#that’s why they only but her on patrols now
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p1astr81 · 9 hours ago
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I love you, dad
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in which: Oscar and Ryder face each other for the final time.
pairing: spiderman!oscar piastri x reader
warnings: angst, injury, cursing, kinda short, lowkey corny dialogue, lmk if there’s any others!
an: this will be the final part, thank you to everyone who has been reading!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅
It was late. One in the morning to be exact. Oscar went patrolling after dinner at yours, but he couldn’t get something off his mind. Which led him to Tony’s doorstep, fist balled and banging repeatedly on his front door.
Eventually, Oscar’s fist met free air as Tony threw open the door. The older man was disheveled, hair a mess and eyes half open. “What, kid? What do you want?” He asked, highly annoyed.
“Is it possible for Ryder West to know who I am?”
Tony blinked repeatedly. “What?”
“Well, cause, he saw me—like—out of uniform, and I don’t know he was looking at me while talking about spiders so it felt like-“
Tony interrupted his rambling with a sigh. “He doesn’t know you, kid. Not unless you told him.” A pause. “And why would he see you out of uniform?”
Oscar stumbled over himself. “You know what, come in. I feel like this is going to be a long one.”
The door was held open for him. Oscar found his way to the couch and sat with his head hung. “So, I have a girlfriend.”
“Yes. I know. She keeps you from patrolling every night, this isn’t new information.” Tony twirled his wrist in a circle, motioning for him to continue. “Well, her dad is…” Oscar scoffs, stalling to avoid Tony’s reaction.
“Her dad is Ryder.”
Tony’s brows shot up, his mouth gaping slightly. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming. But that’s a tough problem for you kid. Real tough.” Oscar just nodded.
“So I take it she doesn’t know her dad is evil Elsa?”
Oscar shook his head.
“Yikes.” Tony’s hand landed on Oscars shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.” His remorse was minuscule as he stood up, walking away.
Oscar watched with his brows drawn together in confusion. “Mr. Stark? Where are you going?”
“To bed. Goodnight Oscar.”
۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ
The landing was messy and uncoordinated tonight. He was trying to balance two cups of hot cocoa and a box of two chocolate donuts while also sticking a clean landing on the rooftop. Safe to say he failed. The drinks splashed on his boots and he just barely salvaged the donuts when he stumbled.
“Package retrieved!” He cheered as he sat down on the ledge beside you. You laughed at him and took your cup from his hand. “You make such a good delivery boy.” You bumped your shoulder with his.
He flipped up his mask just enough to eat, and through a mouth full of donut responded with, “glad to be of service!”
You chuckled under your breath.
After the both of you had finished your donuts, Oscar hummed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he continued once your eyes met his through the mask. “And you don’t have to answer but… why do your parents have a different last name?”
You shrugged. “My mom was an only child. Grandpa had no one to carry on the middle name, so they gave it to me at birth.”
Oscar nodded in understanding, his eyes on his swinging feet. After a moment, he looked up at you smiling. “You know, the lady at the donut shop was gawking at me the whole time. Super uncomfortable.”
You scanned him, eyes enamored. A tender smile. “Can’t blame her.”
Oscar scoffed a laugh. “Oh come o—mfph” he was cut off abruptly by your lips on his. Subconsciously, his body gave into your touch, leaning closer and getting both of his hands on you. “Gonna- mhh- gonna- be seen.” Oscar managed to mutter between kisses.
You broke away and tucked your hair behind your ears. Two hands placed on his biceps, you shoved him off the ledge and onto the flat roof.
“Now we’re out of sight.” You gave a cheeky smile before diving back in.
Before your lips even made contact, Oscar’s warm body disappeared from below you. He was perked up, his mask messily yanked back down over his face. He was frantically searching in every direction.
“What is it?” You we’re cautious.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.” He breathed out. His senses were at an all time high, his body screaming at him that danger was inevitable, but the city looked normal.
“Is it your… tingle?”
Oscar nodded, in a trance.
Then his head snapped to the left just as a boulder of ice flattened a car. They heard the shattering and the crunching metal from yards away.
“Shit,” you gasped, a hand finding Oscar’s arm quickly. It secured you.
He got to his feet. “Get inside. Find a basement, or get under a sturdy table.”
“Oscar,”
He looked back at you.
“Be safe. Please.”
Oscar nodded before taking off.
Mid-flight, he activated his nano-suit. In the case of any sharp icicles flying his way, It would protect him better than the suit he wore currently.
Subzero swiveled on his floating block of ice to face Oscar’s direction. “Ah, and the bug is here!” His voice was loud, filled with disdain and malice. An ice shard, the size of Oscar’s own head came flying at him as he swung from building to building. He had to drop a couple of stories to avoid it, losing any elevation ground he had on Ryder.
“Arachnoid!” Oscar corrected.
“Doesn’t make a difference to me, I’ll squash you all the same.”
Oscar did not doubt the truth in that statement. He was very aware that it only took one boulder-sized ice cube to flatten him. But he wasn’t worried. He was quick. He could dodge anything that came his way. His main concern remained with the innocent people of the city.
Oscar swung underneath Ryder, hoping to draw him away from the crowds. Unfortunately for Oscar, he didn’t take the bait.
Cursing under his breath, toes pointed to the sky, he launched himself into the air and stuck to the side of a building. Eye level with his own girlfriend’s father.
“Last time wasn’t enough for you?” His laugh taunted Oscar. Another shard came right for him. He flipped, managing to web one of Ryder’s hands, and landed on the building opposite. The shard pierced the window, shattering its panes.
A blade of ice materialized in Subzero’s other hand. He made quick work of slicing the web.
“You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”
Oscar rolled his eyes at the man’s incessant yammering. He tried to web him up again, but he predicted Oscar’s moves. His webs met empty air.
It was a constant game between them. A web shot at Ryder. Ice flying in Oscar’s direction. It was a constant back and forth, and neither of them were winning. They’ve moved a couple of blocks from where they first began, and Oscar started to realize they were getting dangerously close to your place of work, where you were currently hiding out.
When he tried to move back in the other direction, he was hit with a solid rock of ice that blew him back, right onto a rooftop.
Your rooftop, he realized almost immediately.
Shit, he cursed quietly, trying to get away but his web was turned to ice, eliminating it’s elasticity and shattering it. He went rolling back on to the concrete rooftop, letting out a small grunt.
When he looked up from where he lay, Ryder had joined him. Oscar hoped you had the mind to get out of there.
He tried to get up, but Ryder had kicked him back down. Now a firm boot pressed his body against the concrete, cementing him in place. “I admire your determination.” Ryder’s boot pressed harder, earning a small groan out of Oscar. “But you were never going to win this.” He feigned sympathy.
Oscar’s ears picked up the smallest sound. Footsteps. He turned his head in its direction, finding you at its source.
Eyes shifting down to where you grasped a dull knife in your hand, his heart leaped to his throat. An attempt at communication was made, through the subtle shifting of his eyes. You hadn’t picked up on it.
You continued to advance, but your foot crunched on a broken piece of ice. Without looking, Ryder shot out an ice shard in your direction.
A broken gasp was punched out of Oscar’s lungs. You stumbled, the knife falling from your hands. Your hands surrounded the icicle that was impaled in your stomach. “Don’t!” Oscar shouted. Your movements halted.
Oscar was quick to web up the knife, and plunged it into Ryder’s foot once in his hand. Shocked, Ryder stepped back, allowing Oscar to get up. He ran to you as you continued to stumble. You tried to stay on your feet. You were disoriented. That much was clear.
His instinct took over. Webs were shot across the rooftop. As many as he could manage. He stuck Ryder to the very ledge the both of you sat on each night.
You slumped against Oscar. Heavy breaths. Eyes half open. An attempt at a smile. A hand coming up to cup his cheek.
The tears fell fast. His fear undeniable. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He was unsure which one of you he was trying to reassure, but he kept repeating the words.
Your name was called. A tone of horror. Your father. He struggled against his restraints. You squinted at him. Tried to identify him. You couldn’t. Not when your eyes were as unfocused as they were.
“Friday, alert Mr. Stark.”
“Right away.”
“Oscar,” you breathed out. Affection.
A shaky breath. “I’m gonna get you to a hospital.” He stood. You slumped against him. “Hold on as tight as you can for me, yeah?” Oscar was choking on his own tears at this point.
“But… I’ll get blood on your suit.” A feeble laugh. A shuttered sob. He was failing at holding it together. “That’s okay. I can wash it.”
Oscar shot off into the air. A yell of objection following him.
A slight whimper. “Hurts.” You managed. “I know.” He repeated over again.
Tears blurred his vision, nearly running into a stoplight. “You’re a reckless swinger.” You muttered. Oscar gave a weak laugh at the fact you’d called him a swinger.
He landed right outside the ER. Your legs gave way. “Woah, hey. Okay.” He was sure his mask would be soaked through with tears if it wasn’t for the nano technology.
He picked you up bridal style. “I need a doctor!” He pleaded, not caring how broken his voice sounded.
۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ
You shifted, letting out a low grunt. Your abdomen housed a dull, throbbing pain. You tried to move your arm but it’s mobility was restricted by a light weight.
Oscar’s head. Eyes closed. Asleep. His eyebrows were furrowed. His body tense. “Os,” your other hand threaded it’s fingers through his hair.
He stirred but didn’t wake. “Hey,” you poked his shoulder. He slowly lifted his head, blinking a couple of times before gasping loudly. “You’re up.” He was shocked, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you into him. He let go when you winced. “Sorry.” He stepped back.
You made him room on the bed, allowing him to sit next to you. “Where are my parents?”
Oscar’s eyes could no longer meet yours. His hands were suddenly fascinating. “Your mom is on a work trip.”
You blinked. “How long have I been out?”
“Two days. Medically induced coma. They said it would help with recovery.” You nodded. “And my dad?”
Oscar bit his lip. “He’s…” he sighed. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.” He shook his head. Your eyes widened. “What? Is he dead?” You were panicked.
“No! No… just away.” Oscar reassured. You sat up, wincing at the pain from the sudden movement. “Away? What the hell does that mean?” You demanded.
Oscar met your eyes. A deep breath. “Mr. Stark took him to a high security prison. In the middle of the Ocean.”
A wave of different emotions crashed over your expression at his words. Confusion. Sadness. Anger.
Realization.
