his things by himself, giving him a way of fleeing without much work. But with Alfred's desire to help him out, that plan is now out of the window. The boy knows he has to come up with something fast, not wanting to stay in the manor for longer than necessary. That, however, would have to be done another time. The teenager's only focus for now would be to retreat all of his belongings from his real home to here. His great escape plan has to wait until then.

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