#but it stresses me out not knowing what happens next

[sanguineterrain]

holiday spirit | jason todd

Summary: Stuck at a shitty office party for your shitty job on Christmas Eve Eve, you’re at your wit’s end. The last thing you expect is to play vigilante for a night with the Red Hood.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings/tags: panic attacks, reader has anxiety, creepy coworkers, office party shenanigans, canon-typical violence, jason being both a menace and a sweetheart, attempts at humor, fake relationship, silliness!

the divider

You’re grateful for a reason to escape. Someone announces that the lights on the obnoxious eleven-foot Christmas tree are burned out and you’re already on the elevator, volunteering to find spare lights. 

You hate these office parties. They’re just a way to play politics, show off fiancés, and reaffirm cliques. You wanted to skip it all together. But Mr. Emerson, your boss, had insisted that attending tonight’s party was mandatory.

Alma had told you about a hundred times to skip tonight, but Alma’s worked here since the Reagan administration and has too much pull to be fired. You, conversely, have been here eight months, and if you get fired, your next job is going to be as a henchman for a B-list Gotham villain. 

Being painfully ordinary and anxious is a toxic mix. Your doctor still thinks all your worrying is because of your menstrual cycle. He doesn’t believe in work-related stress.

So anyway. You’re just trying to get through tonight. And find some tree lights that work. 

You unlock the spare office where all the holiday junk is stored and turn on the light. 

The motherfucking Red Hood looks at you, one leg dangling outside of the window and one leg inside the office. He unclicks his harness. 

"Oh my God,” you say, hand frozen on the light switch.

Red Hood pulls his leg in from the window and steps into the office. He puts the harness in a duffel bag and roughly zips it, then tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor. 

"Oh my God.”

He glances at you, helmet eyes glowing. "No God here, just me.”

"Oh my God," you say again, near hysterics. "Oh my God, Red Hood."

"Always nice to meet a fan," he says irritably, brushing snow off of his jacket, flashing his holsters. Oh, fuck. That's a lot of guns.

"What, um—" You close your eyes, lick your lips, try to find your sanity. "To what do I—why—are you gonna kill me?”

"The fuck? You think I'd sneak into an office and kill someone in cold blood? What kinda operation you think I'm running?"

Your mouth opens and closes in horror. "Wh–I... I don't—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Hood."

"Please, Mr. Hood was my father."

He laughs. You taste bile in your throat. 

Hood sobers. "Damn. Tough crowd. Look, sorry to freak you out, but I got shit to do. If you'll just point me to Hershel Emerson's office, I'll be on my merry way."

"That's m-my boss. Are you gonna kill him?" You can’t handle murder tonight. You’ll have a breakdown for sure. 

"Literally, what did I just say?" Hood throws his hands up. "Not one minute ago. I'm not killing anyone!"

"Yet?" you ask weakly, mind inundated with too many mob movies to watch your manners. You know what the Red Hood is all about. Everyone does. 

"No. I'm not killing Emerson. But he is a bad dude, so I gotta take care of business. Actually, I should kill him. He deserves it."

You squeak in horror. He raises a hand.

"But I'm not!" he says gruffly. "Respectfully, get a grip. You live in Gotham."

You swallow. "What're you gonna do to my boss if not kill him?"

Hood shrugs. "Eh, maybe scare him a bit. Mostly get intel to take him down. He's currently sitting on five million dollars of stolen life savings from clients."

You blink. "What?"

"Yup. What I really wanna know is which of his employees are in on it. He didn't do this alone."

Hood takes out a small roll-up pouch of what looks like lockpicking tools. You release your sweaty death grip on the doorknob, causing it to squeak. Hood doesn't look up.

five million dollars is ringing in your head. That happened here. Where you work. Your boss is even scummier than you thought.

“Is that a lockpicking kit?” you ask.

“Yup. Good eye.”

"This seems... illegal.”

"Well, I won't lie to you, most of what I do is. You won't be implicated though.”

He looks at you. You flinch. Even with the lights on, the Red Hood is scary as shit. 

"Yeah..." he says, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t do well in prison. I can tell."

Your chest hurts. "I don't think anyone does well in prison," you say, eyebrows scrunching. "Have... you been to prison?"

"Only to break out a friend. You ask a lot of questions."

"Sorry. Um, Mr. Red Hood—"

"Ah-ah. Call me Red. Or Hood. No Mister-ing."

"Okay.” You lick your lips, hoping he doesn't go back on his temporary no-kill policy. “Hood, do you think you could come later? After the Christmas party?”

He tilts his head at you. You keep talking. 

“Not that I don't admire what you're doing! Because I think taking down my boss for stealing money is great, eat the rich and all that, but, um, I came up here to get lights to replace the ones that burned out downstairs because that's a normal thing that happens and now you're here, at my job, and I'm freaking out. Oh God, oh my God—”

You grab the wall for stability, feeling like you've been rocking on a boat for hours. Sweat beads on your forehead. This time, you really do feel like you’ll throw up. Throwing up in front of the Red Hood would be humiliating. 

“Look, I got shit to do, okay? I'm sorry you're freaking out but your boss is gonna cash out in a few days and then I lose him and that five million. It's now or never."

You should've just stayed home and baked cookies. Fuck being social! This is what happens when you're social: you meet morally gray vigilantes who force you to be complicit with their crimes.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying? Maybe it’s sweat. 

Hood points to the hallway. "Is there a camera outside?"

"Y-yeah.” Your voice is weak. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Can you call security on your way out?"

“Does your left arm hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Are your limbs stiffening?”

“No, but—”

“You’re not having a heart attack. Your speech is fine.”

Hood takes out a few more things from the duffel, then kicks it under a desk with his foot. You wheeze and grab onto the doorknob again. 

It’s quiet for a second. Then— 

“Shit. You're having a panic attack,” Hood says.

"Mm, probably," you say, hunched over like an armadillo. Fuck your stupid doctor. 

There's silence as you wheeze quietly. Then something small hits your head. You flinch and squeal.

"You don't need to throw things at me!" you say, beyond defeated, near tears.

"No, I wasn't—sorry. It's a Warhead. I have one when I'm feeling… not my best. They're s’posed to help occupy your other senses so the panic disappears."

You stare at the candy, confused and suspicious at once. "Is it spiked?"

"Again, what sorta operation do you think I'm running? It's not drugs. Look." Hood unwraps a Warhead and sticks it in his mouth underneath his helmet. You hear him suck on it. "Eesh, that's sour. Okay? No drugs."

So you take the candy from the floor, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth. The sour taste immediately overwhelms you. It's like your brain resets. You pant through the sour.

"Ough," you say, face scrunching from the taste.

"Yeah, right? Life changing hack."

You suck on the candy desperately and close your eyes, trying to find your breath. 

“It’s okay,” Hood says, stilted and awkward. “Just, uh, focus on your breathing. Exhale longer than you inhale. Breathe through your nose.”

It takes another few minutes, but the feeling passes. Your chest lightens. It’s the quickest you’ve ever recovered from a panic attack. 

“I was just kidding about the prison thing,” Hood says. “You’re not gonna go to jail ‘cause of this, I promise.”

Yeah, but what if you lose your job?

You spit the Warhead into a trash can and smack your tongue a bit. “Are you sure you can’t come back tomorrow night?”

“No can do,” Hood says. “Your boss will be gone by then.”

“It's just that I'm really bad with keeping secrets and according to Google, that's how ulcers form and I really can't afford any sick days off, so—"

You yelp as the door suddenly swings open, hitting your shoulder. You spin around.

"Hey," Bill says, squinting at you. "Where have you been?”

"No!" you yell, and turn off the light. 

Bill stares at you, illuminated by the hallway light. “Uh…”

You clear your throat. "Ahem. I'm fine. It's just taking me a moment to sift through all these decorations. Please return to the party.”

You hate Bill. He’s a sleaze and doesn’t do any work. More than once, he’s trapped you by the water cooler in a conversation about his “smokin’” imaginary lawyer girlfriend.

“If you wanted me to come help you, you could've just said so," he says, reaching for the light, way too close. You don’t like his tone either.

"No!" you yell, blocking the light switch with your hands.

"What the hell? Why not?"

"Because—"

There's a creak from the back. You wince. 

Bill immediately whips his head toward the sound. "Is someone here? Hello?"

He reaches for the light. Again, you block him, swatting his hands away.

"Would you stop—is someone here?"

"My boyfriend!" you blurt.

Bill stops, looking at you. "Your boyfriend? You've never mentioned a boyfriend."

"Well, I have one and he's here."

"Okay. Why can't I turn on the light and see him?"

"Because he's... um..."

You spot the red Santa suit out of the corner of your eye. 

Oh, this is a terrible idea.

"He's changing! He's our Santa for the party. Surprise!" You make weak jazz hands.

Bill looks into the dark where you're pretty sure Hood is hiding. You hope, anyway. Otherwise Bill is going to tell everyone that you're making up boyfriends. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," comes Hood's unmodulated, deadpan reply, and you jump. "Don't turn on the light. I'm naked."

"Oh..." Bill looks queasy for a moment. "Uh—" He looks at you and suddenly grins. "Oh, I get it. You two were having fun before going to the party, huh? Didn't know you were such a wildcat."

"That’s disgusting,” you say. “I would never do that in the office.”

Bill wiggles his eyebrows. "Me-ow. Does the Santa thing turn you on?"

"I'm right here, Bill, and naked or not, I'll kick your ass," Hood says.

Bill pales and quickly backs out of the room. "Right. Sorry. Uh, carry on."

He closes the door. You push your back against it and exhale, heart racing.

"Bill is a shithead," Hood says. 

“How… do you know his name?”

“Employee background check,” Hood says mildly. 

"Oh… yeah, he's been written up a bunch of times for inappropriate behavior, but he's close with Emerson, so he never gets fired."

"Want me to kill him for you? Free of charge."

"What? No! Hood—"

"Oh, relax. I was kidding."

"Uh-huh." You turn on the light. Hood has his helmet on, and his voice is modulated again. "What're we gonna do?"

"Well, I'm gonna go make sure Hershel doesn’t fuck off to Bermuda. The lights you wanted are here, by the way."

Hood tosses you a box of multi-colored tree lights. Then he walks toward you. You plaster yourself across the door.

"Wait! You can't leave. I said that my boyfriend is going to be Santa. Bill will tell everyone. They’ll expect you.”

"I appreciate your quick thinking, but that's a hard pass,” Hood says.

"You can't leave now! Bill's gonna tell everyone I'm a liar and they'll think I was up to something worse in here, like snorting coke."

"I mean this gently: I think you should look into anti-anxiety meds. My brother swears by Xanax.”

“My doctor won’t prescribe it to me,” you say glumly. “He thinks my anxiety is made up.”

“Huh. Want me to kill him? I know a better doctor.”

"Well…” You hesitate, then shake your head. “No! No. Hood, please. They’re all gonna expect a Santa. And when I don’t show up with Santa, they’ll remember that I didn’t participate in White Elephant or any of that other office nonsense that I don’t want to waste my money on. I need this job!”

“They’re not gonna fire you for not doing White Elephant,” Hood says. 

“You don’t know them! It’s a popularity contest.”

But Hood is indeed disinterested in the fact that you'll be the office pariah. Probably because he’s never worked in an office. 

Instead, he ushers you aside without a struggle. Then he turns the doorknob.

"Wait! Wait, listen. If you dress as Santa, you'll have access to the party and offices. You won't have to sneak around. And people get really drunk at these. They'll talk. You can figure out who's helping Emerson steal money."

His hand pauses. He looks at you. You look back, wringing your hands.

"You're pretty crafty," he says. 

"...Thanks?”

Hood releases the doorknob. "Alright, fine. I'll do the Santa shtick.”

“You will?”

He tilts his head. “Should I not?”

“No! No, you should. It’ll be a good disguise.”

He hums. “Sure. But we're in this together now, got it? You blow my cover and we both go down."

"Y-yeah, got it."

Hood heaves a gusty sigh. "Next time, I'm sending Roy in to do this shit."

"Who's Roy?"

"Ah." He holds up a finger. "Too many questions."

He makes a beeline for the Santa costume and then looks at you expectantly.

"Yo. Boyfriend or not, you're not watching me change. Guard the door, Mrs. Claus."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

You turn off the light and go into the hall, shutting the door behind you. It's empty, luckily. You rap your fingers on the box of lights, leg jiggling. 

This is insane. You should just tell Hood you can't do this and let him figure out his own plan.

But then... this would make it easier to find Emerson's crime partner. And you're really sick of Bill being a jerk. You don’t want to be called a liar, or get iced out for the rest of your time here because you didn’t bring Santa. Maybe having Hood be your Santa-boyfriend would make people leave you alone. Which is a crazy reason to stick to this plan, but still. You're trying to find the bright side.

And all those people that Emerson stole from... surely, you have a responsibility to help get their money back and bring him to justice, don't you?

The door swings open. You turn around.

“You wear a mask under your helmet?” 

“As a precaution.” He sounds defensive. “Lots of people in my profession do it.” 

You doubt that. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird if Santa has a mask on?” 

He hesitates, evidently debating between protecting his identity and arousing suspicion.

“Fine.” He carefully peels off the mask and tucks it into his pocket. The surrounding skin is slightly pink from irritation. His nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles. 

And wow. The Red Hood has beautiful eyes. So vibrant and clear, like seafoam. And young! How old is he, anyway? He doesn’t look much older than you, if at all. 

His eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and it makes sense, Hood being a brunet.

“What?” he snaps, glaring.

“Nice eyes,” you blurt.

His brows furrow. You remember the guns.

“Um, anyway. Should we go?” you squeak out, backing away.

Hood huffs through the beard. It flutters. "We need to have some ground rules."

"Okay."

"First, you should know that I will shoot if there's a physical threat at this party. Two, you're gonna call me Todd at the party. Three, if you try to tell anyone that I'm Red Hood or that I'm taking down Emerson, I will make your life hell. And if you're his partner, you'd better tell me now or I'm gonna be a lot less jolly."

"I'm not!" you say. "I would never do that. And I won't tell anyone you're Red Hood."

"Good. Let's go. Keep your ears open for hints about Emerson's partner."

He takes off in long strides. You hurry to keep up. The Santa costume doesn't slow him down.

"So how did you find out that Emerson's stealing?" you ask.

"Got a tip. You really didn't know he was stealing?"

“I don’t have access to the finances. I work in user interface. Website design.”

"Yeah? That's pretty cool. I got a brother who's into that stuff," Hood says.

"The same one who takes Xanax?”

“Would you believe it?”

You try to picture Red Hood with a regular family. With a brother or a sister or a father. It's hard to imagine.

“How come you don’t take anti-anxiety medication?” you ask. 

“I have Pit Madness Syndrome, and it has a weird chemical reaction with that stuff.”

“Oh.” Subject change. Quickly! "Do you celebrate Christmas?" 

"Not really. I'm not a believer or celebrator of much. You can see what my plans are two days before Christmas."

"Your family doesn't celebrate?"

Hood just grunts, eyes suddenly stormy. You take the hint and stop talking.

The room where the party is isn't particularly special. It's big enough to fit about a hundred people. For all the money the company makes, you'd thought that they could afford to splurge a little and rent an actual hall. Now you know what the profits have been going toward. But the decorations are decently lavish.

"Oh, wait." Hood leans in to speak in your ear. Lightning shoots down your spine. "I don't know your name."

You give it. He repeats it, and you shiver, like your boyfriend just said your name.

"'Kay. Stay in this room. We don't know how much Emerson or his partner knows, but assume they’re willing to do anything to get away with the money."

You nod. “Got it.”