Oscar’s hesitance when they met. On the rooftop, how he knew your name. The familiarity of his voice. “Oh,” you put the pieces of the puzzle together. Your eyes became glossed over.
Then the denial came.
You shook your head, the motion never ending. “He…” A shaky breath. “He wouldn’t have…” Oscar pulled something out of his pocket. A folded piece of paper.
“He wrote this for you.” He offered the small square to you. You took it between your nimble fingers, unfolding it carefully. You swallowed your fear, leaning into Oscar as your eyes met the first line of the page.
To my daughter,
I hope this gets to you, alive and well. I want to first apologize to you for the secrecy on my part. I thought it was better to keep this from you. My alternate self, subzero, wasn’t something you needed to know about. It would have put you in more danger than you already were.
I believe it is important that I tell you exactly why I became this. Twelve years ago, when the aliens came to New York and the world first became aware of the Avengers, I believed I needed to protect you from them. I believed they were frauds. They caused irreversible damage to the city and the people, I believed they truly didn’t care about the people. They only cared about looking heroic.
So I vowed to take out each and every one of them. I’d been building high powered weapons ever since then. One of them went wrong, and somehow changed the composition of my cells and DNA. That’s how I ended up with these powers.
They were never meant to hurt you. I always wanted to protect you. This wasn’t what I wanted to happen. I’m sorry for it all, and that I had to end up in this prison without saying goodbye to you. I was angry with that boy that night. I believed it was supposed to be me by your side. I didn’t understand his connection with you, why he held you so tightly and why his voice shook when he reassured you. Until they told me who he was.
I know now that my perception of the avengers was wrong. They truly are trying to help those who cannot help themselves. I regret it.
I also want you to know that I approve of your boy. I assume you know he’s spider-man. I don’t know if that was part of your reason for choosing him but it doesn’t matter. Oscar is a kind, confident, and resilient young man. It’s become apparent that he cares for you deeply. For that, I truly believe he is what’s best for you. I don’t think there’s anyone I’d approve of more.
If this gets through, please write back to me. I don’t know if they’ll let you visit, but please ask Oscar. Maybe with your connections, they’ll make an exception. If not, I’ll write to you every week.
I love you,
Dad.
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bwat5-blog · 16 hours ago
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Collected Thoughts On Caitlyn From Last Few Days
**Spoilers From All Of Arcane**
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So... as I have said many times in the past my thoughts come in bits and pieces over a day or two when I get locked onto a topic. That leads to the small blurbs all hovering around the same subject more or less. But this one seemed worth sort of putting all in one.
Amanda Overton confirmed the use of "The Grey" was strategic to a pinpoint but left the question to the asker if that made it forgivable or not. That is of course for each person to decide, but I will say this:
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A- It isn't fatal. You can harp all you like about what may happen later. Vi may have CTE from getting punched in the head over and over. The shimmer in Jinx's blood may actually be breaking down her body little-by little over time, and same for Sevika. Timeline hopping may have irreparably damaged the cellular structure of Ekko's body and he only has days to live. We can only operate with what we know. There are many, MANY characters who have been openly exposed and appear to be just fine. And before you mention those images from Caitlyn's study when she is learning about the Grey, there is big difference between growing up surrounded by something every day of your life, and being exposed in a single targeted incident. B- The alternative was a full-scale Enforcer "invasion" armed with hex-tech, or. The strike team sans something that cleared innocents out of areas and left enemy soldiers standing and armed, instead of incapacitated and arrested.
2. Zaun is not an independent nation.
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A- We know this since ya know.. they were voting on it before Jinx blew them up. B- This means that while Zaun it a separate city. It still falls completely under the jurisdiction of the council. C- When Caitlyn leads the strike team and uses a targeted, non-lethal crowd-dispersal chemical weapon, she is doing so not under any heading of war. But of peace keeping (using the term technically not emotionally. I understand they were not peaceful) and law-enforcement in a place that strictly legally speaking she has every ounce of authority to be in. (I am strictly speaking of legality and technical definition here. They were essentially a swat team sent to a really dangerous area. Not an invading army. Not a justification or excuse. But if we want to talk about this stuff we should do it properly). D- Zaun is under the council's jurisdiction. The council all agreed to martial law and let Caitlyn become the commander. Therefore this is the situation:
Caitlyn is the leader of a very small country with two cities, both under her control.
City A- Where she lives now.
City B- The other one. Where a dangerous terrorist is hiding who has almost killed her repeatedly, just assassinated three of their rulers and blew up a building, killed more than six enforcers and blew up another building, and as far as they know probably orchestrated the full scale attack at the memorial.
So what does Caitlyn actually approve? City B will be placed under lockdown until this woman who is quite clearly a massive threat to everyone's safety is caught.
Yep. there it is folks. "I am placing the city you all have given me complete authority over under control until we catch the person who tried to kill me,and has killed a bunch of us already. We will have patrols and set up checkpoints. People who violate the law will be arrested.
"Arrests require cause"
"Why is peace the justification for violence?"
She doesn't approve or give permission for any of the rest of that shit. the brutality, the experiments, none of it. And don't misunderstand me none of this is to say she didn't do anything wrong. But the dialogue around her is COMPLETELY. INSANE.
"War Crimes!"
"Fascist!"
"Dictator!"
Yall. She is literally getting up early to meet with a trade guild so they can bitch at her over supply issues. Dark Lord Kiramman she is not.
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yall-batman-fanfic · 11 hours ago
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Hiya Mom! | BatFamily x Reader!Magician
Synopsis: A montage of the many times the Batfamily starts a call with “Hiya, Mom!” to Vivian, and she knows exactly what it’s for.
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No coffee, no cereal, no orange or milk.
When was the last time he went grocery shopping, Dick thought as he slammed his refrigerator door closed. Even his cupboards were empty of anything. What surprised him more is the fact there weren’t any more leftovers for him to eat!
Maybe he should just call for pizza.
Yeah, he’ll just pizza.
Like a cornflakes pizza.
Or…
Taking his phone he went through his contacts and saw the very first person on the emergency contacts list and dialed.
“Dick?” Vivian greeted at the otherline. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“Hiya, Mom!” Dick said with an upbeat tone. Maybe he was too upbeat. “Tsk, so how is… how are things?”
Silence.
Then a sigh.
“It’s six in the morning, I haven’t gotten out of bed–Bruce is here with me, shocker—”
“What do you mean by that?” Dick heard Bruce at the background.
“It means it’s either you got home early from patrol last night or you didn’t. So, what’,” he heard a snap of a finger.
Appearing at his table was a huge bowl of cereal with milk already, a glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee, then a waffle at the side. 
“Thanks, Mom,” Dick grinned.
“No problem, kiddo. I’ll head over to Bludhaven to help you grocery shopping after work. Now, can I go back to bed? My first class doesn’t start until ten.”
“Yeah, yeah! Thanks! Bye!”
~ * ~
Jason would never call for an SOS if he had the situation within the control of his finger tips. But this one. This was way out of his control and he and Roy were out of ammo while these fuckers had a machine gun. Correction. Machine guns stationed at every exit point. 
“So, what now?” Roy asked. “I’m out of arrows now.”
Jason got out his phone. “Backup.”
“You didn’t tell me we had backup—and you’re calling your Mom.”
“Hi, baby bird,” Roy pressed his ear at the other side of Jason’s phone to hear Vivian’s voice. “Is that gun fire I hear?”
“Hiya, Ma! Gunfire? Just a little,” Jason said with a sweet and upbeat tone that made Roy turn to his best friend with a pointed look. Where did that come from? “So, how are things in Gotham?”
“That sounds like a lot of guns,” Alfred pointed out. 
Was he on speaker?
“Am I on speaker?” Jason asked.
“No, the guns are just really loud,” Vivian answered.
“HI, MRS. P!” Roy called out making Jason wince.
They heard Vivian laugh. “Hi Roy, glad to hear you. Both of you.”
“Listen, Ma, I was thinking maybe —”
Snap.
The gunfire stopped.
Jason grinned. “Thanks, Ma! I’ll get you something on my way back!” 
“Goodluck on the rest of the mission, baby bird! Love ya!”
“Love you too!” Jason and Roy said and the call ended.
“Hey, do you think I can also start calling her Ma and have her on speed dial?” Roy asked Jason.
“What? No! I’m the only one who gets to call her Ma!”
~ * ~
Tim couldn’t move. All he can do was use the voice command on his phone.
“Call Viv,” Tim told the phone.
Calling Viv-Mom
A few rings.
“Tim, why are you  calling at this hour?” Vivian’s voice sounded like he disturbed her sleep. It was past midnight. Bruce went on patrol and gave Red Robin the night off. He was supposed to be in bed to catch some sleep but he snuck back to the Cave and did more work. Now he was greatly regretting the seventy-two hours of no-sleep he’s been doing.
“Hiya, Mom,” he tried to say.
A sigh.
The call ended.
“Viv?”
“Okay, Detective,” he felt her hand on his shoulder, then hauled it over hers so she could help him walk. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Thanks, Viv,” he muttered. “I should have just stayed in bed.”
“I told you. It’s why Batman gave you the night off.”
“I know.”
“Okay, let’s get you to bed.”
“Can we get a snack first?” 
“No. Bed, Tim. Go to bed.”
~ * ~
There was something that Dick said about his stepmother’s “Mom senses” that Damian didn’t really believe to be true until now. Dick said that if he said this specific phrase, Vivian would pop out of nowhere or the thing you want would pop out of nowhere instantly. Damian, at first, didn’t use that phrase because he wanted to prove to them all that he doesn’t need theri help. Especially hers. Later on, when things between him and Vivian were getting better, he didn’t want to use the magic phrase because he still doesn’t want to ask for help.
Then Tim said something that made sense—but he won’t tell Tim that. 
“It’s like asking for help without really saying help. It’s like Batman and Superman’s banana muffin safeword.”
But this one? All it takes is one call and –
“Sweety, what’s got you calling me at this hour?” Vivian asked. “Aren’t you at school in class?”
“I was,” Damian muttered, he was under the bleachers hiding from teachers and hall monitors. He didn’t know why but he was. Maybe it had something to do with Talia’s visit to his school earlier. “I — Hiya, Mom.”
The call ended, but as soon as it did he saw the familiar pair of boots standing on the ground before him. Vivian squatted down with a soft smile on her face. 
“Hey, wanna talk about it?”
“Later.”
“Okay, let’s just sit here then,” Vivian sat on the grass beside him. “I was thinking… maybe we could play hooky today.”
