#I like havin all my stuff in one place

[heres-to-all-that-is-mine]

Tossing all of my Things from the past few days into their own post! Feat. @yewsoup ‘s Wally Fleur and @wingedarrows’ Nebula Rose

[gurorori]

bein a lifestyle lolita is such an ultimate goal 4 me but no1 rly talks how mostly unattainable n expensive it is

[be-good-to-bugs]

i wish i had time 2 draw

[erwinsvow]

knocked up too young and wearing a glittery diamond ring on your left hand, you had settled nicely into the role of mrs. cameron. it wasn’t tough, not a hard position to play in the slightest—rafe, or rather your husband—made everything nice and easy for you.

it seemed like it was his biggest desire come true, making sure you and his little girl were taken care of. he liked it actually, more than he admitted, knowing the two of you were fast asleep in bed when he left for work in the morning, doing nothing but relaxing throughout the day.

in fact, he had decided the second you had tearfully confessed that you were pregnant that this was the sort of life you were meant for, the kind of life he was going to give you. you were so scared, he can remember it like it was yesterday—your watery eyes and wet cheeks, the way your hands shook when you pulled out the test to show him.

“i-i-i’m so sorry, i, i thought the pills were enough, everyone says it’s enough-” you were stammering and crying your way into exhausation, something he definitely didn’t like. 

“s’okay, kid. nothin’ to cry about.” he was formulating his plan already, being proactive in all matters, thinking ahead to marriage licenses and car seats while you stared down at the positive stick in your palm.

“you’re.. you’re not mad, rafe?” the way you look at him, the world stops spinning. why would he be mad?

“hey, s’done,” he says, hands on your shoulders to steady you, bringing you to the edge of the bed to take a seat. he takes the pregnancy test from your hands, looking down at it himself. “it already happened. can’t take it back. no point in cryin’ over it.” 

when you look up with even more tears in your eyes, he’s half convinced he’s said the wrong thing—but it doesn’t faze him, he keeps going.

“hey, hey. what, you thought i wouldn’t take care of you? this is my kid too.”

“i know, i just, i thought you wouldn’t be okay.. with it. having it.” that’s the first and only time he got stern with you through this whole pregnancy.

“hey, don’t talk like that. this is our baby. there’s no question ‘bout havin’ it.” you nod up at him, tears drying as you steady yourself, regain a little composure knowing rafe’s not mad about this little accident. “y’okay now?” you nod again. “good, call your parents. tell ‘em we’re getting married soon.” 

“wh-rafe!” 

but, like how most things were with rafe, he called the shots and you listened. the two of you got married shortly after, before you were even showing. anyone who even attempted to comment on the hastiness of everything shut up the second rafe stared at them.

you’d be a liar to say you didn’t like it, a fool if you didn’t appreciate how rafe was to you.

he stepped up in every way, better than you could have even tried to put together in your imagination. a place was purchased and had slowly started to become home, with a crib that rafe assembled by himself—though it had taken hours and ended up with the instruction papers all crumbled up in a corner—and baby proofed cabinets and sockets. you laugh watching rafe try to install the baby gate on the staircase.

“you know that’s for when they start crawling, right?” you giggle, a hand on your very pregnant belly.

“shut up. m’being proactive. gonna have no time once she actually gets here and we’re runnin’ around changing diapers and makin’ formula and shit.” 

you’re only a touch surprised with how well-versed he is with all the baby stuff, though you appreciate it more and more since you’re still a little confused and overwhelmed. he makes it all easy, from the pregnancy cravings he runs around to find for you to the pretty pink walls in the nursery. he even satisfies all your other cravings, like around month six when there was nothing you wanted more than rafe's dick in every position you could think of.

when his daughter actually comes into the world, the two of you are a mess of emotions and thoughts, but there’s only one rafe really cares about. when can he give you another one?

it doesn’t take long for him to start trying again—trying to convince you that the two of you can handle two, that little kids need siblings their age. the baby’s only six months old but he’s convinced it’ll be better to have them all young at the same time rather than waiting—at least that’s the line he feeds you.

“no, rafe, they’re gonna be like irish twins. it’s so embarassing,” you say next to him in bed, staring up at your husband. 

“what’s that?”

“when you have two babies that aren’t even a year apart.”

“oh. that’s a thing? good, at least there’s a name for it. i’ll get you a book on it, since that’s what we’re doin’.”

and try as you might, even you can’t resist rafe for long, not when he’s taking such good care of you and just wants to give you another baby with his blue eyes and your pretty hair. you end up in the same position that got you into this whole situation—your knees folded to your chest and eyes rolling back while rafe slams into you. 

“don’t worry, baby,” he breathes into your ear, low and quiet since the baby’s sleeping in the other room. “i’ll get y’knocked up again. won’t have to think about a thing in this world except my kids.”

it’s a shame you get pregnant so quickly—rafe was so fun when his only thought revolved around fucking you full of his cum. 

“well, s’not gonna be irish twins. too far apart,” rafe says, looking at the photos from the doctor’s appointment.

“no, it’s just regular twins.” you don’t think you’ve ever seen rafe so happy.

[holdmytesseract]

Dad-to-be!Daryl fighting tooth and nail to keep the reader—who’s water had broken while they were on a walking around in the Hilltop—safe while trying to get her back to Alexandria so that Siddiq and Carol can help with the delivery of their little one. (Plus maybe the post-delivery fluff that ensues when Daryl and reader get their first moments alone with their baby.)

No pressure to write this! I just saw your post asking for dad!Daryl requests and had this idea, and thought I’d throw it your way. Love you whether you write this or not. 💜

In the Eye of the Storm

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: You go into labor while staying at the renewed Sanctuary. Daryl has to safely get you back home to Alexandria, of course - through a thunderstorm...

Warnings: usual TWD stuff, pregnancy, childbirth, baby things, mentions of blood, weapons, quite a bit angst, fluff, protective!Daryl

I tried to write this as accurate as possible. I'm no expert, heh.

Set in the beginning of season 9!

Word Count: 4,5k (whoops)

a/n: I'm not kidding when I say that I literally pounced that request. Gods, I loved to write this! Thanks for requesting, @dixons-sunshine ! I hope I did this justice! 🥹

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

Daryl had a critical gaze directed at the darkening sky above him. The wind had picked up; bringing dark clouds over the Sanctuary. A thunderstorm was approaching - and fast.

Unbeknownst to him, had the archer started to chew on the inside of his bottom lip; causing you to gently squeeze his side. "Earth to Mr. Dixon," you giggled; trying to get his attention. "You okay, Dar?" The archer blinked and lowered his gaze back to you - his wife, who was neatly tucked against his side on a walk through the yard of the renewed Sanctuary; past the not yet growing crops which had been planted. You smiled up at him - slightly grimaced, but you smiled. He shook his head; "I shoulda been askin' you tha', sunshine..." eyes drifting to your prominent baby bump. You took a deep breath, but nodded. "Just Braxton Hicks, you know..."

Daryl's eyes drifted from your eyes to your (yet) unborn baby and back; a mix of worry and fear swimming in his blue-greyish orbs. You could tell. "Ya been havin' them already the whole day... Since we got up this mornin'. Ya sure this ain't the real thing?" Now you were the one shaking your head. "No. I promise, we're okay." "A'righ'." The archer jutted his chin towards the factory and looked back up in the sky. "Let's get ya back inside," he prompted and gave your hip a soft squeeze, before he started to walk; urging you on to follow. You nodded and scrunched your nose. "Yeah... Looks like rain."

With the first roll of thunder, Daryl closed the door behind you and him, without his hand leaving your body for even a second. He was so adamant to always be by your side; steady you and help you walk, it was ridiculously cute. It made you fall in love with the archer even more - not knowing it was even possible.

You giggled; one hand on the small of your back, the other on top of your belly. "Babe, you know I can stand on my own, right?" "Don care. Want ya close. 'Specially round 'ere... Ain't trustin' 'em..." You knew of course what he meant. The smile on your face immediately vanished; replaced by a concerned frown.

You understood Rick's intention; wanting to make Carl's last wish true. You'd do the same for your own child - within a heartbeat. You just didn't understand why Rick had charged Daryl of all people with the supervision of the Sanctuary. Sure, he was his bother, his right-hand-man, the one he possibly trusted most besides Michonne, but... After everything Daryl has been through here? After all the psychological torture? You knew it wasn't easy for your husband to be here. Even though he didn't say anything. You could feel it.

You took a step towards the archer; invading his space. Placing a hand on his chest and the other on his cheek, you scanned his face. "Daryl... You... You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be the one having to do this. I'll have a-" You stopped dead in your sentence; eyes widening and heart leaping into your throat at the feeling you had just experienced. Daryl was immediately on alert; completely ignoring what you had just said. "Y/N?! Wha's goin' on?!" His free hand came to rest on the bump which was his child instantly.

You swallowed hard; taking a step away from him again and looked down yourself. A prominent wet patch was spreading across the crotch and inner thighs of your maternity sweatpants. "I-I think..." Your husband's eyes followed yours quick; realisation dawning on him right away. It could mean only two things...

1) You peed yourself.

Or

2) Your water broke.

The archer begged internally to whatever force above that it was not the latter. "Please tell me ya peed yerself..." Daryl mumbled under his shaky breath; already slightly on edge. It wasn't a fortunate moment for the baby to make their appearance... You were at the Sanctuary, for God's sake! Rosita and Eugene were the only one here you could truly trust. Not much medical supplies and even less people who knew how to birth a baby either.

"I-I'm honestly not sure, Dar..." He nodded; trying to keep his calm. "A'right. Let's, uh, get ya in a fresh pair of pants 'n check?" "Uh.Huh," you answered; nervously nibbling on your lip as well. You actually didn't want to 'do this to Daryl' now, but it wasn't like you could take a pick. It wasn't in your hands... It was in the tiny hands of the peanut living in your belly.

You felt your husband's strong arm around your waist once again; supporting you as best as he could and helping you to walk through the darkish, grey hallways of the 'former' enemies hideout and towards your shared room.

After the sweatpants and your panties were not much longer on your body, you and Daryl realised quickly that you did certainly not pee yourself. It was a different... substance - which meant the one thing the both of you hoped it wouldn't be... Your water broke.

"O-Oh, fuck, that's..." You cut off your own sentence; "W-What are we, uh, going to do now?" swallowing hard and balancing on one foot, while you gripped Daryl's shoulder as he helped you step inside a fresh pair of underwear and sweatpants.

The archer looked up at you; panic swimming in his blue-grey orbs. You could tell that his mind was working on overdrive to find an answer to your question. "I-I dunno, sunshine, I-" He inhaled a deep breath; eyes darting around the room. "Ya can't have the peanut here... 'S no doctor 'round. I ain't risking tha'..." Daryl shook his head and stood up; palms immediately lading on your hips. "W-We gotta get ya back to Alexandria. To Siddiq. Now." You nodded; clenching your jaw at the incoming contraction - and Daryl noticed, of course. "'N we gotta time 'em contractions. C'mon."

Trusting your husband and his decision making blindly, you quickly threw a few things you might needed in Daryl's beige backpack, while he was informing Rosita about the situation you found yourself in.

It didn't take the archer more than a few minutes to return to your side; giving you a helping hand and finally walking you back to the door, which led to the yard - but once he opened it, a harsh breeze hit him (and you) instantly; rain splattering across your faces.

Fuck... The thunderstorm... Daryl had totally forgotten about the weather conditions; too occupied with you and the baby. You did, too.

"Fuckin' shit," the archer cursed under his breath; trying to shield you from the rain with his broad body. "Well, that's gonna be a fun car ride, eh?" You halfway joked; trying to lift the mood, but without success. "I'll get the truck; park as close as somehow possible. No matter wha'... We have ta get ya back home."

The Sanctuary had borrowed a truck from the Hilltop for moving things and other 'heavy' stuff. It was the only car option Daryl got. Of course he couldn't take his bike. Hell no.

"Ya wait inside. Don want ya ta get wet 'n cold." You nodded; bracing yourself beside the door against the wall. "Ya good bein' alone?" Once again you nodded; giving him another half-smile. "Go." He gave you a last once over, before he stepped out in the rain to get the truck.

Soaked to the bones, he helped you down the stairs then and outside; sitting you in the passenger seat of the truck; not letting go of you for even a second. "Y-You're soaked, baby..." You noticed with a furrowed brow; concerned. "You'll catch a cold if you-" Your husband immediately interrupted you; shaking his head and squeezing your hand. "Doesn't matter. This ain't 'bout me. 'S 'bout ya 'n the baby."

You knew that arguing would be just a waste of time. It wouldn't help. And honestly were you way too tensed and stressed to discuss. So you said nothing.

"Ya comfortable, sunshine? Tha' okay fer now?" His voice was on edge. You could see how hard he was trying to not lose it. This spurred you even more on to keep a cool head yourself. After all, this was your first birth. Your first child. You wanted to panic and give into the nervousness, concern and fear, but you knew you couldn't. You had to try at least. For Daryl.

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. "Y-Yeah, I- We're good, I-I think. Thanks, babe." The small smile he gave you was sloshing over with nervosity and concern, but he tried as well.

Daryl quickly rounded the car and got inside the driver's seat; immediately starting the engine. "Let's get ya home." He started to drive, while you tried to focus on your breathing like Carol taught you. Both your hands splayed on your big baby bump; feeling the subtle movements of the child within you.

Some time passed until the next contraction hit you. You breathed through it; grimacing. "Damnit..." You gasped once the waves of pain subsided; noticing how Daryl gazed back and forth between a watch around his wrist you never saw before and the street. "Been 'bout forty minutes since the last one." You swallowed hard. "T-That's already quite close, isn't it?" He shrugged his shoulder. "I dunno, but... Feels like it." You shifted slightly in your seat and placed a hand on Daryl's hand, which was gripping the gear shift for dear life. "We're gonna make it, 'kay? Everything's gonna be okay," you tried to reassure Daryl - and yourself. You could see how he chewed on his bottom lip. "Shouldn't 'ave taken ya with me... Shoulda left ya back home where ya 'n the baby 'r safe 'n taken care of. Hell, I shouldn't 'ave left at all... 'S my fault tha' we gotta do this now."

You immediately shook your head and gave his hand another squeeze. "Dar, this is everything, but your fault. I was the one encouraging you to go... And I practically begged you to take me along, because I can't stand to be away from you - especially now. I knew the risk, but I made the decision. If anyone's to blame, it's me." Your husband just scoffed at your words and just as he actually wanted to answer, the sight of the street a few miles ahead forced him to stop the truck.

The thunderstorm hadn't calmed down in the slightest; was raging on and had caused a tree to fall and land in the middle of the street. "Shit... 'S too big ta move it... We have ta take a different road." His eyes landed on you, just like his hand on your swollen belly. "Can ya both hang on a lil' while longer? 'S a stupid question, ain't it?" You shook your head and gave him the most convincing smile you could muster in that moment. "It's not. I-I'll try... Right, peanut?" You addressed your unborn baby. "We'll try."

Unfortunately wasn't the fallen tree the only obstacle you had to overcome on your rushed journey to Alexandria... The storm was going on and definitely took its toll on the nature. And that wasn't the only problem... The night had settled over the world and the dead weren't exactly a help as well, and at some point were your contractions only fifteen minutes apart... It was a race against the time now - and your upcoming nerves. The closer you got to actually birthing your child, the worse it became. Fifteen minutes apart and you didn't even know if everything was fine and going the way it should down there. It was excruciating.

"Sonofabitch," you suddenly heard Daryl exclaim, which snapped you out of your thoughts. Lifting your gaze, you instantly understood what caused his small outburst... A few walkers were exactly in your way; stuck in the rain soaked, muddy ground. "Have ta get rid of 'em, sunshine," Daryl stated and already moved to unsheathe his knives from their confines; his barely dried clothes about to get soaked all over again. "I-I can help-" "Hell nah," he cut you off immediately; scoffing. "Yer stayin' right here inside the truck where ya 'r safe. I ain't riskin' a damn thing. Gotta keep ya safe." You nodded in defeat; realising once more that arguing wouldn't get you anywhere.

Daryl gave you a stern but loving look, before he took a deep breath and exited the truck. Anxiously, you watched your husband fighting off the undead threat. Sure, most of them were kinda stuck, but the noises had attracted more walkers... The headlights of the truck provided enough light for you to see what was going on in front of you, but not besides and certainly not behind the vehicle. The relentless rain made it difficult to see straight as well, and when another, much worse contraction hit you and the pain managed to blur your vision entirely, you lost sight of Daryl. Sweat was dripping over your brow as you couldn't hold back the scream which wanted to break free from your lips; hands clutching your baby bump. "O-Oh f-fuck..." Your fingers clenched into fists as you tried to breathe through the contraction. Agonisingly slow subsided the pain; leaving you breathless. You looked around through the windows; trying to find your husband. But you couldn't see him. It was quiet. Except for the running engine and the rain drumming down on the truck.

"D-Daryl?!" You called out; knowing very well that he couldn't hear you. Uneasiness crept up in you; threatening to cut off your airways and sent your anxiety skyrocketing. It didn't help that you were on edge already... What if something happened to him? What if he got bit? What if he...? Your brain already conjured the worst case scenarios, as suddenly two pale hands slammed against the window pane beside you; the tow curling growl almost giving you a heart attack. "Fucking hell!" You squeaked and clutched your now rapidly beating heart.

The hands clawed and scratched at the wet glass - but to your sheer endless relief didn't they stay long. With a dull thud hit the undead man's skull the window; blood splattering everywhere, before it got slowly washed away. The hands stilled, before they entirely disappeared. Blinking, you watched it happen, still somewhat caught up in your thoughts. But then, the driver's door got opened and slammed quickly shut again. A familiar grunt urged to your ears - and you could've cried of relief and happiness.

"Daryl!" You more or less whimpered; shifting in your seat as good as you could and turned to him; taking in his water and blood soaked appearance. Some blood was on his cheeks and water dripped down his long, brown hair. You reached for him; grabbed onto his wet sweatshirt and slippery vest. "A-Are you okay? I-I lost sight of you a-and..." You hiccuped; taking a deep breath. The archer immediately nodded and leaned in for a sweet, soft kiss; letting you feel that he was alive and well, before he moved to take your hands in his bigger ones. "'M good, sunshine. 'S a'right. 'M here." His blue eyes scanned your body then; lips pressed together in worry. "Wha' 'bout you?"

You swallowed hard. "H-Had another contraction..." His eyes widened. "Darlin', you had one barely ten minutes ago..." "I know." Daryl looked at you a few moments longer, before he gently let go of your hands and gripped the steering wheel instead. "We gotta keep movin'," he mumbled and kept on driving - and you knew he was right.

Luckily the truck didn't get stuck in the muddy mess ahead of you... That would've been the cherry on top.

It took you longer than planned to drive back to Alexandria, but in the end you finally made it - most likely just in time. You swore you were never that happy before to see the familiar gates of the place you called home. Daryl felt the same. You could tell.

The thunder and lighting had ceased by now. It was still raining, but not as bad. Due to the bad weather conditions was nobody on watch, but the archer knew that at least one person was positioned up in the windmill; looking out for threats from up there. So, he gave whoever was up there a sign; flashing the truck head lights three times and signalling that friends were standing in front of the walls and not enemies.

"Jus' a few minutes longer, sunshine. Almost there," Daryl tried to reassure you as he gently squeezed your hand. You just nodded; occupied with taking deep breaths.

Moments later, the gates got opened for Daryl to drive through, which he immediately did and headed straight for the infirmary; parking the car as close as he could get.

The approaching headlights must've caught Siddiq's attention, since the doctor immediately went to the door; trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. He watched the archer quickly rounding the vehicle; getting soaked in the rain a third time. "Daryl?!" Siddiq called out; switching on his porch light. "What-" Daryl didn't let the man finish; cut him off mid sentence as he opened the door and helped you out. "Need yer help! Y/N's in labor!"

Siddiq didn't need more information. He knew and was immediately on high alert. The doctor opened the door and let the both of you in; instantly helping Daryl to steady you. Usually, he would've asked about your condition, but Siddiq knew the moment he saw you. "How far apart are the contractions?" You wanted to answer, but Daryl did for you. "'Bout six minutes." The black haired man nodded, "You got here just in time, I'd say." and helped you sit on the bed inside the room he had led you and Daryl in. "I'm afraid we have to get you out of these..." Siddiq nodded at your sweatpants. "Daryl, would you...?" Your husband's eyes were locked on you as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I got it. C'mon, sunshine."

While Daryl helped you shimmy down your pants and panties, Siddiq prepared some things he needed in the upcoming hour(s)... Towels, gloves and some other medical stuff.

"Alright. I have to check on you. Is that alright?" Siddiq asked carefully; knowing how... protective and territorial the other present man in the room could get. You nodded; trying your hardest to not scream due to the contraction you were going through. The doctor noticed and placed a reassuring hand on your knee. "Deep breaths, Y/N. We got this, okay?" You gave your friend another nod, before he went to check as soon as your contraction subsided again.

"You're about eight centimetres dilated, I'd say." "'N tha' means?" Daryl spoke up with your hand neatly tucked in his, as he was standing by your side. "Two more and she'll be able to start pushing. Means, your baby will see the light of day in the next one or two hours." The colour visibly drained from the archer's face. He knew that he'd be a dad soon, but... That soon? You, on the contrary just groaned and threw your head against the pillow. "Thank fuck. I want this to be over... Hurts like a bitch - and I finally want to hold my baby."

Siddiq witnessed both very different reactions and tried to hide a smile; quickly deciding to give the soon-to-be-dad a little task to keep him from freaking out.

"Daryl?" The archer's gaze lifted from where he was staring at the floor and gnawing nervously on his thumb. "Could you get Carol? I might need her assistance." Daryl frowned in confusion, but the feeling which started to flood his veins was happiness. "She's here?" Siddiq nodded with a smile. "Yes. She was on the road and decided to stay for a few days. Might as well call it providence." The man nodded; shaking a few bangs of wild brown curls from his face and nibbled on his bottom lip again, but turned to you; needing your permission. "'S a'right if I go 'n get 'er, darlin'?" You nodded; sweat doting your forehead. "As long as you'll come back to me... Go. I'm in good hands." Your husband gave you a loving look and gently squeezed your hand, before he let go to get himself soaked in rain again - for the nth time... Not that he cared, though.

The archer didn't even had to ask where to look for his best friend. He knew. After all has she been sharing a house with the both of you, before she moved to the Kingdom. Where else to look but there

Opening the main door, he stepped inside; calling out for his friend. "Carol?!" It didn't take long for the grey haired woman to peak out from the kitchen in the hallways; frowning. The frown immediately vanished, though, when she saw who the 'intruder' was... "Daryl?" A bright smile darted over her face, as she quickly bridged the distance to hug her best friend. They hadn't seen each other in a while after all.

"Ya good?" He simply asked; definitely enjoying the embrace of the woman he got luckily stuck with since the very beginning of this shit show. "Yeah, I am. What about you? And especially Y/N?" Daryl instantly retreated from the hug; a frightening, but also happy look on his face. "W-Well, uh... S-She's in labor. 'S why I brought 'er back here... Siddiq sent me ta ask for yer help..." Carol's eyes widened, but she immediately scrambled for the kitchen to turn off the stove. "Of course, I'm coming to help! Can't miss my best friend becoming a daddy, can I?"