“Hey, it’s Santa!” Bill shouts from across the room. “He made it!”

You smile tightly. “As promised.”

A few people wave. Others cheer. 

“These people really like Christmas, huh?” Hood asks.

“You have no idea,” you say, hyperaware of his hand brushing your back.

“Don’t think I got your name, man,” Bill says as he approaches. He sticks a hand out. “Bill.”

“Todd,” Hood says, taking his hand and shaking. Bill winces at the handshake. You hide a smile.

“Ah, Todd. Right.” Bill looks at you, trying to subtly soothe his hand. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

You shrug. “Never came up.”

“I’m pretty private,” Hood says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “But we’re very much in love. Ain’t that right, baby?”

“Th-that’s right… honey,” you say, face going hot.

“So what do you do for work?” Bill asks. “My girlfriend’s a lawyer.”

You roll your eyes. Hood snorts.

“There’s no way you’re dating anyone. You look like you got dressed in the dark, Billy.”

You cough your laugh into your arm. Bill’s eye twitches.

“Enjoy the party,” he says icily. He glares at you, then stomps away.

“That was amazing, but I think Bill might retaliate,” you say. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Hood says. “I’ll take care of it.”

You look at him with big eyes. “Hood—”

“Not like that. Just… it’ll be handled. Okay?”

You nod. Maybe it’s insane, but you trust him. “Okay. Want some punch?”

Hood hums. “No alcohol. Thanks.”

You go to the punch bowl, a little relieved to escape Hood’s piercing ocean-eyed stare. He’s intense. Whoever dates him for real is in for a ride. 

Then again, you can’t imagine Hood meeting someone for coffee or dinner. You giggle at the image of him showing up with his guns and helmet. 

“Hey, IT.” A woman in a white sweater you’ve seen maybe once waves at you. “Cool idea, bringing a Santa.”

“Yeah, Emerson’s too cheap to,” the man next to her says. They laugh.

You smile. “Glad you like it.”

You serve yourself two cups of the alcohol-free punch. Then you turn. 

Your smile falls. Across the room is Hood and Tanya Donaldson, resident shit-stirrer. She’s trying to cozy up to him. You sigh and walk over, bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” Hood says, practically dragging you into his side. He takes a cup of punch. “Just met Tanya.”

You can guess exactly how he feels about that.

"Oh, is he your boyfriend?" Tanya asks, eyeing Hood like he's a slab of steak. “I had no idea!”

"Uh-huh," you say. "This is Todd."

She wiggles her fingers, grinning. “So how often do you go to the gym, Todd?” She rests a hand on Hood's arm. "I didn't know Santa was so big and broad."

Your gaze drifts to where you're pretty sure Hood has a gun strapped to his ankle, and the temptation does appear, you won't deny.

But you need this job and it's going to be really hard to explain why Santa's armed and dangerous, so you just grit your teeth. Tanya's the worst for this kind of behavior and she doesn't respect you, so bringing your hunky boyfriend is like dangling a bunch of carrots in her face. 

And it’s not like Todd is actually your boyfriend. 

"Are you flirting with me in front of my girlfriend?" Hood asks, prying her hand off of his arm.

"Flirting?" She claps a hand over her mouth, the movement slightly delayed from all the wine. "No, oh my God! I was just saying—"

"That's really pathetic," Hood says. "Don't do that."

He walks away and you follow, leaving a wobbly Tanya on her own. You smile to yourself.

"Thank you for that," you say.

Hood gives you a thumbs up. "I can plant evidence on her and get her fired if you want."

"No, I don't want to feel damned for eternity. Thanks anyway."

"You have a lot of assholes at your job," Hood says. "But you're not one. I admire that.”

You sigh. "They're not all bad. Alma is cool. She keeps me from quitting.”

"And where is she?"

"At home. She's a sixty-two year old accountant who doesn't care about these parties. Her hip aches when it's cold."

"Mm. Maybe you should follow her lead," Hood says.

"But then who would help you with your spycraft, Hood?"

He allows himself a tiny laugh at that. You wonder how often he laughs. If ever.

“Well, suffering Tanya wasn’t in vain. She said this whole party cost twenty grand.”

“So?”

He gestures grandly. “Does this look like it cost twenty grand to put this together?” 

It's true. The alcohol is the most expensive thing here. No food, except for some people that participated in the potluck, but you don't trust anybody's food here. The decorations are old. Not to mention the Red Hood as your Santa. Your boss might have spared a thousand for tonight. No more. 

“So where did all that money go?” you ask. 

Hood snaps his fingers. “Bingo.” 

“That is so shitty. I got a chocolate-covered pretzel as my Christmas bonus,” you say. 

“A bag of ‘em?” He shakes his head. “Pretty cheap.”

“Ha, no. No, I got one big pretzel. In a box. The box cost more than the pretzel, I think.”

His eyes widen. “Jesus. Even I give more than that to my guys.”

“Got any openings?” you ask, half-joking. 

Hood snorts. “Don't think you'd like what we do. Why d’you stay?” 

You shrug. “Nowhere else to go. I have to eat somehow.” 

“Crappy boss, crappy coworkers, no Christmas bonus. Hell, I feel sorry for ya.”

The Red Hood feels sorry for you. Perhaps you've reached a new low. 

He drinks the punch and coughs. “Ahem, wow. Did you make the punch?”

“No, some people mixed it here.”

“Oh, then I'll be honest. Tastes like a flavor that's not found in nature.” He throws his cup away. You trust him and set your still-full cup on a table.

“I won't even mention the potluck,” you say. 

“Yeesh. Can't eat at everyone's house.” 

“That's what I say!” 

He winks at you. You look away, flustered. 

The crazy thing is, you could get used to this. Well, not specifically Red Hood, but having a boyfriend to bring to these functions, who’ll warn you against gross punch and defend you against Tanya. 

And Hood is surprisingly good at this. If you forget the past hour, you can almost pretend that this is just another office party that you happen to be spending with your new boyfriend. 

"Hey, look! It's Santa! Dude, check me out with Santa!"

One of the finance guys who's very drunk—you want to say that his name is Matt—bounds up to you and Hood. Hood tenses, reaching for his hip (gun!) and you touch his elbow, reminding him to relax. He drops his arm. 

Matt reeks of alcohol, the front of his shirt stained with bourbon. He laughs, forehead shiny with sweat.

"Santaaa, hey, Saint Nick, take a pic with me, man!"

Matt throws his arms around Hood. Hood does not like that and shoves him off accordingly. But Matt doesn't seem to notice and holds up his phone, camera facing front. Hood slaps the phone out of his hand.

"No pictures," he says.

You wince. The guy stares and blinks, taking three to five business days to process what just happened.

"What the fuck, man? That was my phone!"

"Sorry. I'm drunk." Hood sighs like he's physically in pain, then leans back and makes drinking motions with his fingers. "Fuckin' wasted! Did you try those rum shots? Lit, dude!"

The guy cheers up, forgetting all about the phone. "Oh, yeah, for sure! I'm gonna go get one right now! Thanks, Santa!"

"You do that!" Hood says cheerily.

As soon as the guy leaves, Hood returns to his resting scary face.

"Wow," you say.

"I know. I threw up in my mouth a little."

You laugh. Hood grins. Then it fades.

"Damn it. We're getting no closer to finding Emerson's partner. I should just interrogate Emerson until he tells me."

Interrogate makes you feel woozy. You're pretty sure you know what Hood's idea of an interrogation is.

"Wait! We just need to lure them out. If they think their money might be in jeopardy, they'll sneak out of the party to go check on it, right?" you ask.

"Potentially, yes. But how do we lure 'em?"

"There's an alert if someone withdraws more than ten thousand dollars from the company. But I don't have access to the accounts," you say.

Hood smiles slowly. "You don't need it. Remember I mentioned my computer whiz brother?"

"Yeah…” You grimace. “This sounds illegal again.”

"Hell yeah it is. He owes me a favor too. Lemme call him."

You two go off to the side while Hood dials.

"Yeah?" comes a voice on the other end. He doesn’t sound at all like Hood, more like a one percenter from the Diamond District. This is Hood’s brother?

"Aliases only. I need you to withdraw fifty grand from Emerson Corp,” Hood says. 

"Why?”

“‘Cause you owe me a favor. Just do it.”

“Zombie breath.”

“Shortass,” Hood says, voice taking on a distinct older brother tone. 

“You’re such an asshole,” the voice says. He yawns. “B’s wondering if you’re coming tomorrow.”

“I’d rather die again,” Hood says. “And you can tell him I said that.”

“The broody emo bullshit is getting old, dude,” the voice says.

You giggle. Hood looks at you sharply. You press your lips together, properly chastened. Sorry, you mouth.

"Who's that?" the voice asks.

"No one," Hood says. "Did you do it?"

"Chill out. I'm getting past their firewall. So who is that?”

“It’s the TV,” Hood says.

“No, it’s not. That was a lady's laugh, IRL. And you wouldn’t lie if it was someone we know…”

“Mind your damn—”

“I’m helping him with a case,” you blurt. 

Hood throws his hand up, glaring at you. It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a solid ten seconds. Then…

“Holy shit,” Hood’s brother says. “You do have a girlfriend. Wait. Hold on. This is wild. You don’t even have a social security number.”

“I do not have a girlfriend!” Hood snaps, drawing the attention of some coworkers. You nudge him. He exhales through his nose.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, you little fucker,” he says, quieter. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Can I ask your girlfriend a question? Respectfully, what were you thinking? You can do so much b—”

“Text me when it’s done,” Hood growls and hangs up.

You look at each other for a moment. 

“You didn't hear any of that,” Hood says. “Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Good. Let's see who gets scared. He should do it right about…” 

His phone beeps. You look around the room. 

Soon, your culprit reveals himself. Matt!

Holy shit. 

"He didn't want a picture," Hood says slowly. "He was frisking me! Motherfucker."

"But isn't he drunk?" you ask.

"No." Hood sighs in disgust. "How did I miss that? Br—someone I know does that all the time, spilling alcohol on himself so he smells like he's been drinking. God. Oldest trick in the book!"

"Do you think he knows you're the Red Hood?"

"No. But he might suspect something. Let's go.” 

You follow Matt out of the party. He's walking fast. Yeah. Definitely your guy. 

Down the hallway, Matt turns around and makes direct eye contact with you. You panic. 

“Hood!” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. “Follow my lead.” 

Loudly, he laughs and puts an arm around your waist. “C’mon, baby, no one’ll know.”

And then you're being herded into a janitor’s closet. 

You stumble in, confused and reeling from how easily Hood plays the affectionate boyfriend role. He follows you in, shuts the door, and pulls the chain dangling from the ceiling. The single light bulb turns on. 

You take care to not knock over any cleaning supplies. You don't see the mop on the floor, however, and you trip backwards on the handle. 

Hood's reaction time is impeccable. He jerks forward to catch you, tugging you back on your feet with his hands on your arms. 

“Y’alright?” he asks. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, mildly mortified. “Thanks.”

He lets go. You shift on your feet. 

“How long are we gonna stay here?” you ask. 

Hood checks his phone. “Well, he should've moved on by now. Let's—”

The doorknob jiggles. You look at Hood in fear. His expression is similar. 

“Pretend!” you whisper, and that's all he needs to understand and move. 

You're expecting your arms around Hood, maybe exaggeratedly feeling him up. You are not expecting Hood to hoist you up by the backs of your thighs and press you against the wall. You squeal, arms shooting out to hold onto his neck. Hood's beard ends up in your mouth and you spit it out. 

The door swings open, revealing a very tipsy couple. 

“Oops!” the woman says, grinning. “Sorry. Carry on.”

The guy gives a thumbs-up. “True love.”

You smile awkwardly. Something is pressing into your hip.

“True love,” Hood deadpans. “Rock on.”

As soon as the door closes, you're squirming. 

“What is that?” you hiss. 

“My gun! Oh my God, it's my gun,” Hood says, quickly setting you down. “It's not…”

He trails off and backs away. You stand there, processing what just happened. 

“That wasn’t—”

“I didn’t—”

You both stop. Hood adjusts his beard. 

“You're really strong,” you say, wringing your hands. 

Hood nods. “Sorry about the, uh…”

“Yeah, let's just not talk about this.”

“Yup. Find Matt?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You open the door and peek out. The hallway is empty. Glory be.

“All clear,” you say, and Hood is on your heels as you sneak out. 

“Any ideas on where he'd go?” Hood asks. 

“Matt works in a cubicle like the rest of us. Emerson’s office is on the twelfth floor.” 

“Fine. We'll hit Emerson's office first. More privacy, and maybe they'll both be there. Two birds.”

“Emerson's office is protected by a password lock. He changes it every night,” you say, scurrying to keep up with Hood. 

“That's fine. I got a key right here,” he says, patting his holster.

“Wait! If the lock is tampered with, it sets off an alarm and security will come. You can't shoot it, Hood.”

He stops and sighs. “Why is everything so goddamn complicated? Alright, new plan. I'm gonna get my stuff from where we were and I'll break in the old-fashioned way.” 

Fifteen Minutes Later.

“This seems really unsafe!” you say, watching Hood dangle outside a three story window on a wire. He's attached to a grappling hook but still. Still! 

“Eh, I died once. Didn't stick. Hold the hook.” 

“I am!” As if you'd do anything but. You don't want the Red Hood to become Red Goo. 

Chilly December wind makes your eyes water and your nose cold. Still, you hold on. 

“Almost there!” he says. 

“Hey! What're you doing?” 

You whirl around and close your eyes due to the flashlight shining at them. Even though the lights are on. 

An elderly security guard glares at you. It's a good thing you're not an actual criminal… though after tonight, you're not so sure. 

“Um.” You try to hold onto the hook while hiding it behind your back. “Bird watching?”

The guard turns off the flashlight and tucks it into his belt. He slowly walks to you. 

“If you're doing something illegal, Miss, you're in big trouble.”

Well, this is fantastic. Of course it would be you that gets caught. 

The guard is getting closer. Your grip is sweaty. He peers over your shoulder. You let go of the hook, praying to every spirit out there that Hood is as good as everyone says he is. 

The guard looks around and scratches his head. You shrug, heart in your throat. 

“See?” you say. “Bird watching.”

He frowns at you. “I've got my eye on you.”

“And I commend you for that.” 

“Are you sassing me?” 

Are you? You might be. You've been spending too much time with Hood. 

Hood! You turn and look out the window. You don't see any red goo below, but it's also cold and foggy. Shit. You hurry to the elevators. 

“Okay, happy holidays, bye!”

The elevator doors open. You press twelve and close the door before the guard can consider getting on with you and shooting you a hairy eyeball all the way down. 

You hurry out and run down to Emerson's office. The door has been left ajar, which is good, right?

Bang!

You throw yourself against the wall. Shit. Maybe not. 

Ugh, you told Hood no shooting! Son of a bitch. 

“We're doing this tonight!” That's Emerson's voice. “I don't care if I have to shoot my way out.” 

Shoot? Oh no.

You carefully peek through the crack. Hood is standing with his hands behind his head. His beard has blood in it. Emerson is in front of him, gun to his head. 

Hood catches your eye. He gives you the tiniest head shake. You swallow. 

You can't just leave him there. 

Okay. Think. Emerson's back is to you. You can't see Matt, but you figure he's far enough away to not immediately shoot you. Hopefully. 

Anyway, what's your other option? The feisty relic upstairs? You can't risk any civilians getting hurt. 

Technically you're also a civilian but not tonight. Tonight you might as well be Batman. 

You slowly pull the door open further. You sneak in, then hide behind the secretary's desk.

“Is it done?” Emerson snaps.