“What?”
“Skip school? Head to the arcade and play Cheese Vikings then get cheese overload nachos,” She nudged his elbow with a teasing smile. “Wouldn’t hurt if we did.”
“What about your work?”
“I’ll give them free period. My son needs me more.”
Damian smiled. “I would like that.”
“Okay, when you’re ready I can head back, get my car and drive back here and tell them that I’ll be taking my son out for the day because he’s not feeling too well.”
Damian leaned on Vivian and held her hand. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, Sweetheart.”
~  *  ~
Cassandra wasn’t one for words and she rarely uses the “Hiya, Mom!” phrase, but when she does it would always be at the manor. 
Walking to Vivian’s study in Wayne Manor, Cassandra knocked on the door before entering the room. Good idea, because when she went in, Bruce was just stepping away from Vivian after asking for a kiss.
“Cassie, what’s up?” Vivian asked, fixing her shirt.
Cassandra raised the tickets she hid in her pocket and said, “Hiya, Mom!”
Bruce chuckled at the phrase, remembering all the times Vivian got that from the others. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Have fun in the ballet.”
“We will,” Vivian grabbed her jacket and purse then joined Cassandra.
“Let’s go,” she hooked her arm around her daughter and they both left for their day out.
~ * ~
Duke doesn’t really call Vivian “mom”, so when he made the first “Hiya, Mom” to her it was: “Hiya, Mrs. P!”
“What happened, Bud?” Vivian asked.
“Sticky situation with Considements man.”
“You’re at school now, right?”
“Right but Signal ran into him. Now my uniform’s.”
Snap.
The stain on his school uniform disappeared. 
“Thanks, Viv!” 
“No problem. Hope Signal took care of Condiments Man, though. I’m wearing white today.”
“Yeah, got him to GCPD. But don’t take 15th heading to GU.”
“Noted. Thanks, buddy!”
Huh, they weren’t joking around about it. It does work. If only that phrase can also work for his test later.
~ * ~
Terry McGinnis has heard many things from the older and, some, retired members of the mask-and-tights-gang (Valerie’s words). From their tales of adventure, the code names, the code phrases. All were interesting and on point with their brand as the Bat Family, then there was the “Hiya, Mom!”
“Wait, you’re joking, right?” He said to her.
“Yeah, it works,” Valerie said, taking a drink from her coffee. “It worked for me when I needed an extraction when I hunted down Falcone and Maroni’s men after they put a hit on the family. Mom wasn't too happy when she got me though. She and Dad… actually, all of them weren’t.”
“So, Hiya Mom is the code for backup?”
“Yeah,” Valerie shrugged as if it were the most normal thing. “It throws them off guard.”
“In any situation.”
“Field,” Valerie counted with her fingers. “School. Work. Bad dates. Wrong meetups. You get the gist.”
“Thanks, I’ll take note of that. Wow, I didn’t know you guys had that code phrase for “backup”, always thought the Batman can do everything.”
“Oh, we use that a lot.”
Oh she got him good.
For the next few nights, Batman got the reputation of calling for “Mommy” when he was in trouble. Many of the criminals started teasing Terry about it too.
“I hate you,” Terry told Valerie through the comms. “Just get your ass here Mom!”
Valerie’s laughter came beside him where he hid behind the crates. She wore the Red Bat mask with the black tactical gear with the red leather coat. 
“Your Mommy finally here to help you out, Batman?” The goon called out, mocking him.
Terry hit his head on the crate.
“Break the suit and you’re running laps,” Bruce’s voice came through the comms.
“She started it!” Terry pointed at Valerie.
Valerie laughed even more.
“Both of you,” Bruce said in a stern voice, making them sit up straight. “Stop messing around. You’re in the line of fire! Valerie, stop teasing Terry. And from now on the hiya Mom code is for family use only. Not in the field.”
Valerie scoffed. “How come Jay gets to use it?”
“Because he doesn’t give a shit about his image.”
“And you do?” Terry raised a brow.
“Do you want Batman to be called a Mama’s boy?”
“No.”
“Then…”
“No more hiya mom on the field,” Valerie and Terry said.
“MAMA’S BOY!” The goons teased them.
“SHUT UP!” Valerie threw a smoke bomb at them.
Bruce rubbed his temples and sighed in defeat. Another improvisation brought by his daughter and Terry’s childish antics.
“I heard the call,” Vivian joined his side. “And I saw the tabloids about Batman being a Mama’s boy.”
“Great,” Bruce muttered.
“They’ll be fine,” Vivian handed him his medication.
“How come it’s only mom they have on speed dial and never me?”
Vivian smirked, “Because they know I won’t judge them and be a total ass to them.”
“Right.”
Leaning down, she placed a kiss on her husband’s cheek. “We still love you, Batman.”
“MOM!” Valerie and Terry called out.
Looking at the Batcomputer, Bruce and Vivian saw the large weapon pointed at the two vigilantes.
“Right,” Vivian snapped her fingers and the weapons suddenly stopped working. “Good luck with being a Mama’s boy, Batman.”
Bruce groaned and head his head at the back of his seat.
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kyywritess · 6 hours ago
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CHAPTER 11: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER
pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader
summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.
But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.
wc: 3.6k
an: Another cliffhanger I'm sorry, dont be mad at me.
---
If there was one thing Katsuki Bakugo wanted in his current life, it was you. After the car crash, rage consumed him, his mind bent on tearing apart the driver responsible. But everything shifted when he heard Kirishima's frantic voice calling his name. The look on Kirishima's face made his heart plummet into his stomach.
He had barely dropped the man he intended to pummel when blinding white lights flooded the area. Three cars screeched to a stop, surrounding him and Kirishima.
Then, a man stepped out—tall, pale, and with piercing green eyes that Bakugo could never forget. Moretti.
Instinct screamed at him to run to you, to grab you and flee. He tried, unleashing explosion after explosion, each blast aimed at Moretti and his men. But amidst the chaos, Kirishima had disappeared to get help, and Moretti’s men had reached the wreckage.
They were pulling you out of the car. Limp, lifeless. Blood poured from your leg, staining the ground in a deep crimson pool.
“Get in the car, or I shoot the girl,” Moretti commanded, his tone as cold as steel.
Bakugo froze. There was no real choice. His gaze locked on you—your ghostly pale skin, hair matted with blood and dirt. You looked strangely serene, as if you'd made peace with the horror unfolding.
He wouldn’t let them kill you. Not while he was alive to stop it.
So he got in the car, seething with suppressed fury as they bound a tourniquet around your leg and checked your pulse. The contradiction gnawed at him: Moretti threatened your life, yet kept you alive. Why?
Now he sat in a chair too small for his broad frame, wrists bound but mind racing. Across the room, you lay unconscious, your chest rising and falling faintly—a fragile sign of life.
Your skin was deathly pale, a dark wound visible just above the blindfold they’d placed over your eyes. The blindfold seemed ridiculous—after all, you’d been unconscious for hours.
For two excruciatingly silent hours, he hadn’t seen or heard anyone and it was driving him mad.
The warehouse they were in was heavily guarded. Armed men patrolled the perimeter like it was a military base. Inside the room, there was only one door and a single vent leading who knew where. Security cameras loomed over the room, scanning every corner—except behind him.
He flexed against the ropes, testing their strength. He had to get out, to get you somewhere safe.
It was painfully clear now that you weren’t working for Moretti. Guilt hit him like a sucker punch as he remembered his earlier accusations. He’d jumped to conclusions, faster than he ever had before.
The thought of you lying to him, keeping something so monumental hidden, had stung more than he’d imagined. But the sight of you now—broken, fragile—eclipsed his hurt.
If you both made it out of this, he’d spend every day making it up to you.
He knew Kirishima had to be rallying backup, but the real challenge was figuring out where they were.
And then there was James. Whatever your connection to him, Bakugo had to hope James had realized you were missing.
But right now, nothing else mattered except getting you out alive.
---
When you first came to, you were met with complete darkness. A coarse fabric was draped over your face, muffling your breath and adding to the suffocating sense of confinement. You tried to move, but your wrists were bound tightly behind you, the rough texture of rope biting into your skin. The faint ache in your leg brought the memories flooding back—the car crash, the chaos, and then... nothing.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of dripping water. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but the shift in the air told you all you needed to know: Moretti had found you.
The harsh scrape of a chair across concrete jolted you. You flinched instinctively, your pulse quickening as a familiar presence filled the room. That scent—carmel and musk, faint but distinct—was unmistakable.
“Stupid fucking chair.”
Bakugo’s voice cut through the darkness, low and gruff, filled with irritation.
Relief and dread tangled together in your chest. He was here. They had taken him too. Your heart sank at the realization. Not only had you been captured, but now the one person you’d tried to protect was caught in this nightmare with you.
You remained silent, your breathing shallow as you processed your surroundings. The pressure wrapped around your thigh was unmistakable—a makeshift tourniquet, crudely tied but effective. The pain was simmering, dulled only by the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
The scrape of Bakugo’s chair yanked you from your thoughts.
“Stop. Head hurts,” you muttered hoarsely, wincing at the sound of your own voice.
The noise ceased, leaving the room to drown in silence once more.
“Fuck, you’re alive,” Bakugo muttered, almost to himself.
“Mmm,” you hummed, your mind still foggy. “How’d Moretti get you?”
“How’d you know it was Moretti?”
The words slipped out before you could think. “He’s notorious for tying people up in chairs. Plus, I can feel him.”
“Feel him?”
“Are you gonna keep asking questions?” you shot back weakly.
His voice darkened, low and dangerous. “Are you gonna keep lying to me?”
The accusation hit you harder than you expected, but now wasn’t the time to argue. “I only lied to you because I care for you.”
“Right.”
The weight of his skepticism pressed down on you. You needed to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Do you have a blindfold on?”
“No, but hands are tied.”
The deadpan response caught you off guard, and before you knew it, laughter bubbled out of you. It wasn’t the right time, and you knew it, but the absurdity of the situation made your head spin.
“Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” Bakugo snapped, his irritation palpable.
You struggled to catch your breath between fits of giggles. “I’m sorry—it’s not funny… it’s just—how did they even capture you?”
“They rolled up on us after the crash,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “They were gonna kill you if I didn’t comply. I had no choice.”
The laughter died in your throat, replaced by a lump of guilt.
“Yeah, not so funny now,” he added bitterly.
