#insert jumping cat gif

[revvywevvy]

I see it's promo hour~ I'm joinin' in, too! <:D I'll keep this one short n' sweet!

Hihiiiiii, I'm Cell!!! Pyrrha Alexandra [SoulCalibur V] is my darling little angel and wife, and I love her to bits!! I can be the weird mutual who rolls around on your lawn, stares from a distance and occasionally barks at you! Let's be friends <3

[Here's my carrd! It has my other F/Os listed. If you ship w/ Pyrrha in ANY context (selfship, oc x her or canon x her) then please DNI. I will bite doubles hard with my chompers!!!]

[karajaynetoday]

and i'd give up forever to touch you, cause i know that you'd feel me somehow | jack hughes

Thank you for all the love on hey now, you're an all-star - i am honestly blown away by those notes!! here is a part two. let me know what you think, and what your predictions or desires are for a potential part three! xo

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings:  nothing major. uni stress again, jack being a bit of a dick. angst. all of the angst.

(This is a fem reader insert) read part one here read the part three here

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

Waking up was always slightly disorienting for you, and the next morning was no different.

Your dreams could be quite vivid, or you couldn’t remember them at all once you awoke; but the first thing you could sense on this particular morning was the strong scent of coffee wafting through the room. As your eyes adjusted to the morning light streaming in the windows, you became suddenly and painfully aware that you were alone on the couch. A blanket had been draped over you at some stage of your slumber, but Jack was nowhere to be seen.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face, trying to ignore the anxiety that was building in your chest. You could hear a shower running, somewhere in the hotel suite, and hastily threw the blanket off your body as you scanned the room for your belongings.

Shoes. Where were your shoes? And phone? Keys? Did you bring a bag with you? What time was it? What time did your class start? Would you be able to get an Uber to Campus in time? Wait, was your class online or on campus this morning?

Your brain was churning out a thousand thoughts a minute, and your heart rate was starting to match it. You felt like a deer in headlights. Or a cat under a rocking chair. Or… just… lost. You were so lost.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you jolted, whipping around to face Quinn, who was decked out in a brown leather jacket and grey pants, holding two steaming coffee mugs in his hands.

You must have looked distressed, because Quinn offered you a gentle smile and one of the mugs which you cautiously accepted.

“Thanks, Q. I really should get going soon, though. Get out of your hair before the big draft day circus arrives.” Your voice was still slightly groggy with sleep.

“Take as long as you need, sugarplum. Our call time isn’t for another two hours. Jack’s in the shower, and he’d hate it if you left without saying goodbye.” Quinn raised his eyebrows at you as you both took a sip of coffee.

“Watching Jack try and untangle himself from you on the couch did provide me with my morning entertainment though. Surprised he didn’t end up with another injury given how clumsy he usually is.” You felt your cheeks get warm at Quinn’s comment and the smirk on his face.

“He could’ve just woken me up…” You offered weakly, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance.

“No offence, but that was a risk that neither of us are willing to take. Not after last summer.” Quinn bit back a laugh as you narrowed your eyes at him.

Last summer at the lake house, you’d stayed up all night trying to finish the latest novel in your favourite fiction series. Jack had come into your room to wake you for the boat day you’d discussed the day before, but instead of a gentle approach to waking you up, he’d literally jumped onto your bed. Which caused you to sit bolt upright and “accidentally” punch him in the face. At least he thought the black eye made him look tough for a couple of weeks.

“Nice jacket, by the way.” You tried to change the subject.

Quinn stood up straight and puffed out his chest.

“You think so? Jack and I got to go down to Hermés and pick out our outfits yesterday. I felt suuuuper out of my league to be honest.”

Your eyes widened at the brand name Quinn just dropped, slightly choking on your coffee.

“Hermés? That’s proper designer, Q. Like, tens of thousands of dollars of jacket, right?”

Quinn didn’t answer you, but he didn’t have to. The look on his face told you that the jacket he was wearing was worth more than six months of your rent. Maybe more.

“Well, we have to do this red carpet thing, and I figured we should probably try a bit harder than team merch.” Quinn reached over and tugged playfully on the sleeve of your hoodie.

Well, Jack’s hoodie. That you happened to be wearing. Which was previously super comfortable, but now felt like your skin was on fire underneath it.

“What time is it, anyway?” There you go again, changing the subject.

“Like, 9.15?” Quinn offered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and showing you the time on his home screen.

9.15? Why was that important to you? What was at 9.15?

The test. In your economics class. Worth a decent chunk of your grade. It was at 9.30am. But was it online or on campus?

You downed the rest of your coffee in one gulp, ignoring how it burned your throat, and thrust your mug back at Quinn before tugging the hoodie over your head and throwing it on the floor. You turned around, searching wildly for your phone and spotting it on the couch where you’d been sleeping, not that long ago. You lunged for it, frantically unlocked and trying to find your university schedule in the calendar app.

“Oh thank god. It’s online. Holy fuck.” You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself down.

“Sugar? You okay?” Jack’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you looked up from your phone to see him standing in the doorway to his room.

Clad in black jeans, with a towel around his shoulders and his hair still damp from the shower. Shirtless. Of course he was shirtless. You squeezed your eyes shut out of instinct, and also to stop yourself from blatantly checking him out. When you opened them, Jack was striding towards you, his face etched in concern.

“What do you need?” Jack spoke quietly, but firmly, reaching out to rub your arms reassuringly. His touch sent a zap of electricity through you, which seemed to kick your brain back into gear.

“I need… Do you have a laptop I can borrow? I have an online test in 15 minutes that I forgot about, for a subject I’m almost failing, and if I miss the test then I don’t know that I’ll be able to recover my grade.” You half-whispered, almost wishing that Jack and Quinn couldn’t hear your confession out loud.

You were supposed to be the smart one. That’s what everyone said, when you were growing up. You were the brains, Jack was the beauty. You were the bookish one, he was the brutally athletic one. Talking about failing university out loud was suddenly terrifying, even though you’d known it was a possibility for a few weeks or more.

“Hey… hey.” Jack squeezed your arms, trying to centre you, and dropped his head down to your eye level. “It’s okay. I’ve got a laptop you can use, and you can stay here for as long as you need.”

All you could muster was a nod in response, and Jack leaned in to kiss your forehead before disappearing back into his room, presumably to find his laptop. You sat back down on the couch, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself.

Quinn had briefly left to place your coffee mug in the kitchenette, but he was back and leaned over the back of the couch to squeeze your shoulder.

“You’ll smash it, kiddo. Make sure you ask Jack what his laptop password is though, I’d hate for you to get locked out during your test.” Quinn said quietly, before his phone rang and he stepped into his room to answer it.

“Here you go, sunshine. Fully charged, but the charger is in my room if you need it.” Jack was back in the living room, handing his laptop to you, already logged in and a web browser open for you.

You stood up from the couch and moved towards the dining table, setting the laptop down and pulling out a chair. It only took a minute to log into your university portal and navigate to the subject page you needed for the online test. You were about to click the start button, when Quinn’s comment flashed in your mind.

“Jack?” You squeaked, turning to face the couch where Jack had flopped down moments before. Still clad in black jeans, still fucking shirtless, absolutely ignorant of the effect he was having on your ability to breathe calming, mindlessly scrolling on his phone.

“What’s up?”

“What’s… what’s your password? In case I get locked out and you’re not here? Could you write it down for me please?”    You reached for the hotel notepad and complimentary pen that was on the table you were sitting at, waving them in Jack’s direction.

Jack rolled his bottom lip under his teeth as he stood up and took the notepad from you and began scribbling on it.

“I have to go downstairs and meet Bratter for some team social media stuff, but I’ll see you later, okay? Text me when you finish your test.” You’d never seen Jack move so quickly as he handed the notepad back to you, retrieved a shirt and jacket from his bedroom and disappeared out the hotel room door, all within a minute or two. 

You were confused, to say the least. You glanced down at the notepad Jack had thrust into your hands, and you could’ve sworn your heart stopped when you saw what he scrawled on it.

Password - SugarpluM2001Jh!

–

Quinn had headed out not long after Jack did, leaving you to complete your test in silence. Despite the disorienting start to your morning, and all of your revision notes being on your desk at home, you managed to scrape through with a 75% result which would supplement your final grade significantly. 

The waves of relief washed over you, as you clicked out of web page you were on. You reached for your phone and typed a quick message to Jack as promised, and you were confused when the laptop chimed with a notification noise. 

Oh. Oh. Jack’s laptop was linked to his phone, and his messages were suddenly popping up on the laptop screen in front of you. 

You shouldn’t pry. You knew that. Your logical brain was telling you to close the laptop screen and get going. But your anxiety brain was telling you that you should take a peek. Just a little one. 

Before your logical brain and anxiety brain could battle it out properly, the laptop notification chimed again, and a girl’s name that was not your own flashed up on the screen. 

What happened last night? I thought you were coming to my room after your dinner?? Xx

You felt your jaw drop, as you started to realise what was happening in this conversation you shouldn’t have been privy to. You froze, as the little bubble popped up in the chat, showing you that Jack was typing a reply.

Sorry babe i got caught up with some boring family bullshit, you know how it is. Would’ve rather have been with you obvs but i just couldn’t get away. Then today is crazy with media stuff anyway. I’ll see u at the drew house event tonight though? Go back to yours after that? Xo

Sounds great. I’ll be wearing this for you, J. *image attached*

You slammed the laptop shut when the image loaded, showing someone wearing a red and black lingerie set. 

You felt bad for snooping, but you felt worse knowing that Jack considered last night as “boring family bullshit”. Is that all it was? Were you stupid for thinking it was more? That it could ever be more between the two of you?

Or was that all you could ever hope to be? Like family. Forever intertwined, always floating in each other’s orbit, but never more than friends. Platonic soulmates at best, childhood acquaintances at worst. 

You were spiralling, yet again, and your phone buzzing with a notification provided a brief reprieve. Until you saw that it was a text from Jack.

Well done on your test, champ!! Knew u could do it. See you at the draft tonight? There’s two passes in your email for you and your dad to come visit. Might even get to meet bublé, if that’s your vibe lmao

Suddenly, there was a bitter taste in your mouth. Why was he pretending like he wanted to spend time with you? When surely all he actually wanted to do was sneak off with the girl he was texting just moments ago?

You swiped into check your email app, and there were the passes as promised. You quickly scanned the email to see if they were assigned to any particular name, and all you could see was “guest of Jack Hughes” rather than you or your dad specifically. You quickly hit the “forward” button, and sent them on to your dad and your cousin Tom, who had met Jack and Quinn a handful of times over the years, and was a massive hockey fan like your dad. You knew Tom would love to go, and your dad would be happy enough to have Tom join him.

You sent through a quick message to Tom saying you weren’t feeling well and that he’d be doing you a favour by taking your pass, to which he immediately replied with lots of exclamation points and thanks. 

Next, you typed a message back to Jack.

Thanks again for the laptop and for the passes. Something’s come up so i can’t come but dad will be there with tom, hope that is ok? Didn’t want the passes to go to waste. Good luck for the draft, don’t let quinn bully you too much lol

You were hoping that Jack wouldn’t question you, or pick up on the shift in tone. Well, maybe you wanted him to sense the tone a little bit. Jack’s typing bubble popped up in the text conversation, then disappeared, then popped up again, then suddenly your phone was vibrating with a call and Jack’s name was flashing across the top of your screen. Your fingers hovered over the answer/decline buttons, before you abandoned both and dropped your phone back onto the table, letting the call go to voicemail. 

You stood up from the table and began to gather your belongings. The bitter taste was still in your mouth, but otherwise you felt nothing. Just numb. You barely realised what you were doing when your body moved towards the hotel suite door, into the elevator, through the lobby and out onto the street. You waited a few minutes for your Uber, before slipping away through the streets of downtown, and as far away from Jack as you felt you needed to be. 

By the time you got home, Jack had called you twice, and sent you about ten text messages of various question marks and confusion, and a fair amount of concern. You plugged your phone into the charger on your bedside table before heading into your bathroom for a much-needed shower.

Your shower felt like it took about 3 hours, when in reality it was probably more like 20 minutes at most. You washed your hair, and spent some time sitting down on the shower floor staring into space, pondering the events of the last 24 hours. When you finally emerged, putting on your favourite sweatpants and an old Canucks hoodie you found on your bedroom floor, you realise your phone was flashing with more notifications.

You settled down in bed before picking up your phone and scrolling through the home screen. Jack had resorted to sending you photos of sad baby pandas to elicit a response, your dad had texted you to say thank you for the passes and to feel better soon, but it was a message from Quinn that caught your eye. 

Q: What did he do? He’s freaking out. Are you okay? I can beat him up if you want me to. Or give him a hug. Just let me know which is more appropriate based on whatever the fuck he did 

You hesitated, contemplating whether to tell Quinn the truth or not. But then you remembered that Quinn had literally known you since you were four. He could tell if you were lying in a heartbeat, even over text message. 

You: Maybe just remind Jack that his text messages pop up on his laptop. See if that helps him to figure it out lmao sorry to miss tonight quinny, hope you draft all the canucks you want xo

Q: He now looks like he’s going to throw up?? Still unsure if hugging or punching is required tbh

New message - Jack Hughes -

You sighed and rolled your eyes, before clicking on Jack’s message notification. 

I am an idiot. I’m so sorry, sugar. I swear i am.

Sorry for categorising me as “boring family bullshit” or sorry that you got caught trying to get your dick wet? Or sorry for pretending to be my friend when you apparently just tolerate me to be polite?

We have press for two more hours then i can call you. You’re my best friend, sugar. I love you.

You felt tears start to prick in your eyes as you read Jack’s message. Sure, he loved you. But not in the same way that you loved him. And right now, you felt like that would never change. 

You clicked out of your message thread with Jack without replying, and opened up your conversation with Quinn instead. 

I’ll come to the all-star game on saturday, but nothing else, if that’s okay with you? I just need some space for a bit, sorry x 

Whatever you need, kiddo. I’ll give the game passes to your dad tonight. I still don’t know what jack did, but i think not seeing you will be punishment enough for whatever it was??

You didn’t reply to Quinn’s message. You didn’t reply to any more calls or messages for the next day or so, switching between trying to catch up on study and catching up on some Netflix episodes. You were typing notes on your laptop on Saturday morning, when a New Jersey Devils Twitter alert popped up on the screen and caught your attention.

#NEWS: Jack went home to Jersey last night after participating in Thursday’s draft and Friday’s media hits. He was extremely honoured to be a part of All-Star Weekend, especially sharing it with his brother. He’s really close to returning and wanted to get back so he could continue to focus on the rest of the Devils season. 

The bitter taste you thought you’d gotten rid of suddenly returned with a vengeance. 

Jack went home to Jersey last night. You had no idea when you’d see him again. And to be completely honest, you weren’t even sure that you wanted to. Your laptop dinged again, this time with an email notification. You were confused to say the least when the new email appeared to be from an airline, with a voucher attached.

Your phone buzzed with a new text message.

I couldn’t stand being there knowing you’re mad at me, but i also don’t want to force you to talk to me when you’re not ready to talk yet either. Use the voucher to come to jersey whenever you want. I’m sorry. 

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, torn between accepting Jack’s offer and wanting to be stubborn and not let go of being mad at him just yet. You hated what Jack had done, but you also hated yourself for cutting short your time with him that was already in short supply as it was.

I’ll let you know. Might be a flight to Jersey, might be a flight to Michigan. We’ll see. Good luck getting back out there!

You knew the Michigan comment was a cheap shot, but Jack had hurt you, so you wanted to be childish and hurt him back. The idea of not seeing him for almost four months until the summer break, where you’d all gather at the Hughes lake house as you did every year, made you feel slightly ill. 

Whatever you want, sugar. Mac n cheese in michigan on me. Love you. 

The mac and cheese comment made you smile, and the love you comment made you want to cry. 

Love you too, J. Maybe too much. I don’t know. I need time. x

[rusmii]

─── xxx...mr. mafia!

paring: n. chuuya x fem!reader/self insert

— ᥫ᭡ : the strange redhead you healed a few weeks back has been nothing but persistent on getting you to join 'mori corp'. what happens when you are found by him in the middle of the night? an official recruitment to the port mafia happens, of course.

— ❣︎ : recruiting, literally false advertising their slogan, smug n teasing chuuya, reader is a very dumb bitch *i dumbified her guys*, THIS HAS NO PLOT GUYS !! just wanted to write chuuya, idk what else to put here

— ♡ : another self-indulgent fic except it's a self insert with my husband bc I've been neglecting him </3

[pt2 to mr. mafia!]

-- wc : 930+

“boo,” a whisper came from behind you.

you jumped up from where you were squatting at and clutched your ear, “what the fuck?!” you scream as you turned around to see what kind of sick crazy fuck likes scaring girls in the middle of the night.

upon turning around, you were met with a redhead beauty who adorned a devilish smirk. “the hell is wrong with you??” you ask him— he, in return, just gave you a lopsided smile along with another business card in his hand. “pretty and strong girls belong in the workforce, no?”

“no,” you deadpan and turn away. he crouches down to pick up the business card you smacked away from his hand before it flew away.

a meow interrupted the scene, and you spin your head back to where the cat was— only for it to be running elsewhere. “no!!” you cry, “the cat!”

chuuya looked past you and saw the cat jumping off a container, “cats gone,” he shrugs his shoulders. “consider it?” he held out the business card again, and you scoffed, “i'd have already considered joining mori corp if you were 90’s hot.”