Daryl blinked. "Best friend? Really?" Carol ignored his sceptical question and grabbed him by the shoulders instead; turning him around and maneuvering him towards the door. There were more important things to do now than discuss that.

Siddiq's predictions had been quite on spot. About one and an half hour, quite a few painful contractions and several tiring and debilitating pushes later, you finally held your baby in your arms. Since the doctor's announcement that you gave birth to a - as far as he could tell, healthy little girl, Daryl's mind had gone blank. He was physically present, but mentally, he was somewhere lost in a haze; trying to process the life-changing information... A girl. His daughter. He was a father now. A father!

Of course, you noticed. Carol and Siddiq did, too and all of you decided to give him the space and time he needed right now; just letting him stare at the white wall across your bed.

Only once the afterbirth was done, you getting cleaned up as well as the baby, the umbilical cord cut by Carol (Daryl would've most likely fainted if he was asked to do it. He already looked as white as a ghost...), a few further instructions and information shared by both your friends, and your newborn daughter wrapped up in a diaper and a slightly too big beige romper suit with cute teddy bears on it, you decided to try to guide your husband out of the haze he still was in. Especially now that you were given some time alone...

"Daryl?" You called out softly; voice barely above a whisper to not startle him. He didn't react, so you tried again... Same result. Freeing a hand from the baby tucked against your chest, you reached out to gently touch his arm. "Babe..." You whispered; letting your palm glide down the length of the limb and brushing the clammy skin of his hand. "Hey..." That seemed to finally do the trick...

The archer blinked and redirected his glance; eyes focusing on you instead. "'M sorry, sunshine, I-" His words quickly died in his throat, when he finally saw his daughter nestled against you; greedily suckling on your exposed right breast and making the cutest little noises he had ever heard. You smiled tiredly and slipped your fingers through his; giving them a soft squeeze. "Your baby girl, Daryl... Your daughter..." He swallowed and lifted his free hand; almost hesitatingly hovering over the infant, before his pointer finger came into contact with her soft cheek.

Daryl gasped; releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding. You watched the interaction with loving eyes; only now noticing that the small girl had stopped nursing and was wriggling around in your hold instead. Her eyes were closed and she had her legs pulled up against her belly; tiny fingers clenching and unclenching.

Your husband had cupped her head now, which was covered in a dark brown fuzz. "She's perfect, darlin'..." Daryl whispered after a long moment; smiling that smile you loved so much.

"Do you want to hold her?"

That question caused Daryl's hand to immediately stop caressing his daughter's head. "I-I..." He stammered; nervous, yet with such a strong urge. "Y-Yeah, I... I wanna hold 'er." You patted the empty space on the bed beside you. "C'mere, then." The archer followed your 'command' and switched from the chair to sit on the bed. Only now did you notice that he hadn't changed yet and that the shirt he wore was still damp. Worry roared to life within you. You didn't want him to catch a cold or even something worse...

"Baby, you should change... I don't want you to get sick..." Daryl shook his head. "Do want ta leave ya..." "I know..." You bit your lip; uncertain if you should propose the suggestion in your mind or not. "Then, uh... How about you take the shirt and vest off? Carol and Siddiq won't be here for at least another hour and skin-on-skin contact with your daughter would be good, too... Helps her bond with you." You gave him a soft smile. "It's your decision, though. I won't force you to do anything."

You could practically see the gears turning in your husband's head, but in the end he nodded and started to peel the damp clothes off his upper body. Once he was shirtless, you started to transfer the little girl over to her father. "Make sure to support her head, Dar," you instructed him; noticing his eager nod, and suddenly was the infant tucked in the crook of his arm. She snuggled against his bare chest; definitely enjoying the warmth of his skin.

And suddenly the world stopped to turn around Daryl.

He gazed down at the tiny human being he helped create - and she was the most wonderful, beautiful creature his eyes had ever seen (besides you, of course). Love flooded his veins; heart threatening to slosh over with the warm feeling.

Yes... He'd rip the world apart to keep her safe. Anything. Just to make sure his girls were protected.

You watched your husband and newborn daughter; a tired, but happy look on your face, and you realised soon, that everything had been worth it... Everything you've gone through. Every obstacle you and Daryl had to overcome, just to get here - to experience this moment. She was worth it.

You smiled. Yeah... You could definitely get used to Daryl being a dad...

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ruggie Bucchi - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Ruggie: Can't believe I'm here bein' a supporter for some museum like this. Guess ya never know what life's got in store for ya.

Ruggie: I mean, I totally wouldn't've ever paid to see paintings that I can't even fill my belly with…

Ruggie: But I guess it's okay if I don't gotta pay. I wonder if they got paintings I've seen in my textbooks.

???: This painting… These are the hyenas from the King of Beast's legends. When the three of them are lined up like this it's kind of intimidating…

Ruggie: Well, yeah, they were out there patrollin' lava quarries 'n goin' out on scoutin' missions, so.

Trey: You sure know your stuff, Ruggie. I guess that would make sense for a hyena beastman to know.

Trey: But still… Both patrolling and scouting seems like painstaking work.

Ruggie: Oh, yeah. From the stories I've heard, they had some pretty tight scrapes…

Ruggie: Like there's one where while they were out chasin' some stubborn foe, they ended up runnin' off a cliff tryin' to catch 'em…

Ruggie: Which had 'em endin' up flyin' into some real prickly thickets.

Trey: If it were me, I'd probably hesitate, worried about getting hurt. Guess the hyenas who worked under the King of Beasts were just that brave.

Ruggie: Brave? Then I guess I'll take that compliment, too. 'Cause I've jumped into thorny thickets like that a buncha times!

Trey: You've jumped into the thorny thickets…? A bunch of times!? Why would you do that…?

Ruggie: Actually, did you know? In the Sunset Savanna, there's this real steep cliff that's become a bit of a tourist attraction.

Ruggie: It's the perfect place to catch the settin' sun, so a ton of tourists go up there to snap a pic, leanin' over the fences 'n everything.

Ruggie: And like, sometimes there's folk that'll get so focused on settin' up the shot, or that'll bump into others that they'll drop and lose stuff.

Trey: I'd expect they'd have to let their stuff go if they dropped it off the cliff… But how does this all tie into you talking about the thorny thickets??

Ruggie: Sheeheehee. So actually, at the bottom of that cliff, there's a huge bramble of thorny thickets.

Ruggie: It's off-limits, and it's pretty dangerous, so no one really heads down there.

Ruggie: So, that's why I'd sneak down in the dead of night, and pick up all the lost items!

Ruggie: Sometimes I'd find little wrapped pieces of candy, watches 'n accessories, and even wallets!

Ruggie: Well, it kinda depended week to week what dropped, but… That was a great way to make some quick cash.

Trey: B-But if you had gotten injured, would all that have been worth it?

Ruggie: Yeah, true. Back when I was just a kid, I could slip in 'n out pretty easily, but I had to stop when I started getting' bigger.

Ruggie: Not only was I makin' big bucks, but the cliff's environment was getting' kept clean. Felt like a win-win deal to me.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Ruggie: Oh, this one… It's a painting of the thunder god and his son.

Trey: Yeah, according to the legends, he came to the human world just after being born, and was raised by adoptive parents.

Ruggie: Basically, that means he was raised apart from his actual dad, right? Amazin' they actually look like they get along good.

Trey: Haha… I wonder. Do you get along with your dad, Ruggie?

Ruggie: Nah, I don't got one.

Ruggie: He left back when I was a kid, so I don't remember anythin' about him, 'n I don't know what he's up to now.

Trey: Oh… Is that so? Sorry, I didn't mean to overstep my bounds.

Ruggie: Huh, that reaction's pretty different than what I'm used to.

Ruggie: Back home, there's a ton of kids just like me, so usually they'd just shrug and go, "Oh, okay" and move on.

Trey: And I guess it doesn't sound like they're saying that just to be considerate.

Ruggie: Obviously. Because the bigger problem is not havin' the money to buy food!

Ruggie: Granny'd take care of me, but there wasn't much we could do 'bout our empty bellies…

Ruggie: When I was big enough, I'd start working together with all the kids in my little neighborhood to scrounge up some food.

Trey: Kids running around trying to gather food on their own… That's hard for me to imagine.

Ruggie: There's a buncha ways to gather up food. We'd go into town and ask for alms, or drop a line in the river.

Ruggie: We were always pretty hungry, so we'd pretty much do anything… Oh, like we had a great time once digging for potatoes.

Trey: Is digging up potatoes that exciting?

Ruggie: WELL, YEAH!

Ruggie: There's actually a type of potato that grows in my country that can get as large as 20 kilos…

Ruggie: Around the time the potato harvestin' was finishin' up, we all snuck into the fields at night…

Ruggie: And we'd pick up some stunted potatoes that were left behind, as well as dug up some other forgotten potatoes.

Ruggie: We were all up in arms to pick every single one before the sun rose!

Trey: Why'd you go at mid… Never mind, I'm not going to ask.

Ruggie: And then, this one year when I was diggin', I hit the jackpot!

Ruggie: It was a potato so huge I wouldn't've even been able to carry it with both arms! It had't've been heavier than 20 kilos～

Ruggie: Didn't think there'd be any potatoes left that huge… Maan, I really lucked out then.

Trey: 20 kilograms, huh… With something that big, I don't think there'd be much to worry about eating for a while.

Ruggie: Don'tcha think?

Ruggie: I was thinkin', like, we could dry whatever was leftover and turn it to powder to make it last a bit longer…

Ruggie: But then Granny ended up boilin' 'em, fryin' 'em, and basically makin' a ton of dishes. It was a potato party extravaganza!

Ruggie: Me and the other street kiddos were just packin' 'em away, and little by little it started to disappear…

Ruggie: In the end, I couldn't make anything to save it for later.

Trey: Ah… That's rough.

Ruggie: And I never saw a potato that huge ever again. Guess good luck like that only ever hits once in a while.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Trey: Woah… This painting has a real powerful presence.

Ruggie: So, this is a painting of when the Thorn Fairy transformed into a dragon to fight, huh.

Trey: She looks way stronger than what her stories say. I bet I would be no match for her.

Ruggie: Eh!? Trey-san, you lookin' to pick a fight with the Thorn Fairy? It'd be waaay better to try 'n flatter her instead

Trey: Oho, but that might be the scarier route, don't you think? You might end up in deep trouble if you were to offend the Thorn Fairy instead.

Ruggie: Sheeheehee. Oh, but I'm pretty good with that kinda stuff.

Trey: Haha, well, I guess I have to admire that pluck.

Ruggie: But man, she's really something. She's the one that caused all that lightning too, right?

Ruggie: They say it was always thunderin' and lightnin' outside her castle as a way to keep intruders out… That's a huge undertakin', huh.

Ruggie: But with all those lightning strikes, I bet the bread prices were super cheap near the Thorn Fairy's castle.

Trey: Bread? …Ohh, right! Because when lightning strikes, certain particles are released in the air that helps plants grow.

Ruggie: Huh? Wait, are ya sayin' there's actually a whole science behind the whole "bread gets cheaper whenever it thunders"!?

Trey: Oh, isn't that what you meant?

Ruggie: I was just sayin' what Granny would always say…

Ruggie: Wait, so does that sayin' mean that 'cause more wheat gets harvested, more bread can get made, and that's why it's cheaper?

Trey: Yeah. Although, with how much we've developed our fertilizers nowadays, I don't know how much lightning strikes actually play a part anymore.

Ruggie: Cooool, I had no idea. Guess you Science Club folk know your stuff.

Ruggie: I bet Granny didn't really know the meanin' behind it like you did…

Ruggie: But I bet she saw with her own eyes the change in bread prices whenever there were tons of thunder and lightning.

Ruggie: But still… Kinda weird, huh. Sheeheehee.

Trey: Weird? What is?

Ruggie: Back when I was a kid, I only ever cared 'bout food, so there's no way I woulda been interested in learnin' why the bread was cheaper.

Ruggie: But now, I heard your whole spiel, and my reaction was to think it was pretty cool. Guess I'm maturin'.

Trey: Well… Maybe it's just that you can actually afford to take the time to listen now?

Ruggie: Maybe, maybe not. 'Cause my wallet's still pretty empty…

Ruggie: Oh hey, maybe this is just me bein' able to relax my stresses away, huh!? …Maybe not, heh.

Trey: Could be, if you're enjoying your time here, at least. Oops… Look at the time.

Trey: I think I'll head out to go check on how my dormmates are doing. See you, Ruggie.

Ruggie: 'Kaay, see ya. I'm gonna keep lookin' around this area a bit longer.

Ruggie: Hm? This painting… A lion cub's just lollygaggin' with a warthog 'n a meerkat.

Ruggie: I'm wonderin' if they even know all the scary things that can happen to animals that step outta their territory, hm?

Requested by Anonymous.

[thebearer]

autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: target, halloween, carmen, and you. or a short, fluffy work about halloween shopping with target bc why not? 'tis the season.

contains: fluff. that's it lol. mentions to past family memories and some insecure carmen, but honestly just fluff!

“Oh, look at this one!” You coo, snatching the tiny ghost figurine off the shelf.  

“Cute.” Carmen muttered, one hand on the obnoxiously red cart, the other on your lower back. “Put it in.” He nodded towards the cart that was slowly starting to fill up. 

The speakers droned out some dull pop song, your coffee and his melting away in the drink carriers on the cart. Carmen didn’t usually prefer Starbucks, much more of a fan of the local coffee spot a block over from The Bear. They knew his regular, made it for him as soon as he walked in. No fuss, no forced conversation- just the way he liked it. 

But you liked Starbucks, well, in the right circumstance. You liked going to Target, you liked having a coffee to sip on while you “browsed”. Browsed, Carmen had grinned when you told him that. 

“You don’t just go out and browse sometimes? Look at things? Window shop to make yourself feel happier?” You’d asked him earlier in the car, head tilting to the side. 

“No, baby. I, uh, I don’t.” Carmen looked over at you, his hand still holding yours in the center console. “But maybe you’re onto somethin’.” 

Carmen’s lack of decorations was deemed a crime in your eyes, which inspired the trip. Halloween trinkets filling the cart, the sly smile you’d give him when you’d slip another one in, just like you were doing now. 

“It’s my treat.” You’d remind him, with a little wink. Carmen let you think that. Like he’d ever let you pay. And miss out on a chance to spoil you? No way. 

“Where’re you gonna put all this?” Carmen hummed, watching you situate the tiny ghost next to the plastic cauldron and iridescent ornaments- something you saw on TikTok that you were going to attempt to DIY. “My place isn’t that big.” 

“I’ll find a place, don’t worry.” You hum, sliding back in beside him, swiping your cup out of the basket. “You’ve got a bathroom, and the kitchen, and the bedroom-” 

“-Bedroom?” Carmen grinned lightly, his hand snaking to your waist while his free hand pushed the cart. “You gonna put this creepy shit in there?” 

“It’s not creepy.” You huff at him. “It’s cute, festive. Makes the place feel more… homey.” 

Carmen decided then, he’d let you put a full fucking skeleton in his room if it made you feel that way. He’d get rid of all his shit, didn’t need it anyways, so you’d have room for all your holiday stuff. Carmen’s heart fluttered at the thought of what Christmas would look like. Would you put up a tree? He hoped you would. He’d go and chop one down if he had to. Where in Chicago he’d find a tree? He wasn’t sure, but he’d find one for you. If it made you as happy as this did. 

“Ok,” You pulled him out of his thoughts, stopping the cart lightly. You plucked the bright orange bag up. “Did you know these are my absolute weakness?” Pumpkin shaped Reese’s, in their bright orange and purple glory. 

“Yeah?” Carmen grinned. “This is it, huh?” 

“Yes, in any shape too. But I prefer the pumpkin.” You went to set it back, Carmen’s hand grabbing the bag lightly and putting it in the cart. 

“‘M more of a Christmas Tree fan.” Carmen shrugged. “You know Cicero- uh, Jimmy-” You nodded, slipping back into his side. “He, uh, he used to bring a bag of these to Christmas every year when I was little. He’d always have to hide ‘em, ya know? My dad… My dad didn’t want us havin’ all that sugar before dinner. Jimmy would come in where all the kids were, toss ‘em to me or Mikey or Richie when he started hangin’ around. Tell us not to get caught, and Merry Christmas, and hide the evidence. We’d eat them before goin’ to Mass, and he did it every year until I got in high school.” 

You smiled softly, hand sliding down his back. “That’s sweet.” You hum, squeezing his hip lovingly. “You should get him some for Christmas this year. Return the favor.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen scoffed lightly. “Yeah, I think he’d like that.” 

A silence fell between the two of you, chatter from the surrounding people, the scratchy-screech of the cart. Carmen’s heart hammered, mind racing. Why the fuck did you tell her that? Fuckin’ ruined the moment. Stupid, fuckin’ stupid. 

“Hey, uh,” Carmen’s hands shook lightly, fingers drumming on the red plastic over the cart. “I-I didn’t mean to… ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to say all that, ya know? Ruin the-the… I just, I dunno, you said that and-and I-” 

“-What?” You asked softly, brows creasing lightly. “What are you talking about? Say what?” 

“The, uh, the thing with Jimmy. I-I didn’t mean to make it awkward-” 

“Why is it awkward?” You pressed, setting down the candle you were smelling. “I thought it was sweet.” 

“Yeah? I-I just… I dunno why I said it, I’m sorry.” Carmen rambled, a hand falling over his face, hoping you couldn’t see the blush growing over his face. 

“Don’t be sorry, Carm. There’s nothin’ to be sorry about.” You shook your head, waving him off. “It’s a sweet story. I like that you told me that.” 

“Yeah?” Carmen asked softly. 

You nodded, smiling at him. “You know I do, bear.” The nickname rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, calmly- Carmen’s sure he’s going to melt into the floor. 

“Here,” You twist the lid off the next candle. “This one has caramel. You like that, right?” 

Carmen wasn’t sure how you remembered that. He’d mentioned it once, in passing, that he liked whatever you were burning at your apartment when he was over. It was caramel and coffee, you’d remembered, because you showed up at his house with the same candle the next day. A love present, you’d called it, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You didn’t want anything in return, no strings, just buying him something because you wanted to; because he liked it. It was still a new concept to Carmen, how you could love him without wanting anything other than love in return. 

Carmen ducked down, the brim of his hat bumping your wrist lightly. “Yeah, I like that one.” He nods. “Smells like that other one.” 

“Yeah? Not too pumpkinny?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“No.” Carmen laughs, breathy and light. “I don’t smell any pumpkin. Is there pumpkin?” 

“Caramel Pumpkin Latte.” You tilt the label towards him. “They’re saying it’s in there.” Carmen hummed lightly. “You calling them a liar?” You giggle playfully.  

“No, but I am sayin’ there’s not pumpkin in there.” Carmen snorted lightly, putting the candle in the cart anyways. “Not real pumpkin, anyways.”

“Maybe if this chef thing doesn’t work out, you could be a candle critic.” You tease, falling into slow steps beside him. “Be a candle blogger or something.” 

“Candle blogger?” Carmen repeats with an amused smile. “That’s not real.”  

You look at him, eyes wide in excitement. “Oh, Berzatto, am I about to blow your mind.” 

“No? Really?” Carmen laughed. “You’re fuckin’ with me?” 

“No! It’s a real thing, Carmen.” You laugh, pulling out your phone. “There was this woman that, like, went viral because she was going insane about Bath and Body Works not having her candle or something.” You giggle, typing slowly in the search bar. 

“That’s fuckin’ insane.” Carmen rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah.” You smirk. “Think she might’ve started a trend.” 

“Well, can’t do that then.” Carmen shrugged, loading the items on the small platform at the self checkout. “Don’t wanna go up against her, baby. She’s intense.” 

“Yeah, good call.” You grin, pocketing your phone, opening the bags while he scanned the ghost. “Guess you’ll have to stick to cooking.” 

“Guess so.” Carmen muttered, putting the plush pumpkins in the bag, reaching for his wallet. 

“Eh! No!” You click your tongue, eyes flashing at him. “I told you I was buying it.” You put a hand over the card slot, glaring at Carmen with a frown. 

“C’mon,” Carmen shook his head lightly, pushing your hand away lightly. “You got a number you wanna put in?” He nodded towards the screen. 

You pouted, pausing for a moment. “Yes.” You mutter, typing in your number quickly, pivoting your body in front of the card machine. 

“You gonna move?” Carmen looked at you, already reaching around to put his card in. 

“No, I told you it was my treat.” You mutter, twisting with your phone in your hand. One look at the screen, and you were tapping your phone against the screen. The ding chimed, your smug smile spreading across your lips when the receipt printed. 

Carmen was stunned, card still in his hand. “What- How did you-” 

“Gotta be quicker than that, Berzatto.” You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Carmen looked down at his card in his hand, shoving it back into his wallet. Maybe Sugar was right, maybe he did need to actually learn how to use his phone. He grabbed the bags from you, swatting your hand away while you pushed the basket back. 

“Shoulda let me pay.” Carmen grumbled, walking beside you out the sliding doors. It had started to get chilly, leaves tinging with warm color and the temperature beginning to drop. “Stuff’s for me anyways.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted you to get it.” You bump your hip playfully with his. “Besides, I told you it was my treat.” 

Carmen didn’t respond, unlocking the trunk and putting the bags in carefully, but the frown didn’t fade. Brows still furrowed and lips still in a hard line. 

“Hey,” You call, stopping him before he could close the trunk. “I told you I wanted to buy it for you.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen’s brows furrowed. “But you shouldn’t’ve-” 

“-Carm.” You groan lightly. “I wanted to pay, ok? You always get me stuff. Let me get this for you, ok?” You say lightly, arms snaking around his shoulders, looping behind his neck. “Let me spoil you, bear. Lemme be your sugar mama.” 

Carmen snorts, lips curling in a grin lightly. “Shut up.” He mutters, your lips closing over his in a sweet kiss. 

You pulled apart, blushed and swooned in a Target parking lot. “You gotta put the stuff up anyways.” You tease, hands sliding down his toned arms, over his color block jacket. 

“Yeah?” Carmen snorts lightly, pulling the trunk shut. “You’re not gonna help me?” 

“I’ll be directing.” You declare, pinching his butt lightly, grinning at how he jumped and flushed. Sliding into the passenger side, you lean across the console to Carmen. “I’ll make sure the ambiance is there.” 

Carmen nodded, starting the car, eyes bright when they met yours. “Light the candle?” 

“Yes.” You laugh. “And I’ll pick out a movie.” 

Carmen snorted lightly, his free hand moving behind your head rest while he backed out. It made your tummy flip with excitement. “Yeah? Casper?”  

You give him a feigned unimpressed look. “You know I’m more of a Hocus Pocus girl.” 

“Right, my bad.” Carmen laughed, hand gripping your thigh lightly, thumb rubbing patterns over the material of your leggings. Your heart skipped. “Fine. As long as you open those Reese’s.” 

“Deal.” You grin, kissing his forearm gently. 

Hours later, wrappers piled on the coffee table, the candle burning in the kitchen, and the orange lights glowing from where Carmen string them over the TV stand in the living room. One Jack-O-Lantern fleece blanket thrown over both of your legs, your head on Carmen’s while the beginning credits of Beetlejuice played on the TV. Carmen decided right there that you were right. This was more homey. Felt… right and content. He wasn’t so sure it was the decorations, more likely it was the girl who picked them out.