You bit your lip, your mind racing. There was only one reason Moretti would take Bakugo—it wasn’t just about you anymore. Moretti had been watching, studying you, and he knew exactly what buttons to press.
“Katsuki—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he cut you off, already piecing it together.
“Why?” you whispered.
"Cause I couldn’t stand there and watch another man take you. Even if nothin’ made sense,” he murmured, the softness in his voice catching you off guard.
“I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you,” you said quietly.
“Did—was anything ever real?”
The question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Of course it was real. The way your heart beat for him was real. 
“The way I feel about you is real,” you said, your voice trembling.
You could feel his eyes on you, even through the darkness. A smile crept onto your face despite the situation. “Stop staring at me like that.”
“Wha—”
“I have a lot to explain to you,” you said, cutting him off.
“Yeah.”
“Is Kiri okay?” You asked, redirecting the conversation again.
“Yeah, he was able to escape before they got to him.”
Relief washed over you. The plan you and Kirishima had made flickered in your mind. He’d be on his way to the cabin now.
“Good,” you muttered.
Bakugo spoke up, an unusual softness to his voice. “M’sorry. Thought you were working with him.”
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “I’d never work for a person like Moretti.”
“Then how are you tied to him?”
“No relation. Just a scumbag I want dead,” you said bluntly.
“Tch. Tell me about it.”
“One day,” you promised, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll tell you everything. But right now, we don’t have time.”
The air shifted again, heavier now, as if Moretti’s presence loomed closer. You could sense it before it happened.
The sound of footsteps echoed from outside the room, growing louder. Bakugo stiffened in his chair, and you could feel his energy change, coiling like a spring ready to snap.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growled, his voice like thunder as the door creaked open and footsteps moved towards you. 
A pair of hands fiddled with the knot of your blindfold, yanking it away. Blinding white light seared your eyes, and you blinked rapidly to adjust. When your vision cleared, there he was: Moretti.
His piercing green eyes bored into yours with a predatory gleam, a smug smile spreading across his face. He looked older than you remembered, the years of prison etched into the lines around his mouth and eyes, but the malice was as strong as ever.
“Well, isn’t this a treat? Two of Japan’s finest, tied up like common prey,” Moretti drawled, his voice dripping with venom. “Dynamight, the explosive hothead. And Y/N, America's sweetheart. Tell me, do you think the public will mourn you more if I kill you together or one at a time?”
The tension in the room thickened like a fog, suffocating and heavy. Bakugo’s crimson eyes burned with defiance as he pulled against his restraints, the cords creaking ominously under the strain. “Try it,” he spat, his voice a razor-edged promise. “See how far you get before I blow your head off.”
Moretti chuckled, a low, mirthless sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Ah, there’s that famous temper. But let’s not forget who’s holding all the cards here, Dynamight.” He gestured to you, his fingers grazing your cheek in a way that made your stomach churn. “One wrong move, and she’s gone.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his entire body trembling with barely contained rage. He wanted to lash out, to reduce the entire building to ash, but the sight of you—still pale, still weak—kept him anchored.
You shifted slightly, your hands numb from the ropes biting into your wrists. Despite the fear gnawing at your resolve, you forced yourself to speak. “You wont kill me.” Your voice was hoarse, but steady enough to earn his attention.
Moretti’s smug expression didn’t falter. If anything, his predatory smile widened, his piercing green eyes boring into yours with a sinister gleam.
“Of course, you’d say that,” he drawled, his voice low and venomous. “But let’s not play coy. I didn’t kidnap you on a whim. I know exactly what you know.”
You froze, the ropes biting into your wrists as your blood turned to ice.
“That’s right,” Moretti continued, circling your chair like a vulture. “You know where my daughter is. The one thing the police couldn’t break out of you, even when you testified. You kept that little secret buried, didn’t you? To protect her, I assume. But how long do you think you can hold onto it when his life is on the line?”
Bakugo’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp with confusion and fury. “What the hell is he talking about?”
Moretti’s grin widened as he watched Bakugo’s expression twist with confusion and rage. “You really don’t know, do you?” he said, a mockery of sympathy in his tone. “Oh, this is rich. Japan’s greatest hero, clueless about the woman sitting next to him.”
Moretti turned his attention back to you, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “You didn’t tell him?” He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. “You mean to say you’ve been playing the role of a helpless civilian this whole time? That’s cold, even for you, Nova.”
Bakugo’s gaze snapped to you, the weight of Moretti’s words settling between you like a live wire. “Nova?” he questioned, his voice low and dangerous. “What’s he talking about?”
Your stomach churned, but you kept your expression neutral. “Don’t listen to him,” you said quickly.
Moretti laughed, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. “Oh, no, no, no. Let’s not brush past this. Dynamight deserves to know who he’s risking his life for.”
He straightened, turning to Bakugo with an almost theatrical flourish. “Meet Nova, America’s former golden girl. Once a top-tier hero in her own right—complete with a shiny little quirk she’s kept hidden from you.”
Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing into slits. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Moretti raised a brow, then gestured toward you. “Go ahead, ask her. Ask her about the years she spent hunting down villains like me. About the testimony that put me in prison. About the daughter she stole from me.”
“Shut up,” you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a whip.
But Bakugo was already staring at you, his crimson eyes ablaze with confusion and betrayal. “Is it true?”
You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. 
Moretti clapped his hands together, delighted by the unraveling tension. “Ah, the sweet taste of betrayal. Isn’t it delicious?”
“Shut the hell up!” Bakugo snapped, his glare burning a hole through Moretti.
Moretti’s cold, predatory smile grew as he savored the moment, watching Bakugo struggle with the weight of his words. “And if you thought this was the worst of it, you’re in for a surprise, Dynamight.” He turned back to you, his gaze like a vulture eyeing its prey. “She didn’t just hide her quirk from you, or hide who she was. No, she faked her death.”
Bakugo’s eyes snapped to you, the fury and confusion in his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. “You were the hero that died in the car accident?” 
Moretti’s laugh echoed around the room, harsh and mocking. “Yes, indeed. That little stunt she pulled after her so-called ‘hero career’ ended. She made everyone believe she was dead—her friends, her family, even the people she’d worked with. But the truth is, she’s been hiding from me. Hiding because she knows I’ll never stop hunting her. Not while I’m still breathing.”
Your heart hammered in your chest. This was worse than you could have imagined. Moretti was unraveling everything you’d fought so hard to bury. Every secret, every lie, coming to the surface in the worst way possible.
Bakugo’s gaze never left you, his expression a mixture of disbelief, anger, and hurt. “Why?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I had no choice,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “Moretti was looking for me. He had connections everywhere. I couldn’t let him find me, so I made them believe I was dead. I had to disappear. I couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt.”
He leaned closer, his grin widening. “Your precious Nova here is the reason I rotted in prison for six years. She testified against me. She took everything from me.”
You struggled against the ropes, your voice steady despite the tremble in your body. “You don’t deserve to find her. After everything you’ve done, after all the lives you’ve destroyed, she’s better off without you.”
Moretti’s smile disappeared, replaced by a dangerous glint in his eyes. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Bakugo snarled, thrashing against his restraints. “You touch her, and I’ll kill you. I swear to god, I’ll rip you apart!”
Moretti glanced at him, amused. “Oh, its not her you should be worried about Dynamight. No, I’ll break her—piece by piece— as she watches, until she tells me what I want to know.”
He straightened, motioning to the guard still holding the syringe. “And when she does, I’ll kill her anyway. After all, she’s the reason I lost everything. Call it poetic justice.”
The guard stepped closer to Bakugo, gripping his arm, and panic surged through you. “Moretti, if you hurt him, you’ll never find her,” you said quickly, your voice rising.
That gave him pause. He raised a hand, signaling the guard to stop, and turned to you with narrowed eyes. 
“You know I’m the only one who knows where she is,” you said, forcing yourself to keep calm. “If you kill him—or push me too far—you’ll lose any chance of finding her. Forever.”
Moretti’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “Then start talking. Or I’ll make sure you wish I’d killed you instead.”
Beside you, Bakugo’s crimson eyes blazed with rage and desperation. “Don’t tell him anything!” he shouted. “He’s lying—he’ll kill you no matter what!”
But you weren’t ready to give up. Not yet. You had to play this carefully, or neither of you would make it out alive.
Taking a deep breath, you looked up at him. “She’s dead.” 
Moretti froze, his eyes narrowing, his hand still suspended in the air, ready to give another order. The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Bakugo's furious protests faded into the background as Moretti processed your words.
“What did you just say?” Moretti’s voice was low, dangerously calm.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold your ground. “She’s dead. Milly’s gone.”
Moretti’s gaze turned icy, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his features. “You’re lying,” he hissed. “You’re just trying to buy yourself time.”
But the raw edge of fear in his eyes gave him away. He was already questioning everything.
“I’m not lying,” you said, your voice unwavering despite the terror clawing at your chest. “I knew you’d come for her. After I received your little ‘gift,’ I realized I had to act. She didn’t deserve a life with you as her father, so I did what had to be done.”
Moretti’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “What are you talking about? What did you do?”
“She’s in a place now where you’ll never reach her,” you continued, your words cold, resolute. “A place where you can’t hurt her anymore.”
Moretti’s expression twisted into a snarl. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”
The room seemed to grow colder at the intensity of Moretti’s roar. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, and his breathing quickened as his eyes locked onto you, as if trying to burn a hole through you with sheer force of will.
You held his gaze, knowing full well what you had just said would push him beyond the edge. “I did what I had to do,” you repeated, your voice firm even as your heart hammered in your chest. “She’s gone, Moretti. I made sure she was safe. You will never find her. No one will. She’s in a place where you can’t touch her anymore.”
Moretti’s chest heaved, his anger mounting with each word you spoke. “No,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t do this. You didn’t kill my daughter.”
“I did,” you said, the weight of your lies sinking deep into your chest. “I made sure she was free of you. From your cruelty, your obsession. I couldn’t let her grow up under the shadow of someone like you. You’re a monster, Moretti. And she didn’t deserve that life.”
Moretti’s face twisted in fury, his eyes wild with disbelief. He took a step toward you, the threat of violence hanging in the air. “You’re lying. You’re lying to protect yourself. Tell me where she is. NOW.”
The guard, still holding Bakugo's arm, prepared the needle, but you hadn't noticed. You were focused on Moretti—the man who had destroyed so many lives, including his own daughter’s. You didn’t back down.