That's when you see Matt in the corner on a laptop. 

“It takes time,” Matt says, obviously stressed too. 

“Well, hurry up!” Emerson looks at Hood. “Then we'll dispose of Santa here.”

Hood shrugs. “You can certainly try. Many have. ‘M still here.”

“Lots of bravado for a man in a costume,” Emerson sneers. “What are you, police?”

Hood groans. “As fucking if! I'm not a cop.” 

He hums. “Perhaps not. Otherwise this place would be crawling with them already. But you're alone.”

“How d'you know I'm alone?” Hood asks. 

You're glad he's calm because you're feeling the beginnings of another panic attack. But you can't panic, not now. The adrenaline pulsing through you is the only thing keeping you from going catatonic. 

You have no weapon, no plan. How the hell are you supposed to help Hood?

“You're bluffing,” Emerson says. 

“He has a girlfriend,” Matt says. “Some IT girl. She might come looking for him.”

“Then we'll take care of her too.”

Matt looks uncomfortable but he doesn't say anything. Hood is still cool as a cucumber. 

“She won't look for me. We had a fight. I forgot to buy the candy she likes.”

Candy? Why would—oh!

On the secretary's desk is a glass bowl filled with mini candy canes. You wrap your hands around it. 

“She knows my favorite,” Hood says, locking eyes with you.

You throw the bowl with all your might. Emerson is too slow—Hood grabs the bowl one-handed and swings it, knocking the gun from Emerson's hand. The candy explodes into pieces. Hood swings again, this time into Emerson's head. The bowl cracks. Emerson crumples to the floor. 

“Are you o—”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In a blink, Hood wraps one arm around your waist and yanks you to the floor, covering your body. You curl into him on instinct. 

“I got you, I got you,” he says, patting your shoulder. “You okay?”

You nod, words not coming right now. You squeeze his hand. Hood seems to understand and he scoots you both behind Emerson’s desk. Then he loads his gun and cocks it.

“Stay here,” he says, then fires six shots. 

“Goddamnit!” Matt yells across the room. “This wasn't the plan! You're not supposed to be here!”  

Hood laughs, which is absolutely terrifying. “Don't talk to me about ruined plans, buddy. I've been waiting all night for an excuse to shoot somebody. Please make my night.” 

Matt fires four more shots. 

“Fuck you, cop!” 

“What the fuck? Fuck you more! I'm not a fucking cop!”

“Maybe it's the way you stand,” you say, teeth chattering from anxiety. 

Hood squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “I stand like a cop? Gross. I gotta work on that.” 

“You're somebody!” Matt yells. “You're not just some guy, Todd, don't lie to me. You and that chick from IT are in cahoots.”

You huff. “He knows your name but not mine?”

“I’d take it as a compliment.”

Matt fires again. Hood tucks you behind him. 

“He won’t kill anybody,” he says, with way too much confidence, in your opinion. 

“Oh, is that why he's peacefully shooting at us?”

“He's scared, sure. But he can’t kill. Trust me, I know. Hey, Matt!” 

“What?”

Hood stands up. Your eyes bug out of your head. 

“Hood!” you hiss. “Hood!”

He ignores you, of course. 

“You won’t hurt anyone,” Hood says. He starts walking toward Matt. “You're not a killer, Matt.”

And all this time you thought Hood was sort of sane. Nope. 

“I will shoot you!” Matt warns. 

“Aw. You wouldn't shoot Santy Claus, would you?” 

Matt pulls the trigger. You gasp. It clicks. The magazine is empty. 

Hood closes the distance between them and grabs the gun, then elbows Matt in the face. Matt sprawls onto the floor. 

“Yeah, I don't risk my life on human emotion,” Hood says, loud enough so you can hear. “People can be so unpredictable. I will take a chance on a gun that only fires seven rounds, though. For a guy in finance, you're not very good with numbers, Matty.” 

You sigh in relief, slumping against the desk. After tonight, you're retiring. 

“Y'okay over there?” Hood asks. 

“Yeah.”

It's quiet for a bit. Then Hood returns and offers you a hand to help you stand. You do so on shaky limbs. 

He's got a cut on his eyebrow and a bruise on his cheek. You frown. 

“I'm sorry I let go of the hook. I thought—”

“You let go of the hook?”

You stop. “Um. No?” 

Hood squints at you. “Choosing to forgive you for that.” 

“I knew you were inside the office!”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I'm not the only one taking risks,” you say. “Matt still fired at you.”

“Eh.” Hood shrugs. “He’s a crap shot. And I counted the rounds. I maintain my point. Factually, he could not shoot me.”

“You could've told me the gun was empty,” you say. 

“I wanted you to think I was cool and brave.” 

You laugh. “I already think that.”

Hood looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to see right down into your soul. Intense. You cross your arms.

“So, um, ready to ditch this party?” you ask. 

“With pleasure.”

“What about them?” you ask, pointing to Matt.

“I have backup arriving soon. Let's get your coat.” 

You get your things while Hood changes back into his usual garb. He meets you at the back exit, the one that leads to an alleyway, Santa suit gone. The party's winding down and most are getting into their cars. You're grateful no one stops to ask where you disappeared to. 

There's police outside, but they're not here for Emerson. It's Bill that's being questioned by Commissioner Gordon. You stop short at the sight. 

“Hood… what did you do?” 

“Hm? Oh! There might have been some discrepancies in Bill's finances and he might have committed fraud to pay off his gambling debts. All circumstantial, though.”

“Please don't tell me you framed my coworker because he's a jerk,” you say. 

“No, but I'm not above that, for the record. I recognized Bill from when I was casing the Iceberg Lounge. That's where he racked up all that debt.”

You nod slowly. “That's how you knew his name.”

“Yup. He was a nobody, so I didn't bother with him. Had I known he was such a menace at work, well…”

You grin. “It's okay. I appreciate it now.” 

Hood nods. The silence is awkward for a few seconds. 

“So—”

“You don't have to keep working here,” he says. “You can leave if you wanna.”

“Hood…”

He puts up a hand. “Hear me out. I have a contact at Wayne Enterprises. I can get you an interview. Hell, I can get you the job.”

“And what would I owe you?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Think of it as a thank you for tonight. You didn't have to help me but you did.”

You open and close your mouth. “I don't… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't gotta say a thing,” Hood says quietly. “If anyone deserves a new year, it's you.”

“Oh.” Your throat feels tight suddenly. “Oh, Hood, that's really—that's nice of you.”

“It's been known to happen. Don't spread it around though.”

“But I don't want the job without interviewing!” you say. “I want to get it on my own.”

Hood nods. “Deal.”

You want to hug him but that seems like too much, even with all you’ve done tonight. So you take out a candy cane instead.

“I salvaged one from the bowl,” you say. “Merry Christmas, Hood.”

He takes it, tucking it into his pocket. “Merry Christmas. Need a ride?”

You shake your head. “I'm fine. See you around?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Stay safe, alright?”

“Oh, I will. Will you?”

He laughs. “No promises.” 

Then you blink and he's gone. You shove your hands into your coat pockets. 

In each pocket, there's a handful of Warheads. You smile.

[starlightsuffered]

Holiday Morning

A/N - I know Timothée is Jewish on his mother side but I think he celebrates Christmas as well. This is what I wanted to be doing this morning so thought I’d write it

Info - Christmas morning, needing to be quiet, married and father Timothée, hitting it from the back, couple wanting a quiet moment together, tasting your own cum, oral (fem receiving), finger sucking, needing to keep partner quiet, light fingering, cream pie, taking sexual pics of partner

The morning was lazy and the kids had yet to wake up. I felt my lovers hand slip down to my heat. I moaned lightly. I pressed my body back against his and savoured the quiet.

“Mon amour,” he breathed in my ear.

“Mon cœur,” I sighed.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured.

“Merry Christmas,” I replied.

“They’ll be up any minute,” he sighed, but his hand didn’t stop moving. Slow circles were rubbed on my thighs and every once in a while my pussy lips would be touched.

“They’ll want all your attention, they’ll want all mine too. I can’t wait to show them what we picked out. I can’t wait for the hustle and bustle of the day. I can’t wait for the lights show tonight and the delicious treats we’ll all have,” he whispered these words into my skin.

“So what are you saying,” I asked.

“I’m saying let’s take this moment to be slow. I want you and I to make some Christmas magic. Don’t stress. Let me hold you and feel you.”

“Timothée,” I moaned. I began to turn, but I felt him shake his head.

“No baby, no time,” he gasped, grinding his rock hard length against my ass. He moved my hair off my shoulder and sucked a kiss onto my neck.

He moved my pj pants down slightly. He sucked in a breath as his tip touched my entrance. The lewd moan, combined with the sigh of relief when he bottomed out made wetness rush between my legs. He lifted my thigh up a bit to give himself more room.

One hand rested possessively and lovingly on my stomach. His lips were attached to my skin. He kissed love into my flesh. I leaned back, giving him more access to my throat.

“Say my name,” his words were hot in my ear.

“Timothée,” I whimpered as the thrusts got stronger. My leg was lifted even higher.

“Yeah, that’s it baby, fuck you feel so good,” he gasped. His balls slapped me with wet sounds as he plunged deep inside me. Both of us tried hard to keep quiet.

“I love you, I love you so much,” I heaved as my fingers curled in the sheets.

“This is life is all I need this holiday. Our little family, you, your pussy, and this, just all of this. It is perfection,” he babbled. I loved how he went on and on when he was close.

His thrusts were getting sloppy and holy hell. Everything was heightened. I was barely holding on. My body was on fire and I was seeing stars.

The explosion happened as we climaxed together. He just repeated that he loved me over and over as he painted my insides white for the holiday. I couldn’t speak. I could only try to control my breathing.

“Good girl, shhhh, Mon amour,” he gently pushed his thumb in my mouth. I sucked it desperately, knowing that I was once again making too much noise.

“You got this, don’t scream,” he urged me as he massaged my clit throughout my high. Finally, with his soft encouragement, I settled.

“That was so good,” he said in a pleased voice. He kissed my cheek. I groaned as he pulled out. It always felt like it too forever, like his cock had been deeper inside me than humanly possible.

“Fuck, it was,” I agreed. My head was beaded with perspiration. I was about to move, when his hand shot out. He grabbed me.

“Wait, I want to get a picture of the white Christmas,” he said cheekily. He ripped down the covers to reveal the creampie mess in my cunt. I blushed but decided a sassy retort would be the best option.

“We already took holiday card pictures,” I reminded him.

He wriggled down the bed. He posed next to my pussy, his tongue sticking out between his lips, and his eyes sparkling with mischief. He kissed my southern lips delicately. That always made me insane.

“This picture is just for me,” he said in a dark voice. His tongue slowly lapped a stripe up my needy core. I could see his own love on his tongue. I was already close again.

“Think you can get me there again before they wake up?” I demanded, needing the answer to be yes.

“Consider it my Christmas Breakfast,” he hummed happily, and dove in.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[eczlipse]

( 수빈 ) ─ 5:28 pm.

summary ; choi soobin, your tutor has had a significant yearning for you for a while. during a session, you seem to keep answering his questions wrongly- leading to you needing a break. what happens once he suddenly feels his jeans tighten during the session and becomes bold with you?

pairing & warnings ; tutor!soobin, fem!reader. dryhumping, smut, fingering, unsafe (no mention of protection), p in the v…

you thought more about the question you’d been asked— “explain to me photosynthesis.” he repeated. your mind had gone blank, your tutor— soobin stared down at you. the way you tried to puzzle your thoughts together and questioned yourself. you were so clueless, so vulnerable he thought.

soobin quickly recognized your extreme confusion and spoke once more,

- do you want me to explain again?

in response, you hummed lightly waiting for him to continue. your exam had been coming up, the next morning would be d-day.

- photosynthesis is basically how plants make their food using sunlight, carbon dioxide, and water. they turn these into sugar for energy and release oxygen. it’s important because it helps plants grow and provides oxygen for us to breathe. okay?

you sighed and nodded, you felt down— why weren’t you understanding things as easily as every other student. your tutor could easily tell you’d been stressed, tense even. you’d been shaking you leg, fidgeting with your pencil. he gulped before speaking again,

- do you need a break ? we can talk about other things or, you should get a snack?

you slightly smiled at his attempts to help you. you nodded happily as you got up from your seat. walking away into your dorm room kitchen, finding only a bag of chips from days ago. you sighed and took them, at least it’s edible. what you hadn’t noticed was that, soobin had been staring you down as soon as you’d gotten up. the way your shorts slightly rode up, your hair swaying as you walked- he needed to calm himself down. before he could think more, you stopped his train of thought,

- hey, do you want anything? i only have some chips from like before yesterday. wanna share?

he pressed his lips together and nodded. you smiled at his expression as you brought yourself back to your initial seat, placing the bag of chips in between you both. at that, he dug his hands into the bag of chips taking a few.

although soobin was your tutor, he felt a significant yearn for you. he hated to admit it but, he kind of liked you. his close friends had told him prior to coming to your dorm to 'shoot his shot' and 'be bold'. that was in fact his plan tonight. he didn't specifically plan what he wanted to say, but he knew that he wanted you to know that he wanted you. at that, he stared at you intensely as you got up once more; washing your hands, and bringing yourself back to your seat. he loved your demeanour. he felt a sudden tightness in his pants— he couldn't help it anymore.

- what about i soothe you?

he blurted out, shutting his mouth quickly after spilling out such words. your head flicked over to his, 'did he really just say that?' you wondered.

- what do you mean?

you questioned. 'shit shit shit' was all he could tell himself. he needed to stay calm and collected, and more importantly ; 'seductive' as his friend yeonjun would say.

- i'll make your stress go away, yeah?

he gave you a significant look, hinting that his words meant more than they seemed. you knew what he meant and you were down for it. you couldn't help but admit that you felt things for him, while he would mansplain things to you, show you how things were done and more.

at that, you climbed onto soobin's lap straddling his thighs. he could feel the heat radiating off your body, the soft fabric of your panties brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. his hands instinctively went to your hips, gripping them tightly as you began to grind against him.

soobin let out a low groan, his hips bucking up to meet yours. The friction of your movements was driving him wild, his cock now fully hard and straining against his zipper. he slid his hands up your sides, under your shirt, his fingers splaying across the small of your back.

in a flurry of movement, soobin stood up, lifting you with him. he then, carried you over to the couch, laying you down gently on the soft cushions. he hovered over you, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you- your chest heaving, your lips parted, your legs slightly spread.

his hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of reddened marks on your skin. he tugged at your shirt impatiently, just long enough to yank it over your head and toss it aside.

soobin paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of you lying beneath him in just your bra and panties. his gaze was intense, filled with a raw, primal desire that made your heart race. 