[cosmicpoutine]

leaving a lil rant here :]

I love Tim and his ships sm. Me personally, I only really ship TimKon. Those two are perfect for eachother and have so much clear queer coding that it’s crazy, and they have dialogue that’s just. gay shaped.

I also get TimBart, I don’t ship it romantically but I get why people do!! Tim and Bart are close as well, and the balance they get between ‘depressed tired wet cat’ and ‘living breathing embodiment of adhd’ is great.

I also get TimBartKon, they’re a trio. They are always a trio, so many people like to bring up how TimKon has so much coding and one of the big examples they use is when Tim tried to clone Kon. You know who else he tried to clone? Bart.

The only Tim ship I don’t get is TimBern, or any ship involving those two. When Bernard first appears, he’s Tim’s bully. He actively makes fun of tim and puts him down and then that character is forgotten about until Tim comes out as bi, then they just rework his character and go “haha guys this is his boyfriend not bully ygs are crazy” and just forget about all the bad stuff Bernard did? Reworking a character is great and all but, it just feels a bit weird and out of place for me. There’s always going to be that certain toxicity for TimBern, at least for me.

homie... bully??? im flabbergasted- im speechless- im jason todd (dead)

okay, im gonna start off by saying you have all the right to not ship them, and im not here to defend timbern as a ship. im here to defend BERNARD DOWD.

first thing bernard does is give tim advice about teachers, and he clearly says they're gonna be good friends.

if bernard was a bully, tim wouldn't hang around him so much. besides, i hate it when people place tim as a helpless little boy who would get bullied. he has put himself in situations where he looks weak on purpose to keep his identity safe, but he's not a victim at all. tim is a social butterfly because he's really good at masking and reading people.

not to mention, both bernard and darla push tim a lot because they're trying to get him to open up and be closer to them, but he keeps pushing them away. tim is a professional liar.

and when tim has to quit robin and start hanging out with normal people, he invites bernard over.

and bernard is acting relatively normal, and he wants to play video games and talk about how hot tim's stepmom is.

bernard is a normal teenager who has no idea one of his friends is the hero he's so obsessed with. he even shows concern for robin dying and makes up an entire conspiracy theory about batman havin a robin orphanage. you can tell he's afraid of robin being gone for real because at this point they haven't seen robin in months bc tim retired.

i dont know what about all of these interactions gave you the vibe that he's a bully because all i see is a normal teenager teasing his friends and being jealous tim gets more bitches.

im not saying that bernard was never mean or weird around tim, but he definitely wasn't actively bullying tim.

bernard is obnoxious and cocky, yes. but thats just because they wrote him as a real person. he's the school's chameleon, maybe even a little bit of a loser, too. he knows everyone but keeps a safe distance so that he doesn't get pushed into a box. im not sure if, at this point, he was already in a cult or being indoctrinated, but when we see his parents and the dowd home in tim drake: robin that just doesn't look right.

also homie talk about "forgetting all the bad things bernard did" (which in my opinion is none but okay lets follow that logic) everyone forget about all the bad things batman did to tim, he was not a kind and loving mentor, he was cruel to both tim and steph. we forget that batman was kind of an asshole to damien in the beginning. all those things are forgotten for the sake of the batfam.

in conclusion: we're just so used to the idea that superheroes can only ever form strong friendship bonds by having near death experiences together that we forget that the secret identifies exist and that the people who know them by their legal name also means a lot to them. after all, these people are the reason why they're heroes.

[silverzoomies]

Great Pumpkin

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, drunk sex, halloween party, porn with feelings, use of the speech quirk "yer"

word count: 7,878

a/n: meant to finish this one before halloween. whoops !! at least november is the spook before christmas !! or halloween 2, electric boogaloo !!

some notes about this one: i wanna apologize for the needless plot. i know it's unnecessary, but i got a little carried away. if anything feels awkward, out of place, or weird? that's my bad. sorry. i was havin' too much fun writing the less smutty stuff. some other notes - think of this as an au, i guess. where erik is hiding out at xavier's for...reasons? idfk. sitcom logic. everyone's living together !! but there's tension !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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All Hallows Eve.

Prior to the X-Family’s spooktacular bash, Hank whipped up a little something special. Using his Einstein brain - or wizard sorcery. Peter couldn’t be too sure - the beastly scientist conjured a powerful inebriant. He heard Peter joke one too many times about his inability to get drunk. Since the speedster’s body filtered through substances at break-neck speed. Leaving not a second’s worth of intoxication time.

No exaggeration there. Peter once tried chugging his mom’s entire stash of liquor, along with a bottle of Purple Toad wine. Some really fruity stuff. Such a mass of booze only left a burn in his throat, along with an onslaught of nausea. All of which lasted 0.2 seconds.

Hank wanted to do Peter a favor for all his hard work lately. And now, he could finally participate in what he missed out on. After all these years. As long as he didn’t use the substance for any nefarious purposes. Per Hank’s request. Whatever that meant. Not like Peter planned on playing pranks at this year’s party. C’mon…really? He’s a teacher, for Geddy’s sake! He's gotta set a good example.

Spoiler alert: he had planned on it. Keyword being had.

Until the inebriation actually kicked in. For the first time in his unconventional life, a warm buzz pooled through Peter’s bloodstream. One of the major side effects? Debuffs to superspeed. Which proved an otherworldly experience. If not a little uncomfortable. Still worth it, for a one-night-only lesson in drunkenness.

Peering lazily into his red solo cup, Peter blinked. His eyes followed swirls of neon cyan. Luminous in its irradiated glow. He couldn’t comprehend the science behind Hank’s glowstick booze. But he knew it filtered through his body at a much slower rate than other substances. The drink felt syrupy on his tongue, and tasted like - coincidentally enough - candy corn. Its effects proved weaker than Peter expected. 

Given his cells operated so incomprehensibly fast, Peter didn’t find this too surprising. So, what? He’d never get frat party wasted. Oh well. Peter came to accept that fact about himself forever ago. Still, fluorescent booze made him mellow enough to slow down a lot. Peter could totally vibe with mellow. No complaints there. Mellow’s copacetic. He definitely owed Beastie for his magic potion of slow-mo. Peter oscillated between a nice, tipsy balance. Muddled enough to let loose and enjoy himself. But conscious enough to avoid making any ultra stupid decisions.

Or, he thought so, anyway.

Hobbling around the mansion, Peter pushed through crowds of partygoers. All dressed in their spookiest, sexiest, or most low-effort costumes. Twinkles of orange and violet lights kept the mansion somewhat lit. With spoOoOoOoOoky decorations scattered amongst the school. A perfectly campy atmosphere for Halloween. Oh. And those decorations? All Peter’s doing. Of course, it’s no surprise the professor deemed him prime event decorator. He took mere microseconds to spice up an entire plot of land. Throwing forth all his effort, Peter dressed the building in balls-to-the-walls, haunting decor. 

Fake spiders with prickly fur lay strewn about in random places. Ghosts made of old, torn sheets swayed in the breeze. Skeletons hanged by the dozens. Streamers of orange and faded black dangled from the ceilings and doorways. String lights lined the mansion’s trim. Outside on the grounds, Peter even garnished the grass with inflatable Snoopys.

During his decorative escapades, he cracked jokes to the kids. Peter asked, “You guys think the Great Pumpkin’ll show up?”

They squealed with laughter, stomping their little feet. Candy buckets in hand, the kids yelled, “Mr. Maximoff, the Great Pumpkin’s not real!!”

In the midst of rearranging another Snoopy, he gasped, “WHAT?! He is too real!! Better not let him hear you say that!” 

A haunted trail veered off into the woods surrounding the mansion. It led to an old barn, stocked full of hay and populated with jack-o-lanterns. All carved by the mutant kiddos themselves. Another set of glittering lights decorated the barn, creating an autumn glow. A pair of giant speakers - Peter paid for them, mind you - roared Halloween tunes over the entire property.

Cool stuff. Talk about a hell of a set-up. Peter couldn’t help but be proud of himself. Such a slew of decorations might put even Scrooge Mcduck himself in holiday spirits.

Wait. No. What? Scrooge Mcduck? Wasn’t he more of a Christmas thing? Fuck. Peter might be more mixed up than he thought. He gazed absentmindedly into his red solo cup again. Blinking slowly, he wondered…what the hell did Hank put in this disco concoction anyway?

Whatever. By the end of the night, Peter hoped the kids got a kick out of his hard work. Not that he broke a sweat putting it all together or anything. But he wanted to live up to his awesome teacher reputation. The highest of honors, really. No way he’d let anyone else trump him on that front.

Then again… Peter nibbled his lip, grinning to himself like a huge doofus. He took another long swig of his drink. Candy corn sweetness tickled his taste buds.

Okay. So, he might’ve had someone else in mind while he decorated. Somebody he desperately wanted to impress. A lot. Or, just a little bit, actually. Like, on a microscopic level. Maybe.

That somebody? You. Except, not really. No way.

Pffffttt…he definitely didn’t do it for you. C’mon! Why would he? Think of the kids! Those precious, lil demon spawn! They practically worshiped him. They’re what it’s all about, right? Riiiight.

Peter’s holiday decorations tempted any passing trick-or-treaters to drop by. And the professor prepared quite the spectacle of treats for them too. King sized, candy bars and all. Hank and Raven - showing off their mutant glory without an ounce of shame - passed the candy out to children. 

Human children.

Magneto - still unaware he had a son sprinting around the mansion on any given day - dubbed the gesture hopeless naivety. Or something along those lines. Inviting humans to join in on a night of mutant fun? Totally bogus. Which…yeah. From Erik’s perspective? Fair enough.

“You think they’ll learn to accept you through meaningless, holiday gestures?” Erik griped, arms crossed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Raven merely rolled her eyes. She made a comment about the inherent innocence of children. Erik didn’t appear to care. He groused some more after that. But Peter didn’t hear much of it. Nor did he imagine he even wanted to. At least, not tonight. Maybe once Peter sobered up a bit, he wouldn’t mind lending an ear. If his father ever felt the need to open up about his woeful turmoil.

But Erik disappeared upstairs. Out of sight. Still in hiding, all alone. Poor dude.

Unlike his misguided papa, Peter didn’t mind human inclusion so much. One: because he considered himself a pretty open minded guy. Easy to say, since he didn’t harbor anything remotely comparable to his father’s trauma. 

And two, on a less serious note: Human girls. They gravitated towards Peter like moths to a flame.

Throughout the mansion, the theme to Killer Klowns from Outer Space rang. Conversations buzzed around Peter like radio static. Candy corn booze made it impossible for him to comprehend them. Some partygoers played wallflower. Idling by snack tables, feasting on as much junk food as their stomachs could handle. It took every ounce of restraint Peter had, not to raid those tables himself.

Peter’s Terminator costume wasn’t much of a costume at all, really. It left most of the ladies confused. He didn’t recognize half the costumed cuties who pulled him in for dances. But they sure as hell recognized him. When another pretty girl pressed herself against him - tits bouncing, and bare thighs rubbing his pants - she’d ask the dreaded words, “What’re youuuu supposed to be?” Twirling her hair and giving Peter fluttery bedroom eyes.

Peter gave the same responses every time. Covered head to toe in black clothing, wearing a pair of sunglasses; he raised a prop shotgun from his back, responding with his best Arnold impression.

“I’ll be back.” Right on the money, Peter thought in his buzzed haze. Totally accurate. One to one.

If the girlies didn’t get the reference? So be it. Peter ultimately felt like a massive dork. But he got some sexually charged groovin’ out of it. A bit of groping here or there. He didn’t mind taking the L, if it meant grabbing some ass in the process.

But as the party clamored on, Peter knew he wanted only one thing.

To find you. Just to hang out, catch up, and have an innocent time. No other reason. Seriously. Honest. Why else would he wanna find you? To mess around a little bit? Nahhh. Why would he wanna fool around with you? And risk a long term friendship? He couldn't have that.

Not when you carried enough patience to put up with his day-to-day bullshit. Always listening to his senseless ramblings. Even if he spoke too fast for you to keep up.

During his lunch breaks on school days, Peter usually spent time with you. The two of you talked in the kitchen, or chillaxed in the lounge. Those chats? The highlight of his day. As corny as it seemed. He just couldn’t resist you and your kindly wiles. The wiles of his colleague. His…very pretty colleague. His…very pretty… platonic colleague.

Someone please end his misery now.

Peter wandered aimlessly. He danced his heart out and chatted up some more cute gals. Soon enough, he found you. Leaned over a set of snack tables, you picked through sugary sweet treats. Peter noticed the way you swayed in place. A little heavy footed like him, eh? He snickered to himself, sneaking up behind you. 

Lacking any filter or restraint, Peter blatantly gawked at your ass. A fitted, white gown draped your body. Flowing in an angelic fashion, it harmonized with your every curve. Even tipsy, Peter recognized your costume the microsecond he saw it. Princess Leia. Star Wars. Episode IV. Very sexy. Beyond sexy, even.

A flirtatious whistle caught you by surprise. You whirled around with a doe eyed look on your face. A kind of gaze that made his brain turn to mush. As if the alcohol hadn’t already. You licked the frosting off a funky colored cupcake, as Peter’s gaze flitted down your body. His eyes followed the smooth creases of your gown. A tasteful peek of your thigh kept his attention locked. Until the perky tease of your nipples captivated him instead.

Awesome. Amazing. 11/10. Best night ever.

“Ohmygosh!” You laughed, reaching out to touch Peter’s chest for whatever reason. Not that he minded one bit, “Peeeter, I’m sooooo sorry! I’m a little tipsy right now! It’s really unprofessional!”

Scarlet bloomed in his cheeks, burning hot enough to make him dizzier. Peter ogled you like the last Twinkie on the planet. A dollop of frosting caught the plush of your lip. You swirled it away with your tongue. Drawing in a hitched breath, Peter blinked.

Focus. He needed to focus on anything else. Not the parts of you he wanted to be on, inside of, and all other configurations of carnality.

“And?? You wanna hear somethin’ cray-crayyy?” Peter asked, lamely slurring his words. He raised his red solo cup, waving it in a clumsy motion, “So am I, princess! I’m totally hammered. And I looooove it!” He threw his head back, belting a loud, “WHOOOOO!!” Feeling more like a free spirit than he had in years.

Moving closer, you couldn't control your laughs. You shushed Peter, keeping your hand on his chest. Patting you on the shoulder, Peter chuckled. He feigned offense, but his sizeable hand lingered on you. A thumb grazed the soft cloth of your dress. For a beat, he wondered what you looked like under it.

“Whyyyy?? Why should I keep it down, huh?? It’s a party, baby! Everybody’s yellin’!” He shrugged. Peter smirked, throwing his head back again. He shouted another, “WHOOOOO!!”

A crowd of partygoers kept their eyes on the two of you. Their gazes lingering for a little longer than necessary. You snickered again. So tipsy, you could hardly get a word in through your giggling.

“You really are drunk, oh my gosh. You’re crazy, Peter! I can’t even-” Dropping your head into his chest, you erupted in woozy huffs of laughter. Great. He loved the closeness, “Peter, sorry, I’m sooooooo-”

“Mind-blowingly hot?” Peter lazily blinked, “Because yer-...you-ohhhh, man. You look really hot. Like-” He made a meaningless gesture with his hands, shaking his head, “Like, WOW! Have you seen yourself? Someone tell ‘Ro to make it rain. ‘Cuz yer on fiiiiiiire!” He joked. Cheesy and lame, but too smashed to even care.

You scoffed, cheeks set ablaze, “Oh, please! Give me a break! Mister Terminator casanova over here. Are you trying to butter me up like you did all those other ladies?” Playfully, you pushed off his chest. Peter mourned the loss of your touch, “I saw you! Getting all handsy out there!” You said, your tone lighthearted. Still accusatory.

Somehow, you recognized his costume. That caught him a little off guard. Peter’s heart did some kinda funny, fluttery thing. Jumpy, warm, and beating beating beating in his chest. But…nah. Couldn’t be because of you. Could it? Maybe the booze did it. Yeah. Irradiated Beast hooch must’ve give him palpitations. He’d tell Hank about this side effect later.

Peter arched a silver brow, “Oh, yeah? Mmmhm. Sounds like yer just jealous. ‘Cuz the ladies find my inner Schwarzenegger, action hero totally irresistible.” Bullshit. Most of them thought he dressed as Neo from the Matrix. Wrong action movie. Peter kept talking out his ass, “I bet it drives you up a wall to see ‘em all over me like that.”

“Oh, you think? Suuure. Like Leia would ever have the hots for some dollar store Terminator.” You teased affectionately, “Likely story, Quickie.” Fuck. Quickie. He loved when you called him that. You deceived your own protests, pressing your body against Peter's.

Your nails dug into his shirt as you palmed his chest. So…you wanted to play this little game now, huh? Alright. Fine. Peter bickered back and forth with you for an indiscernible amount of time. Standing in a corner by the snack tables, away from the noisy, party bustle. Unbalanced and wobbly, Peter leaned in. Keeping you both pressed together in a way too intimate for wandering eyes.

He almost spilled his neon concoction on your dress. Exchanging giggles again, Peter lingered even closer. His lips on the cusp of reaching out for yours. But in a clouded moment of self awareness, he stopped himself short.

“D-Do you…uhhhh-” He swallowed dryly. His nerves buzzed all through his body, “Y’wanna…get outta here? Maybe go do somethin’ reallllyyyy dumb? Like-uh…maybe make a mistake you’ll regret in the morning?” Peter suggested, wiggling his brows.

You gave him another lidded look, igniting a blistering fire deep in his bones. With your body still pressed to his - bodacious and oh-so-tempting - you brought a hand up. A beat of silence passed, as you moved his sunglasses up over his hair. Silver strands fell loose. You gazed into his puppy dog eyes directly. 

“And what makes you think I’d regret it?” You asked, your voice smooth and somewhat slurred. Oh...were you being real with him right now?

Your fingers traced flirty circles over his chest. Scorching flames in Peter’s heart burned warmth through his veins. Heat gathered in his groin. Peter’s eyes widened to a planetary degree. Clutching his solo cup a little too tight, he brushed your ass with his other hand. By accident. He only intended to pull you closer. You held his intoxicated gaze. 

Peter let his lips ghost yours again, without any direct connection.

“See, that’s-uhhh…hah…that’s just the booze talkin’.” He whispered with a soft chuckle. Steadily, he pulled himself from you, “Wanna know what it’s tellin’ me?” Peter gave you another lazy grin, nibbling his lip, “Youuuuuu and meee…” He sluggishly said. He dragged you along with him. Stumbling backwards, “...should-uh…gooooo have some…adult fun, yeah? A little romp in the hay?”

Did you know he meant that verbatim? Probably not.

Moments later, Peter clumsily navigated through the party. He made a beeline for the entrance hall, holding your hand the entire way. Floundering with every step, he traversed the crowded halls. Through each doorway the two of you passed, fluttering streamers dangled above. Soft tissue brushed across your face, tickling your nose.

The streamers proved more unkind to Peter. Staggering through the last doorway, he became tangled in them. Peter tried to shake the tissue off, twisting around and flailing his arms. He cursed aloud, making a spectacle of his embarrassing predicament. Caught in a web of orange and black, he looked like a Halloween decoration all his own. The streamers wrapped around his body and arms, even covering his head.

“MOTHER FU-” He cursed, jerking the tissue down with a rough tug. Peter tripped forward in the process. But he caught himself just in time. Compensating for his humiliation, he laughed, “I’m okay! I’m okay! Allllll good, guys. I’m good. Totally good! Meant to do that, actually.” Peter cleared his throat. He averted his glassy gaze from any partygoers nearby.

One of them being Hank, who stood alongside Raven. The two shared a few drinks and quietly chatted. The big, beast of man wore torn, red flannel. His blue fur peeked out from the undone buttons, appearing frayed. His costume? A smurf werewolf. A smurfwolf. Or something. Peter couldn't tell. And Raven? She hadn’t dressed up at all. Labeling Halloween: The one time of year she chose not to disguise herself. Why? Because, in her words, "It's funnier that way."

Raven stifled a laugh at Peter’s expense. But Hank didn’t hold himself back. He roared a rumbling chuckle, “I see the serum’s treating you well, Peter!” Hank teased, cradling a drink in his fluffy paw, “Why, it certainly looks that way. You seem to be having-uhm…fun? Yes! Fun. I'm delighted to see it!"

Peter idled in the middle of the doorway, swaying a little on his feet. Forgoing the streamers, he left them tangled around his limbs. Fuck it. His costume could use some added flair.

“I’m havin’ a-uhhhhh…a total blast, Beast my mannn!” Peter slurred. He passed Hank on his way out the mansion’s entrance. And roughly patted the scientist on the shoulder, “Thanks again, buddy ol’ pal! I owe you one!”

You giggled, beaming an elated smile as Peter dragged you out the door. Once you flew ungracefully by, Hank and Raven both did double takes. They gave you cautious looks, as if to say - uh, do you think this is a good idea? A little too sloshed, you failed to register their concern. Following Peter out the door with an inelegant skip in your step, you waved the pair goodbye.

“Well, now…that’s certainly going to be awkward for him tomorrow morning.” Hank joked, looking down at his drink. He swirled the beverage, the cup appearing itty bitty in his clutch. Showing off a crowd of snaggle teeth, he yawned.

Raven shook her head, scoffing, “Oh, it’ll bite him in the ass later. That’s for sure.” She added, sipping her own drink, “You proud of yourself?” Raven quipped, arching an orange brow. Hank held up a single claw, playful in his self defense.

“Not my fault! I gave him that serum because I thought he could have fun with it! And he is! Didn’t you see him? What he does under its influence is completely out of my jurisdiction!” Hank shrugged, stating in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ll have you know, I did try to warn him!”

In hindsight, Peter should have heeded Hank’s warnings. What he did under the effects of disco liquor proved supremely stupid. The nanosecond your feet hit the grass outside, he lost any restraint he had left. Peter kissed you full on. Ushering your sweet lips into an alcohol induced session of heavy smooching. Tongues interweaving, lackadaisical and reckless, the two of you shared careless kisses. Under decorative spider webs and amongst inflatable Snoopys.

But no Great Pumpkin in sight.

You slung your arms over Peter’s broad shoulders, letting him devour you. His sizable hands slid over your hips. He pulled you closer as he stumbled like a complete klutz. Thick fingers curled into the cloth of your dress. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Peter didn’t dare consider any consequences. With no filter to hold him back, one of his palms felt for your breast. He copped a handful, before you stopped him in his tracks. You tore your lips from his candy corn kisses.

“Heyyyy! Hey, hey, hey! Not here! What are you even doing??” You laughed, giving his nose an affectionate nuzzle, “Someone might see us, doofus!”

Peter hummed, pulling you against him in a more firm grip. He stole frantic kisses, heated and mouthy. Squeezing your hips, his nails scratched across your gown to your ass. Kneading your plush cheeks with little shame.

“So what? Let ‘em enjoy the show!” Peter snickered, diving in for yet another kiss, “I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to touch you like this. Now that I finally got you…”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t seem to take him seriously. In an attempt to pull yourself away again, you stumbled backwards in the grass. Even with his reaction time outta wack, Peter managed to catch you before you fell. In one awkward motion, he scooped you up bridal style and carried you into the woods. The streamers coiled around his limbs came loose, at long last. Flitting away behind him in the wind.