“She’s gone, Moretti,” you repeated, your voice colder now. “I ended her suffering. And now you’ll never get your hands on her. Not now, not ever.”
The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with the heavy realization settling in Moretti’s mind. His jaw clenched, his muscles trembling with barely contained rage, but there was something else there, something darker: desperation. He had nothing left to hold onto.
“You think I’ll let you get away with this?” he growled, taking another step forward, his hand reaching out as if to strike you. But something in your eyes, something in your stance, seemed to hold him at bay. For a brief moment, the fury in his eyes faltered.
“You already lost her,” you said, your voice low, cold with the finality of it all. “And now, the only thing left to you is vengeance.”
The guard beside Bakugo glanced nervously at Moretti, who was seething with rage, but it was clear he was struggling to process the depth of what you had just said. His emotions were a storm, a swirl of grief and anger, confusion and disbelief.
“Take her down the hall,” Moretti commanded, his voice sharp and final as the guard moved from Bakugo to your side.
You glanced over at Bakugo, watching his face twist in confusion and fury as he processed the weight of your words. His protests grew louder, his anger mounting with each passing second. But the guard was relentless, yanking you to your feet and dragging you toward the door.
You didn’t know if you’d ever see Bakugo again, but in that moment, you knew this was the only way. Moretti would stop at nothing to get what he wanted—he’d torture you until you spoke. So, you had given him the answer he was desperate for.
Now, all you could do was hope. Hope that while Moretti took his time with you, it would give Bakugo the chance to escape, to find a way out before it was too late.
---
TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh@faetoraa@iissza@theasgardianmexican @cax-per
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jamespotterlovesreggie · 1 day ago
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Petrified - A Percy Weasley micro fic
TW: Death . For @percyweasleyapologist
It was Percy's sixth year he was patrolling the halls with his Ravenclaw best friend Penelope Clearwater and of course they found Ron and Harry sneaking around .
"RONALD WEASLEY" He said in a whisper shout he sounded a lot like Mrs Weasley when he talks like that .
" Why hello my favourite brother " Ron replied in a tone quite similar to the twins.
"What are you doing down here ? , You know what it doesn't matter go to bed now both of you and I won't tell Professor McGonagall."
"Fine "
After they were out of earshot Percy and Penelope just laughed.
" Personally , I think you were too nice ." Penelope said .
" Well if they hadn't gone to bed Peeves would've found them and as much as he's annoying I wouldn't wish that on anyone ."
"Except , Professor Snape of course ." Penelope added .
Percy just laughed , After that he'd gone back to his dorm early to see Oliver who was now his official boyfriend he only left because Penelope insisted that she would be fine alone.
The next day , He didn't see her at breakfast or in any of the lessons they shared and he thought it was a bit weird but focused his attention on the set assignments instead that was until Ginny came running up to him .
" Percy I'm so sorry "
" About what Ginny " He said visibly confused .
"Oh you don't know " She replied her eyes welling up .
"Know what"
"You need to speak to professor McGonagall "
He was starting to get worried now.
" Mr Weasley I am so sorry to tell you but we found Miss Clearwater "
"Is she ok "
" No , Unfortunately when we found her she appeared to be Petrified but upon closer inspection she did not have a pulse "
" No you're wrong "
" I'm so sorry Mr Weasley "
The next day he was at home he was still in denial and he only left his room for food and the bathroom and his mum just left him alone.
Two weeks later it was the day of Penelope's funeral her parents had decided on an open casket service and all the Weasleys were attending plus Oliver .
It got the time to say goodbye, Percy and Oliver were the last ones and everyone else had given them a minute alone with her .
When they had to come away so the casket could be closed was when he crashed .
He was screaming and crying refusing to leave her side , He had to be physically dragged away by Oliver and the twins and later that day back at the Burrow Molly was furious .
"HOW DARE YOU CAUSE SUCH A SCENE , I AM ABSOLUELY DISGUSTED HER PARENTS ARE MOURNING TOO . She yelled .
Percy just stormed up to his room whilst thinking about how his mum doesn't understand , Penelope was his best friend .
But he can't get over the fact that she's dead , That he'll never see her again .
Those were his darkest times he didn't leave his room for weeks , The only person he allowed to come in was Oliver and Oliver was amazing to him in those times he brought him food and sat there and held him.
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schopenailleurs · 2 years ago
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Did you just call me to explain your weird idea? (I’ll do it)
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luuxxart · 5 months ago
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leaks from the anime post bnha 430……. #REAL #NOTFAKE
#dabihawks#tododeku#bnha 430#mha 430#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#boku no hero academia#keigo takami#touya todoroki#shoto todoroki#izuku midoriya#now I’m going to tag the fankid. the old art is terrible do not perceive it#kaito todoroki#hishiro todoroki#SO WHAT IM PROPOSING IS……#hawks goes to work with ochako on the quirk counseling business rather than wtf he’s doing on the ranking system#dabi lives and is reformed and gets plastic surgery (but wants to keep some of his scars as a statement…) and he works with natsuo#he and natsuo have a soba shop. that only sells soba and boba#still trying to decide if Hishiro is a dabihawks kid or natsuos kid#hence why hawks doesn’t say ‘son’#I also think endeavor isn’t done with his bs and before his . UGH. ‘redemption’ signed a quirk marriage pact for Shoto#shoto and his wife (haven’t decided on a name yet but she’s ballin) try to make it work but they realize it just. it doesn’t#BUT OOPS SHE WAS PREGANTE. and she figures Shoto would. honestly be fine raising the kid there’s danger out there in the states#shoto’s also winding down on heroism bc it’s really. honestly I think he would also like to work at a soba shop#he doesn’t. but. I feel like there’s a reason he just mainly goes on midnight patrols yk?#anyway he and deku raise the kid . the mom’s involved as much as she can be while being the . yeah I think she would be the most famous hero#in the United States . good for her …. good for her………#if you wanna see me elaborate…… u know what to do… hit up that inbox#or if u wanna know what happened to the rest of class 1-a in my future au……
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Alright Im still stuck on the fucking new doom patrol issue. I think Rita shouldve just found a big tarp or something and threw it over Metawoman and carried her away. Come on
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I'd make friends with her
#body horror#emetophobia tw#I dont know why Im so hung up on this sorry. The art in this miniseries is also like#crazy mean like it being made a point that Metawomans conventionally attractive and then her powers start#acting up and theres a big almost splash page of her being gross#it feels so weird for the tone of this miniseries?#Like I dunno. thats part of why Im thinking about this so much this miniseries like#wants to be edgy and mean but also like Nice and Soft it feels like? I might be being too mean thats#the only way I can think to explain it. Like this is happening while Niles is being like#'if only I got help for my trauma sooner...'#anyway if I was there I would've made friends#Rita where is the blob solidarity girl#it is also more like hit you over the head like well metawoman thinks shes better then the doom patrol#because shes NORMAL but now shes NOT and shes getting BLASTED BY PEACEMAKERS BIG ROBOTS NOW#I THINK PEACEMAKER MADE FRIENDS WITH HER I THINK-#I THINK IT WAS FINE I THINK THEYRE FRIENDS NOW-#ok actual last post about this fucking issue im a week late on sorry guys.#ok last thing I know its like a#like theyre not obligated to help someone who was trying to kill them type of thing right. I get that. but I think this is part of why doin#allegories for this kind of shit this much isnt good. she is turning into a massive blob monster against her will after being experimented-#on. the doom patrols thing now is helping out metahumans and people considered 'freaks'. Rita scoop her up. Ok im done.
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missdynamighttt · 1 month ago
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↳ ❝ HONEY.. COME BACK TO ME. PLEASE. ❞
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you and your ex-boyfriend katsuki bakugou can't seem to resist each other no matter what. even if you're only supposed to be friendly at the class reunion party.
starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x ex-girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ
disclaimers!: mentions of handjobs and oral sex in 3rd year at ua, oral sex (f! receiving), tits fixation, penetrative / p in v sex, car sex / semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie 🤭
note: spoilers for chapter 431 (a little different in some parts), usage of "brat", "honey", "sweets", "woman", fem reader, mentions of izuocha, second chance romance trope, porn with plot, microscopic angst, credits to gsony for center pic in my banner, i love them sm^^hope i did our husband justice 💜💜
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╰┈➤ ❝ [why is he here?] you murmur quietly, discreetly watching katsuki from a distance, seeing him quiet and grumpy, drinking with a few of his friends alongside izuku.
ochako raises an eyebrow with a grin, clearly amused at your turmoil with the pro hero. she nudges your arm, looking at you from the side. "he's a part of the class too, y'know."
"i know that," you huff, sighing as you land your drink down the table, glancing back at him before looking back at ochako with a frown. "just.. its hard."
of course it was hard to see great explosion murder god dynamight. your ex-boyfriend, no matter how hot he looks in his usual black attire, his big biceps straining against the material, his post-war scars framing his muscular, gorgeous physique.
even before the war, you and katsuki were a great couple, despite your constant bickering and petty arguments. it just led up to increasing sexual tension and great makeout sessions. maybe got handsy a few times and did.. oral stuff in your 3rd year together but no more than that.
it all just came crumbling down after graduation, when you two gradually spent less time together as work kept both of you away from each other. you both ended it on good terms only after a year of being pro-heroes, but that doesn't stop you from missing him. from wanting him, needing him.
katsuki felt the exact same way. even if he was nonchalant about it now, he was barely holding himself back from dragging you away from this party and kissing your face off until he made up with the time both of you spent away from each other. which, to him, seemed like forever.
throughout the years, the two of you did see each other frequently during patrols and in joint-cases, made appropriate civilized small talk, but never ever talked about getting back together. it wasn't that both of you didn't want to: it just wasn't the perfect time. unlike this setting, where the two of you could talk properly.
ochako sighs softly, a small sympathetic smile on her face. "he's just a man, sweetie. after this, you'll barely see him again."
you bite you bottom lip and nod, tugging on the skin. you knew she made a good point, its just.. well, it doesn't change the fact that katsuki's in near proximity.
you sigh, smiling softly at her. "yeah, i know," you grin, nudging her arm, gesturing your head to izuku. "enough about me, though. what about you and midoriya, huh?"
ochako widens her eyes a little at the mention of her old highschool crush, shakes her head profusely, clearly flustered as vibrant pink tinting her cheeks. "i-i haven't even talked to deku in awhile! its been so long ago.."
you scoff and roll your eyes, grab her shoulder, and shake them a little. "well, change that. c'mon, i saw him looking at you anyway. maybe the same way he did todoroki but at least he looked at you. that counts for something."
you could still see the reluctance in her eyes to go so you shake her arm again in encouragement. "gooo, i'll be here, drinking my problems away, rooting for you."
ochako shakes her head at you with a soft grin, clearly wanting to but shyness was holding her back.