— you're so beautiful.

he murmured, his voice filled with want. he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. his fingers deftly unhooked your bra, tossing it away and freeing your breasts to his greedy mouth. he took one hardened nipple between his lips, suckling and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

you arched into him, a loud moan escaping your lips as jolts of pleasure shot straight to your core. your hands fisted in his hair, holding him to your breast.

suddenly soobin's hand slid down your stomach, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. he could feel the heat emanating from your core, the damp fabric- proof of your arousal. slowly, teasingly, he pushed your panties aside, his fingers brushing against your slick folds.

you gasped, your hips bucking up off the couch as his fingers made contact with your most sensitive spot. soobin groaned, feeling your wetness coating his fingers as he began to stroke your clit in slow, deliberate circles. his other hand continued to knead and massage your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

— soobin, you panted, your voice high and needy please, i need more.

he withdrew his hand from your panties, bringing his fingers to his mouth. he licked them clean, his tongue savouring your essence. 

with that, he hooked his fingers under your panties and tugged them down your legs, tossing them away.

soobin quickly shed his clothes, revealing his lean, muscular body, his skin flushed and glistening. he then positioned himself between your spread thighs, his hard member jutting out. with a swift thrust of his hips, he buried himself deep inside your tightness, a groan tearing from his throat.

he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, burying himself in you. he set a significant pace, the couch creaking beneath you with the force of his thrusts. your breasts bounced with each powerful drive of his hips, your moans mingling with his grunts and groans.

soobin then leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering and conquering, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rapid circles. your inner muscles began to flutter around his pounded shaft, your body tensing up the more he touched you.

then, your back began arching off the couch cushions as your climax surged through you like a tidal wave. you let a final moan, your inner walls clamping down around soobin's driving length, as you came.

with a hoarse groan, soobin slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his own peak hit. at the last second, he pulled out, his pulsing cock erupting. at that, his seed painted your stomach and breasts as he found his release, his body shuddering above you.

soobin then smirked at you before speaking once more,

— do you feel calmer now ?

[aurawrawr]

Who am I to you?

Part 3

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna x afab reader x twin brother and Kingsguard Yuuji Itadori

Yuuji is eager to be a father. And when it seems to him that he might not be well equipped to fulfill his goal, he seeks help from the only person he knows will do it without a second thought. But someone should have warned him that this (re)union might breed more than a child, something he'd regret for a long time.

Here's Part 1 and Part 2.

Minors, DNI. WC: 4.9k

CW: smoking, infertility, anger, frustration, feeling humiliated, poisoning, paralysis, heavy drinking, mutual bickering, lots of angst, true form Sukuna, PIV sex, oral [fem receiving(from tummy tongue)], breast play, praises, breeding, talk about pregnancy and motherhood

"He wants to see you.”

You have your head in your hands. As if the past two weeks have not been stressful enough, Yuuji has come to you with a request you can't make heads or tails of. You're not even sure you heard him right. Please have a child with Aniki, that's what you believe he said. But that's insane. Does he have no idea what he's asking for?

"What for? Has he agreed to your proposal?" You're shaking. When you said you wanted to see Ryomen, this is not how you thought it would go.

"He wants to know what you want.”

You scoff. "Do you want to know what I want?”

"You want to be a mother, right? Love, we talked about this before we even started trying. If you had disagreed, I'd have never tried to change your mind. And... and..." Yuuji sits down at the edge of the bed. "By the looks of it, I can't give you a child. So the next best... closest option I can give you is my twin brother. It will be just like having a baby with me, you know.”

"Yuuji, the problem could be with me," You try to reason with your husband.

"Do you really believe that? We studied this for so long, went to doctors and asked for their opinion. We know your cycle is healthy. The bleeding always happens on time. Whereas…”

"There is absolutely no indication that there is something wrong with you either. You do so much physical labor, you stay active, and you have no addictions. Hell, you haven't even touched a bottle of sake since we started trying. If anything, the fact that Ryo has been smoking and drinking since he was fifteen should deter you from making the request that you are."

Yuuji sighs. It's time for him to sit with his head in his hands. Just when you start to think you've gotten through to him, he asks, "please can we try this once?”

So you walk across the courtyard, following your husband's shadow, wavering in the light of the lantern he is holding. It's late, late in the night. The palace is silent, so silent you can hear the snores from the servants' rooms, the clacking of shoes as the guards keep watch, the low hum of a chant from Uraume's room and, of course, your own thumping heartbeat. You were so glad to be finally reuniting with Ryo but so torn to be committing the sin you have been scared of ever since you married Yuuji. What was Ryomen thinking? He should have turned Yuuji down in the first place.

"Aniki," Yuuji calls out from the doorstep. "We're here.”

The room reeks of opium, the smell of yearning and being left behind. The four-armed beast that terrorizes the land is sitting at the window, blowing ringlets of smoke into the air outside. His kimono loosely hangs from his shoulders, baring his chest. You don't know how to look at him without giving away all your truth. So you don't look at him; you look around him.

"Come in," he demands.

Yuuji leads you in by the hand, sitting you down on a couch on the floor. The room has changed so much since you saw it the last time you were allowed to come inside to deliver the King's supper. There is a full-size four post bed taking up a lion's share of the room, it's canopy red and black, a tapestry of danger. You sit in silence, observing the two most important men in your life have a conversation about who gets to breed you. This is the most humiliated you've felt in all your life but you want to see how far they're willing to push your boundaries before they realize they're both losing you.

"My love?" Yuuji beckons you back out of your spiraling thoughts. "Aniki wanted to know if you're okay with all this.”

"Tell him I don't care.”

"That settles it, Yuuji. I don't wish to proceed if she's not willing. It'd be—”

"What I mean is..." You grit your teeth. "I don't care as long as it is something Yuuji wants.”

Your husband rushes to you, kneels and looks up at you with teary eyes. "Thank you, my love. Thank you so much. You make my world a better place to live in. I've never and I can never love anyone as much as I love you. Well, maybe the baby. But both of you will be sharing the same spot on my heart." He kisses your hand and you caress the side of his face when he looks at you like you've just picked the moon from the sky to give it to him. He's so precious, you want to do just that.

You feel a somber gaze on you but Ryo is facing elsewhere when you look up. Only the two eyes on his mask are on you and they give away nothing. Not even a speck of emotion. He's back to being the old him, the Ryo you could never figure out.

Yuuji wipes at his runny nose before standing up. "You two have a lot to catch up on. Why don't I leave you to it? We don't want it to be uncomfortable when you know... you two... yeah, I'm going to... okay! See you later, my love.”

You sit in silence, staring at the door that Yuuji shuts behind him. The night is chilly and the open window beside Ryo is not helping in the slightest. What do you have to talk to him about? What can you even say? I've been imagining your face at the heights of my pleasure for the last five years? Too forward. I'm still gonna call you the name I have our entire lives and not refer to you as the Lord or the King? A little offensive.

He clears his throat and sits up. His kimono falls further apart, drawing your eyes to his abdomen. You only wanted to steal a glance but the sight of his gaping belly shakes you to your very core. He starts to say, "I was thinking—”

But you stop him, "Are you hurt?" Your eyes are fixated on his abdomen and you can swear you see something moving.

"Where?" He follows your gaze. "This? It's only a second mouth.”

You look up at his face in horror, finally meeting his eyes. "A second mouth? What happened— you know what, never mind. Just let me know when—”

"No, go ahead." His voice is suddenly so much softer. "Ask me anything.”

You scoff. "You're much agreeable when you know you're about to fuck me, aren't you?”

His eyes grow darker at your challenge. His jaw tightens. "I shall not tolerate being talked to like that anymore. We're no longer just friends. I am your King and you will remember that.”

"Right. Understood... Sukuna-sama." The sound of your heart breaking is so loud, you barely hear his next words anymore.

"Do you agree? Woman?”

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat yourself... my Lord?" Your eyes are downcast now. The water on your lids make them heavy.

Ryomen sighs. "I suggested we lie to Yuuji. And hopefully he'll give this up in a few months when you don't become with child. Do you agree with that?”

"No, I don't. I too want a child, my Lord, and if you care about your brother, you'll give me one.”

𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸

The next time you see Ryo in his chambers, you go alone. In the middle of the night. The palace is busy for the upcoming coronation of their terrifying protector, readying the halls for guests from neighboring kingdoms. Sneaking is not an option so you carry a tea set up the stairs as an excuse to visit the King.

The fusuma slides open just as you're about to knock, revealing a towering Ryomen on the other side. As if, he has been expecting you. You quickly steer your glance and bow to him. "I'm here with your tea, my Lord."

"Come in." He steps out of your way.

The state of the room surprises you. It does not smell of weed or tobacco anymore; in fact, it smells pleasant. Somehow, it looks bigger, cleaner. You set the tray down on the tatami, kneel in front of it, and Ryomen takes up the spot opposite to you. "Why is there only one cup?" He asks, folding two of his arms over his chest while the other two rest on his thighs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my Lord. Do you require two separate cups?”

"No, woman, where is your cup?”

You chuckle. "I dare not drink tea with my King now. That'd be blasphemous." You keep the smug smile on your face while you swirl the kyūsu and strain the tea into the cup you brought for Ryomen. He picks it up and takes a sip before placing it back on the tray.

"Drink," he orders. You shake your head, feeling a sudden rush of courage. "I said, drink. You dare to defy your King, do you?”

His words make you stop. There's no ill intent in his words, no authority in his tone, just a friendly challenge. So you bring his cup to your lips to take down a big chug. "You're having fun with this, aren't you?" You ask.

"As much as you are." There's a smirk on his lips, like there used to be on your friend, Ryomen's lips.

Nothing happens that night. The tray sits between as you two chat about things like old friends do, the air filled with your chuckles as he teases you for being a missus now, for not treating him after the wedding, for not realizing how quick the passing of time and his absence could change everything.

"Have you been to see her?" You ask, pouring again from the teapot.

Ryo knows what you're talking about. "I have. The crime scene had one name written all over it. Yours. What did you do?" He sounds proud.

"Just this berry and that leaf and that other fruit. I only wanted to make sure she can never use her hand to hit someone close to me ever again.”

Ryo smirks, sipping on his tea before handing the cup to you. "And what about my father?”

"I had nothing to do with Otou-san's death. If anything, I believe it was your half-brother's greed." You sigh. "You see what I've married into?”

He scoffs. "Now now, you keep my little brother out of this. His lamb-like innocence makes up for the dysfunctionality of the rest of my family. I'm sorry. I mean, our family.”

𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸

The morning of the coronation, you wake up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Your husband climbs off the bed before you can. "I'll see who it is, my love. You stay put." You shuffle out of the sheets anyway, your robes intact.

There's a woman's voice outside. "Sukuna-sama has sent your attires for today. I will be helping the lady with her jūnihitoe."

"Jūnihitoe?" Yuuji and you ask at the same time.

"Yes. That is what Sukuna-sama wanted. Is there a problem?"

You shrug at your husband who replies, "umm... no, there's no problem. Please give us some time to freshen up." There's a hum at the door and Yuuji shuts it behind him. He walks up to you as you keep shaking your head. "You know, subtlety is not his strong suit. It'll be fine. Don't worry."

"I'll look like a fish out of water, wearing that in the middle of the servants' rows."

You don't have to sit in the middle of the servants' rows. When Ryo sees you and Yuuji walk out into the yard in your shiny new clothes, he sends Uraume to fetch the two of you close to his makeshift throne. "What are the plans for today?" You ask Uraume as you get as comfortable as possible on the wooden seats.

They huff. "We have the coronation where your mother-in-law will crown Sukuna-sama, who will then appoint the ministers and officially declare Itadori-kun as the Commander of the Kingsguard. Then there's the tourney where the champions from neighboring states have come to compete for a spot on the King of Curses' army. And then there's the feast that will last the rest of the day. You would have known all of that if you didn't lock yourself in your room twenty-four hours a day."

Nothing pleases you more than when they bring in your mother-in-law in a wheelchair, the right side of her body limp from having her tea dosed with high amounts of toxins every day for a year. She can barely speak more than a few syllables without her tongue getting heavy. Your pride bellows in your chest when Ryomen walks down the steps of the dais to get to the center of the yard.

The audience is silent as the beast refuses to bend his knee. The servants help up your mother-in-law, lifting her up on a step as she struggles to hold the crown up in her left hand.

Ryo whispers something you don't hear from afar but you smile when his stepmother is forced to use both her hands to put the crown on his head.

"Aniki is too much at times," Yuuji complains.

"But isn't this so satisfying to watch?"

"That, it is."

The smirk on your face lingers as the proceedings continue. Ryo walks around the yard, naming his ministers even though he just told you the other night that he doesn't need any. He summons Yuji and declares him to be the Commander of the Kingsguard. The crowd doesn't cheer when one brother kneels in front of the other. The crowd doesn't make a peep the whole day; they're there because they don't want to lose their heads or that of their children.

You admire how Ryomen has the whole town under his thumb. The town that wronged you, shunned you and your mother, he's punishing them. You don't know where it is coming from, but there is a sense of accomplishment that you cannot shake off.

He drinks the rest of the day, through the tourney, the declaration of the winner and the evening feast. Every time you see Yuji trying to snatch away his jug from him, Ryo becomes grumpy, demanding his mead be handed back.

To be honest, he doesn't even look drunk. You've seen him inebriated before, in your teenage years. He used to become clumsy and throw things, and curse a lot. But now, he's just... a little grumpy. Maybe his changed physical form has something to do with that.

You're quickly proved wrong. You're talking to some of your colleagues, sitting at the dinner table Uraume assigned to you, when a partially filled jug of ale flies across the room, drenching half the guests. The dinner hall buzzes with commotion, chairs shifting, people questioning, and when you look up toward the direction of the throne, your eyes lock with the King's. He is grumpy because of you.

Only a moment later, Yuuji comes to fetch you. "Aniki is asking for you." His new clothes are flashy, his cloak red like the blood of those he would slay for his brother. He takes your arm in his as he leads you to the throne.

"You wanted to see me, Your Highness?" You bow to the King.

"Yes..h, woman." His words slur. "I am retiring from the party and I wish to dine in my quarters. You will make such arrangements while my brother and I be on our way there."

"Of course, Your Highness."

When you reach the doors of his bedroom, a heavy tray in your hand, you stop to listen in on the conversation between the brothers. "This body was supposed to be a deformity, a curse levied on me for my sins. But I see this as a saturation of strength. What's better than two arms?"

"Four," Yuuji answers. "I agree with you. But I don't understand the mouth on your stomach."

"Actually, this was a gift. It can be used for chanting."

Yuuji hums. "One thing hasn't changed in you. Do you know what that is, Aniki?"

"What?"

"Your massive ego and penchant for showing off." The brothers laugh. "Saturation of strength? Who talks like that?"

You smile as you keep listening. It fills your heart with warmth knowing that the twins have rebuilt their relationship. Still, you can't shake off the feeling of being left behind yet again.

"You're not smoking anymore?"

"No," Ryomen replies. "You assigned me a task, remember? Tobacco and opium might delay or worse, hinder it. Hence—"

Your cheeks start to warm up.

"Alcohol might too," your husband argues. "And yet—"

"Your dinner is here, Your Highness." You put a stop to that conversation as quickly as you can.

Yuuji slides open the door, welcoming you inside. You place the tray on the table in the middle of the room before bowing to the King. Your husband chuckles. "Love, there's nobody around. We don't need to do that here."

He takes your hand and pulls you toward the couch where Ryo is leisurely taking up half the space. Yuuji puts you in his lap, draws you close to his chest as the brothers keep chatting. Your eyes never leave Ryo's. Well, you are not even sure which eyes to follow — the drunk, embarrassed human eyes that fleet between your face and Yuuji's, or the demon eyes frowning at the spot on your arm that Yuuji squeezes every time he adjusts you in his embrace.

The food you brought stays on the table, forgotten and going cold, as the three of you reminisce about your childhood. Yuuji teases you, bringing up how you used to be scared of Ryo when you first arrived at the mansion and still followed him around, touching his arm every now and then, trying to figure him out.

"Shall we get going now?" Yuuji nudges your shoulder with his chin and the demon eyes furrow even further. You nod.

Your husband starts to lead you away when you feel a grip on you, pulling you back. Yuuji turns too when you fall behind. He spots Ryomen's downcast gaze on the spot where the tips of his thumb and first finger meet around your wrist. The shock on Yuuji's face catches your eye but before you can wriggle yourself out of his brother's grasp, he walks back to you and pecks the side of your face. "I'll see you in the morning, my love." And just like that, he is gone.