He held you in his strong arms, following the mansion’s haunted, Halloween trail. The hayride already closed down for the night, leaving the trail - and the barn - open for some private necking.

Finding his way to the barn, Peter wobbled, slowing his stride. In his arms, you took a moment to admire the decorations he put so much effort into. Orange, twinkling lights lined the barn’s entryway. Vibrant in late night darkness. Magical, and kinda romantic. Through the trees in the distance, the garnished mansion appeared visible. A Halloweeny spectacle, engulfed in simulated fog.

Party music echoed from afar, faint, but clear enough he could hear. Peter perked up, overhearing a classic, Hallow’s eve tune.

“‘CUZ THIS IS THRILLLAHHHH!” Peter shouted off key, moving backwards into the barn. His steps were careless, “THRILLAH NIIIIGHT!” He sang, falling into a bed of cool hay. Strands of straw bounced in the air. You came down with him, and he kept singing, “AND NO ONE’S GONNA SAVE YA-” He cut himself off, leaning in to feast on your lips. Peter cradled you in his arms, humming Thriller amidst awkward kisses.

You laid bridal style over his legs, dipping your head back. Inviting Peter to devour your neck like a thirsty vampire. Without all the grace of Bela Lugosi. More like a hammered Nosferatu. If either of you had second thoughts, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. He left that baggage behind. In the morning, sober Peter could unpack it all. Right now, he wanted his hands on your body, under your dress.

“Ohhhh~! Oh my-” You moaned, tacking on an erotic squeal of his name. Giggling in a kittenish tone. The sound made him wanna bite you harder, “W-Wait-...Peter, maybe we shouldn’t-oooooh~! Maybe we shouldn’t be-”

His sloppy kisses cut your hesitance short. Peter nodded his head in a lazy, loose motion. Bringing more dizziness upon himself.

“Mmmm? What? No-...” He hummed, “Baby, we should. We definitely should. Don’t even worry-” Peter paused for an abrupt beat. Holding you tight, he adjusted in the hay. Uncomfortable, Peter knitted his brows, “Wait-...this hay’s so-...why’s this hay so fuckin’ itchy, man?”

At the chime of your silly snorts and giggles, Peter’s words became lost on him. Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t think clearly enough to recall them. Instead, he drew his attention back to you. Peter’s lips found your neck once more. Your floral scent replenished his lungs, a lifesource he desperately needed. Hot kisses peppered down your chest. In his clouded stupor, Peter buried his face between your breasts.

He loved the flustered squeal you made in response. Enough that he couldn’t help but do it again.

“Ohhhhh…hot damn, baby.” Peter groaned into your chest, motorboating your knockers. A graceless gesture. Lifting his face, his hair appeared a disheveled mess, “Yer so awesome, y’know that? Liiiike…yer really great. I know I’m pretty drunk right now, but-uhhhh…” He slurred, sneaking thick fingers under your dress, “I do mean it. No joke. I think yer really cool. Cool and-uhm…and-uh…hahaaa….I really like you.”

You erupted in more buzzed giggles, parting your lips to protest his drunken confession. But Peter silenced you with shushes, “Shhhhhhhh! Shhhhh, don’t-” He hiccuped. Your laughs were so contagious, he couldn’t help but giggle as well, “Shhhh! Don’t tell anybody!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” You chuckled, gently holding his cheeks. You pulled him down for more smooches, lips meeting in a slower embrace, “I like you too, Peter…but shhhhhh…keep it a secret.”

His fingertips danced along your inner thigh, clumsy and unsteady. Peter’s hand disappeared between your legs and under your gown. Hot digits grazed your panties. A flimsy, soaked piece of fabric awaited those digits. Breathing a low huff, Peter whispered, “Fuck.” into your neck. The steamy word tickled your skin, giving you chills.

Blindly, he wormed his fingers into your panties. Peter dipped his digits into your honeyed heat. Thick, syrupy cushions sealed around him. He focused on parting your tight walls. A little too uncoordinated to pleasure you in a more ideal way. Rough, repetitive motions curled at an awkward angle. Digging so deep, Peter could hear the squishy call of your insides - leaking wet, all for him. 

Your body tensed, knees spreading on instinct. Cool air caressed your thighs. Peering down into your lidded, baby doll eyes, he held your gaze. As your cunt pulsed around his digits, soft and constricting, he knitted his brows. Humming another groan, Peter dove down for your neck. He sucked mouthy, wet hickies into your skin. Leaving gifts for sober you to discover later tomorrow.

Speaking of sober.

Sober Peter never had trouble keeping up with anybody. Moreover, everyone else found it impossible to keep up with him. But in his buzzed daze, he could barely follow your lead. One blink, and his fingers buried themselves to the knuckle in your cunt. The next blink, you took initiative. Throwing him for a loop, you changed positions. You pushed Peter further back into the hay, straddling his lap.

As you fumbled for his jeans and pulled them open, more giggling ensued. Heated tension hung over the two of you like those glimmering, barn lights. You felt around, guiding your hand to a hot thickness in his pants. It rested in a curly bed of silver hairs, limp and untouched. Your giggles ceased, and your expression shifted.

“Peter, you’re not even-” You started, squeezing the softness of him in your hand. You gave him a few loose tugs, your voice teeming with hesitance, “Are you…are you sure you want-”

“Yeaaaahhhhh. Yeah. Yanno, it’s just-...I never thought I’d be the one gettin’ whiskey dick. Haha.” Peter joked, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. Buzzed and uncoordinated, Peter harbored little patience for foreplay. His fingers sought for your weeping heat again. He pushed them through your soft, supple pussy lips, “Sucks a lot. I was really hopin’ I’d get to-uhmmm…ahahaaaa…” He bit his tongue, laughing, “Really wanted to show you a good fuckin’ time. But this shit feels like rocket science right now, sorry…”

Eventually, through sheer determination, you worked up enough sorcery to liven him up. Waking his cock from its soft slumber. Peter fumbled, clumsily guiding his dick to your flowery mound. It took some serious concentration on his part to do so. His tongue poked between his lips, brows furrowed tight. He leered between your sweltering bodies. Humid air clung to his skin, contrasting the sharp coolness of an October’s night. The smell of booze permeated in your sweat, mingling with the scent of your perfume. 

You sank over his cock, taking the now raging length of him fluidly. He bottomed out in a single intake of breath. Peter moaned, rolling his hips upward. Your fluttery walls stretched, cozy and soft around his dick. He dropped his head back into the hay, howling a goofy shout. It echoed through the trees, catching autumn wind.

"OHHHHHHH~! THAT'S IT! WHOOOOOO~!" He yelled. Peter chewed his lip hard, meeting your bounces with sluggish thrusts, "That's it. That's what I'm fuckin' talkin' about. Hoh-fuck..."

His rhythm was a little off beat, but he blamed the booze. Clenching the fabric of your dress in his fingers, he bunched it up tight. As if to hold you by horse’s reins, arduously guiding you on your ride.

Far in the back of his mind. Like, so far, Peter may as well have been on another planet. He had his first conflicting thought. Screwing you for the first time like this - hammered and careless - struck him as kind of…wrong. Really, he should have waited it out, and done this sober. But Peter couldn’t deny himself either.

"Peter, ohhh~! Feels really good~!" Your squeals of erotic, but sluggish pleasure sounded too much like music. Now cemented as one of his all time favorite songs, "Sooo good, I-aaahhh~!"

The bubbly feeling brought upon by Beast liquor made his body burn with ecstasy. His cock throbbed inside you, loving the tight embrace of your walls. Pleasure burned to an incomprehensible level of intensity. 

Even your dress felt unreasonably soft on his skin. Peter moaned again, drilling your cunt in unsteady surges of carnal bliss. He breathed thickly, the air between the two of you now sweltering. Choking on air, he kept his slow pace. His cock dug tunnels through your walls at a slacking speed. Completely unnatural for him. But overflowing with intoxication, he thrived in it.

“N-Not gonna-” Peter laughed. His voice a rough, breathless mess of incoherency. Sticky heat flushed his cheeks, and his tone wavered, “‘M not-...god…not gonna last. Fuck. Oh my fucking-” He swallowed another groan, suffocating on it. Peter’s hips rolled, their movement leisurely, “Sooooo tight. Feels like yer tryna-...like yer gonna-...aaaahaaaaafuck.”

Playing with your pearly clit, you squealed. The swollen nub burned, tingling as you circled it. With difficulty focusing, Peter brought his head up. He watched your little fingers while you pleasured yourself. His lidded, dark eyes stared, so spacy, so clouded. A growl caught in the back of his throat. You toyed with yourself a little longer, spreading glossy slickness under your fingers.

Your whines stayed at a respectable volume. Quiet enough, no one outside the barn could hear. But Peter refused to keep his enthusiastic voice down. He dug his big hands into your hips, fingernails clenching your dress. Scratching rough lines into the white cloth.

"Fuck, you gonna-...you gonna keep touchin' yourself like that? Gonna cum for me?" His words slurred. Peter used his immeasurable strength to hold you in place. Stuffing his cock through your pussy’s luscious, spongy grip. He fucked you in lethargic, but needy ruts, "P-Please-ohmygod-...please cum for me, baby. Lemme hear it, please?"

"Noooo~! Pe-ahhhh~! Peter, I cannnn't! Someone might-...Peter I can't-" You whimpered. Swirling your clit, you pushed yourself even further towards climax. A delightful, oncoming wave of scorching pleasure surged in your body. Sizzling through your veins, "OH, FUCK, QUICKIE~!" A sharp squeal bounced from your throat, as Peter surprised you.

"FUCK!! Yeah? You sound so fuckin'-Ah-...Yer so fuckin' good for me. Don't hold back, baby. Wanna-ohhhh~! Wanna hear you scream. Don't you fuckin' hold back-" Moving suddenly fast, he slammed his cock in deeper. His cherry red dick shattered your poor cervix. Burying himself to the brim, he slapped your mound hard with sharp pounds of his pelvis, "Mmmmmmfucking-...gonna fuckin'....aaaahhaha..."

Peter’s body tensed. His heels scuffed along the ground, crushing hay under his boots as he braced his feet. More loose strands tickled his skin where his shirt bunched up. Making him itchy again. But his intoxicated rutting never dwindled. He whined again, his voice cracking. Ruthless, quickening grinds of his cock knocked you hard. Sending you straight into a dimension of overwhelming, euphoric pleasure.

As tremors hummed across your sweaty skin, bliss ruptured deep in your core. At that moment, Peter forgot to consider any further risks. He burst with a hot, white pop of gluey heat. Rocking your sore cunt in sloppy, shallow thrusts. Peter soaked his dick in your sweet, inebriated love. The scent of booze and sex simmered in his nostrils. Lifting his hips, he met you in one or two more reckless, offbeat bounces.

Barely conscious of reality, Peter panted. Lying with you in a clumsy heap, he shared lazy kisses and steamy breaths with you. Had he been anymore sober, Peter would’ve rushed you off to the nearest bathroom. In dire need of a minute’s recovery, he laid there. Splayed out, Peter’s limbs rested loose and flimsy. The seconds passed, and he sobered up quickly. Post-orgasmic haziness began to clear.

You snuggled up next to him, grazing his cheek with your nose. The scent of alcohol lingered on your breath. Remind Peter that, unlike him, you were probably still a little drunk.

“You okay?” You asked out of the blue, tickling his neck with a giggle, “What are you thinking about? You’re not second guessing yourself already, are you?” Your fingers toyed with the zipper of his jacket. Which he gave you to wear in the cold, shortly after fucking you senseless.

In the distance, the faint roar of the party continued on. Rustling from inside the mansion and seemingly endless. Peter stayed silent, before snickering. He turned his head to the side, returning your nuzzles with a kiss. His lips met your hair. The smell of your conditioner made his heart skip a beat for some reason.

“Nothin’. It’s not-” He shrugged, turning his head again. Peter stared up at the glittering string lights hanging in the barn. His coffee bean eyes jumped from twinkle to twinkle, “It’s not super important. Kinda weird to be thinkin’ about it after-uh…” His voice trailed off again. Peter cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush, “Seriously, no big deal.”

You rolled onto your back, watching the lights sway in a cool breeze, “You sure?” You laughed, humming an, “Uh ohhh!” Before you continued, “Did somebody sober up and realize he made a dumb mistake? Hehe…” You teased, though he could hear the sliver of hesitance in your tone. A beat of silence passed, and you hugged his jacket closer.

“Regret wh-...huh? Nahhh, baby. You kiddin’? That was awesome.” He snickered awkwardly. Peter brought his hands to his face. He sighed, “I-uh…I was just thinkin’ about how…I could be spendin’ this holiday with my dad. I mean, shit…maybe he wouldn’t wanna spend it with me, but-”

He assumed you might take offense to this. Wouldn't it come off as a little inconsiderate? To think about his dad right now. After such an intimate moment between the two of you. But being the understanding person you were, you rolled over to face him. Drawing gentle lines into his shirt, you snuggled up close to him again.

“Is that where you wanna be right now? With your dad?” You asked, your tone gentle.

Peter swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A pounding headache swarmed him from nowhere. The repercussions of Beast hooch. Hopefully, such ailments would pass just as quickly as he sobered up.

“I-...yeah? I guess? But…it’s not like I can just-...like, I can’t go see him. Since he still doesn’t know about me, y’know? It’d be weird if I just showed up on Halloween. Like, hey, man, wanna hang out? Goddammit.” Peter shook his head, sitting up fully in the hay. Straw-like strands stuck to his clothes. He brushed them away.

“Well…hey, I got an idea, yeah?” You tried to follow his lead, sitting upward. Swaying a little as you did, Peter could tell you were still on the edge of tipsy. You giggled, “Let’s go inside. And I’ll…try to get everyone together for a movie. Maybe a horror? And you can run off! Go find him. Use the movie as an excuse. Offer him the opportunity to come down and watch. Sound good?”

It didn’t. Erik wasn’t the type to indulge in such activities. Still, Peter smiled fondly at your consideration. Nodding, he stood to his feet in a flash. You blinked, finding yourself lying bridal style in his arms again. With a hand to his chin, you tilted his head down. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks…” He hummed, his half lidded eyes gazing down into yours, “I really did have…such an awesome time with you. I haven't done that kinda thing with anybody in a while. But lemme-uh…” Peter bashfully chuckled, “Lemme get you to a bathroom so you can clean up, 'kay? ”

After the surprisingly deep chat he shared with you, Peter rushed you off to a mansion bathroom. Leaning against a wall, he waited outside the door. As the party settled and people filed out into the streets, he became more nervous. The two of you spent the rest of the night together, by the other’s side. Treating each other as normally as you would any other day. Soon, you sobered up enough to gather the X-family for a late night movie.

Peter took your advice, despite expecting the worst. Zipping upstairs and all through the mansion, he searched for his estranged father. To Peter’s surprise, Erik caught him off guard with a yes. But before he made his way downstairs, Peter took a moment to chat with him. He asked Erik how he was doing, and what he’d been up to. Ever since he chose the mansion for a temporary hideout (an arrangement most everybody felt uncomfortable with).

Erik - for good reason - wasn’t the most emotionally open. He kept their conversation short, before dismissing Peter. They both caught up with everyone else in the living room. The X-family sat together with snacks and drinks, joined for a movie. Erik chose a spot next to Peter on one of the sofas. Something he hadn’t anticipated at all. Since he didn’t get much out of the guy too often, he felt he could settle for his company, at least.

Sitting at Peter's other side, you eventually passed out. You rested your head on his lap, and he raked his fingers through your hair. By the time the movie ended, everyone veered off for bed. At last, calling Hallow’s eve quits. But Erik remained. He spoke to Peter a little while longer. Chatting about nothing at all, and everything at once.

Come next morning, Peter stood tiredly in the mansion kitchen. It was an unreasonably cold Monday in November. Freezing weather seemed to hit Westchester out of nowhere. He held a mug full of coffee, milky white and loaded with enough sugar to send anyone else to the hospital. Scratching his head over a mess of silver hair, Peter yawned. Even though he had more important things to worry about, he couldn't stop thinking about last night. For several reasons.

The impromptu bonding time he spent with his father lingered in his mind. Even if said father didn’t know what their interactions meant to Peter. It happened all thanks to your tipsy encouragement. Peter knew, even sober, you would’ve pushed him to do the same. Because you cared about him that much. Always inspiring him to step out of his comfort zone.

Aside from the estranged dad stuff, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more…steamy moments the two of you shared. Intimate interactions he still hadn’t sat down and discussed with you. Peter didn't have a clue what that little fling meant to you. Or if it meant anything at all. Distracting himself, he focused his attention elsewhere. Like the Halloween decorations littered about the mansion. He planned to take them down today after classes.

You came padding downstairs and into the kitchen not even five minutes later.

“Gooooood morning!” You cheerily said, blinking your sleepy eyes. Groaning, you brought a hand to your head. Your fingers touched your temple, “You know what’s surprising? I actually don’t have that bad of a hangover!”

Peter’s heart did flips, and he felt his stomach tangle in knots. Humming into his coffee, he threw you a casual nod of his head. Play it cool, “Mmmm. That’s good, though, right?”

You headed straight for the cabinets, standing on your toes to reach the highest one. You flailed around for the near-empty tub of coffee grounds. He left it up there without any consideration for short, mansion inhabitants like you. Totally absent-minded. Peter almost felt thankful he did. As you reached, the itty bitty, sleep shorts you wore rose by a touch. The cheeks of your ass caught his eye. Your bottom appeared etched in faint scratches, painted with red splotches. Damn…what the hell did he do to you last night?

Sipping his coffee with a groggy look on his face, Peter grinned.

Man alive, he wanted to screw you sober. Doing it drunk really wasn’t enough. Quickly, he dismissed that thought. Filing it away in his scatterbrained memory for later.

“Did you talk to Erik last night?” You asked, pulling Peter from his not-so-safe-for-work thoughts. You stretched a little further up, really reaching for that tin tub of Folgers.

Peter blinked, “Sorry, what?”

“Erik. I asked if you talked to him last night? Because I kinda remember you two having a chat. But then again, I was pretty out of it!” Your shorts hugged the shape of your cunt as you stood on your toes. An ache stirred in his groin, but he shook it off. Holy shit. What were you trying to accomplish here?

Peter’s heart skipped twenty beats. Sifting through the disorganized cabinets in his brain, he retrieved his previous thought. Ah, yeah. Screwing you sober? Not a want, but a need at this point. Focus, Quickie. He needed to focus. Especially if you planned on talking about something as important as his father.

“Uhhhh…” He ran a hand through his messy locks, taking a moment to process his racing thoughts, “Yeah, we talked. Not a lot, though. I meant to say thanks for that, by the way. Since I didn’t get to last night…” Peter brought his mug to his lips, averting his gaze, “Really. Thanks a lot. Don’t think we woulda had that time together, if you hadn’t pushed me to ask him 'n stuff.”

Still struggling to reach for that tin, you sighed. Your heels hit the floor, as you lowered your arm and turned to meet Peter’s eyes. Your sweet voice brought him an unexpected feeling of comfort. 

“Hey, anytime, Peter! I know it’s been really hard for you. Seeing him around here lately. And you don’t need me to tell you the obvious. But-” You timidly gazed down at your toes, shrugging. Peter knew exactly what you were about to say, before you parted your lips to say it.

Something along the lines of: Maybe it’s finally time you told him the truth. Or whatever.

It was too early for this kinda deep, introspective talk. Peter didn’t give you the chance to continue. Setting aside his mug on a countertop, he appeared by your side in a fwip. The breeze from his abrupt movement tickled your cheeks. He reached into the cabinet for the tub of coffee grounds. Handing it off to you with a tired, hooded expression. He sluggishly grinned.

“We got class in, like, twenty minutes.” Peter interrupted, and you took the bait. Whether you knew of his intent to dissuade the previous conversation, he couldn’t tell.

“Oh! Yeah! Shit!” You slapped a hand over your forehead. Peter gazed down at you, admiring your early morning features, “I’m so screwed!” Not yet you’re not, “I totally forgot to put together a lesson plan! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do today!” Well…you could always do him. Again.

Jeez. Dude. No. The hell’s wrong with him?? Be reasonable, guy! At least take your buddy out to dinner first. Which...yeah. Might be time to think about asking you on a real date.

“Yeahhh. I kinda forgot too. Had a bunch of other stuff on my mind, yanno?” Peter said, completely lethargic. He shrugged, “I’m so bad at my job, man.” He kept his eyes on you, as you threw together your own pot of coffee.

“Actually, that’s bullshit. And I think you know it too. You’re amazing at it. That’s why all the kids love you so much.” You replied. Smiling like you meant every word. Because you did. Man, why'd you have to be so freakin' sweet?

Early morning sunlight beamed through the windows. It bathed your hair and face in sparkling gold. Peter wanted to kick himself for swooning. He opted to change subjects.

“I gotta take these decorations down eventually.” He said, gesturing to the streamers hanging from the kitchen ceiling. For an instant, he remembered tangling himself in them last night, “I keep puttin’ it off. But it’s gotta happen sooner ‘er later.” Taking initiative, he reached up to tear some of them down. Balling them up in his hands.

“I could help you! If you need an extra hand!” You offered, innocently sipping your coffee. Peter took in the curl of your lips as you smiled. He cleared his throat, chuckling.

“Y’know you don’t have to, babe. It’ll literally only take me a second. I just gotta stop sittin’ on my ass.” Peter said. He tossed the balled streamers with a failed, Michael Jordan-style execution. They landed in a nearby trashcan, “Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to put Christmas decorations up too. Might get started on 'em as soon as these ‘re down.” He smirked, “I’m thinkin’ I get everyone some seriously ugly sweaters. Even Mags, if he's still around by then. Oh, and I'll need more Snoopys. The crotch goblins love Snoopy.” Peter paused for a beat, his dark eyes drifting down your body. A subconscious instinct, “And-uhhhh…gonna need lots of tinsel…uh…”

Peter reached for his coffee mug. What was he talking about again?

“Oh? That all sounds nice!” You tilted your head to the side, flirtatiously grinning at Peter. As if you could tell how distracted he was by your body. Heat set aflame in his cheeks, as he glanced up into your eyes. Noticing the way they seemed to twinkle, “Think you’ll decorate the barn again too?” You asked, a flirtatious tease pouring through your tone.

He choked on his coffee mid-sip.

[mimisplayground]

Soft Hands and Softer Whispers ＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

Tags: Soft!Ghost, Oral, Hes so sweet to you, Gentle Sex, AFTERCARE KING, domestic life, he convinces you to move in, SOFT!!, not really touched on but clingy!ghost

guys uhmmmm leave a request if u wanna see him be rough and mean :3

——————

Ghost was, by all accounts, the best sex but the worst hookup.

He knew how to leave your legs trembling and your breathing ragged, with fingerprints on your hips, neck, and jaw. He left you with a limp for days to come and he knew all the right spots to press his lips when he felt nice enough to push his mask up. The perfect mix of rough and gentle that would leave any man, woman, and inbetween falling at his feet.