"i suppose a hello wouldn't hurt," her grin widens, pressing her cheek against yours, mumbling a soft thank you. "wish me luck."
you wave at ochako, mouthing to her good luck, as she approaches izuku, watching their cute interaction from afar. they wave at each other like the young, shy high-schoolers they once were, chatting and laughing softly over something trivial. izuku then offers her to sit beside him.
izuku eyes katsuki with a grin, gesturing his head to leave. katsuki rolls his eyes, but stands up, giving his seat to ochako. like the little bitch fate is, katsuki approaches ochako's empty seat beside you, looking at you with a small grin.
"oh, you sly fucker," your eye twitches. you didn't know who to be mad at, izuku or his insufferable best friend, but you could see ochako looking at you in worry, mouthing a quick sorry before getting enveloped by izuku's conversation again.
you sigh, shaking your head. on the bright side, whats the worst that can happen?
you give katsuki a soft smile, waving weakly at him. your hand feels stiff from how nervous you are, shaking it under the table to shake off the nerves. "hi."
katsuki raises an amused eyebrow at you, wearing his signature snarky smirk. he nods, settling down in ochako's empty seat. "hey, brat."
as you sat next to him, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. a pang of nostalgia, a flutter in your chest at the sight of him, and a hint of sadness at the memory of what could have been.
you took in his spicy cinnamon scent with smoky notes that you missed so much, the way his blonde hair was messily fixed, and his sardonic grin. it was hard to ignore the spark of longing, repeatedly chanting in your head that he was your ex for reason.
katsuki glanced over at you, eyes meeting for a brief moment. his crimson eyes catch the light of the room, making them glow like bloodstone. it made your stomach do backflips, forcing yourself to breathe.
”i’m surprised you actually came,” he says, his voice low and casual.
when he spoke again, the sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. it was the same voice that had whispered sweet nothings in your ear, the same voice that had laughed at your stupid, corny jokes, the same voice you had fallen asleep listening to on countless nights in the past.
you felt your palms begin to sweat but couldn't help but be a little pissed. it reminded you of what you said to ochako earlier, but still. "why wouldn't i? i'm in the class as much as you, aren't i?"
"don’t be a smartass,” he takes a sip of his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. your eyes followed the movement, a wave of memories hitting like a tidal wave.
other classmates fanned out of the room as the night goes on, but katsuki took advantage of this, seperating you from them, keeping you all to himself.
he turned to face you fully, your knees touching with his for a moment as he shifted in his seat. the sudden contact made you inhale sharply, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.
"you look good," he said quietly, eyeing you up and down slowly, his gaze lingering on parts of your body that he clearly remembered well.
the warmth in your cheeks grew a little, clearing your throat, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "thanks. wish i could say the same for you."
he raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. "is that how it’s going to be?”
"well, you look like you need a shave," you lied. he didn't.
"oh? i thought you liked it when i was a little scruffy, sweets," you absolutely fucking did. there was nothing you wanted more than to lean in and feel the stubble on his jaw, to remember the roughness of his cheeks while you made out him. while he spoils your neck with hickies. while his head is in between your thighs, kissing your clit-
"that was years ago," you avert your gaze from him, unable to look at him any longer without crumbling. why was he so fucking attractive? it's been seven goddamn years. don't ex-boyfriends get ugly after a break-up?
"why do i get the feelin' you've missed it, hm?"
"i don't. you're delusional."
"you're a real terrible liar, brat."
"lying about you being delusional?"
"lying about you not missin' this. missin' me," he reached out to you, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. his touch was gentle as his knuckles grazed your cheek briefly. fuck.
"i don't.. i don't miss this. i don't miss you," you chew on the inside of your cheeks, trying to hold on to any semblance of composure you had. all the dignity you had was telling you to pull away but did you listen? fuck no.
"you're not very good at hidin' how much you want someone, sweets."
"quit it, katsuki. i said i don't."
"oh, that's real fuckin' funny. but i'll be clear," he chuckles deeply, a slow victorious smile on his face. you're starting to crack.
his hand slowly sliding towards your thigh, hidden from anyone else's view under the table. fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. his closeness was already making it harder to think, the sensation of his touch only weakening your resistance.
"i'm done pretendin' i don't want you. so, honey, cut it out, because we both know you want me too."
your gaze widened, quickly biting down on your bottom lip, trying to stop yourself from saying anything stupid.
luckily, before you could even respond, the very man who put you in this situation, izuku approached with kirishima in tow.
"hey kacchan, would it be okay if we leave now? i have an early class tomorrow," izuku asks, not a care in the world that he interrupted something between you two.
katsuki was staring daggers at him though, because he had to pull his hand away from your plush thigh.
"yeah, i gotta hit the sack too, man," kirishima rubs the back of his neck, who knows hes interrupting something between the two of you but doesn't say anything about it.
but.. that doesn't mean he doesn't want to fuck around a little. kirishima looks at you with a friendly grin. "hey, wanna come with?"
you panic a little. another chance for katsuki to wreck your defenses? could you handle that?
"nah, i'd rather not disturb, i'll just wait for a cab-"
"the fuck you're not. you're not takin' a cab, brat. i'm drivin' you home," katsuki spat, his tone leaving no room for argument.
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the ride home was pleasantly quiet in a way that wasn't uncomfortable. the atmosphere was a bit tense, but it was manageable.
you found yourself in the passenger seat of his black porsche 911 gt3 rs, not because you wanted to, but because according to katsuki:
"you better sit your ass down here or i swear to god, woman, i'll pin you down this chair myself."
so, it left izuku and kirishima in the backseat that seemed to drown them (comfortably). you didn't utter a single word during the drive, merely listening to their conversation, occasionally cracking a small smile and chuckling at their banter.
the silence thickened again when katsuki dropped kirishima and izuku off, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet car.
okay, you needed a game plan. keep quiet, do not give in, and do not fuck him-
"i missed you, y'know," he murmurs, his eyes still focused on the road.
his words caught you off guard, startled you. you missed him too. so fucking much. but the words got stuck in your throat, pride and fear holding you back. you try to keep your emotions in check, keeping quiet and not giving in according to your game plan-
"too fuckin' much. pisses me off. started to bother kirishima too," he lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip on the steering wheel tightening a little, his knuckles turning white. "plagues the shit out of me. that i think about you almost everyday at the most random fuckin' times, its terrifying."
he glances at you briefly, sighing before focusing his eyes back on to the road, running his free hand through his blond hair. "honey, talk to me."
"...what do you want me to say, katsuki?"
"just.. tell me what you're thinkin', okay? what you're feelin'. the fuckin' truth, goddamn it, don't shut me out."
fucking hell. it was just so easy to give in to your feelings, to tell him how much you missed him. how much you wanted to be with him again. but you were afraid — afraid of having to start the healing process all over again.
but.. that didn't stop you from bearing your heart out.
"you want the truth?" you turn your head to face him. "fine."
"it haunts me that you're the first thing i think of whenever i'm overjoyed with something or whenever i have a bad day. that whenever my friends ask if we could eat something spicy, i think of you. can't tell you the multiple times i had to hold myself back from hitting the send button to your old number."
"i missed you too, katsuki. more than i thought. hell, more than i should. you never left my mind, no matter how many times i tried to tell myself that you did."
katsuki remained silent for a while, his mind obviously occupied with your confession as he watched the road. it made you panic a little. was it too much?
but then, without warning, he makes a quick turn, swerving off the main road and into a nearby parking lot like his life depended on it.
it catches you off guard as the car suddenly lunges forward, making you hold on to the side of the car door. he parks the car in a secluded corner, away from any prying eyes.
"what are you doing?" you asked, still taken aback from what happened as you watch him unbuckle his seatbelt.
"what does it look like i'm doing?" his eyebrow arched, as if the answer should be obvious.
without waiting for a response, he reclines your seat for more space. he unbuckles your seatbelt before climbing over, hovering over you. "gonna get what i fuckin' want. and right now, sweets, that's you."
you swallowed hard, his words and closeness sending a shiver down your spine. you could feel yourself getting hotter with every second that passed, your body aching for his touch.
but you were still reluctant. even with your thighs clenched together, your core felt like a pool of hot, wet need. and he could tell.
katsuki's frustration was evident. he lets out a deep sigh, leaning his head against your neck, inhaling your scent, barely trying to hold himself back from doing anything drastic.
"honey.. come back to me. please."
his voice was thick with pathetic need, a raw desperate desire for you burning in him.
fuck.
you know you should put up a fight, should try and resist him. but your body was aching for him.
and you really, really, couldn't fucking care less.
the moment your palms caress his cheeks, katsuki's eyes flutter shut, and he leans into your touch, sighing. you can feel him shiver under your fingertips, his body burning with longing. as your eyes meet his, a flash of raw desire flickers across his face.
and then, it's as if a dam breaks.
he leans in, his lips crashing into yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. his mouth is hot and eager against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips in a possessive, needy gesture.
katsuki's hands find your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as if the space between you is unbearable. you could feel his dick pressed up in between your legs, almost trembling with the intensity of his need.
your fingers slide up into his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly strands as you deepen the kiss. he groans against your mouth, the sound low and guttural, sending a shiver down your spine. his lips move against yours like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every taste.
when he pulls back, just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath comes in ragged gasps, mingling with your own. his crimson eyes, half-lidded and heavy with desire, bore into yours.
“don’t think for a second that im done with you,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “you're not gettin' outta here until i've had my fill of you, sweets."
he grins, chuckling darkly. "or should i say.. until i've filled you up."
when he grinds his hips harder against yours, you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. the feeling of his dick pressing against you makes your head spin, desire pooling in your wet cunny. fuck, was he always that big?
"oh, fuck," he inhales, almost hissing. "you feel that, sweets? hm? feel how hard my dick is, just for you?"
your bit you bottom lip, your head nodding slightly in response. your breath hitches when his hand reaches for in between your legs, inching up your skirt, rubbing his thumb against your damp panties.