“90’s hot?” chuuya repeats, confused as hell when you smack the business card back to the ground. “yep.” you confirm as you walk around him. chuuya stood there gobsmacked for a moment before turning on his heels to follow after you.

“wait-” he grabs your arm, “-the hell does that even mean?”

“what else do you think it means?” you sigh and try to yank your arm back, “it means leonardo dicaprio.” you scoff, “and give me my arm back!” you huffed— chuuya watched you struggle getting his grip off you, “okaayy, so not so strong?” he teases, and you just wanted to slap that stupid sloppy smirk off his face.

“hey!” chuuya jumps back as he blocks your incoming bag, “pretty girls can still join!- you don't always have to be strong,” he points to himself, “we've plenty of that already.”

you roll your eyes, “ughh.. don't tell me you're the persistent type.” you moan and chuuya gave you another smile, “aww, how'd you know? didn't know i already caught your attention.” — “you didn't!”

he laughs to himself, “yeah whatever you say.”

you bit your tongue, refraining from spouting the meanest bullshit known to man. this man who was just an inch deep under your skin made you want to grab a knife and cut him out— scratch that, cut him up.

chuuya notices your off distance stare at him, it was a glare- what else would it be? but there was something else going on behind those eyes of yours.

as he was about to ask you what you were thinking about, you answered it for him.

“what are you doing here?” you blurted out, and it was a question that surprised him a little. surely you knew about this area of yokohama, right? “...i offered the boss to patrol around this area..?” he answers, undecided on whether he should actually tell you the real reason why he was here tonight.

“or you were assigned by your boss to recruit me to the port mafia.” you cross your arms, not believing a word he just uttered, “am i wrong?” chuuya puts his arms up in defeat— like a thief who just got caught lying up their ass. “alright, alright- you caught me.”

his sudden nonchalant attitude caught you off guard— where was the teasing asshole who never left you alone ever since you saved him from death that day? “woah,” you say amused, “what's with the mean tone, mr. mafia?”

chuuya smiled at the nickname you just gave him. you couldn't tell whether it was genuine or not, “[last n.] [first n.], official business is to be spoken privately.” his tone is blank. the sudden change of demeanor gave you a whiplash.

“um.. yeah.. so, what do you want me to do about it?” you squint your eyes— starting to feel nervous. confrontation wasn't your forte, and to be honest— you'd probably cry if he'd yell at you when you finally break under pressure.

chuuya didn't say anything but hand you another business card, this time it was red and written in black ink. “the port mafia wants to officially recruit you [name], meet us at these coordinates, and we'll continue our discussion there.”

you took the card and scanned the front of it— it looked expensive, the pristine coating proved it. you flipped it around and found the coordinates engraved on the back, and under it was the time of the official rendez-vous.

“if you are a no show by any means..” you snapped your head back up, chuuya's face close to yours, “..-then we'd have to rid you from yokohama.” his deep voice made you shudder, the back of your hairs standing as you froze up.

you gulped when he gazed into your eyes. it was so dead and blank inside— no light reflecting off of it could change the way it made you feel at that very moment. still, you were a dumb bitch, “you still didn't answer my question.”

chuuya stared at you, humored at your boldness. stupid, but feisty— he always liked some spunk in his women. “i would answer your question, love to actually, but you already guessed the reason why i came here.”

“oh, i know- how about you answer my question this time?” his tone switched back to its flowy self as he took a step back, his smile— now you knew was nothing but fake, adorned his face “why are you in mafia territory sweetheart?”

°° ©churuai ; don't repost my works to other sites, copy/plagiarize my works, or translate my works into a different language without my permission. if you intend to use most of my ideas from a post of mine, please don't forget to credit ♡

rbs and comments appreciated <3<3

[melrodrigo]

hear me out, tara’s birthday is today so perhaps a tara fic? maybe? please? thank you for your time! i don’t know how to insert gifs but you’ll have to imagine the gif of the jumping gray cat that’s on two paws with it’s arms raised

this is purely for u anon, here, have some drabble

Tara’s lips are the thing you wake up to on Christmas day.

“Good morning baby…” She mumbles, pulling back, eyes twinkling.

You peer out the window, watching little flakes of snow shine in the dark sky.

You groan lightly, still groggy and slightly annoyed. Tara doesn’t mind, since she knows you’ve always been a cranky waker.

She’s an early bird, and has been since you’ve known her, claiming that her philosophy is that you ‘have to live every day like it’s your last’, hence the waking up earlier to get more things done in the day.

The smell of pine wood mixed with Tara’s signature vanilla perfume lifts your mood up quickly.

“What time is it?“ You ask, but all the malice is out of your voice, instead replaced by childlike excitement.

Tara takes her chance to leave lazy kisses on your cheek, answering softly that it’s 6 am.

Now, normally, you’d mumble a few rude things and turn back to snuggle into your bed, but it is christmas, and you can’t bear to see the disappointment on Tara’s face if you don’t get up.

So you suck it up, and let her drag you out of bed and down to the tree you both set up a few days prior.

Tara’s a charmer. You know that by now, but it never fails to amaze you. You’re almost positive she could convince you to kill someone and you’d do it without a second thought.

With her sparkling big brown eyes and crooked smile, your mood’s improved almost tremendously by the time you get downstairs.

“Someone’s woken up, huh?” She teases, no longer pulling at you but holding your hand, bending down to pick up her winter jacket and boots.

The brunette gestures for you to do the same, and you obey immediately. You’re sure you resemble a lovesick puppy to outer eyes.

After another kiss and some rushed pulling on of christmas clothes, she opens the door and rushes out with you in tow.

You barely get to her front yard before you trip over each other’s legs and go tumbling into the thick inches of snow.

“Fuck!” She wheezes as you both fall face first into the snow.

Even with all your protection, it’s freezing cold. But to be honest, you kind of enjoy it.

It smells like Christmas, and you’ve felt more of that magical holiday air today than you ever have in your life.

“I smell snow.” You breathe, turning to heave Tara up into your arms, giggling as she playfully wrestles you.

“Is that a Gilmore Girls reference?” She pipes up, giving up the charade and comfortably settling in your arms.

The fact she remembers makes you all warm inside. It’s a little thing you suppose- but the fact Tara, Ms. never-watches-anything-unless-it’s-a-horror-movie, can recall a tiny line from your favorite show, is heartwarming.

You tilt your head to kiss her. A real, urgent, passionate kiss.

She sighs a little against your lips as you start to pull away, catching a glimpse of her dazed face.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” You barely get to whisper out before she’s pulling you in for another.

[gatorbites-imagines]

hope ur having a good day! i wanna ask for some Eobard Thawne x Male Reader where reader is just a normal dude. Like just some guy, i think itd be a funny concept :]

Eobard Thawne x male reader

Headcanons

I love Thawne sm, he’s my bbygirl. He’s a lil crazy, but that’s okay.

Now Thawne is literally just the biggest hater in all of existence, like God damn. He runs on hate and spite, and I appreciate that, because its relatable.

Youd most likely have met after he’s been in a fight with some hero or similar. Maybe he crashes into your yard or into your apartment. You don’t know much about heroes, you know the main ones sure, but you don’t keep track of all of them.

So, when you see someone who looks like a yellow flash in your yard bleeding out, you just kinda shrug and drag him inside, patching him up to the best of your ability. You get the head part of his suit off him and your pleasantly surprised at how red his hair is, you’ve always liked redheads.

You know nothing about speedsters’ preferences for food, and your used to cooking for just one person and have meal prepped for that. But you pull out some snacks you got laying around and a bottle of water, and put it on table beside Thawne, where you flopped him onto your couch.

When Thawne wakes, he’s immediately ready to fight, until he notices he’s just laying on someone’s couch, in a random living room who knows where. He’s honestly confused, because he’s a well-known villain and was in the middle of a fight.

He almost jumps up to throw hands when you walk into the room, eating whatever dinner you had prepped the day before. Imagine his surprise when you just go “hey, your awake. I found you in my yard, you good?”

Insert very confused Thawne, he tries to pull the whole, evil villain thing, but you are so chill and unamused that he just ends up giving up. One way or another you two just end up sitting on the couch and watching the newest episode of your current show.

It becomes a thing honestly. In the beginning he shows up after fights for you to patch up, even though you know very little first aid, but whatever. You put up with it, because if that’s the payment you have to pay for a hot redhead to sit shirtless on your couch, so be it.

Thawne won’t admit it for a long time, but he starts to enjoy your company quite a lot. Maybe it’s the fact that you couldn’t care less about him being a villain or what he does that has heroes after him. Or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t put up with his shit either.

The first time you scolded him and called him an idiot, his heart stuttered, and he won’t ever admit but his face got almost as red as his hair.

You tell him with a flat expression that he’s eating you out of house and home, because of speedster metabolism, so Thawne starts bringing groceries and helping around the house.

At some point you two realize he’s just kinda moved in, like a big street cat you’ve been feeding on your porch, that walked inside and just never left again.

You two never outright say you are dating, it just hits Thawne one day that you guys are cuddling on the couch and watching movies, and that you guys give each other kisses before you go to work, or Thawne runs off to be a villain like normal.

Its honestly quite domestic. I could imagine Thawne taking care of housework since you are the “breadwinner”, since you are the only one with a legal job. Sure, Thawne steals to get money, but he also starts stealing stuff you guys can use around the house.

Imagine Barry and the other speedster’s confusion when Thawne steals a brand-new dishwasher, or a whole porch set, chairs, tables, and all.

You never stop Thawne, since being a villain is kinda his whole thing, you just tell him not to do it with you around, so you have plausible deniability. You do appreciate the gifts he brings you too, but you never mention how most of the shirts he brings you are a little tight, you know he likes looking at you.

Thawne goes a lil crazy when you come home after work wearing your slacks, your button up and your tie. He always wants to be the one to undo your tie so he can pull you into a kiss.

He gets you expensive accessories you can wear to work, think watches that cost more than what you make in six months, tie clips, rings, etc. Everyone at your job honestly think you have some super rich sugar daddy.

You are both quite happy with your relationship, and theres nothing better than coming home to Thawne in an apron, cooking up in the kitchen. He always purrs when you come in through the door and swaggers over, drapes his arms over you, and asks about your day.

After some time, you two get engaged, it just kinda happened. You guys already act like a married couple, but one of you would have proposed. If it was you, you’d pull out a ring on a date or just during one of the evenings you are cuddling on the couch. You would use your family’s heirloom ring.

If its Thawne, he would go out of his way to make a huge deal out of it. hed rob the highest security jewelers in the world, or force the best jewelry maker to make a custom ring.

When the heroes show up its most likely Barry, maybe some of the others since Thawne has been MIA for a long time. They assumed he was planning something big, but he’s been busy playing househusband for you this entire time.

When they learn he’s trying to get a wedding ring they all thing “wait he’s got a lover???”. Thawne is gone before they can catch him though.

The heroes assume the worst, and assume his partner is as much of a villain as he is. Then Barry gets a wedding invite, written by you, since Barry’s been Thawnes nemesis for who knows how long.

Barry has always been a good guy, and since the invite specificlally says not to start anything at the wedding, he goes. Barry goes with the plan to scope out Thawne and his partner, but also to support him cuz its Barry.

Then he sees that Thawne is marrying you, the most normal guy he’s ever seen. When he talks to you, he realizes that you truly love Thawne, and though Thawne doesn’t say it with words, it’s clear the way he looks at you that he’s completely smitten.

The wedding goes great, and Barry is a big supporter, especially when he realizes Thawnes villainy has gone down a lot because he’s so happy with you, that he doesn’t wanna put you are risk.

It ends up becoming a peace thing, Thawne doesn’t do anything huge and Barry wont lock him away for life or have him thrown in the phantom zone. Thawne wont target Barry’s family and alike, and Thawne gets to stay with you.

[elsweetheart]

the request got deleted by mistake :( so here is:

abby anderson x ball of energy gf

for the lovely anon who requested💕

• okay, first and foremost i think abby would be so unphased. like you’d literally be bouncing off the walls and she just wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at it. she honestly finds it useful, knowing you have lots of energy to be helpful, run and climb if need be. that’s why she likes taking you on patrol, you can keep up with her without trying whilst providing her with some entertainment.

• if she needs you to be quiet whilst you’re rambling, she’ll just turn around and give you her full attention — caging you in slightly with her wider muscular build before calmly bringing her finger up to her lips in a shushing motion. it usually distracts you from what you were talking about and you quietly trail off, staring up at her and copying her motion silently. she rewards you with an affectionate scratch behind the ear, before continuing listening out for what she needed to hear. she doesn’t like to directly tell you to just “be quiet” unless it’s urgent, as she doesn’t want to catch you off guard knowing how intimidating and blunt she can sometimes accidentally be.

• abby finds it super easy to entertain you. if you’re on a supply hunt (etc) with her, and she can feel you getting antsy / understimulated, having a lot of built up energy inside you — it’s a totally easy fix for her. she’ll simply turn to you with a “bet you can’t run and jump up on that wall.” if she deems it safe enough. it’s simple, but effective and before she’s even blinked, you’re sprinting off giggling out a “bet you’re wrong!” she gets creative with all her little challenges, and by the end of the day you’re exhausted, calm for once as you curl up in her arms. you’ll be half awake murmuring “i had so much fun on the supply run today abby. you’re so much fun. i don’t wanna do a hunt with anyone else ever.” which melts her lil heart 🫶🏼

• the only time it’s really difficult, is when you’re on a long car journey together. you can’t burn off energy by running around, and you can’t climb all over her because she needs to concentrate on driving. all this means, is you’re very very chatty— firing tons of hypothetical questions at her such as “would you still love me if i turned into a cat with no legs and one eye and blue fur?” (insert abby fumbling for an answer, trying not to seem dumbfounded by the insanity of the question.) she likes to play “i spy” with you, and finds it helps calm you down a bit more.

• everytime you see her, it’s like you’ve been away from her for weeks. she’ll come back from a two hour patrol, and you’ll spot her across the room — running over and jumping on her, wrapping your legs around her. “abby! i missed you! guess what i saw, so remember the rocks i was collecting? well—” and launch into a full update. abby always wonders how so much manages to happen in the small amount of time she was gone, but it always puts a smile on her face no matter what kind of mood she’s in. she can’t resist your bubbly and energetic ways!

• she’s so used to you, that she doesn’t even consider that other people might be taken aback by your high energy spurts. you’ll sprint out the door past owen, who stops in his tracks with a raised eyebrow. “whats up with her?” he’ll ask and abby’s expression won’t change, if anything she seems a little irritated at some a dumb question. “she’s having fun. can i help you?”

• late night energy bursts can only be cured by one thing, abby letting you bounce on her strap as she lays back and watches. she might be tired, but she’d give up sleep anyday to watch you bounce on her cock like a bunny, straddling her with your knees up, moaning and whining as she lazily rubs your clit with one hand, the other rested casually behind her head. “i know baby, that’s it. get out all that energy. someone’s gonna sleep good tonight, huh?”

• on a supply run, the two of you acquire batteries that were on your list, and you find some that have The Energiser Bunny logo on the pack. from then on, abby jokingly nicknames you her energiser bunny. it’s funny, of course — but something about the way she’ll come up behind you and hug you with her arms around your waist, kissing just below your ear saying “theres my little energiser bunny.” makes you embarrassed to admit that it does something to you.

[goldlockets-and-redwine]

You're The Worst | Chapter 1

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x Reader

Word Count: 875 words

Summary: Paw's and Claw's has a fun staff. However, the nosy bad boy, Touya, loves to pick on you. What will happen when he notices the array of bruises hidden under your sweatshirts? Maybe he isn't so bad after all.

Author's Note: So, this fic idea has been in my mind for a while. I hope everyone likes it. This will be a multi-chapter fic as I don't have a ton of time to write. Oof. Please be patient with me. Also, I inserted my cat Thomas because it's almost been a year since he passed, and I think of him every day. I know. So self-indulgent.

TW: Domestic Violence (Not from Touya), Fem!Reader, Violence in general (There will be a fight, not in this chapter though.), drinking, smoking, cursing. Let me know if I missed anything!

“That looks like shit.”

Good god, I wish he would just shut up. This is the third time today he’s butted into my work.

“No, it looks great Touya. You’re just an ass with shit handwriting. Jealous much?” We looked over my work. The sign looked great honestly. I really outdid myself this time. In delicate script it read “Tom” adorned with little hearts around the name. I put up the sign on Tom’s’ kennel, a large grey and white cat sitting at the farthest possible corner of the kennel away from the door. “Do you have his bio?”

“Of course, what am I? Incompetent?” He made quick work of putting up his bio underneath the name card I made. He typed his up like normal. I gazed sadly at the big tom cat sitting in the cage. “Hey doll, he’ll get adopted. You always get too attached.”

I grimaced at the pet name. He always looks for a way under my skin. However, he took it upon himself to never call me by name. I need to come up with my own for him. Maybe he’ll leave me alone if I come up with something heinous.

“Some of us have hearts, jackass.” Wait, that one fits. Still not original enough. I glanced at him to see him already staring at me. If looks could kill. You would think working in a shelter there would be nice coworkers here. Everyone else was nice. Not this guy. His intimidating look didn’t help his case. Tattoos were everywhere but the one on his face gets the most frowns from potential adopters. The row of flames over his left brow. Wait is that… “Touya, did you redye your hair? You should do a better job of not getting that shit on your skin. You look insane.”