He did NOT know that when the sex was over, the hookup usually left the same night or morning after. Breakfast in bed and royal treatment (because no matter what you are, he’s treating ypu like royalty after demolishing your insides), while they were all nice, they weren’t hookup behavior. Holding your hand and grunting out that you were his was sexy in bed, but felt a touch more romantic than you felt it should when he extended it to the baths he ran for you while he washed your body.

He would show up at your place after he got back from deployment everytime without fail. Spending weeks and months there while making jokes that sounded a bit too serious at times. “Just move into my place, lovely. Be nice havin’ ya around.” You giggled about it, leaving the answer in the air.

Until one day you’re watching him carry boxes into a shitty one bedroom apartment, that had little to no decorations, a key in your hand, and as he grabs his deployment, he pats your shoulder and says “give it some flare.” And with that you’re left alone for the next few months in an apartment of a hookup.

And when he came back, he showered, grabbed you up off the couch, laid you down on his bed that now had soft fluffy duvet to cover the top, and ate you out like a man starved.

He grabbed your hips when they tried to twitch away from overstimulation, and the slurps coming from him were downright sinful. You felt your eyes roll back and the knots in your stomach snap again and the liquidy burst that came from you had you blushing with tears leaving your face. “Si…quit it…” You huffed with big crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. He climbs up and kisses away the tears for a moment, rubbing the back of your head.

And you sigh when you feel him push inside, hushed whispers of “mine, all mine, my sweet thing” chanted out of his gravelly voice. He’s so sweet and gentle with you. Rolling his hips firmly while kissing all over your face.

It was in the bathtub as he scrubbed your back that you said aloud “this seems a little too…romantic for a hookup.” There was a silence that overtook the bathroom before Ghost huffed and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into an embrace. “We ain’t just hookin’ up anymore, are we?”

You hummed for a moment, your hand reaching back to feel his stubbly beard and lean into him. “No, I guess we aren’t just hooking up anymore.” You left a small kiss on his temple and you feel him smile.

You suppose it was fine Simon didn’t know hookup etiquette. If he did, then you wouldn’t have a boyfriend who was great at sex AND aftercare.

————-

errmmmm sry its not da usual jjk content i just luv luv luv soft ghost

anyways asks and requests AND commissions are open guys pls leave stuff for me to do

[koolades-world]

Behind the Scenes

All it took was the watchful eye of your best man.

“How was yer day?” Mammon took your bag from you as the two of you began the walk home from RAD together.

“Uneventful mostly, but not bad. The fact that you were there during Seductive Speechcraft today was more than enough to turn my day around.” You turn and smile at him.

“What’d ya mean?” He glanced over at you.

"Just a bad day. Having you at my side make it better." You try to deflect.

"What happened?" He reached out to grab your hand, which you took.

"A couple things." You avoid his gaze.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Mammon stopped you in your tracks by standing in front of you. He looks right into your eyes, and holds your chin in his hands.

“You’re so caring Mams, but I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” You place a hand on his arm, trying to continue walking. He stops you, holding you close.

"Ya've been havin' bad days for a while now. What's the root? Ya can't hide this from me." You sigh, realize the jig is up.

"There's been this demon at RAD who's been picking on me. Today he stole my Potions homework, shouldered me into my locker, and almost drowned me in the bathroom. Thankfully the professor let me off since I never forget my work at home, but next time I might not be so lucky." You admit.

"He what? Forget the whole homework thing, I'll kill the bastard. Who did this to you? You gotta tell me about this stuff. Where does it hurt? Tell me the truth." Silently, you lift one of your sleeves to reveal the bruise you got from being slammed into the locker and pull down the collar of your uniform reveal the outline of fingers on the back of your neck. You wince at the memory. “What were ya planning to do? Suffer in silence? Mc, I don’t tell ya enough that I love ya.” He cupped your face in his hands, speaking to you gently.

“Usually when this happens, I just use a spell to cover it since I'm not good enough at healing magic yet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you and I’m sorry for worrying you, but he…” You trail off, glancing around. “I don’t think I should even be telling you this.” Mammon looks at you, then around the both of you as well.

“Ya know damn well ya can tell me anythin’. Fuck him. If ya want, ya can wait until we get home.” Mammon knew whoever this demon was wouldn’t dare to both you while he was around.

“I want to wait until we get home.” You said. That was the only thing you had been sure about that entire conversation. Mammon, instead of letting you walk, opted to carry you, insisting it was for your own good. You couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia, that he was somehow listening and that you said too much.

One you both arrived home, Mammon sat you down in the living room and called over everyone that was home. In a matter of minutes, Levi, Satan, and Asmo were gathered around you, concerned at how oddly serious Mammon had approached them. While you sat silently, Mammon explained. You could see the rage blossoming on Satan’s face, and the horror on Levi and Asmo’s.

“Sweetie, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Asmo cuddled you in a similar way that Mammon did when he found out.

“I was afraid…” You search their faces for their reactions.

“What did he say to you?” Asmo asked.

“He told me he would hurt my family if I told anyone. Not you guys, my human family. I haven’t seen them in so long and I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I really miss them. He said it would be fun to…” You couldn’t continue. A silent tear makes its way down your face. Mammon wiped it away.

“You don’t have to continue.” Asmo pulled you in closer to him.

“What’s his name?” Satan speaks up for the first time. His face was a little red and his eye has begun to tick, but looked eerily calm otherwise. To the untrained eye, it may have looked like he was calming down, but that couldn’t be more wrong.

“Please don’t hurt him.” You begged them.

“Why?” Levi, who had also been silent, nervously asked.

“He must have a reason for acting the way he has been. He probably has a family, and friends. I don’t think he deserves to be hurt, just maybe talked to.” Asmo gripped you hand tighter at your words and swept some hair out of your face.

“We’ll see what we can do, honey.” Asmo exchanged glances with his brothers. “How about this? We take you to Purgatory Hall to spend time with whoever’s there right now while we go talk to Lucifer, Belphie, and Beel.” He asked you.

“Can’t it wait? What if he’s listening?” You pleaded.

“I can assure you if he is out there and dares to act on his threats, I will see to it personally.” Satan’s tick was stronger and more noticeable.

“Anyways, I trust Sol with my life! If there’s anyone I would let look after you, it’s him.” Asmo told you.

“Ok, if you’re really sure. I trust you. Thanks guys. Can I have a hug?” You rose from your stop to be swarmed by the four demons around you. They took care to not hurt you more. You felt safe in the middle of them.

All of them personally went with you to drop you off at Purgatory Hall. Simeon answered the door, and as soon as he took in the scene, his usual smile faded and called for Solomon. Mammon explained the situation, to which they promptly agreed to help. As Asmo transferred you to Simeon, you heard Solomon asking them to save him a piece. It send a sharp shiver down your spine. As soon as the door shut, their facades dropped.

“They never told us his name. Even if it means I have to check every student at RAD, I will. After all, there can only be so many who meet his description.” Asmo chuckled. Satan was still doing his best to hold in his explosive rage until they were far enough from Purgatory Hall.

“Levi, take Satan somewhere to decompress for a while. We’ll reconvene here once we find the others.” Mammon took out his DDD and began making the calls he needed. Asmo also took out his DDD to check as many Devilgram accounts as he could to see if anyone looked particularly guilty.

As soon as Lucifer found out, he practically flew out of the place to meet up with his brothers. It was easy to see the similarities between him and Satan at this point. Belphie and Beel weren’t far behind. It was rare to see them both so agitated. The three of them quickly went in to see you, to see for themselves that you were ok, and to ask for the name of who has been bothering you. After much coaxing, they finally got it. Lucifer made Simeon promise to heal you, and with that, they vanished again. You didn’t know what to think, and hoped they would adhere to their promise.

Once they found him, they didn’t know what to do first. Question him or get straight to what they were there for: to make him pay for what he did. Each of them had their own idea, that they would never dare tell you. While you were safe and sound at Purgatory Hall, the brothers were having the time of their lives. It was a side of them they would never let you see; the side of them that truly reveled in misery and pain.

That demon vanished.

About a week and a half later, he reappeared a changed demon. He apologized for everything he did and remained out of your way from then on. He seemed physically fine, but was a different demon altogether. He was much nicer, and quieter. His friends avoided you like the plague, afraid of something you didn't understand. In fact, after that, everyone treated you like gold if they didn't already. You weren't stupid. You knew the brothers did something but nobody dared tell you. It was a little uncanny as everyone outside your household was pretending nothing had happened in the first place.

But the brothers were kinder, if possible. They kept bringing you small trinkets and gifts, like flowers and anything they thought you would like. They checked up on you more frequently and took you out more frequently. They always made sure you had everything you wanted even if you didn't ask for it. They even arranged for you to see your family in the human world with one accompanying you, although you suspected the others were watching from a distance. It was still chilling to think about what they did to that demon to make them stop so suddenly upon their return, or where they even went, but you settled on never knowing what they did. You just took their gestures at face value and appreciated them for it.

The brothers were glad you were recovering from everything. Anything you refused to tell them, they got out of the perpetrator. Simeon was an amazing healer, and even Lucifer wasn't sure how he brought him back together, mentally and physically. You could never find out.

errrr i don't really like this </3 the concept was more fun but I can't scrap it after how much i put into it

i kinda wanted it more ominous with less words but i think I need more writing practice for that lol

[bluemoonwolf17]

Lucifer damn! I have gone down a rabbit hole of DP x DC Au's, and no. I'm not mad about this! (OK, that's a tiny lie. I have three docs of TFP fandom that I need to finish) But anyway, I've had this idea, and yes, imma type it out since I have nothin' better to do anyway.

Also, this was loosely inspired by this amazin' writer Space-Dreams-World

And this is the thin' that inspired my dumbass to write Here!

Oh, and before I forget, I don't precisely remember how the comics go, so I'll probably just pull stuff outta my ass and call it a day (But hey, that's what Au's are for), but if it bothers you sorry, there's waaaay too much Batman lore and don't get me started on the Re-boots!

(I hope I didn't butcher your original idea too much, but I did say your writings loosely inspired this!)

___________

Danny, after comin' out to his parents that he's Phantom, didn't go too hot, but hey! he has multiple plans! He just didn't want to use this one...After all, who wants to live in a new dimension? He's also glad that he waited until he turned twenty-one so that he could actually leave.

Thanks to Sam siphonin' money outta her parent's money for him for years and Tucker makin' a new identity for him, a bonus is that if he went to a different dimension, it still worked!

In the end, it's better than bein' on a table in the GIW labs after his Mom turned him to said government, But it's actually not that bad. He met a cool guy named Thomas Wayne, who is really chill (Also not bad-lookin). He's been In this world for probably three years now.

He met Thomas a couple of months after he dropped into this world and set up his new name, Daniel (Danny) Nightingale. He even met his wife, Martha Wayne, And he moved into their place two years ago after he had a break-in. And it's been goin' great at this point. He's probably bein' healed hostage by both Waynes and Alfred. He's cool with it, tho!

They were even cool with him bein' a half-ghost and the King of the infinite realms, and why they found out? It was Skulker's fault. I mean, come on, who comes in at dinner and claims that he wants your pelt on his wall...Oh, wait! Skullker did. Yeah, it wasn't fun explainin' that it's just how he greets Danny after all these years and that he just wanted to have a friendly spar.

Then, one day, the Waynes learned somethin' that broke Danny's heart. Martha and Thomas were havin' a hard time gettin' pregnant they later learned that it was because Thomas was infertile.

One day, Both Martha and Thomas asked him a favor. They asked if he would be okay with helpin' them get pregnant. He's not gonna lie. It was a shocker, but he understands that he does look like Thomas a bit, and people have even called them brothers.

It also helped him out when he told them that he didn't mind helpin' them out, and since they were on the topic, he said to them that he had a little crush on both of them. They both blushed red as a tomato and told him they felt the same. They didn't really understand how it worked.

Yes, he did explain that more than one person could be in a relationship that it was called Polyamory and that he has experience with it. He dated a girl and a guy simultaneously before leaving his universe, and it worked out in the end. He started to date both of the Waynes, and Martha got pregnant with a baby boy!

All three of them were over the moon with that news, and after baby Bruce was born, both Thomas and Martha decided that he was a Wayne now, so officially, he's now Danny Nightingale-Wayne, but to outsiders, he's still just Nightingale.

Even then, the only person who knows is Alfred. When Bruce was learnin' to talk and ended up callin' him Da, he told them he was fine just bein' Bruce's Godfather or uncle. That didn't go well, so Danny is Pa, and Thomas is Dad.

Bruce didn't understand why he couldn't call Danny Pa out in public or around friends until Danny sat him down and explained that it was a secret that he was his Pa and to the world, he was just his Godfather and if anyone knew that he's was his Pa it could be bad for the family.

After the talk, Danny somewhat made a game out of it that Bruce was a super secret spy and that it was his job to protect the family (I haven't really thought of this, but I thought it would be cute) And Bruce did keep it a secret until his Mom and Dad where killed.

Danny was supposed to go with them to the movies until the Observants demanded that he return to the infinite realms for a council meetin'. While Danny was tryin' not to freeze every observant in the room for bein' straight up annoyin', he heard Bruce scream for his Mom and Dad. He then listened to his pained hiccups for his Pa to come and help them.

Danny froze. The room he was in got much colder as his core demanded him to protect his son, and he was also cryin' for his lover's death. Ice shards spread out in the room, makin' the occupants yell out in shock at what their King had done. Danny then stood up, and with a protective/pained growl, he tore open a portal and went to his son, leavin' the room in chaos.

He couldn't stop the pained whimpers from his mouth when he got there. His son, his little Galaxy, was cryin' over his parent's bodies. Danny's brightest Nebulas, his lifeline after he left his old home, was dead. Without a second thought, Danny de-transformed and quickly grabbed Bruce and held him close.

Bruce quickly grabbed onto his Pa and bawled his eyes out, sayin' how he was sorry that he couldn't save them, how he tried to protect them, how his shield failed, and that he couldn't heal them as Danny taught him.

(I think Bruce, while not bein' as ghostly as Danny, still could do more than the average liminal could. He would have a small ghost core. So he could technically make shields, and I like to think that Danny learned how to push his rapid healin' onto others and started to teach Bruce when he started to show signs of bein' a bit ghostly)

Danny shushed him and told him that he tried his best and that was all that mattered while havin' tears drip down his face. That was how the police found the two Danny sittin' on his knees while huggin' the cryin' Bruce into his chest, tryin' to hide the poor boy from the world.

Most people did accuse Danny of killin' the two until Bruce screamed at them, sayin' that his Godfather loved his parents and that he would rather hurt himself than harm his parents. Alfred also spoke up, sayin' that Danny has never tried to harm the Waynes and even pushed them out of the way if anythin' harmful ever came close to the family.

They dropped the accusation a week later after the police did indeed find out that Danny was nowhere near the scene of the crime, that he was at the airport gettin' back from somewhere, and that the only reason why Danny found them was because Thomas sent him an SOS and their location. (He's grateful that Tucker taught him how to hack)

After everythin' calmed down and Danny had full custody of Bruce, he spent most of his time in the manor with Bruce and Alfred, only goin' to the realms if he absolutely had to, and he started to teach Bruce more about his ghostly side per Bruce's request.

Bruce took more to the sneaky part of the ghost side. Danny also suspected that Bruce might have a shadow core or somethin' related to darkness. Bruce did have fun. He Bruce would try and sneak up on his Pa and Alfred. Danny suspected Alfred knew when Bruce was around and tryin' to get a drop on him. It wouldn't surprise Danny if it were true.

Everythin' was as normal as could be...Until Bruce went missin', Danny almost destroyed the manor with ice. Alfred did manage to calm him down after a while. Danny was heartbroken that he couldn't find anythin' for him or Alfred, but he could tell that Bruce was fine.

About a week after Bruce disappeared, he had no choice but to go back to the infinite realms for short to long periods of time as the Obervents demanded since his son disappeared and since Danny knew that he was safe somewhere in the dimension.

Yeah, he wasn't really pleased with that demand, but then again, messin' with those floatin' eyeballs bastards is good, but messin' with them durin' a meetin'? Even better, and hey, at least he got his frustration out.

At this point, it was probably a good couple of years since Bruce disappeared, and he did have a lot of fun pissin' off the Observents durin' one of the Obervent's "informative" meetings when he felt a pull on his core. Oh? A summon? It's been ages since the last.

When he let himself get pulled toward his "summoner" (and probably pissin' off the eyeball bastards even more), he found himself in a room with a summonin' circle under him, one that he noted didn't bind him just summoned him. He looked around the room and noticed that it had windows that showed space.

Before he would let himself delve into one of his obsessions, he looked down and almost groaned out when he saw a blond man with a trench coat. Great...John Constantine, the man who sold his soul to every damn thin' in the infinite realms, has summoned him? Mann, he already has 75% of his soul.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to say somethin' whitty towards the man, he felt somethin'. He felt his core try and pull him towards somethin'. Danny moved his eyes from the blondie and saw somethin' black move more into the shadows.

Danny narrowed his eyes. That action was so familiar to Danny. He then raised his hand and snapped his finger, lightin' up the room he was in with green flames. He heard some alarmed shouts and a curse from the blondie, but he paid no attention to them. His eyes were on the man in the black cowl.

The man noticeably stiffened, and a sheepish smile spread on his face. What? It couldn't be. Danny floated down to the ground and walked over to the man. He could tell that the man was fidgetin' more the closer he got to him until Danny stood before him. The man was a bit shorter than him, but then again, he was 8 feet tall in this form and 7 feet in his human one.

He could feel the emotions comin' off of him: anxiety, family, and happiness. Danny felt his eyes whidden and a lump in his throat form it was! He felt water buildin' up in the corners of his eyes. He then spoke out two words he thought he might never hear again.

"Little Galaxy?" he crocked out. The man stiffened for a second, then relaxed. "Yeah, it's me, Pa," Bruse said with a smile, his voice crackin' a little. Oh, ancients! His son! he found his son, his little Galaxy.

Danny fell to his knees, grabbed Bruce, and hugged him just like he would when Bruce was younger. Bruce quickly wrapped his arms around Danny and curled into his chest.

"Oh, my little Galaxy! Where have you been!? And why in the realms would you just disappear like that! You gave me and Mister A a heart attack!" Danny scolded.

He could feel the guilt off of Bruce in waves. "I'm sorry, Pa, I just-" Danny sighed when Bruce couldn't finish his sentence. Danny understood he wanted to get revenge for his Mom and Dad. He truly understood. After all, he tried to find the person but never could finish findin' them before the council called on him.

Danny was about to speak before a throat clearin' got his attention. He looked over to the sound and saw a woman. By the looks of it, she was an Amazonian, and right next to her was a man with an S on his chest, a Kryptonian? They looked calm, but he could see the subtle way they held themselves. They were goin' to attack if they saw him as a threat.

Danny smiled. It seemed that Bruce got himself some good friends...? that's not the correct term, so he looked a bit closer at the two. He then promptly lost his shit. His laugh startled everyone. When he finally calmed down, he turned to his son, wiggled his eyebrows, and tilted his head towards the two somewhat behind him.

Bruce coughed into his fist, and Danny would bet that he was blushing from the tip of his ears down to his neck. Subtley nodded his head. Danny snorted, then stood up and brought Bruce to his side. Yeah, he's not lettin' his son go any time soon, thank you very much! "Ahem, please forgive my rudeness." Danny tilted his head down a bit towards the two.

Blondie decided to speak up. "What in the blood hell?" Danny snorted at the man. "Ah, again, forgive. I haven't seen this kid in a while," he said to the room.

Bruce coughed into his hand. Everyone turned their heads towards him, "Justice League, If I may, this is Phantom or, as I like to call him, Pa." Danny tried not to laugh. Bruce seemed a little troublemaker even though he was all grown up.

Everyone in the room froze until the Kryptonian spoke up. "Batman, what the hell? I thought that...." he questioned, then trailed off at the end. Danny snorted Batman? Oh, he's totally bringin' that up soon, but first...

Danny put a hand to his core and fanned hurt. "Oh, the pain! My son never told his friends about me? I'm betrayed!" he floated onto his back, playin' hurt.

The woman snorted into her hand, and Bruce groaned quietly. "Oh, this makes so much sense now," Constantine muttered. While still on his back, Danny raised an eyebrow and then looked toward Bruce. The Man subtly tilted his head to show that he also had no clue what the man in the trench coat meant.

"What is the supposed to mean, Constantine?" the Amazonian woman spoke to the man.

Blondie just sighed and took a flask out of his pocket and took a large gulp, then spoke, "I thought that you could tell Bats has more... Supernatural tendencies, so it makes sense if Bats grew up around the King of ghosts." he told the League "I'm just more curious how he met him" Constantine sighed.

"How he/I met him/me? We met when I/he was born!" Danny and Bruse spoke at once.

Constantine spat his drink out. "Wait, what!?... Y'know what, never mind, So KIng Phantom knew Bat's parents then when he was born became a liminal, " Constantine muttered. Danny then righted himself and wrapped his arm around Bruce once more.

"Actually, you're wrong, Galxay here is part ghost!" Danny informed the League with a Smile, Showin' too much inhuman teeth. After some silence, the woman spoke up. "If I may, what does that mean, your Highness?" she spoke calmly.

"Ah, please just call me Phantom! It also means that Galaxy is 3/4 Part ghost? Maybe a bit more? He does feel a bit different than the last time I saw him, but then again, his core was still growin'," he said, trailin’ off at the end.

Constantine threw his hands up in the air and then froze. He slowly looked at the two. "Wait...Bats, does that mean that Phantom is your Birth father?" Constantine asked with his hands twitchin' like they wanted to grab somethin'.

Every head turned towards Batman and Danny, and the two looked at each other and then at the Leauge, "Yes," they spoke as one. "HOW!?" most of the League shouted. Danny shrugged. "Eh, this was before I dated' both his parents. We learned his other Dad was infertile, and that was sort of the openin' that we needed to explain that we three liked each other. Ultimately, it worked out fine, so a win is a win!".

The League turned their heads to Batman and said the man nodded yes, that what came out of the ghost King's mouth was true.

That day, the Justice League was out of order and needed a proper reboot, and yes, Danny did indeed have the time of his un-dead life. Afterward, he even got to meet his son's lovers.

While the four were together, Danny brought up that poly and vigilantism must run in the family or somethin' so off-handedly that it had Clark and Diana laughin'. Bruce just grumbled at his Pa.

After that shit show of a reunion, Bruce took Danny back to the manor. He caught up with Alfred, and they made a plan that would remind Bruce that if he ever disappeared again and scared the shit out of them again, he was goin' to regret it. Bruce havin' no clue as to what they were talkin' about and frankly didn't want to know promised himself never to piss off his two parents again.

(Bruce still sees Alfred as a father figure. Danny did an excellent job bein' home every day, but sometimes the Observents won in their crusade.

They demanded that Danny be present in their meetings at least once a week, and of course, they could and would go on for days about their topic, even if it was a stupid one, just to keep him there.

And if some of them got put on ice just by suggestin' that he left his son to the mortals to be raised, it was no one's business but Danny's.)

__________

Okay, so this was supposed to be a bit longer, and it would have Danny meetin' Dick and then later Jason, but I decided to split it in half-ish, and if the people want to see the rest of my crappy writin', then I might share it.

I also mainly wanted to get this out and see how it went cause I am very happy with how most of this turned out. I am also runnin' out of motivation so~ but hey, I hoped you liked it!