"You can't be serious." You rebuke Ryomen, yanking your hand away.

"You wanted this." His gaze is still downcast.

You scoff. "Oh, poor Ryomen! It must be so miserable having to fuck a woman. You must have never done that in your whole life."

His eyes flash with frustration. "They were whores."

"And what am I? Asking my husband's brother to fuck me so I can experience motherhood. Am I any different?"

Ryo stands up from the couch and walks toward you, making you take a step back. He's huge now. So much taller and bigger than he was before. You're up against the wall, sandwiched between the wood and his chest. "Ryo, please." You breathe, looking away.

"Do I still scare you, woman?"

You shake your head, refusing to give him the last laugh.

"Even when I look like this?"

Your eyes fly open, meeting his. All four of his eyes are on you, expectant and vulnerable. He needs you. You reach out to touch his face, the human side, and he leans into it like a cat. "Ryo," You call out to him. All your anger melts when he closes all his eyes and relishes in your touch. You place your other hand on his chest, trying to feel the beat of his heart. It's calm, a steady pace. He's at peace in your arms.

"What am I to you?" Ryo asks. For a brief moment, he looks like a boy again, wanting to know if you love him.

"I don't know."

Ryomen smiles wryly before escaping your embrace. He's about to say something but you beat him to it.

"There has not been a single moment in the last five years when you weren't on my mind. I'm cooking and I make it spicier because you prefer it that way. I am sewing and I use your favorite colors. I'm sitting by the pond by myself and I imagine us having a conversation. My husband..." You choke up. "My husband is making love to me and I... I see your face. You... you left me. I played our last conversation over and over in my head, trying to untangle the web of your riddles but I couldn't." You rub off the tears streaming down your face. "You left me here and Yuuji was like my wooden plank in open ocean. I had to... even though it was so wrong... even though —"

Ryo cups your face in two of his hands, pausing your downpour of thoughts. "If I stall any longer, I'll never do it."

Before you can say anything else, his lips find yours. His two lower arms pull you into his body as he kisses you. You knew there will be no tenderness with Ryomen but this passion is abundant and unbound. His big, strong hands squeeze your sides as they run up and down your torso with frenzied lust. You throw your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He lifts you up in his arms as he keeps kissing you, his mouth hot and demanding, and carries you over to the bed. "Get these off, woman." He pulls at the ties of your top robe. "Jūnihitoe was a bad idea"

You chuckle at his child-like impatience. But can you really blame him? You're itching too to touch him, to have him touch you, claim you. Oh it's so wrong! It's so unfair to Yuuji.

But Yuuji is the last thing on your mind right now.

Robe by robe, layer by layer, you come undone to the lover you thought you were never meant to have. Here he is, undressing you, kissing your lips, your cheeks, your neck, and all you can do is... let him.

You can swear you see his jaws drop open once you're completely naked. "Don't stare," You tease, your cheeks burning. "It's not the first time you're seeing a woman."

"They were whores. You are..." Ryo hesitates. "You are you."

"Wow, you're so efficient at communicating what I mean to you." You smirk.

"Stop being bratty, woman." His human eyes are trying their hardest to intimidate you while the demon eyes are too busy ogling your chest to care.

You lie down and Ryo follows beside you. He cradles your head, his fingers nestling in your hair as he kisses you again. Your deft fingers find their way to the sash of his robe, pulling it apart, immediately navigating their way over his skin, around the inhuman mouth.

"Goodness," You yelp when you feel something wet glide past your hand.

"Oh, it has a mind of its own. I can't really control it." Ryo makes an excuse. "But, it seems as though it likes you."

"That was surely a demonstration of affection."

You both laugh, easing up the tension and unfortunately, the built up desire. Ryomen lies down on his back with you on one of his arms. His robe falls apart, exposing his chest. You extend a hand to touch him. Drawing circles through his scanty hair, you pull yourself closer to him.

Before he can say anything, you put your hand over his mouth, still damp from your kiss. "Can you, for once, put yourself before your brother? For me?"

You sit up, flinging one leg over his hips. Ryo runs his fingers over your thighs as you settle yourself. You take two of his hands and guide them to your chest. "You've grown, woman," he groans.

"What does that mean?"

He sits up, pulling you closer so your forehead touches his. "It means, I've craved your breathy moans, the harshness of your nails on my back, the sweet taste of your sweat on my tongue. I used to watch you walk back to the house after your bath, your chest heaving with every step." He kneads your flesh, making you gasp as he softly tugs at a nipple. "In winters, like an old creep, I used to lecherously stare at the pert points on the front of your robe, imagining my hands over them... and my mouth." He snuggles his nose against your jaw and kisses it before venturing southward. Locking his human eyes with you, he opens his mouth wide and closes his lips around your bud.

His tongue sends jolts of sensation down your spine. You grasp at his hair, pushing your teat further into his mouth. Two of his hands grope the soft flesh of your behind, squeeze the fat on your hips, glide over your thighs, before one of his fingers finds the core of your pleasure.

"So wet, woman," he mumbles against your nipple. "Almost like you've been waiting all your life for me."

"I have." Your eyes water as he draws circles around your clitoris, slow, drawn out, painfully patient circles. "You're such a tease, Ryo. Why don't you just... take me?"

"And what's the fun in that? Let me utilize every moment I have with you." He kisses you again. "What if this is all we have?"

The heart that was warm and gleeful, breaks again. You look into Ryomen's eyes, only to find a mirror that reflects your feelings. This time, you kiss him. Fervently. Maniacally. You push his back to the the bed again, slowly sliding down his torso to meet his lips. What you don't expect is a tongue on your clit, the tongue on Ryo's stomach.

You sit up, perplexed at the onslaught of pleasure but unable to lift yourself off of the demonic mouth. Ryo encourages you. "You look so good like that, woman. That's right, grind your hips against my mouth. Your pleasure gives me pleasure. Are you coming?"

You nod, unable to form words anymore.

"Keep going, woman. You're doing so good. Come for me. Come for me."

This orgasm leaves a permanent mark on your psyche and also on Ryo's abdomen. Your nails have gone as far into his skin as they could, drawing blood.

Without a moment of respite, Ryo flips you over on the bed. Your giggling stops when his strong arm pulls your waist up to put a cushion under it. "You wanted me to take you, didn't you?" He rasps, bending over you, so close that his belly mouth springs out and starts licking your back. "Talk to me. Tell me what you want."

"I want you inside me." You finally voice your lewd thoughts. "I want you to give me a child, Ryo. Even if I have to raise it with Yuuji, I want you and myself to know who the father really is."

"Fuck," Ryomen groans.

You cry out as he pushes in, your delicate skin threatening to break around his girth. As soon as you accommodate yourself to his length, he starts rocking his hips. His grip is strong on the plump flesh of your hips as his nails dig in to keep you in place. You can feel him, throbbing, his fat tip pulsating against your womb, ready to breed you on command.

"You feel so good, woman." He's moaning too. Your name on his lips sounds like exactly how it was supposed to be pronounced when your mother named you. His hands are traveling up and down your back, grabbing, squeezing, groping your flesh. "If you so badly want a child... I'll give you one. More. As. Many. As. You. Want." He thrusts with every word until his grip on you tightens to the point of bruises.

You've lost count of how many orgasms you've had but when Ryo comes, you feel fulfilled. You're so filled with his warmth, you don't realize when you collapse on the bed, when Ryo's hand scoops you close to his chest. "You did good, woman. I'm sure this union will be fruitful," he whispers with his mouth to your forehead as you drift to a well-earned sleep.

𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸𓆸

There's no God in my heaven. And Hell belongs to me. King of Curses, they call me. And what I have done to earn that title is between me and the sorcerers I killed. For what, then, am I being rewarded?

My Heaven is in my arms, warm and breathing, probably sore in all the places I touched her tonight. How dare I? How dare I ruin her, maim her unfit to ever love her husband again?

Maybe, if everything had gone right, I would have been her husband. And if my human form was not crippled the same way my brother is, she'd have already become a mother by now. I know of her doubts of being the one crippled, but I know she's fertile. I know she's fertile right now. And I hope I've done one thing in all my life to make her dreams come true.

However, it's also so bittersweet. What will happen once she does bear my child? Our little tea meetings will end, I'll never touch her again, never experience both the peace and the excitement of having her fingers run along my skin.

I don't want this to end. I can't let this end. I can't lose her again.

please don't copy my work, or publish it elsewhere without my consent. all banners are from pinterest.

[212-apricity]

siren songs and stolen kisses, the runaway

ssask masterlist main masterlist

again guys, im really sorry if this ones a bit shit, i really didnt know what to write for this but i tried my best, hopefully the next ones a bit better💖🙏🗣️‼��

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

The humid air hung heavy over the yard of the Chateau as the four of us sat around, waiting for something—anything—to happen. Kiara and Pope were testing the winch to pull up the gold, Kiara carefully being lowered to test its strength, while JJ lounged on the side of the hot tub. I leaned against the Twinkie, arms crossed as I watched them, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them good.

"What do you think he’s up to?" Kiara called up, her voice breaking the relative silence.

"John B pulling a Houdini," JJ replied, his tone casual as he smirked.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him. "Disappearing without a word and causing us all to stress? Sounds about right."

JJ turned to me, his grin widening. "Well, Princess, you’d know best. Houdini’s probably got nothing on you Cameron kids."

I shot him a mock glare, but my lips twitched in betrayal. JJ always had a way of making me smile, no matter how dire the situation felt. His hair glinted gold in the late afternoon sun, and his confidence was almost contagious. Before I could retort, John B appeared from nowhere, trudging into the Chateau without so much as a glance in our direction.

"What the…?" Kiara said, looking up in confusion as the winch brought her back to ground level.

"John B! Where have you been?" Pope shouted, jogging to follow him. JJ and I exchanged looks before we trailed behind, my stomach sinking at the determined yet furious look in John B’s eyes. Something was seriously wrong.

Inside the Chateau, John B began tearing through the place, smashing things as he searched for something. I winced as a glass shattered under his foot.

"Dude, what are you doing?" JJ asked, his voice tinged with both concern and irritation. His hands rested on his hips as he tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before us.

John B didn’t answer, ignoring everyone as he stormed into the guest room which had been for years JJ’s (and now my) room at the Chateau. My heart dropped as he reached under JJ’s pillow and pulled out the gun.

"Whoa, whoa, John B, what the hell?" JJ moved forward, his hands raised in a calming gesture, but John B shoved him hard onto the bed. JJ’s hat fell off as he tumbled backward, and I instinctively ran to his side, helping him up.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, gripping his bicep tightly as he shook his head in disbelief. I could see the anger rising in him, his jaw tightening.

"I’m fine, baby," he muttered, brushing himself off. But his eyes stayed locked on John B, who was now storming toward the door. Pope tried to block him, but John B shoved him aside with surprising force, sending him into a table. Kiara rushed to help Pope up, and JJ grabbed my hand as we followed John B outside.

"Where are you going John B? What is going on?" I called out. John B didn’t answer until he reached JJ’s bike, turning to face us all with fire in his eyes.

"Ward knows about the gold," he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach, but it was what he said next that left me frozen in place.

"He killed my dad."

Silence fell over the yard. The weight of his words suffocated me, my brain struggling to process. Ward… my dad? JJ’s grip on my hand tightened as John B sped off on the bike, his anger trailing behind him like a storm. The others started running after him, but I couldn’t move, my feet rooted to the ground.

"Y/n, baby," JJ’s voice brought me back, his arms wrapping around me as I trembled. "It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you."

"Dad… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t," I stammered, but my voice betrayed my uncertainty. JJ didn’t say anything, just held me tighter as Pope and Kiara came back, panting and confused.

"What the hell just happened?" Pope asked, running a hand over his face.

"We need to find him," Kiara said, her tone firm despite the chaos.

Inside the Chateau, we gathered around to brainstorm. Every possible location John B might go was thrown out and dismissed until one option stuck—Tannyhill. My family’s estate.

"Y/n…" he started, but I cut him off, shaking my head.

"Let’s just go," I said firmly, ignoring the way my stomach churned.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

We took the HMS Pogue and sailed toward Tannyhill under the cover of night. The moonlit water reflected our shared anxiety. JJ tried to lighten the mood with a sarcastic suggestion about knocking on the front door and asking for John B, but even his humor felt strained.

"Yeah, that’ll work great," I said dryly, earning a smile from him. He reached out to touch my shoulder briefly before turning his attention back to the shoreline.

Pope peered through binoculars, spotting movement at Tannyhill. "Hey, I see Ward," he said, his voice heavy with implications. He passed the binoculars to me, and I froze, my chest tightening as I saw my father alive and well.

"Doesn’t look dead to me," Pope muttered, packing up. "Let’s go home."

"Wait," JJ interjected, his jaw clenched.

"What?" Kiara snapped. Pope looked at her incredulously.

"We can’t just leave John B," I argued, but the tension between Kiara and Pope reached a boiling point.

"Hey, I have the biggest interview of my life in six hours," Pope said, his voice rising.

"And our friend is in trouble," Kiara shot back, her tone cutting.

Pope threw up his hands. "Why is it always about John B?"

"It’s not," Kiara retorted. "It would be any of you in this situation."

"Oh, bullshit!" Pope yelled, frustration clear in his voice.

"This is about friendship!" Kiara shouted, stepping closer.

"Stop with the moral high ground shit, Kiara!" Pope countered, his voice sharp.

"Hey!" JJ yelled, pulling me closer as the shouting got louder. "Guys, not now!"

Kiara turned away, muttering angrily. Pope’s voice softened but stayed firm. "This is my life. Everything I’ve worked for."

Kiara scoffed, her frustration evident. "That’s your priority?"

JJ and I stood together at the back of the boat, the fight between Kiara and Pope escalating before us. His hand never left mine, his thumb tracing soothing circles over my knuckles, but the tension between them was impossible to ignore.

"Yes, Kiara, yes it is! Look, you weren’t there for John B! You weren’t there for any of us!" Pope shouted, his voice cracking with the strain of his emotions. He glared at Kiara, who was visibly holding back tears. “Y/n basically left her family when she found us seven years ago. But remember your kook year, Kiara?”

“Pope, stop,” I interjected softly, but my words barely reached him through his anger.

Kiara looked to the sky, swallowing hard and shoving Pope away “Give me a break.”

“Hey!” Pope shouted back. “You need a break? Move!” He shoved her, frustration boiling over, and Kiara retaliated with equal force, pushing him right back as they both kept shouting at one another.

JJ stepped forward immediately, yanking Pope back with one arm. “Hey, yo, yo, yo! Cut it out, alright?” he snapped, his voice rough and commanding. “This isn’t the time for this shit!”

I caught Kiara’s arm as she stepped forward again, her jaw set in defiance. “Kiara, stop,” I said firmly, my grip tightening. She froze under my touch, looking between me and JJ as if trying to decide whether to keep fighting or let it go.

“Listen,” JJ said, his tone sharper now. “If Y/n and I are the ones mediating, we’ve hit rock bottom.”

Pope glared but bit back whatever retort was on his tongue. JJ jabbed a finger toward the bow of the boat. “Bow. Now. Go.”

Pope finally stepped back, muttering under his breath, and I gently guided Kiara to sit down. My hands were shaking slightly, my nerves frayed, but JJ’s presence at my side kept me grounded.

JJ leaned over to me, his voice low and soft. “You okay, Princess?” His hand brushed my hair back from my face.

I nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah… I will be.”

He smiled faintly, his blue eyes searching mine. “You’re stronger than you think, baby.”