“Why you lookin’ at me so hard? Like what you see?” My face was already showing my irritation before, but now I could feel it twist in disgust.

“No. The hair dye stains are really not doing it for me.” I do a swift 180 degrees and make my way out of the cat room and into the lobby once more. “Hey Toga! Any new applications come in?” Her face lit up as she looked up at me. Her sharp canines stuck out as she smiled.

“(Y/N)! We had one come in for Mochi!” She was practically jumping out of her chair. “Dabi! Come and look at the place!” Touya leaned over the counter and looked down above the monitor as I walked around the desk. It was a beautiful house in suburbia with a huge fenced in back yard. “Mochi will love it, don’t ya think?”

“He’ll love it little vamp.” I said. My eyes hovered over the screen to notice the time. “You should head out. It’s 5:30! You know the boss won’t be happy about you staying over too much.”

Toga pouted, but I was right. Tomura gets so pressed when she stays over. It must be that big brother dynamic. She got up to gather her things for the evening and shut down the computer. “He’ll be fine, but I’ll tell him you guys said hi!” With that she gave me a big hug and skipped towards the door and out to the parking lot. Touya turned and stared at me as soon as he had locked the door. Without saying a word I got to work cleaning the lobby. Working with animals was messy and there was a mix of dog and cat hair being swept up. I heard Touya’s heavy boots moving towards the hallway leading to the dog kennels. I instantly relaxed and continued my chores, completely blocking out my thoughts.

-

“Doll,” My body was on autopilot as I put away the cleaning supplies. “Don’t ignore me doll. It’s time to bail.” I quickly finished putting things up and grabbed my bag. Both our footsteps synced as we made our way to the door. Touya held the door open. “Ladies first.” I could hear the cockiness in his voice. He wasn’t going to get a reaction out of me so late in the day. My car’s taillights blinked as I unlocked it. Today was a hot one. The evening sun was shining on me. I pushed up the sleeves to my sweater and was nearly to my car when I heard Touya’s deep voice closer to me than expected. “That’s a nasty bruise.”

The sweaters I wore for the last 6 months were to avoid these questions. It was no secret Kai, my boyfriend, wasn’t the best guy. His record was a mile long. No one would know he mistreated me, however. Kai made a good show of being a loving boyfriend while also being a piece of shit in every other aspect of his life. He won me over with gifts and treated me like a princess. He said I was his perfect girl. Do men treat perfect girls like this?

“Mind your business.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a dumbass, (y/n).” With that he got in his black 5.0 mustang and pulled out of the parking lot leaving me standing next to my car.

[serial-designation-dz]

Misc. Murder drones animal headcannons because it’s all I can think about because of this post.

- murder drones are giant bird cats.

- the drones that’ve killed millions are distracted by laser pointers.

- N has run into at least 5 walls and has left at least 5 N-shaped dents in said walls chasing laser pointers.

- Uzi 100% used this to her advantage.

- V, try as she might to deny it, is affected by the curse of the laser pointers too.

- Uzi teased her relentlessly for a week when she found out.

- This later backfired on Uzi, who gained this weakness after the camp incident.

- J wasn’t aware of one of her weapons having a laser sight, so when she aimed, she immediately went big murder cat mode and started chasing it, disappointed when it disappeared due to her putting her weapon away to chase it.

- I am also 100% on board with the “disassembly drones can purr” headcannon.

- when they suspect something is hiding in the snow, they jump head first like foxes.

- Uzi was so confused when she saw this for the first time. (N saw a robo-roach for those wondering)

- They will drop anything and everything if they do this.

- They will do this mid-conversation.

(Uzi: so I need a few tools to begin working on my next project.

N: okay! I’ll help you find- *insert above gif*

Uzi: N?! You okay?!

N *muffled*: yeah! I just saw a roach go under the snow!)

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: much angst, psychological torture???

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

geez you guys. just geez. this is so intense. this chapter, as well as asten and jasons little moment made me cry while writing them :,(

part twenty-two

❝ TOO CLOSE TO HOME ❞

TUESDAY — AUGUST 11 — 3:31PM

BENTLEY HADN’T CONSIDERED JUST HOW QUICKLY HIS DAY COULD TURN DISASTROUS.

Hey, buddy. There’s been a change of plans — I want you home after school today. I’ll explain when you get here.

That was the text Bentley got from Bruce exactly seven minutes before Spanish class ended, exactly seven minutes before he was supposed to go home with Nico, so he could make the burner calls with him and Asten.

Bruce had already said yes to Bentley’s fake science project earlier that day — a lie he felt pretty terrible about — but apparently, now, it was a no.

At first, he was terrified he’d be getting in trouble. Had Bruce found out about Dr. Keene’s phone? About the cabin? About the burners? Did he know their entire plan from beginning to end? He probably did since he was the best detective in the world, and if so, Bentley was screwed.

But it wasn’t that. It was much, much worse.

Now, twenty-five minutes after the end of school, when Bentley, Damian, and Duke walked into the Manor, it was evident that something was wrong. The entire house was silent. Not the people-in-the-distance kind of silent, but the could-hear-a-pin-drop-from-the-other-end-of-the-Manor kind of silent. Nothing in the golden entryway was out of place or messed up, but the quiet gave the place quite an eerie feeling. As far as they knew, Dick, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, and Tim were all home. But there was no noise, no anything that would imply anyone had been there in a while. Not even the dogs or Alfred the cat made a peep at the sound of the front door. And Bentley… didn’t like it. He didn’t like it so much he ran a hand through his red hair and grabbed onto the hem of Duke’s blazer with the other. Their trio of matching Gotham Academy uniforms would not make for good outfits to die in.

“Titus?” Damian called through the house, shrugging off his backpack and dropping it at the door. Bentley had barely seen the giant gray dog since Damian started getting angry — and it seemed he wouldn’t be seeing him now, either. Titus didn’t come running to Damian’s call like he usually did. Like he always did.

That freaked Bentley out even more. He was pretty sure Titus would chew his way through a wall if Damian was calling him from the other side, but now, not a thing in the Manor moved. Not a sound pierced the air.

“Duke…” Bentley muttered, his voice hardly audible. He jumped a mile when Duke’s hand landed on his shoulder, and the older boy peeled his own backpack off, laying it gently on the floor. 

“Let’s go to the cave,” He whispered back, squeezing Bentley’s shoulder.

Bentley slid his bag off, too. He wasn’t exactly sure what Duke’s metahuman superpowers were — seeing the future or something — but he hoped they were online. Just in case. There was no telling what was going on, why the Manor was so quiet.

Damian and Duke started down the nearest hallway — the one with the den, library, and cave entrance through Bruce’s office. Bentley trailed along behind them, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he stepped ever-so-softly, eyes flicking here and there. The end of the hallway was dark and creepy. They weren’t ready for a fight, not in the slightest, although Damian’s fingers were twitching by his side like he was subconsciously searching for a sword. What if someone had broken in? 

It felt like an eternity before Duke pushed open the door to Bruce’s office, and they all peeked inside. Everything was in order. The desk was neat, the bookshelves were organized, the lights were off, and the grandfather clock was…

Open. 

The entrance to the Batcave was open.

Bentley breathed in, the familiar feeling of terror prickling at his skin. This was… so wrong. Everything was wrong. No one left the cave open. And why was it so cold in the house? Bentley only just realized that the prickling on his skin wasn’t terror alone, but also, the temperature in the Manor. It was cold like someone left the front door open for too long. Why was the cave open? Where was everybody? 

“Don’t worry, Babybird,”

Bentley brought a hand up to his forehead as a voice he knew all too well rang inside of his skull, sending an echo of vertigo through his head. She was here. The Secret Keeper. She was… she was…

In the Manor.

Duke and Damian filed into Bruce’s office, and Bentley followed slowly behind. There was something at the end of the hall. Someone, standing there. He could see the silhouette in the dark. It was a girl. It wasn’t Steph. It wasn’t Cass. Her eyes were glowing an amber-gold in the darkness, and she was staring at him.

“I won’t tell your secrets,”

She smiled a twisted, stitched smile, one Bentley could hardly see that terrified him all the same.

She was right there.

Bentley shouted in terror, swerving into Bruce’s office so quickly that he whammed into Duke face-first, thumping onto the hardwood from the force.

“Bentley!”

“She’s in the hallway!” He squeaked.

Everyone was suddenly moving. Bentley was trying to scurry away from the door at the same time Duke was trying to get between him and the hall, and Damian was going for Bruce’s desk, ducking under it and re-emerging with an actual katana in his hand. 

In a flash, Damian ran for the hallway, but Duke grabbed onto his arm with a shrill: “No. The light. I saw-”

“Unhand me,” Damian ordered, wrenching his forearm from Duke’s grip and jogging out of the room before he could finish.

“Damian, no!” Duke was moving to get Damian out of the hall, and Bentley was still pushing himself backwards on the floor until his back thunked against Bruce’s desk. Oh God, oh God, oh God. They were going to die.

When Bentley looked up, Damian was just standing there.

And his eyes were amber.

It was only a split second, but Bentley would probably remember it for the rest of his life — the way Damian stood there, blankly, his fiery-yet-cold greenish-blue eyes nothing more than empty, hollow as they shone the exact same amber as the Secret Keeper’s. 

And then he fell, the katana clattering off to the side. Duke was close enough to catch him, just perfectly, like he knew it was about to happen. He dragged Damian back into the office and slammed the giant wooden door, locking it behind him. 

“Don’t worry, Babybird. I won’t tell him your secrets,”

“C’mon, Bentley, stay close to me,” Duke ordered, hefting Damian up into his arms bridal-style. Bentley’s brain was hardly able to function with the Secret Keeper’s voice bouncing around in it, and he didn’t move. His heart was pounding and pounding and pounding in his ears and it was getting so hard to breathe.

The Secret Keeper was in the Manor. Talking to him, in the Manor.

They were going to die.

“Bentley! I need you to stay with me, little dude. Hey,” Duke crouched down, somewhat awkwardly since he was holding Damian, and his hand landed on Bentley’s shoulder. Their gazes locked, both pairs of brown eyes searching the other for a moment. One full of terror, the other soft with understanding layered over fear and determination. “I know it’s scary, but I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Bentley’s gaze fell to Damian, who was hanging limp in Duke’s arms, his eyes open but unseeing with waves of amber crawling across his irises like lightning. He was staring at Bentley, but he wasn’t seeing him. Damian looked…

Dead.

Bentley was suddenly back in that nightmare he’d had so long ago, tugging Damian’s lifeless body into his lap by his Robin suit. 

“Stop it. Get up! You’re Robin, get up!”

All he could see were Damian’s lifeless eyes, staring at him but not seeing. Damian couldn’t die… he was Robin, he couldn’t die.

Bentley couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t stop crying. He was on his knees, surrounded by the corpses of the Wayne’s that his father had killed in that nightmare so long ago. Damian was looking at him but his eyes weren’t seeing. Everyone’s eyes were open but they weren’t actually seeing anything. They were dead. They were dead. They all had amber pulsing in their irises and they were all dead. His father wasn’t in the doorway anymore, it was her. It was her with her amber eyes and they were all dead.

“Shh, shh, shh… I’ve got you, babybird. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” 

They were all dead. They were all dead.

“Bentley, buddy, I've got you,”

Bentley couldn’t even think coherently enough to realize that the voice wasn't hers. He couldn’t stop seeing Damian’s amber eyes.

“I’ve got you, kiddo. Open your eyes,”

Open your eyes. That’s what he needed Damian to do — open his eyes, look at him again, not be dead. Damian couldn’t be dead, not after Bentley knew a way to fix their relationship. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t die. Robin couldn’t die.

“Bentley, can you try to open your eyes and look at me?”

Robin can’t die.

“I’ve got you, babybird. You’re safe now,”

He wasn’t safe. No one was safe anymore.

Someone was humming.

It wasn’t a song Bentley knew. He didn’t know many songs — but it was a song he might’ve heard before. He was moving. Only a little, back and forth, and something was touching him. 

His thoughts began to swirl like water going down a drain, Damian’s dead, amber eyes melding with the rest of everything in his head. What was going on? And who was humming? Was something touching his hair?

He was very… aware of his own existence. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingertips, his chest, his toes, his head. He could feel the terror twisting in his stomach, the air moving a bit-too-quickly in and out of his lungs. The wetness on his face. The something warm he was up against, the fingertips moving through his hair, the gentle rocking that the something warm was doing. The faintest of vibrations he could feel that coincided with the humming he heard. The fact that his eyelids seemed glued shut and he couldn’t see anything.

Slowly, like he was trying to pull open a tomb that had been sealed eons ago, Bentley opened his eyes. He was greeted by a blur of bright. Bright everything that swirled around for a moment before it started to come into focus.

He was in the medbay, facing the door to the rest of the cave. Sitting in a chair, but not actually in a chair, because someone else was in the chair and he was on their lap. Their fingers were moving through his hair with such a familiar rhythm that he knew exactly who it was.

“Dick,” He whispered, his voice and vision impaired by tears that were still coming without his permission.

“Hey there, kiddo,” 

Bentley blinked, looking at his own hands that were balled up in Dick’s blue t-shirt. “…What happened?”

“You’ve been having an anxiety attack, bud. For about twenty minutes now,”

Bentley looked up just far enough to meet the crystalline blue eyes that were so undeniably Dick’s. He had the vague intention of speaking again, but another hand landed on his head, this one from behind.

“Hey there, chum,”

Bentley breathed in and out shakily at the sound of Bruce’s voice, glancing at the room around them through his tears.

Everyone was down there. Barbara was at the Batcomputer, laser-focused on the screen. Cass and Steph were watching over her shoulder. Alfred was moving back and forth from machine to hospital bed, and Tim was in a chair just to the left of Dick’s, his leg bouncing almost impossibly fast. Duke was pacing behind them. Bruce was in a chair only a few feet to Bentley’s right, his hand still resting in his hair, right at the edge of a hospital bed.

The hospital bed had someone in it. 

And so did the one next to it.

The one Bruce had taken up residence next to held Damian. He was laying eerily still, attached to several machines that were beeping and whirring. His chest was rising and falling, much to Bentley’s relief, and the heart monitor next to him was beeping at a normal pace… but he wasn’t awake. He was just… laying there. Unmoving.

Bentley startled when the person in the other bed started screaming.

His eyes landed on the violently thrashing figure of Jason Todd, his wrists, ankles, and waist restrained to the hospital bed by thick leather straps Bentley didn’t even know they had. His eyes were closed, but he was throwing his weight around so forcefully that the whole bed was clacking and moving when he did. He was absolutely drenched in sweat, his entire gray t-shirt stained a darker shade, his hair wet and floppy and very unusual looking. He was breathing so hard and fast it rivaled Nico’s asthma, his expression constantly twisting between pain, rage, despair, and agony, over and over and over. 

Bentley gasped lightly, turning his head back toward Dick when the burning in his eyes threatened to double. Bruce’s hand left his head, and Bentley thought he might’ve heard him stand. “What… what happened? To Jason?”

Dick sighed lightly, gently pressing Bentley’s head against his shoulder as he carded his fingers through his hair. “Secret Keeper got him the same way she got me.”

Bentley sniffled lightly, glancing over just far enough to look back at Damian, laying so stiff it looked like a funeral. Bruce was standing between the beds now, and seemed to be talking to Jason, who was calming. “…And Damian?”

Dick breathed in. “Yeah. Dami, too.”

They fell silent when another round of screaming and bed clacking came from Jason. Dick didn’t do that when he was unconscious, so what was Jason seeing? Bentley must’ve recoiled at the noise, because Dick kissed his hair. “It’s okay, babybird. He’ll be okay.”

Dick didn’t sound entirely too convinced.

Bentley just stayed there for a while, fighting the urge to cry and keeping his face hidden every time Jason started screaming again. Bruce had moved his chair in the middle of the two beds. Bentley wasn’t sure when.

“She was… the Secret Keeper, she was upstairs,” Bentley muttered after a while. “She was here.”

Dick hadn’t ceased petting his hair. “It’s okay. Bruce and Cass cleared the Manor after you guys came down. Wherever she is, it’s not here.”

But the Manor is huge, he wanted to argue, but he didn’t exactly feel like arguing. Everything felt like a battle. Why was it so hard to just live? He’d been at school less than an hour ago, finishing off a more-or-less normal day of classes, and now? Now a raging supervillain had broken into the Manor, terror-coma-fied two of the closest things he had to brothers, and Bentley just had to have another anxiety attack about it. Why couldn’t he just have a normal life? Was that so hard?

He started crying.

“Why is this happening to us?” He managed between his quiet cries, bringing his sleeves up to scrub at his eyes. “I just… I can’t… I just want to live with you.”

That statement seemed to take hold of Dick for a moment, because at least five seconds of silence passed before he replied: “I know. I know you do, kiddo. It’ll all be over soon.”

Something like rage bubbled up in Bentley’s chest in place of his hopelessness, though the tears kept coming. “That’s what everyone keeps saying, but it’s a lie! It’s not getting better, it’s not ending, it’s just getting worse!”

Jason started screaming again, fueling Bentley’s tears until he was well and truly sobbing into Dick’s blue t-shirt. 

Screw life.

Dick tried a quiet: “It’ll be okay.”

“Stop saying that,” Bentley choked, somewhat venomous but mostly pitiful. 