"look at you, already such a fuckin' wet mess," he coos, a predatory grin on his face, glancing between your clothed, wet cunt and your flushed look. "haven't even started yet. you that eager for me, sweets?"
"stop being such a fucking tease and just.." your cheeks burn, embarassed, turning your head to the side. "fuck me."
"oh, i plan to sweets, don't worry," his voice low and sultry, tugging on the elastic of your panties, pulling them down your thighs. "wanna taste you first. haven't tasted this sweet fuckin' pussy in a long, long time."
"katsuki.. what if someone sees us?"
"honey.. i don't fuckin' care."
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katsuki had brought you to the backseat of his car, stripped you off your skirt and panties and had your legs spread out like he needed to taste you or he'd die.
katsuki flicked his tongue at your clit, licking up your sweet, wet slick, feeling you squirm and mewl from under him. your legs were practically begging to be close shut, but he forced your legs open with his big, strong arms, both of his hands holding either side of your thighs.
"fuck, sweets, you taste so good," he groans against your folds, the intoxicating scent of your sweet cunt flooding his thoughts. "so fuckin' wet.."
you could hear the squelching sound of his tongue lap at your pussy, the lewd sound of his saliva and your slick turning you on. you took off your top and unhooked your bra, tossing it somewhere in the car. you played with your tits, pinching your nipples as you watched him ate your pussy like it was his last, delicious meal on earth.
"katsuki," you mewled, breath hitching as he fucks you with his skilled tongue.
"what, too much?" katsuki rasped, enjoying how you responded to his touch.
you nodded, already seeing stars.
he grunts, biting your inner thigh before chasing your orgasm again. "fuck that. missed this tight wet pussy of yours too much. can't believe you kept this sweet thing from me for so long..."
"katsuki," you moan his name, you grip on a handful of his hair, embarassed, almost going cross-eyed. he was eager to give you his all, it was slightly overwhelming. but you needed him. "too much, too much..."
"take it all for me, yeah, sweets?" katsuki grunts, raising the pace of his tongue, earning whimpering noises from you. "i know you can, c'mon. makin' my dick so fuckin' hard just watchin' you, holy shit.."
katsuki continues his delirious advance on your cunt, his perverted appetite for you making him so fucking horny. his cock twitches in his pants from the arousing act, throbbing from all the gluttony he was feeling. he couldn't get enough of it. he acted like a man starved and he needed all of you to quench his craving.
not that he'd ever stop craving you.
"katsuki, 'm about to-" you wail about your climax. your walls tighten around his tongue, your hips squirming from under him. you push your cunt against his face, wanting more friction.
"cum for me, sweets, c'mon," he continued to lap at your wet, sloppy mess. "need to taste you so fuckin' bad."
"fuck, fuck!" you squeal, moaning loudly as you painted his tongue white, shattered breathing as your chest heaved up and down.
katsuki doesn't waste another second, burying his face in between your legs as he glides his tongue across your pussy at a quick pace, savoring it all and riding out your orgasm. your legs shake from the overstimulation he was doing, whimpering from the way his tongue feels. he looks at you greedily, his cock agitated as his carnal desire to fuck you until your legs shaking burns more in him.
"'m so proud of you, sweets. c'mere, come gimme a kiss," he moves closer to you, his touch gentle and affectionate as he caresses your cheek before pressing his lips against yours in a kiss. you could almost taste yourself on his tongue.
his kisses are slow and gentle, his fingers find your nipples, pinching them as your fingers find their way into his hair.
he pulls away from you, panting and sweating, quickly stripping himself of his clothes, tossing them somewhere in the car.
he tugs his boxers down and pulls his cock out, already dripping with pre-cum before pulling you back in for a sloppy, desperate kiss. fuck, you don't remember it being that big.
you could feel his erection, his cock cushioning your wet cunt, his throbbing tip kissing your stimulated clit, just begging to be inside of you.
"you ready for me, right, sweets?" he murmurs, in between your tongues clashing together, waiting for your nod. he dips a finger inside you, making you moan. "look at this fuckin' pussy, could just slip in and bury my dick deep inside of you..."
"please," you plead, your voice soft and trembling, a pout tugging at your lips. you're needy and desperate, the words spilling out in a breathy whine. "i need you... so bad."
"god, you're killin' me here sweets," he took a deep breath, panting for air. "you sure?"
you took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "yes. please... i want this, i want you."
your words broke the last thread of his restraint. in an instant, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with unrelenting intensity. as if you were his only source of salvation.
katsuki's hands found your waist as he grips on you firmly, guiding you onto his lap and positioning you to straddle him with an effortless, commanding strength. he was desperate, completely consumed by the need for you, his longing obliterating any trace of rational thought.
katsuki positions his dick inside of your pussy, groaning as he watches you mewl, disappearing inside of you and stretching your walls painfully. yet you still felt the raw need for him.
"katsuki," you pant as you sat on his cock, adjusting as you dangle your arms by his shoulders. "fuck me, pl-"
he doesn't even let you finish, carrying you briefly before slamming you down on his cock, feeling your pussy clamp down on him again and again.
"you look so pretty like this, sweets, fuck," he looks up at you in awe. his moves his mouth is on your tits, sucking on your nipple.
you take it all with a wail, closing your eyes in blissful pleasure as the tip of his cock kisses your walls.
"oh my fuckin' god, i love you so fuckin' much, sweets. holy shit. and this fuckin' pussy too. you know that, don't you?" he asks, his crimson eyes gazing into yours, tension filling the small corners of the car.
"yeah," you nod, your skin heating up, stammered breaths as his cock was stretching you, abusing your warmth.
"then say it back."
"no wa-"
you scream as katsuki humps you down on his cock mercilessly, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you struggle to take him. your hips squirm against the girth and length of his cock abusing your hole to its satisfaction.
"katsuki!" his name slips out of your lips, letting out a wanton moan as his deep, hungry thrusts buck inside you out of spite. "sl-slow down..."
"hell fucking no."
"katsuki, please!"
"not until you say it back."
"fucking- fine! i love you, okay?" you mewl at the pain, but at the same time it made you feel so so good.
"say it again, didn't hear it," he taunts, his thrusts still deep and desperate enough capable of making you cream on his cock.
"i said, i love you!" you panted, whimpering from his hips snapping into yours.
"that's my girl," katsuki grins, letting his hand travel to caress your cheek before pulling you in for a messy, sloppy kiss.
you feel your cunny coil of essence, chasing your climax desperately with him at the last few thrusts.
you pull away from him, panting. "katsuki, fuck, gonna cum again..."
"mhm, gonna cum too, sweets," he grunts, thrusting into your cunt sloppily. "cum with me, yeah?"
you pant out of bliss, nodding. his hips snap into yours as he thrusts into your cunt harder, dripping of your shared slicks.
you mewl as shockwaves of pleasure hit you, throwing your head back as your tight, white walls clench around his cock. katsuki groans, his hips stuttering as he cums inside of you, a creamy frothy ring of white wrapped around the base of his cock as it kisses your folds.
both of you lay intertwined together, bodies tangled and panting together, breaths mingling, basking in the quiet warmth of each other's presence.
you pout up at him, delivering a playful slap to his cheek before sinking into his arms with a huff. "you're so mean."
katsuki chuckled deeply, the sound low and teasing. he didn't seem offended by your light hit, he seemed more amused by it.
"oh, please, you love me," he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against his chest. he nuzzled into your hair.
his body relaxed somewhat as he held you. he couldn't help but marvel at how easily you fit against him, how well your body molded to his.
"i've missed having you in my arms, you know," he admires you, tugging a strand of your hair. "it's been... goddamn painful."
you bite your bottom lip, a deep sense of understanding in the sympathetic smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. you hold his gaze, knowing intimately the emotions that swirl within him. "i know, hon. me too."
the softness in his eyes is palpable as the pet name you had for him washes over him, a hint of vulnerability there that he rarely shows. he hides his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "honey, i never wanna let go of you again."
you raise an eyebrow, a cheeky grin on your face as you tenderly caress his cheek, your gaze locking with his.
"i'm not going anywhere."
he looks up at you, returning your grin. his lips then gently meets yours in a soft, lingering kiss.
"good. i wouldn't let you even if you tried."
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tags (blogs who requested/ commented / reblogged on teaser): @pikachuzhc @dragonscribble @obitosdefencelawyer @oladelmars @dietc0ke-stomach @liliththedxmon @junehasnotbeenfound @kaizuzuzu @babylambdietcoke @bri-licious08 @itadoriwife @katsukiglazerrr @secretlilli @trishiepo0 @akitafox @un-limit-edd @kalulakunundrum @krbkswifey @orangeheliophile @kenqki @thisbicc @augustraine @lisbethw @vikizzy @king-dynamight @legendarybatherringmonger @srcyy @moonlightwriter
a/n: was overwhelmed with how much attention the teaser was getting, EVEN ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITERS LIKED THE POST @cathnospam ILYSM YOURE MY HERO. feedback/constructive criticism is always welcome!! i was working on my thesis defense (accepted!!) while writing this so i apologize for the delay and if theres any grammatical errors^^ i am beyond grateful to all of you and i hope you enjoyed reading the epitome of me being horny for katsuki🥹🥹
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peachsukii · 3 months ago
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— emergency contact
it’s been two years since you’ve seen your ex-boyfriend, and didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. a nasty villain fight lands you in the hospital during an overnight patrol and leaves you unable to tell the doctors who to call in your dazed state.
✮ content. late 20s. ex-boyfriend bakugo, hospitalization, sappy confessions & second chances. distance makes the heart grow fonder kind of deal.
『 #reis softie sundays 』
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Sharp, shooting pain down your back and a desperate cry from your partner ⎯ that was the only thing you remember from the last…four hours? Time is becoming illusive at this point, blending together with how fast everything unraveled around you.
Were you injured on patrol? Did that villain slip through your fingers and escape? Where was your partner in all this chaos?
“Doctor, she’s waking up,” you hear in the distance, muffled but clear enough to understand. A nurse walks into your blurred vision, a soft smile on her lips. “Hi hon, you’re in the hospital. We’re taking you to your room now, hang tight.”
All you can manage to do is nod in acknowledgement, the world spinning on its axis and making you extremely dizzy. Your eyes fall closed, a hazy sleep welcoming you in seconds.