I felt a pang of gratitude for him, for always knowing what to say when the world felt like it was falling apart. As the tension on the boat lingered, Pope eventually started the engine, and we sailed toward his house in silence.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

We dropped Pope off first, his parting words curt and strained, then Kiara insisted on walking home. I offered to drop her off instead, but she waved me off, clearly needing space to cool down.

That left just JJ and me on the water, the gentle rocking of the boat and the hum of the engine filling the quiet. The stars above seemed to mock the chaos of the night, shining as though nothing had happened. Wind gusted around us as JJ sailed and I pulled the sleeves of JJ’s my grey sweater that he was wearing earlier.

“What about you, Princess?” JJ asked after a while, his tone teasing but tentative. “Want me to drop you off too?”

I gave him a side-eye glare, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “Not funny, J.”

He raised one hand hand in surrender, the other on the steering wheel, “Too soon?”

“Just a little.” I squinted, holding my thumb and forefinger close together, and he mirrored the gesture, mock-serious.

“Okay, okay, noted,” he said, his grin breaking through. “You’re stuck with me then.”

I sighed dramatically, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his torso. “Guess I’ve survived worse.”

JJ chuckled, his laughter low and soothing, and he reached back to pull me closer. “Of course you have. You’re a Cameron, remember? Toughest princess in the game.”

I rolled my eyes, pressing my forehead against his back. “Thanks for earlier… for everything.”

JJ turned to face me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “Always, baby. You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you.” His lips pressed to my forehead, lingering there as if to seal the promise.

I tilted my face up, our eyes locking, and in a moment of unspoken understanding, he kissed me. His lips were soft and warm, and my hand slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin as I tangled my other hand in his hair.

When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, his breathing uneven. “We’ll figure it out, Princess.”

I nodded, my hands still clinging to him.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

The salty breeze carried the faint sound of waves lapping against the dock, a soothing rhythm that contrasted sharply with the restlessness in the air. We were sprawled across the wooden planks of the Chateau’s dock, the sun casting its last golden rays over the marsh. JJ’s arm was slung lazily over his knee, the cigarette dangling between his fingers as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“Princess,” JJ drawled, his blue eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I’d come to love. “You’re real good at this,”

I raised a brow, pretending to be unimpressed, though a small smirk tugged at my lips. Taking the cigarette from his hand, I exhaled a plume of smoke that disappeared into the sunset. “Didn’t think the great JJ Maybank could admit someone else is better at something.”

“Better? Who said anything about better?” JJ shot back, leaning in closer until our noses nearly touched. His voice dropped to a teasing murmur. “I’m just saying you’re good, baby. Real good.” I smirked before blowing the puff of smoke I was holding into his face, making him move away in surprise, almost falling off his seat on the wooden plank.

“Ugh get a room, you two,” John B muttered from a few feet away, his tone edged with annoyance as he fiddled with the edge of his cast.

“Or at least let the rest of us enjoy the view without your PDA,” Kiara chimed in, sitting cross-legged with an exasperated look.

I laughed, leaning back against JJ’s shoulder as he pressed a quick kiss to my temple. “You’re just jealous,” I teased, my voice light as I handed the blunt back to JJ.

Kiara groaned, while John B rolled his eyes and continued picking at his cast.

“John B, seriously,” I said, straightening up as my tone turned more serious. “Stop messing with that thing. You’re going to make it worse.”

“It’s fine,” he replied dismissively, the stubborn set of his jaw making it clear he wasn’t going to listen. “It’s just a hairline fracture.”

“It’s a fracture and a cast, dumbass,” Kiara cut in, her voice sharper now. “You’re supposed to keep it on. And you’re supposed to care about your body,”

John B groaned, clearly irritated. “I can’t do anything with it on!” he snapped.

“Maybe if you stopped breaking things—” Kiara shot back, and just like that, the two of them were bickering again, their voices rising in frustration.

Their argument brewed quickly, Kiara’s frustrations bubbling over as John B tried to defend his recklessness. JJ and I exchanged a knowing look, his smirk widening as he shook his head.

"Think they’ll ever stop?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Not a chance," JJ replied, handing me the cigarette. "But hey, I’ve got front-row seats, and the company ain’t bad."

I rolled my eyes, my lips twitching with amusement. The comfort between us felt easy, like we were in our own bubble while the world around us spiraled.

The argument (unfortunately) was cut short by the sound of footsteps pounding toward us. We all turned to see Pope charging down the path, his shirt soaked with sweat and his breathing ragged.

“Pope?” I called out, concern lacing my voice as I stood up. “What’s wrong?”

He bent over, hands on his knees, as he struggled to catch his breath. “I—” he gasped, raising a finger to stall us. “I ran… all the way here.”

JJ leaned back on his elbows, his expression calm despite the urgency in Pope’s demeanor. “How was the interview, dude?” he asked casually.

“Don’t… ask,” Pope managed to say, waving JJ off as he straightened up.

JJ grinned, clearly enjoying Pope’s frustration. “Noted.”

Pope’s face shifted into something more serious, and he looked between us with wide, urgent eyes. “Listen, we don’t have much time,” he said, his voice firm now. “Before the interview, my dad told me he had to clear the private airstrip to cut palms for Cameron’s plane. Said it was too heavy and needed a longer runway to take off.”

I froze at the mention of my father’s name, my stomach tightening. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Pope continued, ignoring my question. “While I was sitting there in the interview, I couldn’t stop thinking—hm, why would Ward need a longer airstrip?”

We all fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Slowly, realization dawned on us.

“Gold,” JJ said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but his eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and determination.

Pope pointed at him, practically shouting. “Yes! Exactly! The gold. This is it—this is our chance to get it back!”

My heart was racing now, a mix of adrenaline and dread coursing through me. Ward had the gold. Of course he did. But if Pope was right, that also meant we had a chance to take it from him.

Kiara shot to her feet, her face set with resolve. “We have to go.”

JJ stood too, pulling me up with him. “Alright, Captain,” he said, turning to John B with a grin. “What’s the plan?”

John B looked around at all of us, his determination shining through his frustration. “We’re gonna steal our shit back.”

The energy shifted instantly. We moved as one, pulling together in a way that only the Pogues could. Kiara grabbed my hand as we started running toward the Chateau to gather supplies, John B, Pope and JJ’s laughter trailing behind us.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

The Twinkie rumbled along the bumpy dirt road as we approached the airstrip. Pope held the binoculars, scanning the scene. "They’re loading up the gold," he said, his voice hushed but urgent.

John B leaned forward, snatching the binoculars from him. "There’s Ward," he muttered, his jaw tightening.

The familiar pang hit me square in the chest at the mention of my father. "Let me see," I said, taking the binoculars.

Through the lenses, I spotted Ward, his commanding presence impossible to miss as he barked orders near the plane. But then my breath caught. "Sarah," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"What?" John B and JJ turned to me, their surprise matching my own.

"She’s with him," I said, my heart sinking as I watched my sister struggle against Ward’s grip. He dragged her toward the plane, his hold rough and unrelenting. Security guards hovered nearby, their stances making it clear she had no escape.

"She’s arguing with him," I said, my voice breaking. My chest tightened as panic threatened to overtake me.

JJ’s hand found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Baby," he murmured, his voice soft and steady. He pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, grounding me in the moment.

"He’s hurting her," John B growled, his anger spilling over. Before anyone could stop him, he was off, sprinting toward the Twinkie.

The air was electric with tension, every one of us frozen as we watched John B and the Twinkie barrel down the dirt path toward the airstrip fence.

“John B! Stop! You’re going to get yourself killed!” Kiara shouted, her voice cracking with desperation.

Pope scrambled forward, waving his arms as if it would somehow make John B see sense. “What the hell is he doing?” Pope’s voice was frantic, and his panic was palpable.

Beside me, JJ cursed under his breath, his grip tightening around my waist as he tried to physically anchor me—and himself—through the chaos. “He’s gonna ram it,” JJ muttered, his tone somewhere between disbelief and reluctant admiration.

“Ram it? He wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice shaking. But even as I said it, I knew John B well enough to know that he absolutely would.

“John B!” Kiara screamed again as the Twinkie tore through the wired fence, the sound of metal crunching and snapping filling the air.

Pope and Kiara dove out of the way just in time, their bodies hitting the ground hard. I barely had time to process what was happening before JJ yanked me backward, his arm wrapping protectively around me as we stumbled. We fell into the dirt together, JJ shielding me with his body as the Twinkie sped past, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest. “Oh my God,” I breathed, trying to push myself up.

JJ stayed close, his arm still around my waist. “You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

I nodded shakily, looking into his wide, worried eyes. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Fine,” he said quickly, helping me to my feet.

We turned back toward the airstrip, watching as the Twinkie screeched to a halt directly in front of the plane. The plane racing at full speed towards him.

“He’s not actually—” Pope started, but he cut himself off, his mouth agape as he watched John B stationary in the path of the oncoming plane.

Kiara’s breath hitched beside me. “He’s going to get himself killed,” she said, her voice breaking. Her hands flew to her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I grabbed her hand instinctively, holding tight as I tried to process what was happening. “Kiara, he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay,” I said, my voice trembling.

But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it. The sight of John B standing there, a lone figure against the massive plane, was almost too much to bear.

Then, the sound of sirens cut through the night.

The flashing red and blue lights appeared on the horizon, growing closer with every passing second.

“Oh no,” Pope groaned, his hands flying to his head. “No, no, no, no, no, I can’t get arrested. My parents will kill me.”

“Your parents?!” Kiara cried, her voice rising in panic. “What about John B? What about Sarah?”

JJ cursed again, louder this time. “I’m on probation,” he said, his voice sharp and full of dread. “I can’t go to jail, guys.”

I looked up at him, seeing the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists. I knew what it would mean for JJ if he got caught—for him, jail wasn’t just a slap on the wrist. It was juvie on the mainland. Isolation. Months—maybe years—away from all of us. Away from me.

“J,” I said softly, reaching for his hand. He didn’t flinch away, his grip tightening around mine as if it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Listen, we have to go,” I said firmly, suppressing the ache in my chest and tears in my eyes for John B and Sarah. “We’re no use to them if we’re in jail.”

Pope nodded quickly, already backing away from the sirens. “She’s right. We have to leave. Now.”

Kiara hesitated, her eyes darting between the approaching cops and the airstrip, where John B was still standing his ground. “But—”

“Kiara,” I said, cutting her off. “We’ll figure out how to help them, but we can’t do it if we’re locked up.”

JJ grabbed his hat and gun off the ground, his movements quick and deliberate. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

I tugged on Kiara’s arm, and finally, she relented, tears still streaming down her face. We ran together, my heart breaking with every step as the sirens grew louder behind us.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

It was past 4 a.m. when we finally collapsed in bed, JJ’s head resting on my chest as he drifted off to sleep. I ran my fingers through his hair absentmindedly, my mind racing.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, my heart sinking when I saw it wasn’t from Sarah or John B. Instead, it was a text from Rafe: "I’m sorry."

I frowned, confusion swirling in my chest. I texted back, "Sorry for what? Are you okay?" but no response came.

Careful not to wake JJ, I slipped out of bed and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

I sat on the porch, the weight of my thoughts growing heavier by the minute. The distant hum of crickets and the faint rustling of leaves were the only sounds accompanying me in the darkness. My phone screen glowed faintly as I stared at Rafe’s message, the single line burning into my brain. "I’m sorry."

I felt like I’d been dropped into some alternate reality where my family and friends were drifting further and further out of reach. My fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling through my unanswered texts to Sarah and John B. They were still aired, and I couldn’t shake the dread curling in my stomach.

My mind wandered back to Rafe. He wasn’t perfect—not even close. But he was still my big brother, the one who used to sneak me chocolates when Rose was on one of her strict “no sugar” kicks. He was the one who held my hair back the first time I drank too much at a Kook party and smuggled me into the house without our parents noticing. Despite everything, Rafe had always been there for me, protective and reckless in equal measure.

The distance between us now stung like salt in an open wound. I thought about telling him about JJ—how happy he made me, how he made the world feel lighter even when it was crumbling. But I could already picture Rafe’s reaction: anger, confusion, maybe even outright fury. JJ and Rafe were like gasoline and a lit match—one wrong move, and it would all explode.

Still, I wanted to tell him. To share this part of my life with the brother I used to trust with everything.

The creak of the screen door behind me snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced over my shoulder to see JJ standing there, his hair mussed from sleep and his t-shirt hanging slightly off one shoulder. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting at me in the dim light.

“Baby,” he said softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“J,” I whispered, my chest tightening with guilt. “I’m so sorry. Did I wake you up? You should be asleep.”

He padded over to me, barefoot and rumpled, and dropped down to sit on the step beside me. “You didn’t wake me,” he murmured, laying his head on my shoulder and closing his eyes. “But you’re gonna have to tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, or I’m not gonna get any sleep either.”

I sighed, leaning into him and letting his warmth ground me. “It’s Rafe,” I admitted. “He texted me just now—just one message: ‘I’m sorry.’ And I don’t know why, but it’s messing with me.”

JJ was quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm. “What d’you think he’s sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice cracking slightly. “We used to be so close, J. He was the one person in my family who I thought really saw me. And now… I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

JJ tilted his head, his blue eyes searching mine as he encouraged me to carry on.

“I wanna share things in my life with him again, I want to skip school and go to the mainland and shop with Ward’s credit card and piss him off with Rafe and Sarah, I wanna tell him about us, J. I know he’s…different now, and I know what his mentality is towards Pogues” I rolled my eyes at the word as JJ smiled softly, “But he’s still my big brother and I just…I don’t know, J, I just want him back. I mean, he’d probably kill you when he’d find out we were together though.”

JJ chuckled, his grin boyish and crooked. “Small price to pay for you, Princess,” he teased, but there was a softness in his voice that made my chest ache.

I swatted his arm lightly, rolling my eyes despite the knot of emotion in my throat. “I’m serious, JJ. He’s… he’s not in a good place right now. I should be there for him but…I don’t know.”

JJ’s smile faded slightly, and he turned serious, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Hey,” he said softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Rafe might be a mess, but he’s still your brother. He loves you—even if he’s got a shitty way of showing it sometimes.”

I nodded, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “I just… I miss him. I miss Sarah, too. And John B. And I hate that I can’t fix any of it.”

JJ pressed a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything, baby. You’re not alone in this.”

The weight on my chest eased slightly as I leaned into him, letting his presence steady me. For a while, we just sat there in the quiet, the night wrapping around us like a cocoon.

Eventually, JJ stood, holding out his hand to me. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you back to bed. I’m not letting you spiral out here all night.”

I let him pull me to my feet, his grip warm and firm. As we headed back inside, I glanced down at my phone one last time, my unanswered texts glowing faintly in the dark.

Tomorrow, I’d figure out what to do about Rafe, about Sarah, about everything. But tonight, I let myself lean on JJ, his steady presence reminding me that even in the chaos, I wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

part eight done!!

im really hungry and i love jj

remember, taglist is open!! feel free to send me a dm or comment on literally anything💞💞

taglist: @harryssideboobz @onelonelybitch @jeyramarie @snowtargaryen @agnxstic

[meetinginsamarra]

My AO3 wrapped 2024

The Curious Case of the Casablanca Killer 56k

Deemed a three at best, the case of an invisible burglar in a historic cinema who stole nothing only caught Sherlock’s attention because he was bored. Also, he wanted to do John a favour. In the end, this proved to be a real stroke of luck. Otherwise, Sherlock would have missed an intriguing mystery that quickly ramped up in complexity.