“I love you,” Was what Dick resigned to, just like when he didn’t know what to say to Tim at the end of their conversation. 

Go away, Tim had said.

“I love you, too,” Bentley half-whispered. “But I hate everything else.”

Jason calmed, and the timer until he started screaming again began to tick. Dick kept on stroking Bentley’s hair while he cried for everything he hadn’t cried about yet. Part of him wished they weren’t superheroes. That his father had just wanted to destroy Bruce for being Bruce, that Bentley had gotten shoved into a normal family with a normal life. Everything else was exhausting. Draining. Maybe they wouldn’t be targeted so badly if they were just a family of civilians.

Jason started screaming, again. He started his ultra-violent thrashing, too, shimmying the hospital bed across the floor of the medbay with clacks and scrapes of metal on concrete. 

Tim abruptly stood from his spot beside Dick, looking rather sick. “I’m gonna go upstairs.”

It didn’t take a detective to realize that he looked like he might pass out. His skin was pasty, and his eyes were dull and sunken. He also looked kind of… green. 

“It… it would probably be best for all of us to stay down here together, Timmy,” Dick tried, but Tim didn’t listen, making his way out of the medbay and into the rest of the cave.

For the second time that day, Bentley watched one of his brothers hit the floor. Except no one was there to catch Tim when he went down.

Everyone seemed to move. Duke, Cass, And Steph all flinched in Tim’s direction, although none of them were close enough to actually catch him. Even Dick jostled Bentley around in his lap by nearly shooting out of the chair. Bruce stood quickly, holding a hand out toward Dick, rushing to Tim’s side.

Bentley clung ever-tighter to Dick as the tears came doubly as hard, listening to Bruce fuss over getting Tim in a third hospital bed, flinching at Jason’s screams, and watching Damian’s hands ball up and relax over and over against the sheets. The stress of everything seemed to build in his head, tighter and tighter and tighter until…

The world faded away.

—

When Bentley woke up, he was on a cot, on the floor of the medbay. There was a scratchy hospital-like blanket thrown over him, and a quick glance around revealed that Dick had nodded off in the chair they’d been sitting in. His arms were crossed over his chest and his head was down, his black hair hanging over his forehead, blue eyes hidden from sight. Alfred was on the farthest end of the medbay, running tests, it seemed.

Duke, Steph, Cass, and Barbara were out near the batcomputer, taking up residence on the floor. (And in a wheelchair.) Barbara and Duke were speaking quietly, And Steph looked to be asleep, her head pillowed on Cass’s lap. There was a map of Gotham on the Batcomputer behind them, red dots flashing near the docks of Gotham Harbor. Did that mean the burner calls had worked?

And now three beds had a Wayne in them. Closest to Bentley laid Damian, stiff with still curling and uncurling fists. Then came Jason, who wasn’t screaming, but was still writhing around on the bed like he was covered in ants. In the third bed came the small, fragile looking Tim, who was unconscious and still. He was hooked up to a lot more stuff than the other two.

And sitting right in the midst of all the beds, like he couldn’t make up his mind, was Bruce.

He was on the edge of his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes trained on the floor below his feet. Bentley was sure he’d never seen him looking so… lost. He was fiddling with a ring that sat around one of his fingers, spinning it over and over to the rhythm of Damian’s heart monitor.

Bentley’s hurt for him. For everyone. For the whole world, at this point. What was Bruce supposed to do, watching three of his kids suffer like that?

Bentley pushed himself off of the little flat cot and onto his feet, earning him a little glance from Bruce. Neither of them spoke as the child padded across the room, stopping only when he made it to the man’s chair.

“I’m cold,” Was what he said, eyes flicking down to his feet. He actually meant I want to try and make you feel better with a little hint of please hold me, life sucks. He prepared himself for a rejection and walk of shame back to the cot — that’s what his father would’ve done.

Bruce leaned back and scanned Bentley with his gray-blue eyes, opening his arms up. 

“So am I,”

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[pawtisserie-0022]

💙Obey Me Headcannons + OC💙

Lucifer

He has a peacock tail in demon form and I refuse to believe otherwise

He preens his wings regularly but you'll often find his black feathers littering the House of Lamentations during certain parts of the year

He resists the urge to pet every dog he sees, big dogs? Yes. Little dogs? Yes, he likes all dogs but Cerberus is his favorite ofc

Sometimes you'll find him outside after he's finished with his work in the late hours of the night, seemingly talking to himself, but it feels more like he's talking to the Moon

Mammon

Surrender all of your shinies to him immediately he wants all of them, that a new shiny bracelet? It's his now. New sparkly necklace? Gone. Pretty hair clip you go recently? Do you even need to ask

He has a shiny object from all of his brothers as a keepsake, even one from Satan, who knows how he got it

Kleptomania™ your items are not safe

HATES magpies, he doesn't know why he just doesn't like magpies. He thinks they're jerks

Leviathan

When he found out about the existence of Hatsune Miku trough a Ruri-Chan collab he became a Miku fan too (Ruri-Chan is still forever tho)

Handcrafted cosplays out the wahzoo, expert craftsmanship, Asmodeus seems to really like this side of him

He made his own Ruri-Chan plushie, spent like 3 days on it because everything had to be perfect

You WILL cosplay with him, no ifs, ands or buts, PUT ON THE DRESS.

Satan

All of his bookmarks are cat themed or cat related

Sebastian Michaelis' best friend™

Sometimes, he has an inexplicable urge to bask in daylight for seemingly no actual reason other than it seems like a really appealing, sometimes he'll join Belphegor when he's sleeping in the sun

If you throw a cucumber at him he'll jump at least 5 feet into the air before yelling at you

Asmodeus

Owns an abhorrent amount of makeup, all of which will be going on your face

Who needs acrylic nails with claws like that? Girl bye

Unironically listens to Barbie Girl while doing his makeup, everyone can hear it in the morning,

He's a Mettaton kinnie trough and trough, he's got the glamor, the confidence, the bloodlust, the power, I wouldn't be surprised if he owned a pair of thigh hight hot pink heeled boots

Beelzebub

A very large, hungry, affectionate puppy

When he found out that humans make popcorn bags almost the size of a full grown man he BEGGED Lucifer to please get one for the next movie night

He got his popcorn in the end and was extremely happy about it, insert happy bear noises here

He likes looking at the Stars, they make him feel happy whenever he's alone, and finds comfort in watching them before he goes to sleep

Belphegor

Sometimes he'll have dreams of everyone together back in the Celestial Realm. They make him sad after he wakes up knowing it was just a dream but he enjoys them while they last.

Hypersomnia™

Wanna see someone get dragged like a ragdoll from one class to another while they're sleeping?

Always drinks a glass of warm milk before sleeping for like a week straight, good luck waking him up unless someone is literally dying

Yingpei

"MC please sit dOWN-"

Please stop giving him heart attacks for three seconds he can only handle so much at a time-

He doesn't understand any typical human slang, living in a village cut off from most of society turns out to disconnect someone from from your typical human being

There's something off about him sometimes, as if he knows more then he should for someone supposedly so disconnected from regular people, strangely enough, Lucifer seems to trust him, Solomon fears him to an extent

Adorable borders can be found here!

(ignore the tags)

[irrelevantwriter]

Cat Scratch Fever

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Female Reader/You

Rating: SFW, Fluff

Warnings: Language, Eddie being a literal sweet baby angel 

Word Count: 512

Summary: Eddie has a surprise that you're not exactly sold on.

A/N: Here’s the fluffy companion piece to In This World And Beyond. You def don't have to read that to understand this. Especially if you don't wanna sob. It’s just something cute and something I could totally see Eddie doing. Hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit.💗

Disclaimer: As always, reader inserts are true reader inserts. If you find any specifics in regards to reader’s appearance, kindly let me know and I will fix that.

*Check out my other Eddie fics here

***********************

You turn the music down on your stereo, hearing the call of your name from down stairs. You recognize that voice. It’s the one you’ve been waiting on.

“Up here!” you shout back, taking one last glance in the mirror before your bedroom door shoots open.

Your boyfriend is there, an excited smile on his lips as he holds his leather jacket against his body rather suspiciously. You eye him warily, seeing that he’s busting at the seams with eagerness.

“What’s with the smile?”

His grin gets wider in response to your question, his jacket now rustling. You jump back in surprise and slight fear.

“I found something, baby,” Eddie starts, his arms struggling to wrangle whatever was nestled inside. “I couldn’t leave him.”

Your eyes widen, knowing that whatever he has, it’s alive. And a creature of some sort.

You lean in slowly as he opens his jacket to reveal…

A kitten.

A very pissed off black kitten. It’s hissing and clearly unhappy with being hijacked. Eddie’s hands show proof of that displeasure. Fresh scratches dotted with red decorate his flesh. He doesn’t seem concerned with the injuries in the least. In fact, he’s still smiling.

“Where did you get him?” you ask, taking a step back when the kitten hisses at you.

“Over by the dumpsters at the Stop-n-Go. Heard him meowing like crazy.”

You watch as Eddie scratches the kitten’s head, the thing barely nuzzling into his touch.

“What if he’s sick? Or needs a vet? Don’t you think we should take him to the pound or something?”

As if understanding your words, the cat bristles and hisses once again, making you wince.

Jesus.

“Nah, he just needs some good ol’fashioned Eddie Munson TLC.”

You quirk a brow. “You really think that’ll work?”

“It did with you,” he teases, throwing you a sly smirk.

Jerk.

You roll your eyes and sigh, taking a chance and getting closer to the cat now pawing at your boyfriend’s denim vest. “I’m serious, Eddie. He could be really sick. Or have rabies for Christ’s sake.”

Eddie shakes his head, attention now fully back on the matted animal. “I’ll feed him and clean him up. He’ll be good as new.”

You can’t help it. You smile. It’s filled with love and adoration for the man before you. The man that most label a “freak” or “satan worshiper”. He’s none of those things. He’s so much more than what they see. And you count yourself lucky that you get to witness this side of him. A side he doesn’t show many, but a side that exists nonetheless.

“I love you,” you declare with a laugh, tugging on a lock of his frizzy brown hair.

He meets your gaze and mirrors your emotions. “Love you too, baby.”

You both lean into a kiss. It’s chaste, but powerful nonetheless.

“So what’re you gonna call him then?”

“I’m thinking Munster.”

“Munster Munson?” you question with a giggle, seeing Eddie’s eyes light up.

“Yeah. Metal as fuck, right?”

“Very metal.”

[gaygodlywriting]

——————————————————————————————

«not-so picasso» l.minho

——————————————————————————————

——————————————————————————————

«genre: fluff + slight angst?

«pairing: lee minho x m! reader (M as in MALE, fem readers DNI)

«warnings: self doubt??, mild swearing

«relationship status: lovers

«summary/prompt: A draws B super well, but B draws A “poorly” but A still loves it just as much.

«word count: 2108

«type: full fic

«writer: maddox

«a/n: i think i managed to self insert a bit i’m sorry.. (not proofread and there has been many late night add ons which means many late night mistakes)

«requests: open (pls request im begging)

«masterlist

——————————————————————————————

minho was someone you admired dearly. he was so pretty, he is so perfect and you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to wander his features on a daily basis. his structure, his body type, his smile, his emotions, all of it was engraved into your head at some point. From the big things to the little things: the way his mouth curved so beautifully, just like his mother, when he smiles. the small scar on his stomach that he doesn’t like showing, the stars in his eyes when he has his cats with him.

his beautiful laugh that makes you smile each and every time. his need to be noisy and loud brings comfort to you in the weirdest ways. his cute obsession with his fur babies. his work ethic, his dancing skills, his pretty singing. the way he loves his members so much, the way he shows love to everyone he knows in his own way. his teasing, oh you adore his teasing. it’s so cute to you. sketching was a way you could appreciate him more.

so that’s what you did, you have a sketchbook dedicated to the lee minho. drawings of different emotions, feelings. some emotions that he might not like the best: sadness, anger, guilt, etc. all drawn in a sketchbook, you don’t see any emotion in a negative way. emotions are such a baffling thing to you, but it’s also so artistic to feel things.

you want all his emotions on your paper, you want to understand them, feel them. art was something that came naturally to you, you most definitely got better overtime but it wasn’t necessarily hard. art was a way of expression for you, and also a way of figuring out people. if that makes sense; using art to study feelings was your way of learning and developing an understanding for those emotions.

emotions are so complex, there's no true understanding for them. but art somehow just makes it seem like those emotions are something more than just feelings. it turns them into what they deserve to be recognized for, beauty. to feel is so wonderful, though it may not always seem that way.

you were at your desk in the corner of the room you shared with your partner, it was around 19:34. the natural light that had been previously flowing in through the window was no longer as bright. it had started to dim and you couldn’t see the marks you were making on your paper anymore. so you reached over to the desk light and flipped the switch on at the base of the lamp.

it wasn’t positioned to your liking so you swiftly adjusted it so you could see your work. you glanced up to the dimmed computer screen in front of you to see what song was about to play. it was the theme song from one of your favorite bl dramas, tharntype.

just as you were about to return to your work a little furry creature jumped in your lap. it was one of three of your boyfriend’s kids, soonie, he had wiggled his way under the desk and climbed onto your lap. he sat right on your thighs and had laid his paws and head on your forearm. you couldn’t tell if you were frustrated or in awe at the sight. he started purring like a motorboat in your lap, so you stopped to pet him for a bit before attempting to draw with one arm.

drawing brought you happiness, for the most part. this piece was stressing you out, soonie noticed too. pieces, such as this one, tend to stress you out as you just want it to look perfect but something always seems off. you just wanted it to be perfect, the idea in your head had been. but your execution hasn’t been very much to your liking. it was so frustrating, beyond imaginable.

you kept playing around with it, and many crumpled pieces of paper on the floor later, you couldn’t seem to figure it out. you let out a frustrated groan, then a click sound was made and the door was swung open. minho had finally arrived home.

“minho.” you spoke extending the ‘o’ sound with a little whine to your voice. he looked around and let out a small sigh at the mess. he walked over to you and pulled you off the chair that was giving you a backache after so long. he wrapped his arms around your neck giving you access to slither your arms around his waist. you slightly pulled him closer and buried your head in his neck.

“troubles?” he spoke softly, you nodded your head into his shoulder and tried to sink deeper into the hug. he smiled at his boyfriends’ actions and hugged you tighter. you guys stood like that for a few minutes in silence, “can i see it?”

you pulled away and turned around grabbed the best one off the table. you hesitantly gave him the sheet of paper. he took it out of your hand and examined the detailed sketch. you couldn’t read his face at that moment, `does he like it?`, thoughts coursed through your head. you kept a straight face even though you were nervous, `was it really that bad? why isn’t he saying anything?`.

why is it so damn hard to just feel proud of yourself? you just want it to be relieving, not stressful. when it came to art, you were very naturally talented and had a ton of practice. but as a kid, you got harsh criticism from your family for your art, you wanted nothing more for them to feel proud of you. somehow, even though you knew your boyfriend loved your creations, you couldn’t help but think he was lying to you or think he didn’t mean anything he said.

for whatever reason seconds felt like hours, you started to feel yourself tear up at the thought of someone not liking your art again. especially when that certain ‘someone’ was the love of your life. part of you knew he would love it and he would never lie to you, but that part had succumbed to the part that doubted him. that part of you brought you so much guilt, how could you think your boyfriend was lying to you when he’s done nothing but love you with his everything.

your head dropped as you subconsciously stared holes into the floor, minho had noticed something was off. he knew exactly what it was too. he set the piece of paper back on the table and put his hand to your cheek trying to lift your head to look at him.

“hey, y/n baby, what’s going through your head?” he spoke, trying to get you to look him in the eye but you refused. you slightly shook your head in response, you didn’t want to admit to him what you were thinking. “i can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” he said a little stern, but in an endearing way. he needed communication, although he had a sense he couldn’t help you with just an urge.

“do you..” you trailed off slightly, rethinking the decision to speak. he stared at you, waiting for you to finish, he raises his eyebrows slightly to indicate that you can continue when your ready. you paused and took a small deep breath. “do you hate it? the drawing i mean.”

It was silent for a second before lino lost his cool, he burst out laughing at you. you looked straight at him, almost stunned.

“what the fuck minho” you said with a whine undertone, you knew why he was laughing so you tried to keep your cool. but ultimately you failed and laughed with him. “don’t laugh at me, i have very valid thoughts.” you rolled your eyes at him, trying to joke around getting yourself in a better mood.

“yeah y/n, i hate it so much.” he extended the ‘so’ and rolled his eyes at you. you added to the theatrics by gasping loudly and gripping your chest falling back onto the bed. you guys laughed for a minute before minho looked you dead in the eye and spoke once more, “y/n, how could i hate it? have you seen the way i draw?”

“yeah of course i have, what does that have to do with anything.” you looked at him with confusion.

“one minute.” he quickly pushed himself off you, and crawled off the bed to the art desk. he sat down and opened your sketchbook dedicated to him. he found the newest unused page and gripped the pencil hurriedly sketching something in the book.

“babe, what are you doing?” you went to get up but he cut you off,

“don’t, i’ll show you in a minute,” he said turning towards you, once was finished talking, and you had sat back down and gotten comfy, he turned back around.

a few minutes went by with only the sound of the led scraping against paper in the background. “okay, i’m finished.” he grabbed both the sketchbook and the drawing you showed him a little bit ago. He crawled back on the bed, “look alright, this is yours.” he handed you your drawing letting you soak it in for a minute.