Part 2 to this shit show!

[captainfern]

Hi! Hope your day/night is going well, do you think you could do a post about wake up sex with Gaz?? Like imagine- it’s early in the morning, both tired and needy for each other, and he just slowly fucks into you while whispering/praising into your ear?? 😩😩😩😩 (I need help) ofc do it whenever you can no pressure but your writings for him r amazing 🫶🏽

i got a bit carried away. enjoy <3

18+, fem!reader

“just love this pretty pussy, baby, mmm—” gaz whispered in your ear, the sentence stretched out on a deep, breathy groan

you were both on your sides, his chest against your back with his arms hugging you closer to his body. he had one of your legs folded back over his as he slowly eased his cock inside you

you whimpered, head lolling back and allowing gaz to press kisses along the curve of your neck and jawline while splitting you open on his cock, sinking into you slowly until his hips pressed against your arse

“s’that feel good, hm?” he muttered in your ear, kissing behind it. “does my baby feel good?”

he rocked his hips slowly, cock hitting deep inside you, your arousal already leaking out from around his length. you whimpered, nodding against the pillows, eyes blinking lazily

his big hands held your hips, carefully pulling you back against him with each movement of his hips. he kissed and licked at the skin of your shoulder, neck and jaw, sucking kisses as the tip of his cock kissed the base of your cervix, making your body grow hot against his

“mmm such a good girl for me, letting me stuff this wet pussy with my cock,” he whispered, teeth skimming your earlobe. he hummed a moan from deep in his throat. “such a wet pussy, all for me. s’just for me an’ my cock, hm?”

you mewled, your legs trembling. his cock nudged that spot inside you so effortlessly, your orgasm fizzling in the lower parts of your stomach

he reached a hand around your hip, brushing over the soft curve of your tummy, before running a finger through your folds to collect your arousal. he grumbled a noise into your ear, feeling how wet you were for him, before pressing his finger to your swollen clit, making your breath hitch

“gaz—” you moaned quietly as his fingers began tracing light circles against your clit. sweat built between your two bodies as his slender finger worked against your clit and his cock continued to rut inside you

“love this pretty little thing,” gaz murmured into the soft skin of your neck, pinching your clit lightly before continuing his circling. “love the way it makes you feel when i play with it. eh, baby? y’just love havin’ your clit played with, don’t you?”

“yeah…” you exhaled around a whine, your orgasm building inside you, legs trembling, cunt squeezing around gaz’s cock

he breathed deeply against you, lips still moving in short, wet patterns across your skin. his tongue laved across the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated on the curve of your neck from where he had his face pushed against

“mmm, you wanna come, baby? you wanna come all over my cock?”

“please—”

“come for me,” he whispered, hips rocking a bit harder against you now. “wet my cock. want this pretty pussy gushin’ ‘round my cock when you come.”

your body shivered as you came, arching back against gaz as the pleasure overtook you. your body listened to him— your cunt squeezing his cock tight, gushing around him, liquid arousal dribbling out of you and smearing against the thick of your inner thighs

you moaned, and gaz moved his finger away from your puffy clit, instead placed his finger against your lips. you sucked the digit into your mouth in your post-orgasmic haze, eyelids dropping as he continued to rut his thick cock into you

you moaned around his finger as he hooked it around your bottom teeth, pressing the pad flat to the front of your tongue. he grunted into your neck, shunting his hips against the plush of your arse, cock twitching heavily inside you

“gonna come in this pretty pussy,” gaz moaned against you, the prettiest sound ever. “beg for my cum, baby, please. please beg for it.”

you whimpered around his finger, and he chuckled against you, sucking and nipping at your skin before speaking lowly into your ear. “aw, has someone got her mouth full? mhm… shouldn’t speak with your mouth full, baby.”

you whimpered again, managing to spit out a few words around the thick shape of his finger against your tongue and teeth. “please, gaz— need your— mmpff— your cum.”

he groaned against your neck when you almost choked on his finger, the tip pushing harder towards the back of your throat, his knuckle brushing against your lips. he continued rutting into you slowly, moaning into your neck, before his slow pace became sloppy

“here it is, baby, here’s my cum— n’ you’re gonna take it all in this pretty pussy, mmm— gonna take it all like my good girl, my best girl.” he came inside you, whispering your name as he pulled your arse back against his hips, his thrusts stilling as his cock twitched inside you, filling you with his cum

he mumbled incoherencies against your neck, licking and sucking, still spurting warmth up against the plug of your womb. you whimpered, and he finally pulled his finger out of your mouth, patting you gently on the cheek

“that’s a good girl,” he cooed, rocking his hips gently against you a few more times, stuffing you full of his spend. “s’that feel good?” he pressed a hand to your lower tummy, rubbing circles

“mhm…” you hummed, sleepy. he was still kissing you softly and whispering praise into your ear as the morning sunlight bathed you in gold, and you drifted off to sleep again

[kouchabu-archive]

Hajime Shino 4☆ Feature Scout 2

Title: President Grass and Pizza

Writer: Suika

Season: Summer

NOTE: I EXPLICITLY PROHIBIT USAGE OF ANY PART OF MY TRANSLATIONS ON ANYTHING THAT RELATES TO AI.

-----------

Rinne: (Hehe, today’s my lucky day!)

(Who knew I'd bag a big win in the slot machines today! Ain't that enough to make up for my losses this month?)

(I thought that of course I'd come home and celebrate, but I pro'lly got carried away and bought too many ingredients.)

(Well, not that I need to worry about leftovers when Niki's right there.)

(I gotta get back quick and let Niki—… Hm? That guy over there is…)

Hajime Shino-kun from Ra*bits, ain't it?

Hajime: Amagi-senpai? Hello~

Rinne: He~ya. Thrillin' to know that you remember this li'l ol' me's name.

So, what're ya hidin’ in the grass for? Up to somethin’ sneaky?

Are you buryin’ treasure or somethin'? Ya look like a little puppy digging like that~

Hajime: Oh, no. I just came to pick these up.

Rinne: Huh. Your bag has…some leaves and grass?

Hajime: That's right! I got quite a lot of them ♪

Rinne: Pickin' up wild grass, huh… Why?

Hajime: ? I'm going to eat them, of course?

Rinne: ………Ah, I got it. I can see what you're up to now.

That's for a TV show, isn't it? You should've told me earlier~

Hajime: Oh, this isn't for TV though? It's just that I got a craving for it since it's been a while since I ate these so I went here and got some.

Rinne: ………………

(From what I remember, aren't Ra*bits supposed to be a popular unit?)

(Well, not as much as UNDEAD or Akatsuki from the same agency but… each member seems to be goin’ strong in their own way, right?)

(So to see him here picking up grass like this… Never thought they're in deep shit that they can't even properly keep their stomachs full.)

'S that so? But ain't Seisoukan fully stocked with food? There's also lots of snacks in the ES break room, yeah?

If you're havin' trouble finding something to eat, ain't those better places to search in?

If anyone sees their precious idol foraging for grass in a place like this, that's not really a good look with the public, y'know?

Hajime: Trouble finding something to eat…?

Ah, no! You've got it wrong! I'm not gathering grass like this because I'm having trouble with money!

When I got on the phone with my family, we happened to talk about how we used to eat grass a lot when I was younger.

And then I just suddenly craved that nostalgic taste so I came here to pick these up. I normally eat properly, so please don't worry that much about it~

Rinne: Oh, so that's it? You made me uncharacteristically nervous for a sec there.

Hajime: I'm sorry for making you worry.

Rinne: Nah, don't mind it. My fault for jumpin' to conclusions so fast.

In fact, those grass growin' out there are delicious too. I also used to forage for them back when I was a li'l boy so I get ya, Hajime-kun.

I even used to go to the mountains to pick up some edible wild plants.

Thanks to that, I got some basic stuff down when it comes to edible grass. This one and this one can be eaten. This one's not. This one's edible too, but it's not really good.

Hajime: Wow! You didn't miss any! You're really knowledgeable about them!

Rinne: Hehe, told ya right? This ol' me won't ever lie ♪

This one's tasty if you blanch it a little. And this one's something that only Niki could munch on.

Hajime: Huh?! Shiina-senpai can eat this? I had an upset stomach when I ate this one by mistake.

Rinne: Yeah, same here. After eating it, I felt like dyin' the next day—couldn't move at all. But that guy's all fine and dandy.

Maybe it's got somethin' that only his stomach can digest. He's the one who cooked it, after all.

Hajime: Shiina-senpai is really good with cooking, isn't he? ♪

Rinne: Yeah. That guy's real good with his hands when it comes to food. Everything he makes is delicious. When I get home, I'll have him cook for me; that's why I got a lot of stuff here with me.

Hajime: Oh, that's indeed a lot. Let's see… Cheese, ketchup… There's also salami and basil… Are you planning to make pizza?

Rinne: Spot on ♪ Niki's pizza's always bangin', y'know? I end up eating too much if I don't watch it.

Hajime: Fufu, that's wonderful! Are you celebrating something today?

Rinne: Celebrating? No, not really…

Hajime: Huh? Is it okay to eat pizza on a normal day?

Back in my home, I was taught that pizza is a treat that you only eat on special occasions.

Rinne: Oh, is it now?

My bad, my bad. You're right, Hajime-kun. Of course, today is a special day~

And it's somethin' so important that we can't ever, ever forget about! None other than President Pizza's birthday!

Hajime: President Pizza's birthday?! I never knew about the existence of someone that great!

Rinne: You don't know him, Hajime-kun?! Man, that's really, really bad.

Hajime: W-What's wrong with it…?

Rinne: When it's President Pizza's birthday, everyone's gotta feast on some pizza.

If you only knew about it today, then I guess Hajime-kun never got to eat anything these past years, huh…

If that's the case, then it ain't good if you don't eat all those years' lost servings of pizza…

Hajime: All those years' lost servings of pizza… Are you saying that I should eat 17 years' worth of them?!

Rinne: Ah, then what I have here won't be enough. I gotta get back and grab some more ingredients, huh…

Hajime: I can't possibly eat that much!

Can't you do something to help me?! If I eat that much pizza, I'll end up hating it!

Rinne: Pfft… Ha…

Kyahahaha! Your reaction's takin' me out, Hajime-kun!

Hajime: This isn't a laughing matter! Uuu~ what am I supposed to do now?

Rinne: Don't ya worry your pretty li'l head. I was just messin' with you. That's a lie.

Hajime: A lie..? From which point was it a lie?

Rinne: Everything startin' from President Pizza's birthday.

Hajime: So, uhm… I don't have to stuff myself full of pizza until my stomach explodes?

Rinne: Yup. President Pizza doesn't exist.

Hajime: T-Thank god…

Rinne: I didn't expect you'd just take all of that without even questioning me.

You gotta put it in your head to suspect people a little more from now on, 'kay? Shino "Majime"-kun~ ♪ [1]

Hajime: Geez, you're so mean to deceive me like that, Amagi-senpai! You really scared me back there!

Rinne: Come on, sorry for bein' like that~

Oh, got it. As an apology for messin' with ya, lemme treat you to some pizza.

Hajime: …Are you sure you're not lying this time?

Rinne: Kyahahaha! Talk about a fast learner! Ya immediately got on your toes and suspected me! You take things so seriously. You really are Majime-kun, huh?

Hajime: M-My name is "Hajime"!

Rinne: Yessir~ Come on, let's bounce back home and have a feast! ♪

And while we're at it, let's use those grass you picked and make some wild grass pizza!

Hajime: W-Wah, please don't just drag me around, Amagi-senpai!

-----------

Translation: Sophie

Proofreading: Ara

NOTES:

[1] “Majime” / まじめ = lit. means as a person who’s earnestly sincere and honest, and therefore takes things seriously at its face value. It’s a syllable off Hajime’s name, which makes it funnier given how Rinne has a penchant for giving silly nicknames to people he encounters.

Also can I just point out how Hiiro, who’s actually Hajime’s classmate and therefore theoretically closer to him, calls him “Shino-kun” (last name) while Rinne calls him “Hajime-kun” (first name) right off the bat. I just think his shamelessness is hilarious LOL

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (I)

Part 19 of the Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker St.

Word Count: ~12k

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Warnings: Canon typical violence, explosions, injuries, angst, Mycroft is Mycroft, Sherlock is Sherlock, murder, bomb threats, kidnappings, language, mentions of serial killers and murder (let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: Man, this was such a long and fun chapter to write. After all, y'all did ask for full-course meals, so I present to you this chapter! NGL there will be mistakes...but I wanted to get this out as soon as possible. Lots of fun and angsty stuff happens, and I'm warning you again, it will get worse, but it will be so good when everything comes together! I hope you enjoy! I always appreciate reblogs and comments! I love hearing from you all!!

Sherlock was busy, or at least, he was trying to be. Busy meant his mind couldn’t stop to rest and if he didn’t have time to rest then it was a guaranteed way of avoiding everything: Y/N, feelings, boredom, feelings again, and then of course Y/N. That always how his thoughts seemed to run these days, both starting and ending with Y/N. 

“Just tell me what happened, from the beginning,” Sherlock sighed. 

It was a dreary place, the prison, and exactly like anyone would imagine: Gray, cold, and dreary. Yet this prison was where Sherlock’s next case was, well, he hoped so. 

“We'd been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?” The man, named Berwick, sitting across from Sherlock explains. He’s in an orange jumpsuit which makes sense since he’s in prison. From a quick glance, Sherlock can tell he’s nervous with the way his hands fidget and flail around as he narrated his story to convince Sherlock to take the case. It was an argument already bound to fail, something Sherlock knew from the moment he sat down. 

“She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man!” Berwick exclaimed. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his ears bled from the misuse of words. “Wasn't a real man,” the consulting detective corrected.  

“-What?” Berwick asked. Everything on the man’s face told Sherlock that he did not have a clue as to what he was correcting. 

“It's not "weren't", it's "wasn't", Sherlock duly noted. 

“Oh.” Berwick’s voice got small. 

“Go on,” Sherlock said. 

Berwick nodded his head. “Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast.”

Sherlock winced. “Taught.”

“What?” Berwick asked again at Sherlock’s interruption. 

Sherlock leaned slightly forward in the cold metal seat. “Taught you how to cut up a beast.” 

A tiny vein bulged out from Berwick’s forehead as his hand motions got more frantic. “Yeah, well, then-then I done it.”

His shoulders slumped and Sherlock fell back into his chair with disappointment. “Did it.” 

Berwick shoots out of his seat and slams his hands on the table between him and the detective. “Did it! Stabbed her... over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't…” Sherlock eyes flashed with disapproval. “...wasn't movin' no more...anymore.” 

Sherlock nodded and at least he didn’t have to correct Berwick anymore.  

Sitting back down Berwick drew his hands together to plead with Sherlock. “You've gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear. You've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!” 

With a deep breath in, Sherlock stands from his seat and begins to walk away from Berwick. 

“Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this!” Berwick cried. 

Sherlock’s footsteps halted and he briefly looked at his shoulder. “No, no, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all. Hanged, yes.” Then without another word, Sherlock left to try and find another case to keep him busy. It was the only thing he could do if he didn’t want to think of her at all. 

_____

A sigh escaped the young woman’s lungs. It was a full body experience: her spine sunk, her shoulders slumped, and her head fell into her hands. She hurt everywhere, but what hurt the most was her heart. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, John.” Y/N confessed to her friend next to her. She was on the brink of tears.  

By the inflection of her voice, John could tell there was a serious disturbance in Y/N’s character. Sitting a little straighter, he placed his right hand on her back, giving it a rub. “Start from the beginning,” John said, even though he already had an idea as to what placed Y/N in that particular mood. 

“I…I’m not really sure. I thought I had it under control. We were friends and I–”

She was going on a rant. Y/N tended to do these things when expressing herself. It was as if she could never find the right words, so in her mind, as long as she kept talking, maybe the right words would just come. 

“Y/N. Breathe,” John calmly stated. He was right. She did need to breathe, and so she did. “What did Sherlock do?” John asked. He thought that maybe a more direct question would help Y/N along. 

“He–He did everything and nothing,” Y/N explained. Her fingers tightened their hold on the strands of her hair as John patiently waited. After a particularly long exhale, Y/N finally answered. “He kissed me. He kissed me, John. I kissed back, because–” She faltered. 

John finished Y/N’s thought. “You like him.” 

With glassy eyes, Y/N peered up at John. He was one of her greatest friends since she came to England. He was there for her through thick and thin. He was a friend for life. “Yeah,” Y/N muttered. 

John sensed a hesitancy in the woman. “But…?”

Y/N sat up and glanced to the side. Her eyes trailing the other visitors of the park. She watched as people played with their dogs, children ran with glee, and old women gossiped. “He pushed me away. He left me there in that room and has hardly acknowledged that I exist since we got back. John, he’s…pushing me away and I don’t know why.” 

At that moment, John wished he could see into the great detective's mind. He wished every and all secrets that had ever crossed Sherlock’s mind would now be visible to him, just so he could ease Y/N’s pain. But he couldn’t. He was sure no one would ever know what happened inside Sherlock’s mind. So instead, John said, “I’m sorry.” Sniffling, Y/N replied telling John he didn’t need to apologize, but John just shook his head. “No, you need to know that what’s happening to you isn’t fair. When I say sorry, it’s to say you aren’t alone in this. I’m here for you, Mrs. Hudson is, hell, I’m even sure Lestrade would be willing to lend a shoulder for you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said in a whisper. 

A peaceful silence fell over the two of them. The park bench was the perfect place for them to get away from the chaos that was Sherlock. On the park bench, they could think without being criticized and feel without being judged. Both John and Y/N cared for Sherlock, but sometimes, they needed to be cared about too. They needed to not feel alone and ostracized from the brilliant mind that was their friend. 

Together they hoped that maybe one day, they could find solace in Sherlock. That one day his brain wouldn’t come in the way of his heart and soul. Maybe together, all three of them, Sherlock, John, and Y/N would never feel alone again. 

_____

Being welcomed home to the sound of gunshots wasn’t exactly what John and Y/N had planned on but expected altogether. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” John scolded Sherlock the second he reached their flat. 

There Sherlock sat in his chair. His knees rose higher than the cushion he sat on. One hand hung lazily over the side, and in the other he held a gun. Still in his pajamas from the night before, Sherlock briefly glanced over at John. “Bored,” he enunciated. 

“What?” John asked. He couldn’t hear Sherlock clearly with the last gunshot echoing in his ears. 

“Bored!” Sherlock yelled before raising his arm to fire another shot. 

“No!” John cried as he saw another whole form in the wall. 

“Bored! Bored!” Sherlock bellowed again. Each time he said the word, he took another shot at the wall of his apartment. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N yelled as the gunshot rang throughout the apartment. Then pinching the bridge of her nose, she held out her hand to Sherlock, waiting for the gun. When he reluctantly placed it in her hand, she mumbled to herself. “I thought I hid all the guns…” 

“You didn’t hide them very well, Y/N. You have a tell.” Y/N shared an exasperated look with Sherlock, who ignored her. “Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job, I'm not one of them.”

John ground his teeth together. “So, you take it out on the wall!”

“Ah,” Sherlock shrugged. “The wall had it coming.”

Feeling the peace, he received from his time with Y/N vanished, John decided to change the subject. “What about that Russian case?”

Sherlock got up from his seat and marched over to the couch before plopping down as if it was his bed. “Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.”

John fought the urge to roll his eyes as he made his way over to the fridge. “Ah, shame!” Opening the door, he continued. “Anything in? I'm starving. Oh, fu…” John muttered. 

Y/N whipped her head around to look at John. “John, what is it?” 

“It's a head. A severed head!” John felt like crying now. 

“A what?!” Y/N responded. “A head?” She walked over to the fridge and felt her stomach turn. “Oh god…Sherlock.”

“Just tea for me, thanks,” Sherlock said at the sound of his name. 

Now John rolled his eyes. “No, there's a head in the fridge!”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied.  

“A bloody head!” John flipped his arms into the air and then shut the fridge door. 

“Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you?” Sherlock asked. 

“Of course, he minds, Sherlock. Just look at him. Where’d you get it from anyway?” Y/N questioned. 

 Without sitting up from his lying position on the couch, Sherlock answered. “I got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.”

Muttering curses and pleas, John turned away from the fridge and found a seat in his armchair. He quickly pulled his laptop into his lap and opened it. 

“I see you've written up the taxi driver case,” Sherlock commented. 

Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the memory of that case. 

“Er... yes,” John replied. 

“A Study in Pink. Nice!” Sherlock said and John wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a mark of disgust and disapproval. John hoped it was a compliment. 

“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone,” John explained. “There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?”

“Um... no,” Sherlock stated. 

“Why not? I thought you'd be flattered," John said. 

“Flattered?” This irked Sherlock. Sitting up from his seat he turned to look at John. There was a flash of hurt within his eyes as he recited John’s post. "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." 

John was supposed to be his friend, yet he wrote something so harsh. It was something Sherlock knew well and that plagued his very being. It was the one of the reasons he had left her in that room. He had left Y/N there making his lips grow cold from wanting her. He knew he was ignorant in the ways of love. The very ways that Jim, her boyfriend, was able to give. Afterall, he was perfect, and Sherlock was not. 

“Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a…” John tried to explain.

“Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister…” Sherlock barked. He was angry and hurt. He was angry at himself for kissing her. He was hurt by John. He was hurt that he couldn’t love Y/N. However, Sherlock couldn’t say that. At least not now, so he released his anger, frustration, and fury through another source.  “...or who's sleeping with who... Whether the Earth goes round the Sun…It's not important.”

John was shocked. “Not impor...?! It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?”

“Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it," Sherlock spat. 

"Deleted it?” Y/N questioned. 

“Listen. This is my hard drive,” Sherlock pointed to his mind. “And it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?”

“But it's the solar system!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, hell! What does that matter?!” Sherlock began to rage. "So, we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!” 

Without a word, John opened the door to the apartment and left. His footsteps seemed louder as they pounded on the wooden staircase. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock demanded. 

“John…,” Y/N called out. 

At the sound of Y/N’s voice, John turned around. “Out. I need some air.” He saw the look of pity on her face, but he knew in her eyes there was understanding. Suddenly, he bumped into something. He quickly glanced at the source and found Mrs. Hudson. 'Scuse me, Mrs... 

“Oh, sorry, love!” She chuckled. 

“Sorry,” John apologized before heading down the rest of the stairs and out the door. 

A mix between a sigh and a groan left Y/N’s mouth as she watched John’s disappearing figure. She whipped around to Sherlock and sent him a glare before busying herself with things in the kitchen. 

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and took one look at her grand-niece and Sherlock. “Ooh-ooh! Have you two had a little domestic?” There was silence after her comment. Quickly, Mrs. Hudson changed the subject to John. “–Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.”

Sherlock huffed and bounced out of his seat before stepping to the window. His long fingers drew back the curtain to watch John cross the street below. “Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful.” Sherlock sighed. “Isn't it hateful?”

“A little quiet and calm won’t kill you, Sherlock,” Y/N hissed over her shoulder. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on the young woman’s figure. The look wasn’t one of distaste like Mrs. Hudson was expecting. Instead, Sherlock’s blue eyes seemed to be longing for something. Mrs. Hudson softly smiled to herself. She knew that look well. Afterall, it is the very look all the young men in her romantic dramas had in their eyes when gazing upon their love interests. 