I started the year writing/finishing the casefic which is a gift to my friend and beta reader @peageetibbs . This took way over a year to write, as there had been a lot of plotting and figuring out clues and deductions. Also, several breaks in writing because of IRL or when other fics "interfered" and delayed finishing it.

It's a complex intriguing case starting in a historic cinema and our heroes exhibit a well-established friendship.

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Mayprompts 2025 - hosted by calaisreno

The 31 prompts this May generated a boost of creativity that spawned 3 ficlets, 2 limericks and one poem as well as two stories (see below).

Open 

Sherlock comes back from the dead and John welcomes him home in a most unexpected way.

Family Day

Little Rosie defends her best friend and is pretty smart about it.

The Blanket Detective

Sharing a bed with Sherlock ist perilous.

2 Limericks and 1 Poem 

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Also, I wrote two 12k fics, continuously using the other prompts which totally surprised me as their plot developed so quickly nearly without my doing. LOL

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The Perfect Place 10k

Sherlock needs a flatmate and already has the perfect person in mind. Now he only needs to convince his object of desire to move in and also find out if he desires Sherlock as well.

This began with the may prompt "box" and developed into the "Bed Shop Boys-AU" (@helloliriels coined this lovely moniker). The only ever AU where John works as a bed shop assistent! This is pure fun and people claimed in the comments to have laughed a lot. Happy Johnlock end!

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White Pony Tattoo 11k

John Watson needs a tattoo covered up. Sherlock Holmes of "White Pony Tattoo" is one of the best artists in London. He's also difficult and brilliant and beautiful as John is about to find out.

I love tattoo shop AUs and finally had an idea for writing my own. A little bit of enemies (Sherlock is a beautiful, seductive arsehole at first) to lovers (John finds out what Sherlock is hiding underneath his pricky shell), a bit of hurt/comfort and a happy ending.

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Take My Broken Love 48k

Standing on the airfield's tarmac and about to fly off to a suicide mission, Sherlock says what he had always wanted to say to John but never had. His words drastically changed the course of events.

This year's whumptober again sucked me into a deep writing rabbit hole. For about six weeks I used practically all the spare I had (and a lot of time I dd not actually have) to write this. Again, it has been a great experience to be so immersed into writing and again, it was (positively) stressful af.

I had this concept in my mind that all of the main characters' love for someone is broken and flawed.

Starting with an alternative ending of the tarmac scene, the first half of the fic concentrates on their hurt and emotional whump which sets the stage for what happens next. The second half concentrates on Sherlock's mission and features more physical whump. I had a plotty spy mission in my mind with lots of twists and intrigues. I also focused a lot on characterization.

I am still beyond thrilled and incredibly proud that I could pull this off so well. (I know, I'm praising myself, but still, comments confirm it.) I personally think that this is my best writing, technically and plot-wise.

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A Minor Detail

Sherlock has found the perfect flatmate for sharing 221b Baker Street. If only there would not be that minor detail in the small print of the lease agreement. Now, John has no other choice but take part in Sherlock‘s scheme.

I participated in Fandom Trumps Hate for the first time this year and @lostinsherlock44 generously bid on me.

I had this funny idea and then, the characters seemingly acted out of their own will and the fic just developed. This is definitely the funniest thing I have ever written and lots of comments tell about readers having laughed out loud. This makes me so very happy in return that my writing could give people a little good time and happiness.

[smut-anarchy]

Own Me - Chapter Three

Tags: Dom!Mattheo, Gryffandor!Reader, Cursing, Blackmail, Anxiety!Reader, Dubious Consent

Word Count: 1,721 Words

Chapter Three: When Life Gives You Potions, You Shut Up

It’s been three days since breaking Draco’s nose and Mattheo hasn’t called you once. 

You sat next to him in potions, trying to make the Draught of Living Death potion but his gaze felt pointedly less focused on your handling of the assignment and more focused on you, as it had been all week. 

When Monday came and you were thrilled to not have to run around the castle the entire day looking for him for an odd errand or unnecessary chore, though he had given you a few more looks than usual. Then Tuesday came and it was the same, no warming sensation around your neck to kick your flight instincts into gear, just more quiet observation. His eyes following you in classes to the hallways, even during meal times.

His continuous silent inspection of you was torturing your insides with stress, worry tightening its hold on your muscles and getting worse as each day passed. He had promised to punish you after the head butt incident, and Mattheo Riddle was not one who made idle threats. 

His searching eyes were prickling your skin, making every cell in your body intimately aware of his mysterious leering. A small part of you, the part that would likely always exist, was nervous; Maybe knowing what was running through his head would ease the perpetual anxiety that you’d lived with. Another part of you was frustrated, the lion inside of you growling at the judgmental stare. For Godric’s sake, you even considered instigating an argument to get him to stop, for him to be something more familiar than the quiet observer he was being now. 

A final part of you, a part you’d been repressing since looking at his unfairly attractive face lying in your lap, liked him looking. 

You’d tried shaking that feeling out of your head, reminding yourself of all the reasons why the Slytherin bad boy should not be occupying space inside your head outside of anger and loathing. However, his dangerously beautiful and twice as haunting eyes were not helping, their endless darkness and secrets held within threatened to engulf you.

It also didn’t help that your mind seemed to keep replaying the faint moan you’d heard from him minutes before you’d cracked Draco’s nose with your forehead. Everything prior had felt like blur, your temper smudging the lines of your memory, but that moan echoed around in your brain for days. Even worse, it lit up something inside you like you’d never felt before, something primal and animalistic, something that wanted to hear it again.

Fuck, what is happening with me?

Lost in your thoughts, you realized you over-stirred the potion, the cauldron showing a bubbling maroon instead a pale lilac.

Frustrated that you’d have to restart the complicated potion process you slammed the potion book closed. 

“What the fuck is your problem, Riddle?” You quietly hissed. His eyes darkened at your tone, slanting to a glare.

“Pardon?” He questioned, his jaw tightened. 

“All week you’ve been just staring at me! What’s your fucking problem, huh? Do you know how distracting it is to do our work with you just judging every damn thing I do?” Instant regret fluttered through you, Mattheo cracked his scarred knuckles against the table, his face glowering at you.

“You know Kitten, you’ve got a real dirty fucking mouth,” his voice dropped to a low growl, sending a flurry of unease rippling within you. “And I’m going to fucking fix it for you.”

Before you could respond, your potion, forgotten in the argument with Riddle, had turned black and burst into globs of muck all over you and your table. You’d groaned in disgust, the black goop on your hair and sweater. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape droned, suddenly appearing to your right, “Next time, I suggest paying more attention to your potion than your partner.” 

You scowled, biting your tongue so as not to incur the wrath of the Gryffindor-hating teacher. 

“Mr. Riddle, please escort your partner to Madam Pomfrey to ensure there are no reactions to the defective potion.” Snape billowed away, conveniently forgetting to reduct Slytherin points for your shared assignment. 

Mattheo grinned mischievously, his eyes predatorily leering at you. Not willing to suffer his smug satisfaction you stormed out of the class room, stomping angrily to the infirmary. 

You’d heard Mattheo’s purposeful steps behind you but refused to slow down. Unfortunately, you misjudged how long his strides were because it took him barely any time at all to catch up to you, grabbing a fistful of your cardigan and yanking you into a nearby closet. 

You yelped, being flung into the wall of the closet, “Where are ya’ going without your escort, little lion?” Your heart pounded in your chest, Mattheo’s large body enclosing yours against the wall, his face dangerously close.

You couldn’t say anything, words failing to rise up your throat as he loomed over you threateningly. His malice and sarcasm dripping from his tone, bathing you in unease.

“Oh?” He hummed, a wicked smile on his face, “Nothing to say now? No more cute little comments from that bad mouth of yours?”

You wanted to say something, to snap back at him or plead for mercy but you couldn’t. This was all too much, the confined space making you dizzy with the scent of Mattheo, a smell of pine, mint and smoke that was making you lightheaded. His body pressed you into the wall, feeling every hardened plane of his body mold against your soft curves. 

Every sense seemed to intensify as the seconds ticked by, you were far too flustered by everything to think straight. You turned your head away from his eyes, trying to compose yourself away from his burning gaze. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, the words feeling heavy and painful on your tongue. 

“Hm?” He hummed, fingers gripping your jaw to turn your face back to him. You could see his rich dark brown pupils blown wide, they briefly flicked down to your lips, returning to your own eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice came out much more pleading than you intended, the heated effects of your senses making you breathless. You licked your lips, mouth feeling suddenly far too dry, his eyes flickered to your lips again, mischief blooming across his face. 

“Oh no you aren’t,” Mattheo huffed, tilting your head up slightly, “But you will be.”

His lips captured yours in a hungry kiss, a mix of lightning and magma shooting through your veins as his soft lips enveloped your own. You’d gasped slightly in surprise and, like a true opportunist, he’d used the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against yours, the taste of mint and smoke both intoxicating and overwhelming. 

Your head became foggier under his devouring kiss, blanketing you as you surrendered to his greedy lips and tongue. You’d thought yourself dizzy by his presence before but now you’d felt him everywhere, his warm hands holding your neck as he pressed you further into the wall, his body completely surrounding you. 

You felt your knees buckle under you, your joints weakening; You fisted Mattheo’s shirt in your hands, willing yourself to stay upright and push him away with all the strength you could muster. 

Your lips separated, the two of you puffing and panting for air in the small closet. The atmosphere still thick with the carnal smog of the obscene lip-locking you’d just done. 

“No…” You whined, trying to gather your bearings, the task nearly impossible blood rushing anywhere besides your head and your entire body flush with a mix of shame and desire. 

You couldn’t push him far, your arms feeling more like limp noodles than skin and bone to push effectively. He was still towering above you, his plush lips parted slightly, through your haze you saw his tongue peak out and lick his lips, the sight making you whimper.

“No?” He purred, his deep voice slightly out of breath, “Kitten, I own you. I gotta discipline that dirty little mouth of yours.” 

He crushed his lips against yours again, this time more unrelenting than before. You tried to hold out, denying him entry to your mouth, but he gave you a hard bite on you lower lip and you’d cried out, once again allowing him an opening to force his tongue inside. 

Kissing Mattheo was consuming, his body radiating heat as he bore down on you, your own skin burning like a phoenix flame. The taste of him heady and dangerous, but easily addictive.

Your hands softly clutched the fabric of his shirt, once weakly pushing him, but you’d been forced to yield powerlessly to his strength and immovable body. A distant voice in your clouded mind urged you that this was so, so wrong, but your body was all to eager to accept the sweet torture his mouth was inflicting on you, a thrumming ache building in your stomach.

He embedded one of his hands in your hair, pulling your head back further to kiss you even deeper, simultaneously flicking his tongue against yours, you whimpered. The needy, pleading sound satisfying to him, and a low, throaty moan rose from his chest. The sound fueled a craving in you, something raw and feral urging you to submit to the ruthless onslaught of his lips. Small mewls escaped your mouth and he was too eager to swallow the sounds from you.

After what seemed to be an eternity he released you, this time giving you much needed space as you leaned against the wall for support. Your breaths were coming out as gasping stutters, your lungs starving for air. Mattheo seemed to be in a similar state, his breathing coming out in huffs. The only signs of what happened on him were his slightly ruffled shirt and flushed lips, but other than that he than that he looked normal. You distantly wondered what kind of mess you must of looked, your mind still feeling fucked out from the kisses. 

“That, was just for your filthy mouth, Kitten,” he breathed, his voice breathless and low, a tinge of sadistic warning peaking through, “I still owe you a punishment.”

With that, he winked and slipped out the door like nothing happened, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your sanity by yourself. 

Fuck me.

[seoulbye]

FINDING EQUILIBRIUM · GOJO SATORU

( EPISODE 3 : THE TIME OF HIS (9) LIVES ) after agreeing to go to a party with each other, you both believed it would be the perfect opportunity to relax. however, both of you couldn't be more wrong when a villain crashes the joint | watch time: 3.3k words.

── chat noir!gojo satoru & student!reader, akumatized!nanami, ladybug!unknown character, alcoholic consumption, heartbreak, light violence, the blossoming of romantic feelings, etc.

note. we getting somewhere yall! we getting places!

There is beauty in chaos, you believe. The uncoordinated mess that triumphs the orderly that gets your blood racing whenever you step inside one of the frat or sorority homes on campus. Buildings that have been kept up to pristine conditions for generations, but selective nights where the well-kept places are temporarily destroyed to harbor one of the craziest parties for the year. Don’t get you wrong, the pungent stench of vomit mixed with liquor is an unappealing sight. Everyone walking away from the scene, and no one willing to clean it up as they grimace. People pushing into you and never bothering to say a mere ‘excuse me’ or ‘sorry’ is annoying, too. However, the beating energy of everyone else is enough to make you reciprocate it. 

You call these moments the time of your life because it distracts you from everything else happening in it. It takes your mind off of the stressful workload and the fact that you have to take responsibility in other initiatives. With a couple of drinks and EDM blasting in the background, it’s enough to keep your mind at bay, soon to be swimming in an ocean of liquor. 

You check your phone, trying to see if you have gotten any messages from Gojo. The two of you were supposed to arrive together, but he had messaged you a couple hours prior to your original meeting time to say he would meet you here instead. You wondered what he had to do around midnight in the first place, and ultimately hoped that he was alright. Still, your phone remains empty of any new messages, only meaningless notifications from your social media and student email. Tucking your phone back inside your pocket, your eyes go in search of the kitchen island, knowing that’s where you can find some red solo cups.

With one in hand and the giant ladle in the next, you pour out a small amount in the cup to try. Unfortunately, some of these frat boys didn’t know how to make a good spiked punch, simply throwing in whatever they had. You grimace, “Too sweet.” Not enough alcohol, you concluded, and reached for the bottle of Don Julio. 

With your back facing the crowd, a pair of brown eyes are focused on you. Fidgeting hands that start to sweat and his face turning red. Nanami’s eyes widen as he knows he has to take this opportunity. You’re here and alone. It wasn’t what he anticipated. 

After eavesdropping on your conversation with Gojo, Nanami wanted to see you in a different lighting. Not in class or where the two of you are at another conference. No, he wanted to see you in your natural element. Unfortunately, with Gojo of all people, he would have gotten to see you nonetheless. And now to see that you were alone, without the aforementioned in sight? The gods were answering his prayers, but at the wrong time.

His feet were moving on their own accord, approaching you without a second thought. It couldn’t have been the drink. He barely took any sips of it, the cup still half-full. Face heated up as his hands were clammy, he started to shake as he stood behind you. How did you manage to make a simple dress to look so amazing, the tight-fitted fabric hugging at your curves. It made him feel inadequate in his simple t-shirt and jeans. Wiping off his sweaty hands, he shoved them in his pocket, finally ready to tell you ‘hi’ when you’re turning around suddenly.

You squeal the moment you feel something wet, most of the remnants of your cup going to waste on you. Mouth falling open as your entire body stiffens, you’re shocked to see Nanami was the culprit. He’s muttering something under his breath, Shit, before he’s stuttering and stammering on apologies. “I—I’m so— I’m so sorry—”

“Damn!” A voice cuts off the nervous boy, Gojo finally in sight as he approaches you. He’s dressed in all black, sporting a black jumpsuit with his hands stuffed in the pockets of the sweater. “I’m only a couple of minutes late and you’ve already made a mess of yourself.”

He reaches for the roll of paper towels, swirling a couple of sheets around his hands before ripping it off and handing it to you. It makes Nanami feel foolish for not immediately rushing to your aid, watching how you smile with deep gratitude as you accept it and ignore his existence entirely. Nanami falters easily in the other man’s tall appearance, taking four steps back and you’re not even looking in his direction anymore, Gojo taking away all the attention. Nanami can’t quite understand how he does it? How does he get away with seemingly almost everything that he does? Including stealing his girl.