“okay, and?” you spoke looking up and him. he opened the sketchbook and maneuvered it so it was facing you. he looked down and pointed to his drawing,

“this is mine, that’s the best i can do.” he looked up at you, as you examined his drawing. “clearly theres a difference. last time i checked i wasn’t dating someone who was that incompetent.” he jokingly said, but with seriousness laced throughout the sentence.

“hey, i’m not that stupid.” you spoke defensively, he laughed slightly.

“okay if you say so,” he said with a smirk plastered on his lips, “if you don’t like this drawing so much, i’m stealing it.”

“it’s not even finished though.” you looked at the drawing once more.

he rolled his eyes, “you act like i care, i want it just how it is now.” you went to grab it but he swiped it first. “mine. you can have this one,” he handed you the sketchbook.

it was a really shitty, but cute, attempt at drawing you with his name signed in the corner. you loved it though, and you were going to keep it.

he made his signature loud ‘ahh’ noise, “it was a long day and drawing wore me out, can’t we just watch a movie with soonie, doongie, and dori now?” he whined at you. you quickly jumped off the bed and picked minho up swinging his legs around your waist. you pushed open the bedroom door and walked to the livingroom where you set minho down. you quickly scavenged around for the kids, and food because food was necessary. once you collected your children and some food you headed back to your lover who impatiently sat on the couch with a movie pulled up. the movie was ‘wish you’, the first bl drama that minho had ever watched. ever since lino had watched it, he continuously watches it with you and you comply because how could you not?

you set his babies down on his lap, then set the food on the coffee table just in front of the couch. you quickly climbed up on the couch and placed yourself right behind minho, your chest compressed against his back and your arms locked around his waist. he got comfy and then pressed play on the tv remote, the ‘emotion studio’ intro began to play.

you were a little ways into the movie before you got bored and started kissing minho all over his shoulders, neck, and head. pretty much wherever you could reach, he started squirming around.

“cut it out, pay attention to the movie” he whined trying not to laugh. you got one more kiss in just on the middle of his forehead, when he spoke he turned to look at you so you took your chance. it was a bit longer, you just wanted to the last one to be a good one.

“okay, okay fine.” you said getting comfy again. you felt so loved and comfortable when you shared these moments with your partner. you never wanted them to end. your breath slowed, and you began falling into a comfortable rest with the only person you could ever want to spend the rest of your life with (and of course, his three loveable kids).

[skaikruswan]

God I love your Lord Meowpheus fics so much, they just make me smile. Do you mind if I request Lord Meowpheus and his s/o taking a cat nap after a long day.

To rest beside you

WC: 1k Ao3

Relationship: Morpheus x f!reader

Notes: fluff, sleep-deprived reader, gentle Morpheus, Meowpheus

Dear anon, thanks for the prompt and for your kind words. I like Lord Meowpheus too :) Here you go, some fluff and some catnaps and cat naps.

If you liked this story, i have written others.

The tales of Lord Meowpheus:  I  II  III   IV V

Your eyelids are heavier than ever before and you are so tired, you start to envy the poor people who had the sleeping sickness. It is horrible, but you would give everything for a prolonged rest. 

The last days you’ve been on the go, heading out early and returning home late, and you start to miss having free time. Sleep is but an estranged friend you would like to meet again. 

You’re at home for once, but only because you need to change your outfit. As you stumble through your bathroom, about to undress, you give your bed a longing look. It is calling you. 

“You need to sleep.” You are so groggy that you don’t even know if you’re awake or maybe already sleeping. Maybe something in-between, with Morpheus taking you into the Dreaming. All you know is that he’s right. 

You turn around and notice Morpheus giving you a concerned look, his brows furrowed, and you slowly cross the distance to rest your head on his shoulder, almost falling against him. Having Dream of the Endless visit you in the real world is always making your heart race, but today it only flutters. 

“There are many studies about catnaps being really effective,” you mumble into his shoulder, your eyes already closed. “I have 30 minutes at most. Please make it count, King of Dreams,” you plead, your voice weak. 

“Your wish is my command,” Morpheus says lowly as he reaches down to put his hands under your knees, carrying you to your bed. Even exhausted and on the verge of sleep, you notice that he’s carrying you bridal-style, and your heart starts to race. 

“Rest, my love.” His voice sounds so soothing and deep, you would follow every demand. 

You do as you’re told, a short, dreamless sleep that leaves you energetic and happy. 

You wake up on your bed, your head resting on top of Morpheus’ chest, his hand resting on your waist while he gives you a fond look. You could get used to waking up like this, you think, a flush warming your cheeks. 

You glance at your watch and let out a yelp. 

“Now I am rested, but late!” you scream, jumping up. Before you carry on, you press a soft kiss on Morpheus’ cheek, your lips brushing against his cool skin, letting him know how much you’ve appreciated his help and his presence. 

                           -----------------------------------------------

Nobody is walking in the street when you come home, with the moon and the stars you only companions.

It takes a few tries before you manage to insert the key into the lock of your door. You drag your feet over the floor, dropping your bag to the ground and just plopping on your bed. You undress while lying on the bed. Getting up and going to the bathroom is a herculean task. 

“Morpheus?” you ask into the darkness as you crawl under your blankets. Your busy days keep you occupied, and you miss the little dates you used to have with Morpheus. Your dreams are vague and leave you not as rested as you should be. 

Nobody answers. 

                  ----------------------------------------

You let out an actual squeal when you realize that you’re back inside the Dreaming. Not bothering to change your dream, you focus on the palace to find Morpheus. You’ve become quite good at controlling yourself inside the Dreaming. 

You find yourself on the edge of the throne room, looking at dreams and nightmares that top even your wildest imagination. Seeing a blue-skinned fairy, dressed in a short white dress and with beautiful butterfly wings, stand next to something that can only be described as a cross between a spider and giant startles you enough to slowly retreat. 

“Enough.” One word is enough to stop the chattering. Morpheus is sitting on his throne, a king who doesn’t need a crown, a ruler whose power would never be contested again. “I hear your concerns and shall find a solution. Until then, return to your spots and fulfill your duties.” 

After their dismissal, the dreams and nightmares disperse, leaving the throne room to you and Morpheus. 

The King of Dreams slowly walks down the staircase, and you wait, eager to spend some time with him. You would love to just lie in a meadow and rest. 

Morpheus reaches for your hand and guides you towards your room. Butterflies flutter through your stomach every time you remember that you have your own chambers, that Morpheus wants to share his home with you. 

You know from experience that a dream bed feels like lying on a cloud and you almost swoon when you hit the soft blanket. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you wait for Morpheus to talk to you. 

The ruler of the Dreaming is gone, replaced by a beautiful black cat with golden eyes. He jumps on the bed and gently steps on your stomach before lying down on top of you. You let out a playful grunt. Morpheus is different in his cat form, and you've grown to love the different form of affection he shows and likes to be shown. You've become a cat person. 

“Hard day?” you ask as you gently start to caress him, your fingers gliding over the soft fur. Morpheus starts to purr, his head nuzzling against your collarbone. 

You giggle and start to scratch his favorite spot under the chin. Having Morpheus this close to you makes your heart skip a beat and you wonder if he hears it. 

“I think we both need a catnap,” you suggest, grinning at your pun as your eyelids become heavier. 

“There is nowhere else I would rather be,” Morpheus answers, and through your half-lidded eyes, you see that he has also closed his eyes. Morpheus doesn’t require sleep, but he can rest, and you cherish every minute he chooses to rest with you. 

“Rest, my love,” you repeat his words to him, an affectionate whisper and you continue stroking Morpheus until you fall asleep, knowing that sleeping in a dream guarantees a wonderful rest, thankful for the one you love resting beside you.

[j-eryewrites]

The Dancing Men (II)

Part 16 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: (9.1k)

Author’s Note: Is this a filler chapter...? yes. Is this chapter over 9 thousand words...? yes. (This was also a chance to explore other characters besides Sherlock, John, and Y/N) 

Also, I did not realize the dancing men code did not insert the last chapter, so I went back an added that. (Thought it might be fun for yall to figure out the code alongside Sherlock.)

Warnings: Drug usage, mentions of drugs, murder, descriptions of blood and injuries, Sherlock is Sherlock (let me know if I have missed anything)

Everything was in place: buttery popcorn, fluffy blanket, lights dimmed down low, and the chosen movie on the television screen. Bjørn sat cozied up on Y/N’s lap. His brown fur was a stark contrast to the white light blue blanket on her lap. Across from the two of them was John. His back was relaxed as he sank into the soft cushion of Y/N’s couch. All worries of the workday were forgotten as they dived into the latest choice for their movie night. 

Bjørn quite enjoyed these evenings. One, John was present and Bjørn liked John very much. Second, Y/N was holding him close and petting his fur; an action the cat loved. Third, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Bjørn remembers the first movie night they held and, unfortunately, Sherlock had been invited to that, until he predicted how the entire movie would play out, so then John had heroically banned the man from movie nights. 

Mrs. Hudson, one of Bjørn’s favourite people, would occasionally be invited to the movie nights, but those were only the rom-com nights. The cat could easily recall the woman’s fondness of the romance genre from all the soap operas and romance films she watched while watching over Bjørn for the night. Bjørn didn’t mind the sappiness of the movies at all because he was well rewarded by Mrs. Hudson with treats and baked goods that were only meant for pets. 

Bjørn purred as Y/N reached over to grab the remote to play the movie. His owner had heard of the movie from word of mouth. It was something called “The Eyes of My Mother.” Apparently, it was scary good or at least that’s what Y/N had mentioned when telling John. 

Tonight was horror movie night. It was one of two genres both Y/N and John enjoyed watching together. Bjørn preferred horror movie nights. It meant that the people in the room would be fighting to find comfort from the cat as the jump scares and loud scary noises crept up in the scenes on the screen. Bjørn liked to provide comfort. He loved to protect those he loved. Which was why the cat was glad Sherlock was not here. There was something about that man that Bjørn didn’t like. Maybe it was the way his black hair bounced atop his head. No one should have that dark of curls. It could have been the piercing blue eyes that reminded Bjørn of a predator or the man’s peculiar aura. Bjørn could see auras and there was something strange about Sherlock's.

The movie had begun. The two humans in the room jumped at certain jump scares. Bjørn was almost knocked off Y/N’s lap at one point. The cat began to wonder if it would be safer to sit on John’s lap, so eventually he crawled out of his seat on his owner's lap and settled onto John’s. John welcomed the warmth and comfort that Bjørn presented. In trade for the cat, Y/N got the popcorn bowl. The woman was forced to, instead, find comfort in the plastic bowl that carried the buttery goodness. 

Bjørn had just settled into his seat on John’s lap (well, of course, the man had an excellent lap) when he felt a petulant buzzing from underneath him. The movie was quickly paused and Bjørn cracked open his eyes to watch Y/N and John search for the noise. Bjørn contemplated helping them search and putting an end to the noise, but the source was soon found under the mound of blankets. 

Once uncovered,  a horrendous ringtone began to play from John’s phone. A ringtone that he had set years prior, that he meant to change but just never got around to it. John retrieved his phone and Bjørn caught sight of a pellicular look on the man’s face. 

“Hello?” John answered. 

Bjørn, with his excellent hearing, could make out the sound of a woman’s voice. Now, the cat hadn’t gotten used to the British accent. While the cat could understand Mrs Hudson, John, and reluctantly Sherlock, everyone else was a mystery. He blamed his understanding of the human language and the voice of those who found a home in 221B to be a matter of proximity. He willingly got used to John and Mrs. Hudon’s voices. He loved Y/N’s. Sherlock’s? Well, Sherlock’s was like screeching. Bjørn hated it. He hated everything about the man. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word. Bjørn loathed Sherlock entirely. 

“Hello, is this John Watson?” The voice asked over the phone. 

John’s face turned to shock. He was surprised to hear a voice he hadn’t heard in years. It belonged to one Kate Whitney. An old friend of his sister’s (and the girl he dated in his Secondary Educational years, but John prefers to use “a friend of his sister”.)

“Kate?” John asked.

“John? Oh, thank heavens! I don’t know what to do John!” Kate cried to him over the phone. 

John waited for Kate to finish talking. 

“It’s about Isa. He hasn’t been home for about two days and I’m getting worried. I heard from your sister that you were working with that detective now…” She sobbed. 

Isa Whitney. Right. Kate’s husband. Also an old friend from Secondary School. Bjørn looked up at John. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Kate cried over the phone. Bjørn’s ears began to hurt from the whining. 

In the back of John’s mind, he knew what Kate was going to ask next the second Sherlock had been mentioned. So John took the preemptive step to ask if she knew where her husband would be. 

Kate answered immediately. “The opium den on the east side of the city. At a place called Bar of Gold on Upper Swandam lane.”

Bjørn could feel John’s actions before they came and the cat regretted choosing to find a seat on John’s lap. The cat quickly hopped off and back onto Y/N’s lap just as John’s body groaned. John’s muscles expanded and contracted shooting into motion as he stood up to fetch his things by the door. 

Kate was overjoyed. “Oh, John. Thank you! I would go myself but that place is not safe for a woman like me.” 

Of course, Kate continued to ramble on as John grabbed his keys and stumbled down the stairs and out of 221B. 

“Yes…Kate…” John tried to conclude the conversation. “I’ll have to…Kate…”

Now, John liked to think that he was a kind man. If one compared John to his friend Sherlock, he would most definitely be the “kinder” out of the two of them. John made sure to thank Mrs. Hudson whenever she brought up tea for him and Sherlock and apologize to others (clients, police officers, Greg, Y/N, Bjørn) whenever he could. Since John made the active choice to be kind, he found himself having a hard time saying no. Well, unless it was Sherlock. Sherlock was easy to say no to. 

Even with this kindness that has seeped deep into John’s bones, he knew he had to end the call soon. While Kate was talking, John cleared his throat and spoke up. “Kate. I’ll go out to find Isa. I’ll bring him home. Got to go.” Without another word, the phone call was over. 

As John tugged on his jacket and shoes by the door. Once he was all set, he turned around to Y/N to apologize. He mentioned she could continue the movie, but the woman refused and insisted on waiting for him to return to finish it. Bjørn could sense the man began to feel guilty about the whole scenario and seemingly so could Y/N.

“John, go. Help your friend. I’ll be fine,” Y/N reassured. 

That’s all it took for John to bid goodbye and leave 221B in search of Isa Whitney. Bjørn hopped up from Y/N’s lap once more and settled on the section of the couch John once sat on. The cat was not content with the idea of being thrown off another lap. As if on cue, Y/N stood up from the couch and moved to the kitchen to make herself some tea. Once the water was boiled and the tea poured, Bjørn watched his owner pick up her phone. 

Y/N scrolled through her phone looking for a worthy distraction. Of course, she could just find something else to watch, but it felt wrong. Instinctively her finger found itself drifting to the messages. There were two messages from Jim asking about their date later that week. She hovered over the messages reading them over and over again, before sending a short reply confirming the time. 

Part of her felt bad. Jim was her boyfriend after all. However, there was something deep within her that wanted someone else. It was a secret she could never admit to herself for fear of the emotions coming up front and centre displaying for all to see. Those very emotions the man in question would sense in an instant. That very man she found herself calling. The phone rang. It rang. Then it stopped. Sherlock’s voice box message played over the speakers and then Y/N hung up. 

She groaned and dropped her head into her hands. She needed to stop. Sherlock was out for a business trip, whatever that was. She and John didn’t press, but Y/N began to think she should have. She missed him. Her finger tightened around the roots of her hair. This was bad. She missed Sherlock. Missing someone was the step just before you had to come clean with yourself; because you could only miss someone if you cared for them. 

_______

It wasn’t the first time John had been called to help Kate. He was well aware of her and her husband’s troubles. At first, Kate had gone to Harriet, John’s sister, until she realized that Harriet and Isa shared similar afflictions. As one does with comfort, Kate found someone who was in a similar boat as her; that someone had to be John Watson.

At the beginning of John’s journey, he hadn't had much of an issue finding a cab that would take him to Upper Swandam Lane. Although he got a few judgemental looks from his cab driver on the way to the location. When John did arrive at the street, that was when things started to take a turn. 

Upper Swandam Lane was a vile place to be. It was an alleyway that lurked behind the high wharves on the north side of the river just to the east of the London Bridge. The alleyway itself was between a slop shop and a gin shop. There was a set of stairs that John had to climb up to reach the alley. There was litter, burnt-up cigarette butts, and mysteriously gooey substances that adhered to the ground. Overall a place that screamed germs, something that just so happened to be a doctor’s worst nightmare. 

As John trekked up the stairs, he was glad that he had chosen to wear his thick boots. He’d prefer it if he didn’t end up with a contaminated needle stuck in his foot. The further John walked through the alley the more addicts he had to step over. People who had come for the high were now suffering the after-effects as they lay on the ground. John’s eyes carefully scoured the area looking for the familiar face of Isa Whitney. 

Eventually, John reached a wooden door. Above the door was a flickering lamp that only added to the alley’s chilling ambience. John could hear the sounds of muffled voices, laughter, and cheers from the other side of the door. He thought it over and assumed that it’d be best to try his luck inside the building. As John reached for the door handle, he prayed that Isa Whitney would be in there. 