“Oh… Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up,” Mrs. Hudson said. 

Sherlock glanced away from Y/N. “Can't come too soon,” he muttered. 

Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at Sherlock and Y/N. Her mind began to flood with ideas on how to bring them together when she noticed new holes in her walls. “Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!” Sherlock’s smirk did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Hudson or Y/N. “I'm putting this on your rent, young man!”

Then, just like John had left, Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat. 

Sherlock was still standing by the window. His back was now turned to Y/N, but even so, she could still sense his ever-cocky smirk. 

“Don’t.” Y/N’s hand’s stilled as her voice pleaded. 

“Don’t?” Sherlock asked. His body now faced her. 

“Don’t,” Y/N repeated. She sent him a warning glare. 

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock began to approach her. “I’m bored,” he said with a precise enunciation. 

Y/N scoffed and took a few steps closer to Sherlock. “That’s not an excuse, Sherlock.” She raised her hands in frustration before dropping them by her side. She was now standing only a few steps away from him and his captivating blue eyes. Y/N shook her head and turned away towards the window. “You’re not the on–”

There it was. A deafening roar that broke the conversation as a sudden explosion ripped through the air. The force of the blast shattered the frail windows of 221B with a thunderous crash. Shards of glass were sent flying in every direction: down onto the streets below, on the wooden floor of the apartment, and deep into the skin of Y/N and Sherlock. The two of them were thrown off their feet with such a force that sent them flying. Furniture toppled over and the walls seemed to tremble with the shockwave of the explosion. 

Alarms blared, smoke filled the arm, people screamed, at least that is what Y/N would have heard if she could hear. Her head was ringing, screaming, pounding, and bleeding all at once. She felt immense pain coursing through her body as she tried to push herself off the floor. Then there was Sherlock. He hovered above her. Y/N’s dazed eyes watched the fear in Sherlock grow. His mouth opened and closed over and over. She couldn’t hear him. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock felt powerless as the fear and vulnerability washed over him. One minute he was conversing with her and the next her they were on the floor. It was the blood he saw first. The dark red liquid spilled from where the shards of glass imbedded themselves into her skin. He crawled over to her, and said the only thing he could, her name. Sherlock said it like a prayer and a plea. Then she moved, the pain evident in her face as she tried to sit up. The sight of her moving did little to stop Sherlock from rushing to her. He pulled her in close and into the safety of his embrace. 

The tremors in the 221 B Baker Street stilled and the kicked up dust fell back down to the floor. There they would sit, Y/N and Sherlock, holding on to each other like a life line. If they were to let go, they were confident they’d both break into a thousand pieces. So, there they would sit until the sound of police sirens and ambulances came cascading down the street to the rescue. 

______ 

The scent of old leather and perfume filled John’s nose as the light of the morning flooded his senses as the curtains drew back with a sharp screech. 

“Morning!” Sarah’s voice called out cheerfully. 

John winced as he sat up. He carefully turned his head back and forth, finally discovering where his pain came from, his neck. “Oh, mor... Morning,” John groaned. 

Sarah chuckled. “See? Told you you should've gone with the lilo.”

Shaking his head in refusal, John replied, “No, no, no, it's fine. I-I slept fine. It's very kind of you.”

“Well, maybe next time I'll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know,” Sarah joked. 

Smiling John, continued on with the joke. “What about the time after that?”

Sarah rolled her eyes playfully before reaching to turn on the telly.  The news flashed onto the box-like screen and the clear voice of the anchor woman spoke out. “Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century. The last time…”

For a moment, the two of them focused their attention on the telly to see if there was anything newsworthy before tuning it out as the morning background noise. 

“So, d'you want some breakfast?” Sarah asked. 

John sighed before turning back to look up at Sarah. “Love some.” 

Patting her hand on John’s shoulder, Sarah began to walk away. “Yeah, well you'd better make it yourself, 'cause I'm gonna have a shower!” 

Now it was John’s turn to roll his eyes with a hint of amusement. With his neck still horrifically sore, John decided he could wait a few minutes before starting up breakfast, instead, he turned his attention back to the telly. His hand took up the remote and turned up the volume. 

“...it fetched over twenty million pounds.  This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story. There's been a massive explosion in central London. As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement.”

Suddenly a dreadfully familiar street flashed upon the screen. It was Baker street, but not the street he had left the night before. No, this street was in disarray: Broken glass, ambulances and police cars, debris, fires, the list went on and John couldn’t bear to look at the screen any longer. 

“Sarah!” John yelled. He could hear the sound of water pouring out of the shower head. 

“Police have issued an emergency number…” The television continued to play. 

“Sarah!” John yelled again. His voice now echoed throughout the apartment. 

“...for friends and relatives…” The news broadcast interrupted. 

“Sorry! I've got to run!” John said before he dashed out the door hailing a cab to Baker Street. 

____

Panic coursed through John’s veins like blood. Even so, John still remained the polite gentleman his mother raised him to be. “'Scuse me, can I get through? 'Scuse me.” 

For the aftermath of an explosion there were an awful lot of people. Some of which John believed were intrigued by the destruction as if it was some sort of entertainment. 

“Can I go through?” He asked impatiently once he reached the police line. The officer standing guard shook his head. “I live over there.” John frantically pointed to the 221 B Baker Street and the officer reluctantly let him through. 

Nodding his head to nearby officers, John weaved between the chaos finally coming to the black door. It was truly a sight for sore eyes. Immediately, John opened the door, and darted up the stairs. “Sherlock. Sherlock!” John called out to his best friend. 

There was a sharp pizzicato note. Sherlock sat unamused in his chair with an annoyed expression plastered onto his face. His violin was still in pristine condition as he plucked the strings. 

“John,” Sherlock acknowledged. His attention was elsewhere. 

“I saw it on the telly,” John said out of breath.  “Are you okay? Where’s Y/N?”

“Here…” the woman groaned. She was holding an ice pack to her head. “...and I’m alright.”

John’s brows creased at her disheveled state. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock blinked, bringing his attention to John. “Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” He played another note of annoyance on the instrument and turned back to John's chair. John tilted his head in confusion, the chair was occupied. “I can't,” Sherlock said to the person in the chair. 

"Can't?” It was Mycroft. John would recognize that voice anywhere.  

“The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time,” Sherlock explained. His eyes narrowed as they glanced over at Y/N. “Maybe ask your spy.”

Y/N let out a defeated sigh and clenched her eyes shut. “Sherlock… for the last time–” 

“Am I wrong?” Sherlock interrupted as he lowered his violin.  His grip on the bow in his other hand tightened. “You are under my brother’s employment afterall to…spy on me.” There was a nasty tone in his voice that made John shudder. 

“What?” John asked. His eyes darted between Sherlock, Y/N, and Mycroft for an explanation. 

“John, did you know Y/N took my brother’s deal? The very one you were offered when you first moved into Baker Street?”

“No, but–”

“She’s been spying on me ever since,” Sherlock spat. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded and the sight forced Sherlock to turn his gaze away from the woman. It hurt more than he thought it would seeing her like that, but he had to. She had hurt him just as much by conspiring with his brother. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s antics. “Oh, never mind this usual trivia. Sherlock, this is of national importance.”

The sound of Sherlock’s violin picked up again. “How's the diet?” He asked his brother. 

“Fine,” Mycroft said. He turned to John who was still standing in the entrance of the apartment. “Perhaps you can get through to him, John.”

“What?” John asked. 

“I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent,” Mycroft noted and he flashed a tense smile on his face.  

“If you're so keen,” Sherlock questioned, “why don't you investigate it?”

Mycroft shook his head, the smile was still present on his face, but it was anything but pleasant. “No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so...well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this – it requires... legwork.” He eyed his brother’s long legs. 

A flat note rang in the air and Sherlock’s jaw tensed. “Sounds like a perfect job for Y/N.”

Y/N’s teeth dug into her lip leaving an iron taste in her mouth. “I’m getting a migraine,” she whispered. The growing ache in her mind could be from a matter of things; The recent explosion, how Sherlock had held onto her for hours after the event and now wouldn’t even look at her without disdain in his glossy blue eyes, or the increasing stress levels caused by her newly discovered feelings for the consulting detective. It all was growing too much and she felt like she’d drown in the sea of it all with no one to save her. 

“How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?” Sherlock abruptly asked his friend.  

“Sofa, Sherlock,” Mycroft corrected. “It was the sofa.”

Sherlock widened his eyes at his brother’s word. “Oh yes, of course.”

Meanwhile John was still trying to process Sherlock’s new animosity towards Y/N, the explosion, the presence of Mycroft, and how they knew he slept on the sofa. “How...? Oh, never mind.” Sherlock’s and his brother’s skills still amazed John despite the lengthy time he had known them. However, being on the receiving end of such skills wasn’t quite so delightful. 

Mycroft shuffled around in his seat and his posture began even straighter, if that was possible. His calculating eyes fell on Y/N. She had made herself small. Her legs were drawn in close to her chest and her head rested on her knees. Her eyes casted aside staring at one of the only undamaged spots on the wall. They were filled with utter misery. Mycroft felt like he should pity her, but he had better things to be worrying about than his brother’s sweetheart. It was obvious to Mycroft what his brother felt for the young woman and it wasn’t ideal. Sherlock was supposed to be free from all the trivial stuff that is accompanied by love, but it seemed no matter how hard Mycroft worked, the damned thing still snuck into his brother’s life and it appeared like he was partially to blame. Afterall, he had paid the woman to check in on Sherlock. 

“Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... pals.” Y/N’s shoulders tensed as she continued to ice the injury on her head. “What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine,” Mycroft mentioned. 

“I'm never bored,” she replied.  

“Good! “ Mycroft beamed, this smile resembled something a bit more real. “That's good, isn't it?”  Suddenly he stood up and handed a file to John, whose hands unconsciously held onto it. “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant,” Mycroft explained, “found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.”

John opened the file and took a quick peek at the crime scene photos. “Jumped in front of a train?” He guessed from the gruesome scene depicted in the photos: A man lay dead with his eyes wide open next to train tracks. He shook the imagery from his brain before peeking up at Mycroft. 

“Seems like a logical assumption,” Mycroft muttered. 

John recognized that tone. It was the same one Sherlock had when he made an incorrect observation. “But...?”

"But?” Mycroft encouraged. 

“Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident,” John promptly said. It was the best response he could muster until he had something more. It was better to be vague than incorrect.  

Mycroft smiled at John’s words. “The MoD is working on a new missile defence system, the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called.” John nodded. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.” 

“That wasn't very clever,” Y/N added, the small comment brought a bit of light into her eyes. 

“It's not the only copy,” Mycroft told the woman. 

“Oh,” she apologetically said and the light was gone as fast as it came, replaced by sorrow.  

“But it is secret. And missing.”

“Top secret?” John asked, already knowing the answer. Afterall, Mycroft was the British government in person. 

“Very,” Mycroft replied. “We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you.” 

“I'd like to see you try,” Sherlock challenged. A cunning smirk grew on his face as his eyes were lit with a defiant fire. It raged on as he stared at Mycroft.  

“Think it over,” Mycroft tensely said, moving his gaze from his brother. It was not a fight he would win now, not with Sherlock still aggressive from his latest discovery. “Goodbye, John. Goodbye, Y/N. See you very soon.”

Sherlock huffed once his brother disappeared from view before he raised his bow with strict accuracy and began to loudly play the same phrase of music over and over. 

“Why'd you lie?” John had to yell over the music. “You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?” 

“Why shouldn't I?” Sherlock shrugged. He brought the bow close to his face, pretending to examine the thin horse hairs strewn together. 

“Oh! Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere,” John grumbled. “What happened between you two?” John pointed between Sherlock and Y/N. 

Sherlock just glowered in response. Y/N pinched the back of her neck letting out a defeated exhale. 

“He found out I took Mycroft’s deal to check in on him.”

“A spy. You’re a spy,” Sherlock spat. The fire in his eyes in his gaze from Mycroft’s presence diminished. John knew Sherlock was furious at his brother, not at Y/N. She was the ‘spy’ but it was Mycroft who was truly at fault in Sherlock’s mind. His blue eyes shivered as they admired Y/N. John internally smiled knowing a physical one would only gain Sherlock’s annoyance. He could see the reflection of yearning in Sherlock’s ocean eyes. They often say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and now John felt like he could truly see inside Sherlock’s soul. It was battered and bruised from the years empty from the light of sentiment. Now, with Y/N in view those bruises had faded, no longer an angry blue and purple, but a warm yellow. He was healing in her loving presence. She made him feel safe. Sherlock didn’t have to say it, John already knew. In his mind, John recalled all the times she was there for him, holding his hand or shutting down any harsh comment aimed in Sherlock’s direction. The longer Sherlock gazed at Y/N, the warm feeling in John’s heart only grew stronger. Sherlock was in love with Y/N. But Sherlock was an idiot. Love was strong but Sherlock’s lunacy appeared to be stronger.  

“No, I’m not. I’m just a messenger for a concerned brother,” Y/N replied. “And for your information I took the deal before I really even knew you. I wouldn’t even think about–” 

Sherlock played the strings louder. 

“Agh!” She groaned in frustration. Then Y/N clenched her hands into fists and raised them into the air before pushing herself off the couch. She brushed past John with a sad look in her eyes that made his heart suffocate at her predicament and in the blink of an eye the sound of her apartment door slamming shut echoed throughout the building. 

“Are you happy with yourself?” John angrily questioned Sherlock, but Sherlock ignored John’s presence. Instead, the consulting detective had discarded his violin and now occupied himself with his phone. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said over the phone. “Of course. How could I refuse?” With a click the call was over and an inferno of intrigue was lit in his blue eyes. He whipped around to face John. “ Lestrade,” Sherlock explained. “I've been summoned. Coming?”

No, John wanted to say. His anger at Sherlock’s actions and the disheartened state he consistently had been leaving Y/N as of late made him want to run and comfort her. John wanted to grab Sherlock by the collar and scold him for being so blind. He wanted to pry open Sherlock’s heart and deliver it to Y/N. He wanted them to no longer hurt. There were so many things John wanted for his two best friends. Yet John knew if he went to Y/N, Sherlock would tag along only resulting in more hurt for the two of them. It was in his nature for Sherlock to find Y/N. No matter how much the infuriatingly intelligent man wanted to deny it, he was drawn to her, seeking her out wherever he was. “If you want me to,” John defeatingly said. 

“Of course,” Sherlock replied as he flicked the collar of his coat up. “I'd be lost without my blogger and—” He didn’t finish his thought, but it didn’t take a genius to know who else he was going to say. It didn’t take cunning and wits for John to figure out that Sherlock would be lost, and is lost without her, his Y/N.  Yet here was Sherlock leading himself astray when he knew all paths would lead to her, and for once in all the time John had known Sherlock, he knew the man was truly insane. 

_____

Greg Lestrade was supposed to have the week off. He planned on taking a nice trip to visit his mother and father in the countryside and take a break from Sherlock Holmes and everything that seemed to follow the man. Greg was supposed to get some sleep for once in his life and maybe enjoy a few home-made meals instead of take-out dishes and frozen dinners. This time off seemed too good to be true, and it was. Rather than spending quality time with his elderly parents in the home of his childhood, Greg sat in his office filled to the brim with case files. The phones hadn’t stopped ringing since the explosion the other day. It was getting annoying, and now Sherlock had arrived, Greg’s workload got even bigger. 

“You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones,” Lestrade asked Sherlock. It was a rhetorical question. The strange cases were always the ones Sherlock solved for Scotland Yard. 

“Obviously.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“You've love this. That explosion... Where’s Y/N?” Lestrade peered around Sherlock and John hoping to catch sight of the third companion. He had only known the young woman for a few months, but she soon became ingrained in the chaos of it all. A slight frown appeared on his face, when he realized she was absent. She was the only glimpse of normal he could find around here, and now she was nowhere to be found. 

“Traitor,” Sherlock muttered. Lestrade sent John a questioning look to which John only shrugged. 

“Alright…anyways, that explosion–” Lestrade continued. 

“Gas leak, yes?” Sherlock phrased it more like a statement than a question. 

“No,” Lestrade corrected. 

Sherlock looked puzzled. He was hardly ever wrong. “No?”

“No. Made to look like one,” Lestrade explained. 

John’s eyes widened. “What?” He felt a pounding in his chest. It was an animosity he had never felt before, and it only grew stronger with each hit. Someone had purposefully hurt his family. His best friends. His home. 

“Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box,” Lestrade said. “A very strong box and inside it was this.” He raised up an envelope. On the well-kept paper, the name ‘Sherlock Holmes’ was carefully scribed. 

“You haven't opened it?” Sherlock questioned. He eyed the envelope with intrigue. The same anger in John was a light in Sherlock.  

Lestrade shook his head. “It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped.” 

“How reassuring!” Sherlock replied, his voice full of sarcasm. He snatched the envelope out of Greg’s hand and held it close to the light. His eyes narrowed as he observed every detail about the seemingly simple letter.  “Nice stationery. Bohemian,” he noted. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. 

“From the Czech Republic,” Sherlock specified.  “No fingerprints?”

“No,” Lestrade replied. 

Straightening up, Sherlock lowered the envelope. “She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duo fold, iridium nib.”

"She?” John repeated. His tone was full of disbelief. 

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. He was a man of few words today. His mind was elsewhere. The explosion, the gas leak was purposeful. He was a target, and so was she. Y/N. He had to keep her safe. It was a foreign feeling, his mind being filled by his desire for her safety rather than the thrill of the case, and no matter how much Sherlock fought it, the desire only grew stronger. 

“Obviously!” John grunted in defeat. Without a warning, Sherlock tore the envelope open revealing the contents inside. A block of pink slipped out the envelope and sent John into a shock. “But that... That's the phone. The pink phone.”

“What, from the Study in Pink?” Lestrade wondered with eyes just as wide as John’s. 

“Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…” Sherlock mumbled before tilting his head to face Lestrade. “The Study in Pink? You read his blog?” 

“Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?” Lestrade genuinely asked and a wave of vile snickers echoed throughout the office. Sherlock’s shoulder’s tensed and his hand ached for the comfort of another–Of Y/N. Sherlock wished she was there, but he couldn’t–no shouldn’t be wishing for that. Sherlock closed his eyes; everything was all too complicated.  

“It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new,” Sherlock noted once he returned his focus to the present case. 

“Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone,” John mentioned, and he looked over Sherlock’s shoulder at the device. 

“Which means your blog has a far wider readership,” Sherlock muttered, and John gulped. John was proud of his work, but knowing a criminal who meant his family harm was reading it was almost too much to bear. 

Turning on the pink device, the screen came to life and an automated voice spoke. “You have one new message.” Then five beeps followed after. 

“Is that it?” John asked after hearing the beeping.  

Sherlock frowned, but then a photo appeared on the tiny screen. “No. That's not it.”

“What the hell are we supposed to make of that?” Lestrade gasped looking at the photo. It was a room: practically pristine with everything cleaned and stored away. In all honesty, it looked like something out of a housing catalog. “An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!”

While Lestrade threw a fit, Sherlock found his voice stolen away. His lungs collapsed as his eyes scanned over the photo. This feeling was one he hadn’t felt in awhile. A feeling he hoped to never feel again. The very one that encapsulated his soul the night in the museum during the Blind Banker case. As he looked at the picture, Sherlock realized that he knew this place, yet it wasn’t the place that brought a momentary lapse in his composure. It was where the photo was. “It's a warning,” Sherlock whispered. 

“A warning?” John asked. 

“Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that,” Sherlock explained. “Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again. I know where that is. Let’s go.” With shaky hands, Sherlock pocketed the phone. 

By the time John had processed Sherlock’s words the man had already left Lestrade’s office. “H-hang on,” John called after Sherlock. “What's gonna happen again?”

When Sherlock looked back at John, there was the terror of uncertainty reflected in his eyes. Cases like these typically excited Sherlock, making John doubt the fear in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock was hardly ever scared.  Yet Sherlock’s response only confirmed John’s observations. Sherlock Holmes was terrified. 

____

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock bellowed the moment he returned home to Baker Street. In tow followed John. 

“Yes dear?” Sherlock felt a slight feeling of relief when Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out of her apartment. The elder woman’s eyes smiled at the young detective until she locked onto his trajectory, and she stepped out blocking his path. “No, Sherlock. She doesn’t want to talk to you–” 

Sherlock brushed her aside. “The door's open,” he announced to John.  

“Oh! Men!” Mrs. Hudson said wringing her hands in the air with frustration. She caught sight of John. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything–”

“Stupid?” John finished. “I’m way ahead of you Mrs. Hudson.” Then quickly he ran after Sherlock to Y/N’s apartment.

There was a loudly hissing sound when they entered. Bjørn was furious with the intrusion of Sherlock Holmes and so was the cat’s owner. He growled as Sherlock strolled into Y/N’s apartment like he owned the place. His strides were long and quick as he approached the closed room in the back of the flat: Y/N’s spare room.

“Christ Sherlock! What are you–” Y/N gasped as the man intruded into her home. Her patience for Sherlock was running thin. 

Sherlock stopped in his tracks at the sound of Y/N’s voice. He stood frozen ignorant of the angry cat. His eyes only saw one thing, Y/N. The fear and anxiety that had piled up on his journey back to Baker Street dissipated at the sight of her. Now that he gazed upon her, Sherlock knew he couldn’t live without her in his presence. It was if his eyes were crafted to only look at her. In this trance, Sherlock stood watching her as the confusion appeared on her face. 

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Y/N asked. Just as her voice drew him into her spell, her words pulled him back out. 

“He's a bomber, remember," John cautioned everyone as he appeared in Y/N’s doorway. 

“Does anyone care to fill me in on anything?” Y/N looked around at the two men. None of them answered. Sherlock, now free from her spell, turned back to the spare room. He trekked over to the door and swung it open. 

It was a neatly organized room despite the cardboard boxes shoved in the corner. The walls matched those in the living room. Everything had a place, except for one thing. In the center of the room sat a pair of shoes. Shoes that hadn’t been there before. 

 “Sherlock what are you doing?”  Y/N hurried on after him. “Why are you–how’d those get there?” 

“That’s exactly my question.” Sherlock stepped away from the door and approached the shoes. He carefully took a step closer and closer until he deemed the shoes no threat. 

“They’re shoes,” John muttered. “Are they yours?” 

“Not mine. I don’t even know how they got here,” Y/N whispered. “Now do you mind explaining things to me. What about the bomber?”

Before any of them could answer Y/N, the phone in Sherlock’s pocket buzzed. He quickly retrieved it, placing it on speaker. 

“Hello,” A soft voice said followed by ragged breathing. 

“Hello?” Sherlock replied. 

“H-hello... sexy,” the voice said. There was a sniffle. The voice, whoever it belonged to began to cry.

“Who's this?” Sherlock demanded. 

A sob from the phone echoed around the room. “I've... sent you... a little puzzle... just to say hi.”

“Who's talking? Why are you crying?” Sherlock listened as the woman over the phone continued to cry. 

“I-I'm not... crying… I'm typing....and this... stupid... bitch... is reading it out.” 

Y/N gasped and raised a hand to cover her mouth. She had seen many things working with Sherlock. Being held hostage was something she knew well. It was an experience she never wished on anyone, and an experience she’d never be able to forget. John felt Y/N’s demeanor change and offered his hand as comfort. She gratefully grabbed his hand squeezing it tight as she fought off the terrors of memory. 