“Sorry you had to come by yourself,” Gojo smiles at you sheepishly. “Something came up with my dad, and he…”

Gojo trails off, failing to meet your eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s freezing up. He’s been becoming a better liar everyday, as he believes. He usually said the first thing that came to mind and ran with it, his confidence so strong that it was usually excused for the horrible execution. However, your eyes were so open and inviting, waiting for his explanation that it made him falter. He let out an exasperated sigh before you’re fanning him off. 

“Don’t worry,” you rested a hand on his shoulder. “Things come up, and it’s your dad after all. If it was one of my parents, I wouldn’t have even bothered showing up.”

Fuck, he curses to himself. Why are you so understanding? He thinks back to the dinner conference and how you were so open to listening to his problems, trying your best to help him even if you were blind to the situation. You just had this light air to you that made him want to spill all his secrets to you. He breathes, “Yeah…”

“Is your dad alright, though?” you tilt your head in concern, pulling Gojo from his train of thought. Did he just… What did you say again? Shit, he curses to himself. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods. “He’s fine. He’s just—”

A blood-curdling scream is heard before everyone starts to run. Everything happens so fast as people start scattering in every other direction before two large pairs of feet vibrate against the marble countertop, the loud bang echoing as you and Gojo turn around to see…

Gojo’s shoulders drop, as he curses yet again. FUCK! 

This villain’s obviously a student. With a lanky stupor as he’s dressed in warm colors ranging from red to orange, in the middle of his bodysuit a broken-heart as he holds up a bow and arrow. He’s glaring right down at you and Gojo, snarling like a mad dog with the way he grows in anger. 

Instinctively, you clutch onto Gojo’s arms, your grip tightening in fear as you gasp, “Oh my God.”

With one foot behind him, Gojo pulls you along. 

“Get back,” he says before the weapon is pointed right in between the two of you, before ultimately right at you. All Gojo can do is throw profanities in his mind before pulling on you harder. “Duck!”

He drags you, forcing you into the slew of people that are still around, scared but still curious to see what’s to happen. The both of you scramble away before you’re out of sight, hiding in the hallway, trying to find a room to seek refuge. Gojo follows behind you, twisting one of the handles to find it empty. With so much cluttering filling the area, you could yourself in between something, he figures. Thinking fast, he pushes you inside without telling you, blurting out, “I’ll be right back! Keep the door locked!”

You stumble on your feet, nearly falling over before trying to run back to the door. You pull it open, in search of the boy that was just with you as you cry out, “Wait!”

However, he’s already gone, and turning the corner is the very villain he’s trying to protect you from. Oh no, you shudder, running inside of the room, leaving the door open in hopes to not call attention to yourself. With so many things lying around, it overwhelms you. However, hearing the clunky footsteps drawing nearer has you acting fast, dropping down to the floor and pushing at the garbage that lurks underneath the bed. You pull your feet in, trying to remain as concealed as possible as you hear the deep voice that grunts and groans in annoyance. “Where are you?”

You try to remain calm, keeping your breath steady as you shut your eyes. You start to worry about Gojo and how he ran off, wondering where he could’ve possibly gone in a time like this? Did he ditch you? No, he wouldn’t have bothered trying to get you to safety if he did. Did something come up? Did he possibly go back to try and fight this maniac?

Inwardly, you scoff, finding the idea completely ridiculous as you remain in hiding. The villain’s footsteps start getting quieter, making your shoulders drop as you stay in place. Something tickles on the back of your leg, making you kick at the sensation before you feel it again. With a hand, you go to bat at it when that same sensation runs up to your fingers. Your heart races when your eyes land on the brown palmetto bug, not thinking twice when you let out a frightened screech, shaking your hand erratically to get it off you. 

—

Chat Noir grumbles in annoyance at how quickly he’s lost the red-suited villain. The house is mostly empty now, except for the few lurkers. Looks of relief flashes over them at the sight of the hero, wordlessly pointing out the direction the akumatized student went. In a small whisper, Gojo voices out his thank you before dashing off in the very direction. The direction he realizes that you’re in. He slaps his leg as he begins to run when he hears a scream, two voices ringing out before he busts open the door to the room. 

“Where is he?” the deep voice shouts, a hand around your wrists as he drags you up on your knees. You tremble, trying to pull away from his grasp as you struggle. You shake your head, “I don’t know! Let me go!”

“No!” the villain shouts. “I need both of you. If I want to exact my vengeance, I need you and your pretty little boyfriend here.”

“That’s no way to treat a girl!” Making his presence known, Chat Noir doesn’t hesitate to attack, catching the villain off-guard and knocking you right out of his hold. The villain falls to the ground while the hero is right back on his feet in a matter of seconds. On your knees, you watch the chain of events happen as the akumatized villain sneers at Chat Noir. The feline hero nudges towards the door, motioning you to run for safety. You don’t hesitate, turning your back on the two before running out the door and taking a rough turn. 

It’s all in a flurry, but you feel yourself collide into someone else. Two high-pitched squeaks leaving the both of you before it fully registers just who you’re in front of. Your mouth falls agape, seeing the ladybug-hero next. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

You nod, speechless for a second before pointing in the direction you were coming from. “They’re in that room.”

Ladybug looks back to where you're pointing, nodding and taking one step forward before she feels a hand on her wrist. You, again. Eyes filtered with worry, your eyebrows furrow in deep concern. “And, if by any chance, if you see a guy with white hair and blue eyes— his name is Gojo— can you let me know? We got lost and— and— I want to make sure he’s safe.”

Ladybug quickly comforts you, assuring that she’ll try her best to let you know if her friend is alright, hurrying you to get to safety before she’s dashing to meet her partner in crime, helping him defeat this next villain. 

You run straight out the door, now walking down the pavement as everyone’s outside. Hushed voice that try peeking through the windows, your attention goes to your phone as you pull up your messages with Gojo. You quickly type, Where are you??? before trying to find his face amidst the crowd. However, you never find his face or receive a message back. After a half an hour of waiting, you give up. Letting out a saddened sigh, coming to terms that he ditched you, you walk down the sidewalk, heading on home.

“Hey!” A voice calls out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The playfulness in his tone, you don’t need to see him to know who it is. “Gojo!” 

Relief is flooding you as you’re spinning on your heel and running up to meet Gojo. You should be mad at him for leaving you in the dark, you are mad at him for leaving you in the dark. Immediately you stop in your tracks before you’re engulfing him in a hug, instead, slapping at his chest as you frown. “Where the fuck were you?”

You pack a heavy hit, making him wince as he clutches his chest. “I’m sorry! When I ran out I was trying to find help and by the time I was coming back, he had gotten to me.”

His reason sounded viable enough, your anger dissipates before you’re cocking your head to the side. “It’s weird because he was looking for you,” you hum. Gojo’s eyes widened, thinking he’d be caught in his lie. “Must’ve been after he nearly kidnapped me…”

“What?” Gojo gasps, feigning ignorance as he changes the topic. “You got found? Didn’t I tell you to hide?”

“Yeah, but you pushed me into a disgusting room,” you frown as the two of you start walking side-by-side on the concrete pavement. “A roach crawled on me and broke my composure.”

Gojo shouldn’t laugh. He really shouldn’t, but the guffaw he lets out echoes in the night as the two of you walk home. His face gets red as you slap at his chest. You pout, though the corner of your lips start curving upward as well. You let out a giggle as you say, “It’s not funny!”

“I’m… sorry! I’m sorry!” Gojo calms down, wiping away a stray tear. “But it kind of is.”

Walking alongside each other, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. Gojo feels so relaxed around you, feeling how his muscles contract as his posture loosens. Together, your footsteps become in sync with one another as the two of you are comforted in the sound. Conversations strike up at random moments, your eyes lighting up whenever the two of you grow passionate about certain subjects. 

You were never one to develop a crush so easily on someone, but Gojo was just so charismatic and charming. You weren’t even sure if he was purposely trying. Were you misinterpreting his kindness and fun personality for reciprocated feelings or did he feel the same way towards you? You felt like this was too fast to be showing romantic interest in someone, but in the same breath, it could all be natural and not a fleeting moment. Your mind started to fill with so much uncertainty that it started making you feel nauseous. Inwardly groaning, this was why you always chose to ignore those romantic clusters of feelings. They were too time-consuming. 

Arriving in front of your door, Gojo watches you search in your little bag for your keys. You pull out a keychain, stacked with decorative pieces of metal before finding the small device used to open the door. He stands there, hands shoved in his pockets when you fling open the front door. Right as you do, you hear the soft meows of the stray cat the two of you co-parent. Immediately you gush, bending down to pet the friendly feline, Gojo’s eyes bulging out in the process as he gasps. “She lets you touch her?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyebrows knitting together. “Does she not let—”

This time, it’s your turn to laugh. “Oh my gosh! She hates you!”

Gojo pouts, crossing his arms. “She does not hate me.”

And in efforts to prove you wrong, he bends down, trying to pet the cat, but she immediately reaches in and attempts to swipe at him, making Gojo jump back. You laugh, the jovial melody filling the night air. Gojo groans at the stray’s hatred for him, jutting out his bottom lip as you continue laughing at him. “It’s really not that funny.”

“Oh, but it is,” you giggle. “How does she not like you? You feed her, like, everyday.”

“I don’t know, but she just doesn’t,” Gojo frowns. “I’m good with other stray cats, but Peppermint just has a personal vendetta against me.”

“Now, I understand why she hates you,” you say. “Her name’s not Peppermint. It’s Misty.”

Gojo scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “She looks more like a Peppermint than a Misty.”

“If she did, she wouldn’t hate you so much,” you rebuttal. 

Gojo can’t remember the last time he had genuine feelings for someone. Genuine feelings meaning romantic, because he’s genuinely sure he hates Professor Masamichi. However, there’s this patter inside of his chest when he’s around you that makes him feel nauseated the more he fails to address it. You were a comfort to him amongst his hectic everyday life. He started waking up earlier, his body clock growing accustomed quickly to the early hours even if he only got four hours of sleep the night prior. His body just longed to see you, watching you through the glass sliding door feeding the cat as you would talk to it for a few minutes before heading inside. It felt a bit stalkerish to do that, but it brought so much comfort to him.

He tried contacting Geto and Shoko, wanting to apologize, but each message he would type up, he’d delete and every time his finger hovered over the button in attempts to start a group call, he hesitated and never ended up clicking the green call icon. He knows he could fix things with an apology, but he still wouldn’t be able to tell them the full truth and he’d feel they’d only go back to square one, repeating this never-ending cycle of lies. 

You. You were a breath of fresh air that he needed, making his days feel a bit lighter. How did you do that? 

Your door swings closer inwards as the two of you start talking again. You’re leaning against the walls while he slouches, still towering over you. Smiles thrown at each other back and forth before a huge yawn is dragged from your lips. It’s a long one, leading you to stretch as you hear the creaks of your muscles. 

“Well, I’ve already kept you up long enough,” Gojo straightens his posture, your yawn becoming contagious as he belts one out as well. “And it’s past my bedtime as well. Don’t wake up at five a.m.”

“Who’ll feed Misty then?”

“Peppermint can be fed a little bit later than usual,” he smiles. You roll your eyes, shaking your head, “If we’re going to be co-parenting this cat, we need to agree on a name.”

“We can, but it’ll be Peppermint in the long run.”

“You can’t be too sure. I’ve been told I can be very convincing.”

“How so?” 

“Mmm…” You scrunch up your nose, a mischievous smile on your face as you feign pondering. “I’ll let you know another day.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Gojo raises his eyebrows. “Good night.”

“Good night,” you reciprocate as he begins to walk down the brick pavement before stopping in his tracks. He looks back at you as you’re pulling open the door, “Hopefully I was the crowd you needed tonight?”

His eyes look hopeful as he waits for your response. Your eyes sparkle when you say, “Just the one I needed.” 

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[my-autism-adhd-blog]

I don’t want to look at spoilers because I want to be surprised. But at the same time, I’d like to know what happens next.

I’m a walking contradiction.

Introverted Neurodivergent Meme Page

[5hrignold]

this

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[intotheelliwoods]

I have one more thing I want to work on before I get back into updating 2AL regularly, but until then......

[jwooyoung]

hi everyone I miss you 🥺

[harukapologist]

Milgrammies! The ever dreaded (at least by me and Haruka-fan friends) birthday tl is in less than 48 hours, Haruka's birthday tl. So

Expand on what you predict may happen in the tags if you want, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I put mine in the tags of the original post but in short, I think he'll talk/be talked to by Mikoto :3c

[vanmarkus]

I hope you'll remember me fondly because by the time we get to episode 6, I'll be in the ground, perished

[mars-ipan]

overcoming anxiety (through practicing the things that scare you) is so interesting. i used to be horrified of taking up space or alerting other people of my presence. now i'm compelled to tell strangers i like their outfits or hair or earrings- on bad days i tell maybe a quarter of them. do i still overthink it? absolutely. but i call attention to myself to tell someone else my opinion. and with the way they tend to smile and tell me "thank you!" i'm pretty sure it's taken to heart.

i used to be horrified of making phone calls as well. this is one i'm still getting over- i just Don't Like Doing It. i used to have a phone call routine that i still joke about- realize i need to call someone, cry, avoid it for a few days, suck it up, write a script, memorize the script, cry again, final script read, make the call with the script in front of me. and i would be Exhausted by the end of it. i don't cry when i need to call people anymore. i'm even needing scripts less and less- i've found out that people actually won't kill me if i talk a little too fast or stumble on my words. i doubt i'll ever like making phone calls- i especially hate robots (i'm afraid they'll mishear me and direct me wrong or a person will suddenly show up and i won't be prepared)- but i can make them now.

i get overwhelmed really easy. just a thing that happens to me. my brain is really really good at taking one task and breaking it up into thousands of little tasks and it feels like i'm drowning. if i try to make it fewer larger tasks then it starts to feel insurmountable. i was completely lost on how to deal with this (other than avoid until you get that panic attack and can do work in the post-catharsis calm until 6:00 AM) until one night when my dad (who i often meet late at night due to overlapping mental illness symptoms) asked me how to eat an elephant. i looked at him, confused, and he said "one bite at a time." that was way more effective than any other analogy i've seen has been. "light at the end of a tunnel"- i don't feel like i'm moving forward, i feel like i'm scaling a wall. "steps on a trail"- i can see my destination, but it feels impossible to move forward. but eating an elephant? that sums it up perfectly. this huge task which seems impossible at a glance. but it must be done. so you eat the elephant, a bite at a time. every time i'm overwhelmed i repeat that phrase to myself. it hasn't made any major changes yet, but it keeps me calm enough to start before i hit the panic attack, which i'll take.

i was such a perfectionist growing up- i actually thought it was a good thing (school always taught me to strive for perfection). but it made me scared to try new things- if i wasn't immediately good at them, then it clearly wasn't for me. i'm still not great at starting new hobbies, but i try a lot of new things within the hobbies i already have. i test out different ways of making art, i try new puzzle games i don't understand, etc. and the feeling of steady improvement reminds me that i don't need to be good right away. some of the most satisfying moments don't come from immediately being good- they come from achieving that skill over time. i'd like to try to learn to sew soon.

idk it's interesting. i rewire my own brain's fear response by doing the Horrifying Thing enough times for me to understand that no i will not die. and while i'm doing it it feels like nothing is changing. i get so stressed every time- it can actually take a lot out of me (turns out fight-or-flight burns a lot of energy). but i look back at then vs. now and i realize how far i've come, and i can't help but think "huh. neat"