The door creaked open to reveal a long, low room. The air was thick and heavy with the smoke of opium and other drugs. The lights were gloomy as they tried to shine through the dark smog. Through the gloom, John could make out figures of all sizes and shapes. They were all lying in strange poses as they all turned their heads to glance at the newcomer. Scattered amongst the haze were little red circles of light at the end of metal pipes. Occasionally a figure would reach out for the pipes and lift it to their lips before inhaling. 

There was a hushed conversation in the building as John made his way around the room in search of Isa. As luck would have it, John found the man. Isa was in the back of the room. He sat on a three-legged stool with his back hunched over a pipe. His fists were clenched tightly around the object as he raised his arms up to shakingly bring the pipe to his mouth. 

John tried to make quick work of reaching Isa but was stopped numerous times along the way. Attendants and other addicts would offer him a smoke or try to lead him in another direction in their delirium. 

“No thank you,” John would reply before returning to his chosen path. Eventually, the crowd and temptation grew too much, so John called out to Isa. “Isa Whitney!” The room fell silent and the people around John drew back from the man. Like the parting of a sea, the crowd moved and John eased his way over to Isa. 

Now that John was closer to Isa and without the presence of the smog, John’s eyes could see clearly the state of the man. Isa was in a haggard state. His eyes narrowed so that they were tiny slits. His clothes were wrinkled and dishevelled. There were even a few brown spots scattered across, what John assumed, was once a white button-up. Isa lifted his head to peer up at John. 

There was a moment of silence before Isa spoke. “My God! It’s John!” Isa said. The man’s demeanour completely changed. There was a spark of life in his eyes as Isa took sight of John’s face. “Why are you here?” The man spoke joyfully. 

John tried to take in a deep breath, but from the smoke, he ended up entering a coughing fit. Once John had collected himself and once Isa stopped hysterically laughing. John explained his appearance. 

At the mention of his wife, Kate, Isa’s expression paled. “John…what time is it?” Isa hesitated. His once joyful expression was now one of guilt and worry. 

“It’s nearly eleven at night,” John said. 

“...What day?” Isa continued with his questions. He seemed more and more sober the longer John and him spoke. 

“Friday, October 19th.” 

Isa dropped the pipe from his hand and started patting his body up and down as if he was looking for something. “No–It’s Wednesday. It is Wednesday,” he phrased it more like a question than a statement.

John sighed and shook his head. “It’s Friday.” He pulled out his phone to show Isa the date. Again Isa paled at the sight. “Your wife, Kate, has been worried sick. Isa, you should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Isa narrowed his eyes at John in disbelief. “I’ve only been here a few hours…I’ve only had two–four, no six pipes? I forgot how many…” Isa began to trail off as he wondered about how many pipes he had smoked. 

Before Isa could spiral any further, John reached for the man’s arm and yanked him up to his feet. “Let’s get you back home,” John muttered before lugging Isa to the door. 

Isa stumbled into John, nearly knocking him over as they scuffled over to the exit. “I’ll go with you, John,” Isa said as he wrapped an arm around John before leaning his entire body weight on John. 

John grumbled as he tried to get solid footing underneath Isa. 

“Kate must be so frightened–poor little Kate…my love.” Isa gazed off into the distance thinking about Kate. 

By some miracle, John had led Isa out of the building and the two of them were now walking down the alleyway back to the street. 

“John! Give me your hand!” Isa exclaimed. 

John cried out as Isa lunged for his hand and was now holding it hostage. “Isa!” 

Isa ignored John’s outcry. “Do you have a cab?” 

“Yes, Isa. I have a cab.”

“Good!” Isa squeezed John’s hand. “I owe you, John. I owe you!” 

“Yes. I heard you the first time, Isa,” John said. 

Then John continued to lead Isa out of the alley and to the cab that was waiting for them. The alleyway seemingly got darker the longer they walked. It was a narrow lane that made it hard for two grown men to walk side by side. In turn, John walked behind Isa making sure that the man didn’t trip over his feet or stop moving forward. 

Even though they were outside and no longer in that horrific building, John felt his lungs begin to burn from the smoke. He found it hard to breathe. Instead, John took to holding his breath. He deemed that it would be better to not breathe in the smog than to breathe at all. That was until he heard a voice speak to him. It was a voice that was too low to have ever come from Isa. 

John reluctantly took his eyes off of Isa and looked around the alleyway when the voice spoke again. 

“Walk past me, and then look back at me.” 

John froze before doing as the voice said. He turned around and looked down. His brown eyes fell upon a tall figure hunched over. There was something familiar about how the figure on the ground sat. John would have expected someone who sat upon the vile ground of Upper Swandam Lane to not sit with an air of arrogance. 

The whole scenario piqued John’s curiosity. He found himself leaning over and getting a closer look at the man who had spoken to him. It took all of John’s self-control to not grab the man and cry in astonishment. 

It was Sherlock Holmes. The man who had told both Y/N and John that he’d be away for a business trip. Sherlock turned his head so that John could see him clearly now. There was no doubt about it. There were the striking blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark of the alley, the curly black hair, and that wicked smirk. 

“Sherlock!” John harshly whispered. “What on earth are you doing here?!” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his friend’s concern. “Speak as quietly as you can. I have excellent hearing. Also, get rid of that…” Sherlock turned his head to look at Isa who was now leaning up against the wall of the alley. “...friend of yours. Then I’ll talk.” Sherlock said it with such pompousness that John scoffed. 

John was considering just leaving Sherlock there and taking Isa back, but then John thought of Y/N. He knew he wouldn’t be able to face the woman without spilling the news about Sherlock. 

“I have a cab, Sherlock,” John whispered. 

“Good. Send him home in it.” Sherlock’s eyes flashed with disgust as he looked Isa up and down. “He won’t do anything mischievous. He appears to be limping to hold his own body weight up.”

“Which is why I should make sure that he gets home!” 

Sherlock tsked. “Quietly John.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. This was a moment where he should have said no. He should have taken Isa home in the cab. John should have arrived back at 221B and then spilt the news about Sherlock to Y/N. That’s what any good friend should do when they find someone they care about in a compromising position. But John knew Y/N had too much to worry about. He was her friend too. John clenched his jaw tightly before huffing in agreement. This time, he’d agree with Sherlock. He’d save Y/N some worry. It was the least he could do. 

It was surprisingly easy to place Isa Whitney in the confinement of the cab before sending him on his way back home to his wife Kate. Out of courtesy, John texted Kate telling her that her husband was on his way home in a cab. As John finished the message, Sherlock appeared beside him. 

The two of them didn’t speak a word as Sherlock led John down the street. It seemed the two of them were going for a stroll. The longer the silence progressed, the longer John grew worried. He knew of Sherlock’s addiction. The nicotine patches. The side comments from Mycroft offered a brief picture of Sherlock’s past. 

About two streets later, Sherlock stopped moving and let out a light chuckle. John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock like he was insane. (Although, John did think that Sherlock was partially insane most of the time). 

“I suppose, John, “ Sherlock said. “You’re imagining that I have added opium smoking to my nicotine patches.”

John’s jaw was slack and his eyes wide at his friend’s words. “What the hell were you doing there Sherlock?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sherlock replied. 

John placed his hands on his hips and stared at Sherlock. “I came to find a friend.”

Sherlock raised his brows letting John know that he already knew that. “I came to find an enemy,” Sherlock stated. 

John was unimpressed. The last ‘enemy’ of Sherlock’s that John had met was his brother. It was more likely that the said enemy was someone else from Sherlock’s past. A cousin, a friend, another relative of some sort. “An enemy?” 

“Yes; one of my natural enemies.” Those words from Sherlock’s mouth sealed the deal in John’s mind. This was another Mycroft situation. “John,” Sherlock continued, “I am in the middle of a case and I hoped that I could find a clue from the incoherent ramblings of these addicts. Something I have done before.”

“What case, Sherlock? Cause if I remember correctly, Y/N knows about every case you take and she made sure that you’d be free so you could go on this business trip.”

It seemed like the mention of Y/N’s name ticked off something in Sherlock because the man began to walk again ignoring John’s question. 

John sighed. “What case, Sherlock?!”

“Follow me, John!” Sherlock called out as his long legs took him farther and farther away from John. 

_____

It seemed like the place Sherlock took John was back to Baker Street. How the two of them walked all over London to get back to their flat that late at night astounded John. He was sure how exhausted he was feeling while watching the horror movie with Y/N that he’d have enough energy to travel all the way back home physically. He knew Sherlock had the energy. The man seemed to have a never-ending reserve of energy. 

Once the black door of 221 B Baker Street closed, Sherlock began to strip off his coat and scarf. He marched up the stairs with a passion beckoning John to follow. John winced as the stairs creaked loudly underneath his and Sherlock’s steps. If Y/N and Mrs. Hudson weren’t already awake, then they would be now. 

“Sherlock!” John hissed at his friend. He was careful of his own volume. 

Sherlock turned around to John as he flung his coat and scarf on the hanger by the door. 

John stood expectantly in the doorway. His hands crossed over his chest as if he was urging Sherlock on for an explanation that was due long ago. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes before answering John. “A few years ago, a man named Neville St. Clair came to London. Not long after he got married to the daughter of a local brewer, someone he has two children with now. I have been told that he’s a good husband and affectionate father and that the family is in a good financial situation. This means that there is no reason for him to be worried about his family or money troubles.”

John pursed his lips and raised a brow at Sherlock. In all honesty, John had no idea where Sherlock was going with this. 

Sherlock tilted his head as he remembered something. Suddenly he pulled out his phone to show John a photo of Neville. John peered at the picture. Neville was a man with flaming red hair and sad-looking eyes. His face was filled with freckles and covered every inch of skin. Yet the thing that drew John’s attention the most was the long scar that ran from the tip of Neville’s forehead down to his chin. 

“Last Monday,” Sherlock continued, “Neville went into town to run a few errands. Meanwhile, Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch near Upper Swandam Lane. Afterwards, she did some shopping, and at exactly 4.35, she was walking back through Swandam Lane on her way back home. Are you following me, John?

John’s brow raised higher as he continued to stare at Sherlock. He still had no clue as to why a certain Nevill and Mrs. St. Clair had anything to do with a case. In fact, John was positive that there was no case. 

Sherlock took John’s silence as a yes, so he proceeded. “If you remember, Monday was a cold day, so Mrs. St. Claire took extra care in looking for a cab. While she was walking around Swandam Lane she heard a loud cry from above her. She saw her husband frantically waving at her from an opening in the window. She also described him as being terribly agitated before a force from behind him tore him away from the window. She tried running after her husband and soon found herself in the same building you were in tonight. She tried making her way up the stairs but was stopped by an attendant and forced back out onto the street. Filled with fear and concern, the woman called the police.”

John finally took a step forward and closed the door behind him. His intrigue was piqued. 

“They arrived and searched the place but there was no sign of him there. In fact, there was no one to be found. The police were determined that Mrs. St. Clair had been delusional. That was until they stumbled upon a watch that belonged to Neville. Mrs. St. Claire confirmed that it was her husband based on the engraving on the inside of the watch. After further inspection, the police found some blood as well as all the clothes of Neville St. Clair. There were no signs of violence and there were no more signs of Neville. According to witness accounts, the last one to see Neville St. Clair was a man named Hugh Boone.”

By now John was sitting in his chair. His hand rested underneath his chin as he watched Sherlock pace back and forth as he recounted the information about the case. 

“Boone is a professional beggar. He claims that he was not the last one to see our missing man. Detective Gavin–”

“Greg,” John corrected. 

“-searched Boone and found traces of blood on his clothes, but the man told Lestrade that it was from a cut on his hand. One that was still bleeding. An injury from the window, where the traces of the blood had been found. Lestrade also took the opportunity to have the nearby area checked. Neville’s coat was found in an alleyway. Inside the pockets was the man’s wallet.”

“So then where’s the body?” John asked. He was sure that finding all of Neville’s clothes and blood but no wallet meant that the man was dead.

“There was nobody, John.” There was a sparkle in Sherlock’s eye as he said it. “However, Boone was arrested and taken to Scotland Yard, but there was nothing against him. The blood had been his own. The only thing that could be used as evidence were Neville’s clothes, but even so, that is substantial enough.”

Everything clicked in John’s brain. “That’s why Y/N didn’t know you had a case. Greg called you himself.” 

Sherlock halted his pacing and looked at John. John was right of course, so Sherlock nodded. 

Now that John was satisfied with that answer he asked another question. “Why was Neville St. Clair was at an opium den and what does Hugh Boone have to do with the disappearance?”

Sherlock smiled at John. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”

“Sherlock…” John began to fiddle with his hands. “Do you think Neville is dead?”

“Yes–” 

Suddenly there was a banging on the door downstairs. John and Sherlock made their way downstairs. It seemed like the knocking had woken up the other residents of 221B for Mrs. Hudson and Y/N were peering out of their doorways at the noise. Mrs. Hudson was in more of a dazed state than Y/N with her overnight hair curlers and cosy pink pyjamas. The elderly woman’s tired eyes quickly acknowledge John and Sherlock making their way down the stairs. Satisfied with what she saw, Mrs. Hudson crept back into her flat and shut the door. 

Y/N, on the other hand, seemed to grow more conscious the longer she looked at the scene in front of her. She thought that her mind was tricking her. It couldn’t be Sherlock. Could it? Sherlock caught sight of the woman from the corner of his eye. He could help how his brain tuned out the sound of the banging door to look at Y/N. 

She had that same tired look in her eye as she did when she slept over in his flat. Her hair was slightly ajar from sleep and her pyjamas were scrunched up in just the right way. She looked comfortable and for a moment Sherlock felt guilty about waking her up. 

“When’d you get back?” She mumbled. Her voice was filled with sleep. 

Sherlock smiled and took a step towards her. “Not long.”

“I called you…” Y/N said. She nervously ran a hand through her hair. Internally scolded herself for acting like a schoolgirl. So much for not showcasing her newfound feeling. No, Y/N couldn’t have feelings for Sherlock. She couldn’t. She was dating Jim. Jim was perfect. He was kind, gentle, witty, and handsome. But Jim wasn’t Sherlock. She winced. She was screwed. 

“You called?” Sherlock replied a little too quiet for his liking. He hadn’t checked his phone. His mind was too busy with the case. His mind was a little too preoccupied with a case that was purely a distraction from the chemical defect called sentiment. 

John cleared his throat reminding Y/N and Sherlock that he was also present and so was the knocking on the door. Sherlock and Y/N turned to look at him, both of them hiding a blush that crept on their faces. John took that as a sign for him to be the one to open the door. 

In front of him stood a woman. Her dark hair was a frizzy mess and two dark circles underneath her eyes made her look like a skeleton. John peered at the woman with a confused look but before he could ask her anything, Sherlock pushed him to the side letting the woman enter. 

“Mrs. St. Clair,” Sherlock stated. 

John’s eyes widened. Y/N wore a confused look on her face. One that John pitied. She still had no idea. Without another word, Mrs. St. Clair was ushered up the stairs into John and Sherlock’s flat with Y/N in tow. She was curious as to why a strange woman appeared on their doorstep in the early hours of the morning. 

“ He wrote me a letter,” was all Mrs. St. Clair uttered before shoving the letter into Sherlock’s hand. 

_____

Lily, 

Do not be scared. Everything is fine. There is a huge error which may take some time to fix. 

Love,

Your Neville. 

_____

Sherlock took the letter and scoured over the letter. His blue eyes took note of every detail. John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder trying not to notice, Y/N’s puzzled look. He could see the gears in her head turning as she put the pieces together. 

“Whoever addressed the envelope had to go and ask about the address.”

This caught Mrs. St. Clair’s attention. “How can you tell?”

“The name is written perfectly in black ink. The rest is in a greyish colour which means that the paper was blotted. Whoever wrote it was not familiar with the address. Are you sure that this was your husband?” Sherlock asked. 

“There was a ring. His wedding ring.”

Sherlock nodded. “And this is his handwriting?”

The woman nodded. 

Sherlock’s brow pursed at the confirmation. This didn’t make sense. He was so sure that Neville was dead, his body missing. “If Neville is alive, then why has he not returned?” Sherlock asked. 

“I…I don’t know.”

Before Sherlock asked another question, Y/N cut him off. “Hold up, what’s going on here?”

“Not now Y/N–”

“Sherlock–” Y/N warned. 

“I’ll explain later. Mrs. St. Clair. On Monday your husband said nothing about leaving you?”

“What do you mean you’ll explain later? Sherlock a strange woman showed up on our do–” Y/N hissed. John shot her a look letting her know that he'd explain later if Sherlock didn’t. 

“No.” Mrs. St. Clair replied. 

“Were you surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?” Sherlock questioned. 

“Yes.”

Sherlock looked to the side before coming up with another question. “He only cried out to you?”

“Yes.” Mrs. St. Clair nodded. 

“A call for help?”

“Yes. He waved his hands at me.” The woman explained. 

The longer the interrogation continued the more confused Y/N grew. She was much too tired to deal with anything right now. 

“Couldn’t have been a cry of surprise? He could not have expected to see you in such an area.” Sherlock noted. 

“That’s possible, but…” 

“And you thought he was pulled back?” Sherlock continued. 

“He disappeared so suddenly.” Mrs. St. Clair’s voice began to grow quiet as Sherlock’s questions intensified.

“He could have leapt back. You didn’t see anyone else in the room,” Sherlock noted. His height towered over the woman and he began to lean over her small figure. 

Mrs. St. Clair shook her head. “No, but that horrible man confessed to having been there.”

“Right. Your husband was wearing his clothes?”