“The curtain rises,” Sherlock whispered as if he was connecting the dots. 

“What?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing,” he responded.  

“No, what did you mean?” John urged Sherlock to answer. 

“I've been expecting this for some time,” Sherlock said. Y/N’s hand squeezed John’s tighter. The sight made Sherlock tense. 

“Twelve hours to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock” the crying woman read. “...or I'm going... to be... so naughty.” The call had ended. 

“So, who d'you suppose it was?” John was the first to speak after the concerning call. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock quizzically raised his brow up. His mind was still focused on Y/N’s hand in John’s and not his. 

John blinked. “The woman on the phone – the crying woman,” he mentioned.  

“Oh, she doesn't matter.” Sherlock waved his hand as if to brush away the anxiousness John felt for the hostage. “She's just a hostage. No lead there.” 

Y/N released John’s hand and her jaw hung open with shock. “Sherlock! John wasn't thinking about leads.”

“You're not going to be much use to her,” Sherlock shrugged. 

“Really? Sherloc–” Y/N scoffed.

“I need a lab,” Sherlock mumbled before walking out of the room with the shoes in hand. “Come on, Y/N! John!” 

Taking in a deep breath, Y/N and John shared an expressionless look. They were worried with all of this new information. What did Sherlock mean he was expecting this? What about the bomber and the shoes? There were too many questions and little to no answers to be found. With the look, an uneasy feeling made their stomachs churn. They felt sick, but there was no turning back now. A case needed to be solved. A woman’s life was on the line as well as the potential for more tragedy and destruction. 

“We’re coming Sherlock!”

____

John paced around the lab with his arms crossed over his chest. “Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?” 

“The bomber's too smart for that,” Sherlock boredly said before holding his hand out.  “Pass me my phone.”

“Where is it?” John asked as his eyes darted around the room looking for the small cellular device. 

“Jacket,” Sherlock replied. John’s shoulders slumped. Sherlock was wearing his jacket. Biting the inside of his cheek, John reached for Sherlock’s pocket. 

“Careful,” Sherlock cautioned without taking his eyes away from the microscope.  

John rolled his eyes as his fingers carefully brushed over Sherlock’s phone. “Text from your brother,” John announced. 

Sherlock let out a disappointed grunt. “Delete it.”

“Delete it?” John questioned. 

“Missile plans are out of the country now,” Sherlock noted. “Nothing we can do about it.” 

John huffed. “Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important.” He turned the phone around to flash Sherlock the screen. Sherlock didn’t look up from the microscope. 

“Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?” Sherlock muttered. 

“His what?” John asked. His eyes widened and he peered back at the phone. How had Sherlock known?

As if sensing John’s doubt, Sherlock began to explain. “Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?”

John just stared at Sherlock before reluctantly deleting the text messages. 

Immediately after the messages on Sherlock’s phone disappeared, Y/N’s phone buzzed. “Sherlock. He’s texting me now.”

Sherlock looked up from the microscope at Y/N. “Then maybe think next time before agreeing to my brother’s antics. Now shut up. I need silence.” He winced at his words upon seeing the pang of hurt in her face. He wasn’t planning on them coming out so harsh, yet they were already spoken. 

“Really?!” Y/N scoffed. All the pain in her expression vanished and was replaced with an unknown yet terrifying look. John shivered and he was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end.  “Alright then! John. I’m off to the bathroom to cool down before I murder him.” She reached for her coat, before stomping out the door. 

Once the door had clicked shut, John turned to Sherlock. “Try and remember there's a woman here who might die,” he hissed. 

“What for?” Sherlock impatiently said.  “This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?” Sherlock didn’t give John’s stunned expression any thought as the machine next to him beeped. “Ah! He exclaimed. 

Suddenly a young brunette entered the room with an adoring smile on her face. “Any luck?” Molly asked. John felt relieved at her presence. 

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock replied, his mouth still hung open waiting to say more until the door opened once more. 

It was a young man. “Oh, sorry. I didn't…” He nervously glanced around the room.

“Jim! Hi!” Molly beamed at the man. “Come in! Come in!” She waved him in and lovingly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.” She introduced. Sherlock barely spared a glance at the man. “And this is John. And thi…where’s Y/N?” Molly wondered. 

“Bathroom,” John replied before sticking out his hand for Jim to shake. “John Watson. Hi. Funny, Y/N’s boyfriend has the same name,” He commented looking between Molly and Jim. John had actually never met Jim yet, he was always too busy with work or Y/N. Not that John really minded. However, he noticed a flinch in Jim’s expression at the mention of Y/N, but it was gone before he could read further into it. 

Jim chuckled and ran his hand along the back of his neck. His dark brown eyes scanned the consulting detective who was still staring at the screen of the computer next to him. “Jim’s a common name…,” he said to John. Then Jim turned to Sherlock. “Uh Hi. So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly told me all about you. You on one of your cases?” He pointed a shaking hand to the objects captivating Sherlock’s attention. 

“Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance,” Molly proudly grinned as she adored her boyfriend. Her cheeks flushed a light pink. John smiled at the sight.  

“Gay,” Sherlock coughed. 

The smile on Molly’s face flattered. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock shook his head. He removed his eyes from the microscope. “Um, hey.”

“Hi.” Jim’s face flushed even redder than Molly’s. He stuck out his hand for Sherlock to shake, only knocking over one of the tools off the counter. “Sorry. Sorry!” He apologized. He twirled around placing the object back on the counter. “Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?” He told Molly.  

“Yeah!” Molly smiled. Her eyes trailed as Jim's figure turned to leave the room. 

“'Bye.” He said to her, giving her a swift kiss on the cheek. 

“Bye,” Molly whispered back.

“It was nice to meet you,” Jim said to Sherlock and John. 

John replied for both of them. “You too.” And then Jim was gone. 

The door clicked shut “What d'you mean, gay? We're together,” Molly growled. 

“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly.” Sherlock sarcastically said. “You've put on three pounds since I last saw you.” There was a bitterness in his voice. He hated it. He hated how Molly was happy. He hated how his name was Jim. It all reminded Sherlock of her. Y/N. He couldn’t have her because of her damned boyfriend. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. Sherlock wanted to scream. 

“Two and a half,” Molly corrected. 

“No, three,” Sherlock stated. Molly’s jaw clenched and her eyes grew watery. 

“Sherlock…,” John warned. 

“He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil...? He's not,’ Molly denied. All joy in her face was replaced with sadness. 

“With that level of personal grooming?” Sherlock scoffed.  

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair,” John said. His tone was protective as he stood up for Molly. 

“You wash your hair. There's a difference,” Sherlock noted. “No-no – tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear.”

“His underwear?” Molly’s voice broke. 

“Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here…” Sherlock lifted up the bowl Jim had knocked over and there sat a small slip of paper. Jim’s number.  “...and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”  Sherlock tossed her the paper as a waterfall of tears fell from Molly’s face. She ran out of the room not a moment later. 

_____

Bathroom. Y/N and Molly

Women building women up. 

Cultural differences. Y/N loved discovering them as she progressed through her new life in London. But now, as she stands in front of one of the mirrors in the public bathrooms, she can say she found a cultural similarity, crying alone in the women’s bathroom. 

Y/N found herself to be releasing tears more often than she thought. It was both a terrific and terrible thing; Terrific because she could express herself without any judgment, horrible because she was doing it more. However, what was worse was because all the tears came from a single source, Sherlock. 

Sniffling, Y/N wiped the latest of tears falling down her cheeks. The tiny droplets were leaving noticeable streaks down her face and her hand eagerly erased them. Less evidence for Sherlock to notice. 

Suddenly the door swung open, startling Y/N. She jumped back and instinctively turned her face away from the door. Her cheeks flushed red as she hoped her eyes weren’t as red as she thought they were. However, all signs of embarrassment fled when she heard a muffled whimper beside her. 

Correction. Bathrooms were the perfect place for women to cry together. 

Turning her head to view the addition to the bathroom, Y/N saw Molly. It took the young woman to remember her, but Y/N could recall the few times they had met before. Each time dealing with a case.  More tears crept into Y/N’s eyes as she saw Molly hunched over hiding her face with her shoulders. 

“Molly?” Y/N whispered. She stepped towards the other woman wondering if she should put her hand on Molly’s back to comfort her. She decided against it. 

Molly jolted up at the sound of her name. Her fist clenched tightly around a small sheet of paper in her hand. “Huh? Oh, Y/N. Um, sorry about…” Molly wiped her tears feeling embarrassed until she saw Y/N’s. “You too?”

Y/N nodded, wiping a few more tears away. “Are you alright,” Y/N found herself asking. 

Shaking her head, Molly glanced down. “My boyfriend is gay. He just–” A sob broke her train of thought and Molly almost collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for Y/N’s gentle hold. 

“Men suck,” Y/N muttered as she held Molly helping stand up once more. 

A light chuckle left Molly’s mouth at Y/N’s words. “They really do. Here I thought he might be nice, but he just used me to get his number to Sherlock and then he went and did his thing, you know,” Molly motioned with her hands when words no longer seemed to find her.

“When he deducted you?” Y/N finished. Molly could only nod before breaking down again. Y/N frowned. She had seen firsthand Sherlock’s deducting abilities. He never held anything back for the sake of accuracy. Oftentimes he’d forget one key factor, feelings. Y/N had yet to be on the other end of Sherlock’s observations. She was sure John had something to do with it; he was always protective of her when it came to Sherlock’s judgment. However, Molly was never spared. “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. 

“It’s not your fault…” Molly began but Y/N cut her off. She stood Molly up right and looked into her watery eyes. 

“No, I know it’s not, but sometimes it's nice to know you’re not alone when it comes to Sherlock.” Y/N smiled, and Molly’s eyes widened. 

“He’s made you cry?” She asked.

Y/N somberly nodded. “A lot actually.” Saying those words made more tears appear. 

Molly looked at Y/N with confusion. “But he’s…I thought he…well, he always looks like he’s…” she mumbled nervously. Raising a brow, Y/N urged Molly to continue. “Why would he make you cry when…I thought he was in love with you.”

Y/N froze. “What?” 

“It’s obvious. At least it is to everyone. Sherlock really likes you,” Molly said. Tears no longer fell from her eyes. 

Her heart jumped at Molly’s words. Sherlock. Love. Obvious. “Really? Because it doesn’t feel like that.” If anything, Y/N thought Sherlock hated her now. It was as if she could never do anything right anymore after that night in the hotel. Even her need to breath made Sherlock tense. If he was in love, he sure had a strange way of showing it. But just the idea of Sherlock being in love with her washed away all sadness. It filled Y/N with hope. 

That was the other great thing about women crying together in bathrooms, they built hope together. You never left the bathroom sadder than when you entered it. You always emerged revived. It was the power of women. Something that was the same all over the world. 

“I’m sorry,” Molly whispered, and Y/N knew Molly was saying it for the same reasons she had said it to her. They weren’t alone. 

They stood in the bathroom chatting with each other for minutes longer. Each word only gave the women back strength they thought that they had lost. Soon, they could stand on their own. Their cheeks were no longer wet, and their eyes were no longer puffy and red. They were ready to face the world once more. 

_____

“Sherlock. What did you do?” Y/N hissed as she entered the lab. Her talk to Molly only made her even more infuriated with Sherlock. 

Sherlock immediately knew what Y/N was talking about. “Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?” He smiled. 

Y/N’s eyes ticked. 

"Kinder? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind,” John said. “He announced rudely to Molly her boyfriend was gay,” he explained to Y/N. 

“I know, I heard all about it in the bathroom as she was crying. Sherl–” Y/N scolded. 

“Go on, then,” Sherlock interrupted. His gaze was on John as he raised his hand to the shoes on the counter. 

“Mm?” John stared back at Sherlock confused. Y/N’s mouth hung wide open. A fly could have flown in and out and she wouldn’t have noticed. 

“You know what I do. Off you go,” Sherlock clarified now looking at the shoes. 

“No,” John shook his head. “You hurt Molly, and then interrupted Y/N. I’m not–”

“Go on,” Sherlock insisted. Y/N began to curse in the background. 

John angrily placed his hands on his hips. “I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try to disseminate…”

“An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me,” Sherlock sarcastically smiled. 

“Yeah, right!”  Y/N huffed. 

“Really,” Sherlock repeated. His tone was calm and serious. 

John bit his tongue as he stared at Sherlock. “Fine,” he grumbled before moving onto the shoes. “I dunno, they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers.”

Sherlock nodded. “Good.” 

“Umm... they're in good condition. I'd say they were pretty new... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while,” John continued. “Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs.”

“You're in sparkling form,” Sherlock praised. It struck John’s pride just right to keep him talking and the focus off of him and Y/N. “What else?” 

“Well, they're quite big, so a man's,” John noted. His eyes glanced at Sherlock and then to Y/N as they watched him. 

“But...?”

“But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip,” John said. “Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid.”

Sherlock was beaming now. “Excellent. What else?”

“Uh... that's it," John muttered. His hand flopped to his sides as if to further express the point. 

“That's it?” Sherlock was disappointed. 

“How did I do?” John asked like he was a child being tested on the colors of the rainbow. 

“Well, John; really well,” Sherlock began. John softly smiled. “I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know…”

Y/N saw red. “If you’re so wise then Sherlock, show us what you’ve got.”

“Gladly,” Sherlock smiled at her, taking a bow with his head. “The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three... no, four times.  Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old.” 

“Twenty years?” John questioned. 

“They're not retro, they're original. Limited edition - two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine,” Sherlock explained. 

John shook his head. “But there's still mud on them. They look new.”

“Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it.” Sherlock peered at the shoes. 

“And how do you know that?” Y/N asked, stepping closer to the counter with the shoes. 

“Pollen,” Sherlock smirked. “Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind.”

“So what happened to him?” John wondered. 

“Something bad. He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets…” Sherlock trailed off and his eyes bulged. “Oh.”

“What?” Y/N and John eagerly asked. 

“Carl Powers,” Sherlock whispered. 

John and Y/N looked at each other as if they had missed something. “Sorry, who?”

“Carl Powers, John,” Sherlock said. The annoyance in his voice was noticeable. 

“What is it?” Y/N found herself asking. 

“It's where I began,” Sherlock muttered. “Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?”

As Sherlock relayed the story, something deep within Y/N had risen. “Carl Powers…huh.” She whispered to herself. The name felt familiar in her mouth. She couldn’t place why. 

“But you remember,” John noted. 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. 

“Something fishy about it?” John asked. 

“Nobody thought so – nobody except me,” Sherlock explained. “I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.” 

“Started young, didn't you?” John jokingly said. Sherlock ignored it. 

“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head.”

“What?” Y/N wondered.  

“His shoes,” Sherlock said. 

“What about them?” John looked at Sherlock stare off into the distance. 

“They weren't there,” Sherlock pushed himself out of the chair and stood up. “I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes...until now.” 

Sherlock had put on his coat in an instant before moving towards Y/N. With each step he took toward her, the ache in his chest lessened. “Right. Y/N with me.” His hand reached for hers wrapping around them so tightly she wouldn’t be able to escape. He didn’t care if she was pissed at him. All he cared about was keeping her safe. She could only be safe when he was with her. His observant eyes would keep danger away. He would keep the monster from twenty-years ago far away from her. The very one who broke into her apartment. The very monster who was warning and taunting him. “John, go deal with my brother.”

John stood dazed as he watched Sherlock drag Y/N behind him. They were gone before he could give Sherlock his reply. “Uh…fine.”

_____

It wasn’t often Mycroft got visitors. Although, to be fair, all his visitors were invited, so they weren’t technically visitors. “John. How nice,” Mycroft said. It said more to be socially acceptable than from joy that John had visited. “I was hoping you wouldn't be long. How can I help you?” Again, another trivial social phrase. Mycroft knew exactly why John was here, however being the British government required such pleasantries that his brother could afford not to have. 

“Thank you. Um, well,” John looked around Mycroft’s office. It was exactly as he expected. The office was practically decorated. The walls only had two paintings, each on opposite sides to create a sense of symmetry. There were a few chairs and of course a desk. Everything else was empty space. Mycroft was a practical person, a trait sometimes shared by Sherlock (barely).  “I was wanting to... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans - the missile plans.”

Mycroft raised a brow up skeptically. “Did he?” 

“Yes.” John nodded before moving his eyes to look at a small notebook with questions and notes about the case. “He's investigating now. He's, er, investigating away,” John corrected. “Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.”

Leaning back into his chair, Mycroft began to answer John’s questions. “Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington programmed in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies... Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening.” 

“Right. He was found at Battersea, yes?” John noted, “So he got on the train.” 

“No,” Mycroft replied. 

John looked up from his notes. The scribbling with his pen stopped. “What?” 

“He had an Oyster card…” Mycroft said. “...but it hadn't been used.” 

“Must have bought a ticket,” was John’s response and he went back to jotting down some notes. 

“There was no ticket on the body,” Mycroft corrected. 

John stopped again. “Then…”

Mycroft had grown a bit impatient. His back straightened and he leaned in the direction of where John stood. “Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?” He smiled letting John know he knew what his brother was actually doing. 

“He-he's fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going…” John hesitantly gulped. Despite it all he hid his nervousness well. “...very well. It's, um, you know – he's completely focused on it.”

_____

Sherlock was, in fact, not focused on it. With his thumb tucked under his chin and his pointer fingers in front of his lips, Sherlock focused on Y/N. Well, he was thinking of the case, but each thought about the case was broken up with thought of her. 

The woman in question was making tea. She had to keep her hands busy so she wouldn’t accidentally strangle Sherlock for dragging her along and giving her no explanation. Even so, she had tried talking to him about everything: the kiss, the case, their relationship, Carl Powers, and the shoes found in her apartment. Each attempt was met with silence. All Sherlock seemed to do was stare at her. She found it unnerving as his careful eyes trailed across her face and body. 

“Poison,” Sherlock muttered. 

“What?” Y/N placed the teapot on the stove. Her eyes flitted over to Sherlock who was still gazing at her. 

“Clostridium botulinum!” He exclaimed before jumping out of his seat and pranced over to her. He had begun his dance. The one Y/N hated to admit she enjoyed watching. It really was beautiful how Sherlock twirled around the room as the ideas came to him. Each step entangled with new observations from the case. “It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet! Carl Powers!” 

“Wait, are you saying he was murdered?” Y/N asked for clarification. Her eyes floated around the room finding Sherlock’s figure as he approached her. 

“Remember the shoelaces?” he smiled and she thought that this was her Sherlock. The intelligent, lively, and caring man was back. She could see it in his eyes as he looked at her. She had missed that look. She had missed his eyes on her. Once her Sherlock had returned, Y/N also felt herself return. 

“Mmm,” she nodded letting Sherlock know she was following. He was close now. Just as close as he had been when he held her after the explosion. 

“The boy suffered from eczema,” Sherlock beamed. “It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns.”

Her stomach jolted at the proximity, but she longed to be closer. “What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?” 

Instinctively Sherlock’s hands found the sides of her face. His cold fingers were warmed by the heat in her cheeks. “It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it. But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet. That's why they had to go,” Sherlock whispered. His nose brushed against hers. They were so close. He could just–

“So how do we let the bomber know…” Y/N wondered. 

Sherlock licked his lips and then let his hands grow cold once more. “Get his attention…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Y/N stepped in closer just as he stepped away. The distance remained the same.

“...stop the clock,” Sherlock said. His blue eyes trailed over hers before coming to rest on her lips. The very lips he had kissed so fervently not so long ago. He could still taste her on his tongue, but it was faint. The sweet intoxicating flavor plagued his mind and he knew he was addicted. He had to have more or else he’d waste away in withdrawal for the rest of his life. 

“The killer kept the shoes all these years,” Y/N said. Her breath was heavy weighing down her lungs. The air she exhaled was exhilarating. 

“Yes. Meaning…,” Sherlock muttered. 

“He's our bomber,” she finished. 

Before they could lean in closer and ease the ache in their souls, the pink phone buzzed. 

“Well done, you,” the woman cried. “Come and get me.”

When Sherlock stepped away from Y/N, the pain in his chest grew a million times worse. “Where are you? Tell us where you are.”

_____

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[cindol]

Hey, can I please get some more general headcanons of Spider Noir with a black fem s/o?

I loved the last blurb you wrote 💖

Thank you bb ! Here’s some spider noir hcs for you babes

tw—as usual, y/n is a pink pink pinkalicious black girl, set in a modern universe but Peter has a old soul, suggestive(titty sucking,boob groping),

Spider Noir definitely rizzed reader up in mere seconds in a woman’s shoe store. He was getting a lady he had rescued a night ago some butterfly heels as a “feel better” typa thing to sneak in her apartment till he noticed reader sitting on a bench trying on some nice hot pink satin platform pumps that she was having quite some trouble putting on. Trying to be the friendly spiderman he is even outside of costume he came over to you with a wave making you raise a brow.”I see you’re havin’ a problem fitting on those lovely heels. Mind if I help?”

Usually y/n didn’t take strange men’s help in a store but looking at this man’s facial features he looked so trusting. The way he had smile lines on the corner of his lips as he gave her a small smile and held out a strong gloved hand to her she couldn’t help but give out. She held out her brown bare making him get on his knees and helping her put the heel on, their future relationship blossomed after this.

Spider Noir soon found out from 9 months of dating her y/n had a Barbie and princess complex she didn’t even know she had and he didn’t mind feeding into that complex. From being the gentlemen he is and holding the door open for her to helping her zip up her dress and put on 2 pump pink heels. Even to indulging in her taste and letting her get pretty hair appointments and movie nights.

Spider Noir is a genuine munch for his pretty girl too so he loves when she shows him around to people. He’s alway ready to flash a smile to the camera when she takes a group selfie with him and doesn’t mind the little TikTok’s too. When she gives him all those red lipstick kisses on his face, neck, and chest he doesn’t even wash them off after baby. She has to hold him down giggling and take them off with wipes.”baby, you can’t just wear my kisses on you, it’s nasty and could smear.” He just smiles.”well that means I’ll have you all smeared on me.” She just gasps and has a big grin on her face from those words.

Spider Noir doesn’t hide the fact he’s taken by his girl either. He isn’t exactly rude when women try to flirt with him since he’s always been raised to be nice to lady so he let’s them down as easy as he can. When a girl is even trying to be flirtatious he flashes them his lovely open wallet that has a long photo portrait of multiple photos of his pretty girl and him in a Photo Booth.”See that? Taken sorry doll face.”

Now, spider noir loves to kiss too. It’s almost like his best thing to do next to saving people. He doesn’t do anymore normal man kisses either or those too rough kisses. When’s he’s kissing his girl he always usually has her in his lap or laying on his chest with his hand softly grabbing her jaw and giving her a slow kiss that turns into a makeout sessions. But he’s a tease, and let’s go making her whine.

he gives her kisses in other places too. When she and him are relaxing and he isn’t in his usual trench coat he loves to unwind and just play with her tits. Either him groping her boobs or sucking on them while she window shop at stuff on Amazon. He even gives kisses and hickeys that make her pout but he just offers her to wear one of those cute pink silk ascots on her neck. She of course does her cute pout and wears it anyways.

Overall, spider noir just loves his girl.