The woman gulped, unsure of where these questions were going. “Yes, but he wasn’t wearing his tie. I remember seeing his throat.”

“Has he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?” 

“No.”

“Has ever shown signs of taking Opium?”

Mrs. St Clair looked from Sherlock to John and then to Y/N. She bore a nervous and confused look on her face. 

“John. What are the symptoms of some who have taken Opium?”

John had been startled by Sherlock’s sudden question that it took his mind to process what he had been asked. “Mood swings, irritability, changes in appearance, risky behaviours, dizziness…”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “Well?”

“Um…no. No Neville hasn’t,” the woman said. 

Sherlock snapped back into his upward position. His back was tall and straight as he walked to the door and swung it open for Mrs. St. Clair. 

“Very well, Mrs. St. Clair,” He looked to the door and then at the woman before flashing a tense smile. 

Mrs. St. Clair took that as her cue to leave for the night. Once she removed herself from the flat, Sherlock shut the door and turned around to face John and Y/N. 

“John, Y/N. Pull out your phones.” Sherlock instructed. 

“Sherlock you haven’t explained–” Y/N began. 

���Phones.”

John and Y/N grumbled as they did as Sherlock asked. Once that was complete they looked up at Sherlock. They were half expecting he’d take their phones and do whatever he liked to them. So when they saw that Sherlock had his own phone out, the two of them were confused. 

Before they could ask any questions, Sherlock continued his instructions. “I’m going to call Grayson. Then John. Then Y/N. We will continue to do this until he picks up.”

“Sherlock, it’s 1 o’clock in the morning. Greg is not going to answer,” Y/N said. 

“Call,” Sherlock commanded as he dialled Greg’s number.

______

Greg quite liked his days off of work. Typically he would start it all off by sleeping in. A luxury he was not used to having in his everyday life. Then he’d wake up and lie in his bed for a moment, sometimes he used the time to read a book or scroll through his phone checking the daily news. Then maybe he’d make himself breakfast or go out to a local cafe. He had all the time in the world and he had the power to choose what he did with it. 

However, this was not Greg’s ideal day off. It seemed like the world was out to get him as his phone deafeningly rang on his bedside table. He was sure he silenced his phone before falling asleep last night. Blinded by his tiredness, Greg let the phone ring until it eventually ended about thirty seconds late. Again it was silent and Greg was well on his way to fall back into a deep sleep. That was until the phone rang again. Greg groaned and rolled over in his bed. His eyes peeled open to look at the time displayed on the alarm clock next to his bed. It was 1.15 in the morning. His mind began to fumble around thinking about who could be calling him at such an hour. It couldn’t have been Scotland Yard. It couldn’t have been…. Greg would have finished the thought if the phone continued to ring. Once again it stopped and the man’s body came crashing back down on the mattress. 

There it was again. That boisterous ringtone. Greg shot out of bed and grabbed his phone, yanking the charger out of its socket. 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing calling me at one in the morning!” Greg grumbled into the phone. He hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID, so when a soft voice from the other end of his phone started speaking he felt incredibly guilty. 

It was Y/N. She hardly ever called and whenever she did it was always for a good reason. 

“Sorry Greg,” She whispered, taking into account the early hours of the morning.

From the sound of her voice, Y/N wasn’t fairing any better than he was. 

“No…forgive me…sorry. Why are you calling?” Greg began to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

There was a pause as Y/N thought of the best way to say it. “...Sherlock needs you to meet us at Scotland Yard.”

Greg groaned. He should have known that it was Sherlock’s doing. Only one man would have the audacity to call Greg this early in the morning, especially, on his day off. 

“Sorry, Greg, but he says it’s urgent. Something about the St. Clair case.”

Now this caught Greg’s attention. The case that had been plaguing his desk ever since he received the call a few days earlier. He would have been glad that Sherlock wanted to see him. It meant that there was a breakthrough. However, Greg was tired and had been woken up from a deep sleep. 

“Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow morning?” Greg voiced. 

Sherlock’s voice spoke over the phone loud and clear. “It is the morning Lestrade.”

“Oh, Sherlock it’s you,” Greg said with disdain. 

“Of course, it’s me. Meet us at Scotland Yard in twenty minutes. I’ve solved the case.”

With that, the phone hung up. Greg had no choice but to remove himself from the comfort of his bed. He had to forgo any thought of a nice morning sleeping in topped with a warm breakfast. He knew Sherlock had commanded that he be at Scotland Yard in twenty minutes, but that was the same amount of time as the commute there. If anything, Greg wanted to take as much time as he could before having to confront Sherlock. 

As Greg changed and prepared himself for the day, he prayed that the coffee machine in Scotland Yard had been fixed like it should have been weeks ago because Greg knew that he could not deal with Sherlock without a little help from caffeine. The praying was more for Sherlock’s sake (Not that Greg was contemplating murder or anything.)

_____

One of the first things Greg took notice of that morning was that the coffee machine was still broken. However, it seemed like an angel was smiling upon him that morning, that angel was Y/N. She handed him a warm cup of coffee that she had made herself. He couldn’t help but smile at the woman for her kind gesture. A smile that seemed to sour Sherlock’s mood. 

“You’re a godsend, Y/N.” Greg thanked her. 

“Oh, Greg there’s–” Y/N tried to reply. 

“You’re late,” Sherlock stated. 

“I know that, Sherlock,” Greg said. “It wasn’t physically possible to arrive here in twenty minutes. Speaking of, why am I here?”

“I need to see Boone.”

Greg took a sip of the coffee. The warm, quite frankly delicious drink made quick work of waking Greg’s body. He raised his brow at Sherlock’s request. 

“The beggar?” Greg asked.

“Yes. I know he’s here.” Sherlock replied. 

“He is,” Greg confirmed. 

“Is he quiet?” Sherlock questioned. This earned a few strange looks from his friends. 

“Quiet? Yeah, I guess so. He is a dirty scoundrel though…” Greg trailed off thinking about how dirty the man was. 

“Dirty?” John asked. 

Y/N looked between the three men. She was beginning to think that this was all an elaborate prank Sherlock was pulling. She had been dragged from her flat and still had not been told what was going on. “Hold on. Before anyone says anything else. What is going on?!” She exclaimed. 

Sherlock sighed and looked at John, causing John to sigh as well. It seemed to the job of an explanation landed on John’s shoulders because Sherlock couldn’t be bothered when he was on a roll. So as John pulled Y/N to the side to let her know what was going on, Sherlock and Greg continued their conversation. 

“He’s dirty?” Sherlock repeated. 

“Yes,” Greg scoffed. “All we can do is make him wash his hands. His face is covered with soot and dirt. The man needs a bath.”

“I need to see him.”

Greg raised a brow as he took note of Sherlock’s seriousness. “Alright, this way–” 

“Sherlock Holmes!” Y/N yelled. “You were in an opium den?!”

Sherlock winced at the noise and turned to glare at John. In Sherlock’s mind, explaining things meant the case, not the whole situation. Hesitantly, Sherlock turned his gaze to Y/N who was staring right at him. 

“For the case.” It was all Sherlock could say. 

“For the case my–” Y/N grumbled as she marched up to Sherlock. 

“Y/N! Sherlock! It is too early for this.” John stepped in as the voice of reason. 

Greg looked at the scene before him. Then he took a long and loud sip of coffee in an attempt to diffuse the tension. After a few moments of silence passed, Greg deemed it safe enough to speak again. 

“As I was saying, Boone’s this way,” Greg said. The group followed him as he led them to the back of Scotland Yard where the holding cells were. 

It was a very whitewashed corridor. On each side of the wall, there were barred doors as far as the eye could see. A large majority of the cells were empty, something that Y/N noted as Greg led them down the hallway. 

Soon the group's pace began to slow. “Here it is.” Greg pointed to the sleeping figure behind the bar doors. 

Boone was huddled on the cot in the room. His legs were held close to his body. His chest rose and fell slowly. The man was in a deep sleep just like one would be this early in the morning. But from what Y/N could see, he was dirty. The man was covered in dirt and soot from head to toe. The grim did little to hide the broad old scar that ran across his face. Y/N scrunched her nose. She couldn’t fathom how someone could stand to be covered in such filth. 

“A beauty, isn’t he?” Greg said sarcastically. 

“Certainly needs a bath…” Y/N mumbled. 

Suddenly, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bath sponge. 

“Sherlock! Where’d you get a bath sponge?” John asked. 

“Don’t you recognize it?” Sherlock questioned as he tilted his head in John’s direction. 

John’s face turned red as he tried to control the sudden wave of anger. 

“Lestrade, open the door very quietly. We’ll make him much more… tolerable.” Then Sherlock turned to look at Y/N. 

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No, Sherlock. There’s no way I’m–”

“Greg, the door,” Sherlock commanded. 

Greg’s mind was in shock at how quickly he opened the door for Sherlock. It seemed as if his body was moving on its own. Once the door was open, all of them made their way into the cell. Sherlock quietly turned on the sink in the cell to wet the sponge before raising the sponge to Boone’s face. 

Y/N was surprised that Boone had not woken up from how vigorously Sherlock rubbed the grime off the man’s face. Once Sherlock was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and dropped the wet sponge to the floor.

“Let me introduce you to Neville St. Clair.” 

John and Greg’s faces all bore the same expression of shock. Y/N, on the other hand, was a bit puzzled as she looked at the sleeping man. Before them lay Neville. The scar from the man’s face, one that his wife declared was his most identifying trait, was present. 

“Christ, Sherlock. It is him,” Greg stated. His voice was much louder than a considerate whisper. 

This seemed to wake up Neville. The man took one look at the four people standing over him, and he yelped out in fear. 

“Lestrade, don’t you think it smart to let our missing man go home?” Sherlock asked. 

Neville gulped, waiting for Greg’s answer. 

Greg sighed. His coffee was all gone. “We have no case if the missing man was Boone all along…which brings me to ask. What happened on Monday?” 

Neville looked down at his feet. “I’m an investigative journalist. I write about what it’s like being a beggar, addict, or anyone suffering from the poor conditions of life. My alias is Hugh Boone…” Neville’s voice grew quiet as he admitted his secret. 

Greg pursed his brows. “Great, but that still doesn’t answer my question about what happened on Monday.”

“I had finished work for the day in Swandam Lane when I looked out my window and saw my wife. I cried out before covering my face and running away from the window. I ran to my confidants in the building asking them to hide me just as I heard my wife downstairs. In a hurry, I threw away my clothes and once again entered my persona of Boone. Doing so, I cut my hand on a nail in the window sill. Before I knew it the police were involved and I was arrested as my own murderer,” Neville explained. 

Sherlock stepped forward. “What about the letter?”

“We were told we could contact someone. I was too ashamed to call my wife. She’d hear my voice and know where I was. Instead, I wrote a letter and placed my wedding ring inside.” Then Neville buried his face in his hands. “She must have been so worried. I need to get home to her and the kids.” 

Greg hated seeing how guilty Neville felt. It was too much for one morning. “Alright, up you go,” Greg motioned for Neville to stand up and follow him out of the cell. Without another word, Neville was let off. The case was solved and everyone went their separate ways: Greg back to his warm bed to sleep the rest of the day, and the case-solving trio back to Baker Street. 

_____

A few days later, a thank you email appeared in Sherlock’s inbox. Of course, Y/N was the one to find it as it was part of her job to search and organize Sherlock’s emails. It was a heartfelt message thanking Sherlock for his work. Not very many clients thanked Sherlock after the case was solved, although Neville’s case wasn’t a normal one. 

Speaking of emails. That was the worst and probably the most entertaining part about Y/N’s job. Yes, she was also hired to clean, organize, and follow Sherlock around on death-defying cases, but emails were the bane of her existence. Dealing with her own emails was enough, the inbox filled with incessant ads and subscriptions she never remembered signing up for. However, Sherlock’s emails were much worse. There were the subscriptions: newsletters from all over the world, daily notifications about new updates on bizarre websites that would concern even the best of people and ads for the strangest things that would somehow eventually end up in Sherlock’s flat. There were also emails about potential cases, those tended to be mundane things or crazy outlandish stories to get attention from someone online, or people asking for favours.  In fact, the hardest thing was finding a job that Sherlock, John, or Y/N couldn’t solve the second the email appeared in the inbox. 

Y/N groaned as she swore to God that she’d gouge her eyes out if she had to read another email from a concerned elder about their missing cat or jar of cookies that mysteriously went empty. 

Ding!

Clenching her eyes shut and whispering hopes and prayers that this wasn’t a bogus email, Y/N opened her eyes and peered at the screen. It seemed that God or some angel watching over her liked her eyes right where they were on the screen was an email from Hilton Cubitt. The visitor from Ireland, who stopped by two weeks ago. Y/N couldn’t help the triumphant cheer that left her mouth. 

“Did you win the lottery?” Sherlock asked without peering up from his latest novel, 100 Ways to Kill Your Employees. A book of many that displayed his loathing of the whole scenario. His tone matched the underlying threat of his choice of light reading, unamused and with a pinch of disdain for his imprisonment. 

This confinement began the moment Y/N discovered where Sherlock’s business trip had been. Upon returning to 221B, John began to scold Sherlock. The man in question stood in the doorway to his own flat without a care in the world. John’s words of concern and fear never reached his ears. However, it was when Y/N began to speak up, Sherlock began to listen. Eventually, it was agreed that Sherlock would be watched over just to make sure that he had not been taking opium. (Something that was proposed by Mycroft, but Y/N had been under strict instructions to not tell Sherlock that.)

“No, Sherlock. I didn’t win the lottery, but it looks like Cubitt did,” Y/N said. Sherlock froze in his seat. He gradually moved his gaze up to look at Y/N with a burning fire of curiosity in his eyes. He looked down at the computer in her hands and looked up at her once more. In the blink of an eye, the novel in Sherlock’s hand was replaced by his computer. 

Front and Center on the screen was an image depicting more of the code Cubitt had presented Sherlock with two weeks prior. Along with the message of urgency. 

______

Come to Clifden. It may be worse than I thought.

Hilton Cubitt

______

“Y/N pack your bags and book us a flight to Ireland,” Sherlock began as stood up from his seat to grab the paper Cubitt had given him of the code. 

“Sherlock–” 

“Cubitt needs us there to solve the case. Time is of the essence.”

“Sher–”

“Oh and call John and tell him to prepare a bag as well.”

“Sherlock!” Y/N yelled. 

Sherlock froze in his step as he turned around to look at her. He raised his brow up as if saying “Why are you not doing what I asked?” 

“Sherlock…” Y/N cleared her throat. “We’ll go to Ireland, but only…”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at the woman. 

“Only if you promise to never lie about a business trip again.”

Sherlock scoffed at Y/N. “I don’t know what–”

“Yes, you do! Sherlock. You’ve been grumbling about being kept here in your flat, so you know full well why. I…” Y/N’s voice grew quiet. “I was so worried, so just promise that you’ll take one of us with you.” Sherlock winced at her words, “ OR at least tell us where you are going. Please.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a sharp intake of breath through his nose. His mind was in torment. This whole scenario was ridiculous. He was being treated like a child. Everything from Y/N’s, not so secret, hovering, Mrs. Hudson’s checking in, and John’s horrific attempts of spying on him all put Sherlock on edge. In his mind, he had done nothing wrong. But she had said please. She said she was worried. She cared. Now, if Sherlock had been given this treatment two months ago when she first came on board as his assistant, he would have fired her on the spot and uttered something about her worry being misplaced. However, time is a funny thing. Now, all Sherlock wants to say is yes. But a singular yes is too harsh, too noticeable, and an easy entrance into the hard-kept secret in Sherlock’s heart. So he settled for a simple…

“Alright.” 

It was enough for Y/N to order three tickets to Ireland and transportation to Clifden. In a moment, bags were packed, an inn was booked, Bjørn was placed in the care of his great-grandmother, things were settled, and notice was made of their departure. The game was afoot. A new case was brewing, and Sherlock couldn’t wait.

_____

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[protege-not-protagonist]

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 1

Ch 1: Please, Not Another Auditor.

Blurb: After deciding to leave the BAU, Spencer is now a full time professor at the FBI Academy, teaching profiling and criminology. Spencer is struggling to live life without the BAU, but that is to be expected when it has been all he has known for almost 2 decades. The BAU meanwhile, struggled to find someone to fill the genius shaped hole in the team when he left, and they still are struggling. At least, that's how the newest profiler, Agent Grace Matthews feels. Grace is good at what she's good at, it's why the bureau accepted her earlier than most. But how could anyone live up Dr. Reid's legacy? So, when Grace answers a call intended for her desk's previous owner, she jumps at the chance to meet her predecessor and ask him for some advice. Together, they find a kinship… but unfortunately, they also uncover a disturbing pattern in the deaths of inmates and patients the BAU have helped put away.

Masterlist

Audience: 16+ mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: You might have recognised this story from it's previous iteration on Ao3. I had a bit of a personal crisis and deleted my account. So I am re-editing what I have saved on my computer and reuploading it with some fixed continuity errors now that I finished CM Evolution. Will be cross posted here and on Ao3. This fic is dedicated to giving Spencer a happy ending, serving my desire to write crime/mystery and getting my horrific idea's for unsubs out of my head. Set in 2023, and mostly canon compliant. Sorry this is all plot, no peen. But promise there will be a love interest for Spencer, and Grace acts as a wingman for. This more a found family/ give Spencer a smol bean to mentor fic.

TW: murder, prison, criminology terms

Five years ago: Honolulu women's state penitentiary, Hawaii, April 29th 2017

‘So, what do you think detective?’ Rossi asked as the guard buzzed them through to the observation room.

‘Chief thinks based on the evidence before this fourth victim showed up, we caught our girl.’ Detective Fahnu sighed.

‘That’s all well and good, but I asked what you think Mark, cause this is a real bad time to call in a favour. Back home, a real spaghetti stick of an FBI agent, who happens to be like family to me, is in the clink, and we’re busting our asses trying to get him out before he dies. And you calling me here means I had to ask my boss if I can fly off to Hawaii for a weekend. It looks real bad, okay? So you better have a gut churning reason to keep me here, or I’m gone.’

‘It’s more head spinning than gut churning,’ Fahnu nodded through the mirrored glass window at the inmate sitting cuffed to the desk. ‘It’s just never sat right how fast we closed this one. Kauai is a small island, Li’hue is an even smaller town, people are terrified and out for blood, it’s been bad for tourism, and the local government is calling for heads Dave. Chief wanted this case solved fast. We made a profile, and she fit the bill.

‘She’s a loner, got the whole Wednesday Addams thing goin’ for her, spends her free time in cemeteries, works at a funeral home, no friends at school, quiet, never had a boyfriend or anything like that. But had a good family, didn’t so much as sneeze out of turn in public, school, work, even here she is a model prisoner after the first month. We all knew her at the station, not from any trouble, but she was a paper waster, reporting dead animals, reporting goddamn rocks being moved, cats that went missing, insisting there was a serial killer out there… well what do you know, one turns up, and she inserts herself into the investigation, you people said they do that. So with no other leads or suspects, she starts looking promising. So we got a warrant, and we found… well you know what we found and then there was the internet history.

'And here we are eight months later. I’m not sure what to think Dave, cause I know her family and character witnesses, they’re good people, they don’t lie. But neither does evidence and until this new victim showed up, all of it pointed to her. Someones playing games and I don’t know who it is.’

‘And she plead guilty?’ Rossi asked.

‘I’m not even sure about that anymore, you have the case file there?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Does it have her records while in Kauai Jail?’

Rossi flicked through it again, he saw her 3 weeks here in solitary till she turned 18 and could be placed in a cell in E block, but strangely her transfer and county jail records were missing. ‘No.’

Detective Fahnu passed him a yellow envelope. ‘These somehow never made it across my desk until this week after number four showed up.’ Rossi opened the folder and winced. ‘As soon as I saw those… I knew I made the right call asking you to come. I can’t sleep Dave, I gotta know we caught the right one.’

‘Well, either way you’ve got someone else to catch, the new victim had traces of Semen still on them?’

‘You’re right, we’re running it now hopefully it'll give us a lead, I'm sorry I can’t stay for this, we’re conducting family interviews in an hour, I at least need to be there on conference call but, let me know how this goes. I appreciate this a lot.’

‘Don’t sweat it, I’ll call you tonight, when this is done. Take care Mark.’ Rossi waved the detective off and took one more look over the files, especially the new ones from the county jail.

He observed the girl in the interview room. Her head hung over the desk as she leant on her elbows and bounced her leg. Her buzzed cropped hair now starkly different from the long curly mane in the mugshot that had been taken in November last year. She looked up and peered at the glass, only able to see her reflection, but somehow she sensed his stare and met his eyes.

It was time.

Quantico FBI Academy, VA Thursday July 2023 11:15 am

‘And it is this repeated and obsessive element of an M.O. that can indicate a paraphilia. Paedophilia, necrophilia are well known paraphilia that are criminal in nature. Now paraphilia can be anything, it doesn’t have to be a criminal act, but it can form part of a signature. Can anyone name what type of paraphilia dendrophilia is?’ he asked.

Blank faces met him. Well, the faces that looked up from their notes frantically were blank. The two auditors of the class always disconcertingly looked like their minds were elsewhere. One day, Spencer sighed quietly to himself. One day someone would know. ‘It’s…’

‘Trees,’ a quiet, unfamiliar voice called out hesitantly from the back row. ‘It’s an attraction to trees, dendro from the Greek dendron meaning tree, philia also Greek, meaning strong fondness and love amongst equals.’

The voice was not one of his students this term; he was certain. He could pick their voices. Spencer swiveled his head, scanning his students to get a glimpse of the first person to answer that question since he started asking it. His suspicions were confirmed; she was not supposed to be in this class. The voice belonged to a young woman, probably early twenties, with dark hair in braided pigtails on either side of her head. She fidgeted with her glasses before stuffing her hands back into her cardigan pockets. Their eyes met and she gave him a small smile.

‘…Yes, that’s right, trees. Any ideas what kind of behaviour might be displayed in a signature if a criminal has dendrophilia?’

‘They might like to perform their crimes outdoors in wooded areas, or bury victims under trees so they can revisit crime scenes and get off on the fact the trees are being sustained by a victim's decomposition. Or they might hide bodies in hollow trees, it would depend on an unsub’s preferences,’ she suggested, he could see she had a lot more to say, but she sat there, nervously looking at other students, as if prompting them to say something.

It was then Spencer placed her. He was right; she wasn't a current student. She had been in a few of his classes when he was teaching part time, two years ago. He couldn’t put a name to her face or much of her cohort to be honest. It bothered him. They had switched to online correspondence in the first semester of 2020. Only the first two classes with her cohort were in person, in which she had been silent. But, she should have graduated by now. Why was she here? Oh God, please not another auditor, he thought.

He cleared his throat, turned his attention back to the class. ‘Does anyone who's actually in this class have something to add?’ His gaze might as well have been poisoned the way some of the young students avoided it. ‘No? Okay, I know I blindsided you with that one, but, our guest is right. It may seem inconceivable to some of you that people would actually become aroused by trees, but in my experience paraphilia can be developed from anything and everything.’

He glanced back at her. Now she was clutching a canvas messenger bag tightly against her chest with one hand, and texting with the other. She obviously wasn’t here for the content or to audit him. So, he deduced that she was waiting for him to finish. He tried his best to continue as normal, now hoping that she wasn’t one of his fans that his lectures seemed to attract. ‘Now the assigned reading for next week will go further into how a paraphilia can be imprinted on a person, but I thought the basics of paraphilia would be an important background for the case study this week because it interacts with the stages of development and the importance of a love map. This is a case study from 1995…’

Spencer concluded the class five minutes early and packed up his things, warily glancing at her. The canvas messenger bag she had with her had a few pins on it for personalisation, but the way she gripped it so tight made him dread what was in it. She didn’t appear armed, but she seemed dressed in a way that would convey she was non threatening. It was not unusual, but it was certainly unique for a woman her age; a plain beige cardigan over a pale-floral-patterned collared blouse, navy culottes, and smart, vintage-style, leather loafers. Paired with her youthful hair style, it made him wary. It screamed sweet and innocent, like it was a purposeful statement. If she had consciously decided to dress that way, it was bad news for him.

As she stood, he observed she was on the tall side for a woman, at least 5'9 was his estimate from measuring her against the door frame. She smiled at the students file past her as she held the door open for them. She glanced at him expectantly as the last student left the hall. Suspicion turned to dread. He needed to go. He had no more classes for the day, but she wouldn’t know that. He power walked toward the door.

She smiled at him politely. ‘Dr Reid, I'll only need a few minutes of your time-’

‘I’m sorry. I have a class across the other side of the academy, I have to go, another time perhaps-’

‘Umm… No you don’t, it's Thursday,' she said with a chuckle.

He stilled. How would she know that? Had she been stalking him? His heart hammered, and he started to walk again, quickening his pace. He had to get to a populated area. Now.

‘Dr Reid?’ she called after him. Her shoes made no sound behind him. How was she so quiet for someone that tall? He glanced behind him to see she was two steps behind. ‘Dr Reid, I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn back there. Please, I just want to talk!’

‘I really must go.’

‘Okay, maybe we can sit down and have coffee some other time? I know you like a double espresso and double-choc-chip muffins. They're my favourite too, though I prefer tea.'

That chilled him to the bone. He began jogging. How long had she been watching him?

‘Doctor, where are you-’ He glanced back, and she was right there, her long legs striding to keep pace with him.

Oh God, she was chasing him. He didn’t have a gun right now. He didn’t carry one while he taught. This hall had cameras and hundreds of FBI cadets in classes behind doors right now. Would she really be that bold? He turned to face her. Perhaps he could reason his way out of this.

‘Look, this won’t end well for you. I don’t know what you think you can do to me, but there’s no way you can get away with anything here-’

‘What?’ She stepped back. Her eyes widened. ‘Oh no!’ She took another step back, ‘Oh no, no no… I’m not stalking you, I’m so sorry! Oh, the schedule and the muffin thing—God I must have come off so creepy, please don't freak out okay? I just… I’m so sorry,’ she fumbled out an apology. Her hand slowly went to the front pocket of her bag, but he didn't panic; the pocket was too small to hold a firearm. He kept his distance, ready to run if he needed to.

Her body language had changed completely. Before she seemed excited and nervous, but now she was utterly, and unmistakably, mortified. Spencer almost felt sorry for her.

‘I’m just grabbing my badge, sorry I-I tried calling to let you know I was coming, but Garcia said you were a technophobe, and I couldn’t wait for snail mail-’ He tilted his head, Garcia? ‘-she also told me your coffee preferences if I needed to bribe you… And I rang the criminology department secretary to see what your office hours were. Vivian, booked me an appointment in your calendar… but that… runs… on email… So you mustnt’ve seen it—you had no idea I was coming did you? God I was really early and weird… I-I- didn’t mean to scare you.’ She held out a familiar leather card holder to him. ‘I’m Special Agent Grace Matthews, I’m a profiler with your old unit, I’m new. I-I-we‘ve met before but, um… You might not remember me. Sorry I really wanted to meet you for a while now, I really admire you… and oh God this has gone so wrong… I am so sorry, I can come back later,’ she finished rambling and stood there, looking as if she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.

It was like he was seeing himself at 22, struggling to fit in a crowd of suits and stern faces knowing full well that if it weren't for his intellect, he would not be there. He inspected her badge. He noted the birthdate of 12/25/1998. Considering it was a requirement that an applicant be 23 for admission to the bureau, and Grace was currently 24 and already a profiler, he suspected that she might have a similar skill set to him. He remembered both JJ and Garcia mentioned they had a new unit member earlier this year. He remembered JJ saying, “Oh Spence, you’d get on like a house on fire. Never met anyone else who could talk about cholera for 30 minutes, and then say they’re not an expert, they just dabble.”

Spencer offered her a smile. ‘Edward Leonski,’ he said.

‘Wha-Oh,’ she nodded sheepishly, ‘Yep, that was me. Eddie Leonski, “The Brownout Strangler”, I mean, I wasn’t the strangler… That was my final paper… you’d probably remember it cause of the spelling and grammar errors.’

‘No, I have an eidetic memory. I remember everyone’s term papers, but I remember yours particularly because I felt awful only being able to give you a distinction… because of the grammar and spelling mistakes. But the case you analysed, I’d never heard of before, which is always a welcome surprise. It gets a bit boring reading papers about the Zodiac, Bundy, Dhalmer over and over. But you chose a challenge, using original court transcripts, statements and archived letters as sources. And I agree with your theory that he was a narcissist with gynophobia, yet an erotic fascination with women's voices at the same time. The mimicry and self-soothing talk he practiced under stress was especially intriguing, and then added the element of the political tensions of the case. It was a really fascinating read. I had to look into it myself. I agree it is a shame that they declared him sane. There was a lot that was unique about his case that could have been learned if he wasn’t executed.’

‘I know right,’ she grinned. ‘But then again, Sanitariums in the 1940s are not something I would ever wish upon anyone.’

‘No, that’s true,’ he nodded.

Gone was the stuttering and fumbling. Good, he’d hoped a shared interest would make her more comfortable.

‘I'm sorry for scaring you Dr Reid, can I start again?’ she asked hopefully.

‘I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, and not checking my calendar—through my email? I didn’t even know that they were connected. So sure, we can start again, you apparently have an appointment. So good morning Agent Matthews, did you enjoy the lecture?’

‘I did enjoy the lecture, both times actually, but it’s way better in person. I had some spare time today, and I wanted to meet you cause I have some questions for you and… um some news, not official FBI business but, we might want to go somewhere that is not going to get flooded with students in about… Now.’ Doors to the other lecture halls opened and chatty students filled the hallway.

If he was honest with himself, he had nothing better to do today, and genuinely he missed having people he could enthuse with. Students were intimidated by him, most faculty members were solely academics and they often were disturbed by his anecdotes, and well auditors made him nervous. Not to mention Matthews’ suggestion of muffins had him hungry now.

‘You know what, I actually could really use a coffee. There is a van that parks close to the Eastside of the academy. Their muffins are usually fresh around now too.’

‘Awesome,’ her shoulders relaxed, and they began walking together through the crowd of students, ‘I’ll shout then, after the scare I gave you, I think it’s only fair.’

Next chapter

NOTES: I haven't marked this mature yet. not sure how it works cause it has been ages since I posted a fic on tumblr, have no idea how it's going to handle a criminal minds fic. But oh well.

ALSO GRACE AND REID ARE NOT GOING TO BE THE ROMANTIC FOR EACH OTHER. IN THE TAGS I TRIED TO MAKE THAT CLEAR BUT I KNOW SOME PEOPLE DON'T READ THEM…. but don't worry I have someone else in mind to pair Spencer with, and Grace might go a bit "Operation parent trap" style to get them together. Also Grace will get a love interest to… Hopefully though she won't be too much like Reid and end up with her very own Graeve.

With this fic, I think I'll put specific trigger warnings a the start of each chapter because I plan to have sort of breather chapter in between cases and each case will have a variety of different stuff depending on the unsub. I think I'll put specific trigger warnings a the start of each chapter because I plan to have sort of breather chapter in between cases and each case will have a a variety of different stuff depending on the unsub. These first few chapters are intended as a bit of fluff and an introduction to Grace. if you love it leave a comment, like it, reblog, ask a question, whatever, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me

[sparkling-ariaria]

Winter spirit & dazzling lights (BTS, HP & Stranger Things fic rec)

Stories for that excited and soft feeling you get by looking at the bright lights, snuggling up in a cozy blanket and all the memories that come with it~

*Complete fem or non-specific reader insert fics* Updated: 05.01.2024

HARRY POTTER

She's so sweet by magicchai - Harry x gf!Reader Harry returns to the Gryffindor common room to see y/n has gotten everyone to help decorate the living space.

You're my secret santa? by perpetuallydaydreaming - Remus x gf!Reader You give Remus a gift he thought he’ll never have.

Meant to be by proserpina-magnus - Regulus x gf!Reader Regulus and Y/N jumping into the black lake while it's snowing.

Baking gone wrong by justmyheart - Sirius x gf!Reader

Blue Christmas by findmeinasunshower - Sirius x gf!Reader Sirius comes to spend Christmas with you and your family, but you notice the Holiday blues hanging over him.

Snow by roxetteblack - Sirius x gf!Reader Sirius decided to take you on a small weekend getaway in a cabin during winter.

Winter Blurb: Picking a Christmas Tree by of-many-fandomss - James x gf!Reader

Winter Blurb: Gingerbread Houses by of-many-fandomss - Sirius x gf!Reader

BTS

Dreaming of a Christmas with you by myplaceforstories - Taehyung x Reader Just a quick Christmas romance inspired by Tae’s recent Pride and Prejudice photos and the It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas vid.

Daisy by run2yoongi - Yoongi x vet!Reader A late, winter night at the vet clinic brings you closer to your regular client, a cat-loving Min Yoongi and his feline companion, Daisy. When he was unable to stand seeing another stray cat spend the holidays on the cold streets, he agrees to take her in. You didn't anticipate that helping the new cat-dad would help you feel a little less alone these holidays, too.

My Home by purpleyoon - dragon!Yoongi x human healer!Reader It was close to winter, and your medicine was nearly complete for you to use. But when it came to, you helped another whose wounds were life threatening. Now, random items kept showing up on your porch, with each item bringing you closer to the creature you healed.

November by alpacaparkaseok - A small drabble about Namjoon embodying the month November.

December by alpacaparkaseok - A small drabble about Seokjin embodying the month December.

January by alpacaparkaseok - A small drabble about Yoongi embodying the month January.

STRANGER THINGS

Season of giving by rosygaze - Eddie x gf!Reader Exchanging gifts with him.

“Something you wanted.” by rainylana - Eddie x gf!Reader You show up to Eddie and Wayne’s with gifts.

Blurbcember prompt by lovebugism - Steve x shy!Reader Steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love.

Kiss me underneath the mistletoe by eddiesxangel - mechanic!Eddie x Reader Eddie and you share your first kiss.

Under the mistletoe by eiightysixbaby - modern!Eddie x Reader A holiday party, a sweet gift exchange, and an even sweeter kiss.

Sweet dreams of holly and ribbon by forevermoreharrington - Steve x gf!Reader Steve gets his sweet girl an early Christmas gift and she’s dizzy over it.

Maybe this christmas time by headkiss - Steve x sunshine!Reader Working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how Steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. You end up changing his mind.

Merry & Meddling by munson-blurbs - Eddie x shy!Reader Max and Lucas are tired of their friends silently pining over each other but never making a move, so when the Winter Formal rolls around, they take matters into their own hands.