When you wake next, you're not quite sure how much time has passed. The room sits in darkness, the only sources of light coming from the moon outside the window and the various machines chirping around you. There's a static in your head, as if you're stuck on a radio frequency that hasn't been adjusted to the correct channel. Even with all the noise in your head, a familiar voice can be heard outside in the hallway, one you'd never mistake for anyone else.
"It's late," a nurse says, presumably trying to convince him to go home. "Are you sure you want to stay? We can try her other contacts again in a few hours."
"M'sure. Do I need'ta sign in or whatever?"
"No, that's alright. I'll notate it on her chart and let the front desk know. I'll be back in a bit and we can talk more about treatment."
The door slides open to prove you're not imagining things ⎯ your ex isn't a manifestation of your delirious state. Bakugo's standing in the dim light of the hallway, tip toeing inside and shutting the door as quietly as possible. When his eyes fall upon your hospital bed, he notices that you're awake and sighs. "Been awhile."
You don't have the energy to do this dance with him, to go back and forth with lightheartedness like old times. "Why are you here?"
His lips press into a straight line, jaw clenched tight as he seems to silently ask himself the same question. He makes his way over to the bed, taking a seat at the edge by your feet. "I'm still one of your emergency contacts in your hero file."
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. There's no way you haven't updated your database profile in two years...right? Bakugo catches onto your confusion and explains before you have a chance to press him further on the matter. "M'the only one who answered."
What time was it, anyways? Your eyes bounce around the room swiftly to find a wall clock. You squint a bit to read it, finally making out the numbers. 4:30...am?
"What did they call you for?" you yawn, rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes. "I don't even know what happened."
He takes a deep breath as a large hand finds your thigh, resting atop the thin blanket. His touch makes you want to melt into a puddle, memories of your past relationship coming back in waves.
"They didn't tell me much, only that it was life or death. Thankfully, your ass chose life." He shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him. "Somethin' about a villain's poison quirk. Ya got hit in the spine and it paralyzed you temporarily, an' you fell from someplace high up. Your partner caught ya and the paramedics got to you just in time."
Oh. Well, that explains the pain from earlier.
"But why did you answer their call, Baku⎯" you cut yourself off to correct his name as it leaves your lips. "Katsuki?"
"I'm not heartless, just 'cause we haven't talked in ages doesn't mean I don't care about ya."
You shift in your bed a bit, eyes gravitating toward the window to avoid his gaze. Truth be told, you two ended on decent terms and not maliciously. Wrong place, wrong time...at least, that's what you two chalked it up to. You were both too busy with hero work, too absent from each other's lives to properly be a couple. After a year, you convinced yourself that you were satisfied watching him from afar, catching brief glimpses of his life through interviews and news reports. That was your excuse, a cowardly way to keep him out of reach and prevent you, and him, from getting distracted.
"Hey." Bakugo's fingers squeeze your thigh to recollect your attention, the blanket crumpling under his palm. You're terrified to look at him, knowing full well that in your battered state, you'll crumble like stone if he says anything remotely sweet. Those vermillion eyes of his always had a way of making you weak ⎯ soft. "I was thinkin' on my way over here that I should'a called ya, reached out to keep in touch. M'sorry for not doin' that."
"It's...fine," you stammer out, a shaky hand coming up to wave off his concern. "We don't have to talk about that now."
"I don't wanna only talk to you when you're hurt, or worse..." he trails off, screwing his eyes shut to avoid the dread lingering in his chest. "Look. What m'gettin' at is you scared the shit outta me, and it made me realize that I've got a lot to say after all these years."
Oh boy, you brace yourself for impact, expecting the explosive nature to come pouring out any second. But, it never comes.
Before you could stop him, Bakugo's on his feet and leaning over the bed, arms slung around your shoulders to pull you close. A strange but familiar veil of comfort drapes over you in the moment, pulling on your heartstrings. Your eyes begin to sting when the words he whispers finally reach your ears. "M'done usin' hero work as an excuse to avoid you. I wanna talk this shit out...when you're ready. I'd love to make ya dinner again."
You can't help but let out a breathless laugh, arms finally coming up to return his hug. "Only if you promise to make your special katsudon. I've been craving it for weeks."
He chuckles over your shoulder, squeezing you a bit tighter in response. "Deal."
Who knew that a villain was what you two needed to face your fears, to finally admit that the spark was never smothered into nothingness. And this time, something tells you that you'll both make damn sure it stays ablaze.
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happy softie sunday!! I know it's been awhile since I've written one. hope you don't mind some baku-sap :)
✮ network. @pixelcafe-network
✮ tags. @slayfics @maddietries @starieqq
@liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague
@napbatata @Yoyolovesdaiki @kirishimaeijiromyman
@strwbrrykthv @awkwardchick87 @stunies @sakufilm
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chronically-ghosted · 1 month ago
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i'm empty without you, so come grow within me
AO3 Link | main masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist
rating: explicit (18+)
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
word count: 9K
summary: with winter approaching, joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. he wants you, but he's not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. joel's an old-fashioned guy, so he's looking for an old-fashioned love . . . if he can only remember how to do it right.
inspired by the songs 'why don't we just dance' by Josh Turner and 'the kind of love we make' by Luke Combs, this fulfills a request from @handsomehelmet for my 1k celebration (creativity struck and now i'm going to make it everyone's problem)
warnings: the nastiest thing i can possibly imagine which is romance and sincerity, some willie nelson lyrics, established situationship, no age of reader specified, body insecurity, feelings of unworthiness/shame, survivor's guilt, blatant disregard for old man knees by eating pussy on the floor, unprotected piv, a teenager bullying fully grown adult to quit being stupid.
a/n: i know everyone gets into a tizzy when Joel doesn’t name what Tess is to him in front of Bill and while there probably was a heaping amount of guilt that accompanied that omission, i wonder if it might be a bit more complicated: he simply couldn’t name one thing because she was all things to him. A friend, a lover, a guide, a support system, a protector, a partner. So he says it the best way he can: “she’s mine.”
come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers
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By the fourth bag, all you can think about is a warm shower. 
A chance to scrub away the dirt smeared on your arms, your neck, probably your face. You’d brought your own work gloves to bag fresh dirt for the greenhouse, but the longer you work, more sprinkles of dirt find their way down the lip of your gloves. You can feel it against your palms, under your nails. The cold winter air lurks beneath the crack of the door, stifled from invading by the artificial heat provided by the generator just outside, and it stifles you too with its oppressive weight. You’re fairly sure the dirt on your forehead has turned to mud, sweat and damp earth encrusted on your dry skin. 
By the sixth, you doubt your shoulders will ever move again without popping. 
You know Joel’s already do. 
Never a particularly chatty man even in his best moods, the greenhouse had become stuffy with heat and silence, both you and Joel too lost in the work to find the energy to even fake idle chatter. But, knowing this about Joel and a certain degree yourself, silences with him were never a bad thing. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about being with him; you two could do your own things together. Many snowy days were spent with him stretched out on the couch, reading, and you working on writing your sheet music on the floor, his knee hovering over your shoulder with your back to the cushions – spent in total silence, and they are some of the fondest memories you had since coming to Jackson and falling into the third and final piece of the Miller-Williams household. 
Like with the end of the world, you weren’t sure how you got there until everything had fallen into place around you; Joel and his adoptive daughter had been just another group who were taken in by the town of Jackson . . . until they weren’t. Ellie was just another foul-mouthed kid who had seen too much and had too much taken from her . . . until she wasn’t. Joel was your occasional patrol partner and a fellow Willie Nelson fan. . . until he wasn’t.
Until that unmistakable line, one that seemed to be lost on a global scale beneath the blood and the gore and the grief, had been crossed when he asked you out for drinks and the both of you knew the evening wasn’t going to end in a nightcap. 
And then you were partners, even outside of patrol. Partners in re-enforcing a weakened part of Jackson’s outer walls. Partners in cooking, attempting to recreate an enchilada recipe Joel only vaguely remembered from a Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall fifteen minutes from where he used to live in Austin. Partners when it’s snowing heavily outside and there’s not much to do except to read and, well . . . Joel was a fantastic partner in that.
Joel Miller was a great partner for a lot of things. He worked diligently, quickly and, unless the conversation was started by someone else, silently. 
He, in short, was not someone who was easily distracted.
Which, in combination with your own exhaustion and a desire to scrub the first layer of your skin off with a loofah, is why you feel a flare of annoyance when you look up and see him staring off into the distance. His fingers loosely grip the handle of the shovel, his palm resting over the curved point, Joel’s expression is nearly unreadable, except for the small crevice between his eyebrows. He stands, fixated on the greenhouse wall, as if watching the blurry Christmas lights from the town square, suddenly oblivious to the work you two have been doing for the past hour and a half. 
“Joel.” Nothing. “Joel!” 
You raise your hand to smack him on the leg when, without looking down, he asks:
“When was the last time I took you out?” 
“What?”
His weight shifts, holds the shovel by one hand now. You catch a sliver of frustration in those deep brown eyes as he looks at you. He wears what you and Ellie secretly refer to as his “pouty-mouth”, a classic expression when he isn’t getting his way about something but won’t draw attention to the fact that it annoys him.
“Tell me about the last date I took you on.”
You huff, standing up with a pop in your hips. Your knees are aching from kneeling on the cold winter ground and your skin fluxes between overheating under your jacket and stiffly frozen on your extremities. 
“Joel, c’mon, be serious. We’ve got three more –,”
“I am being serious.” Dumb-founded, you watch as he digs the tip of the shovel into the ground with a hollow chunk. Crosses his arms and continues to frown at you like you just suggested doing away with the Christmas holiday entirely. “We’ll get to this, but I want you to tell me right now what we did on our last date.”
You roll your eyes, humoring him. “Fine, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but okay. On our last date, we . . . we did . . . you took me to . . .”
It’s your turn to frown. He raises a petulant eyebrow and it’s eerie how many times you’ve seen that exact expression on Ellie. 
“Okay, fine, so it’s been a while. We’ve been busy – we’ve all been busy with the winter season coming. All of Jackson has been out battening down the hatches. What does it matter if we’ve let things slide a bit?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, quiet in his Joel way. He glances out through the blurred greenhouse glass and maybe he was actually staring at the string lights hung over Jackson’s square. Normally, you didn’t mind being unable to dissect his every expression, every sigh, every carefully wielded silence, but when it came to you and his feelings about you – feelings that were always implied in those silences – you wished you had a little window, some hint, as to what rumbled on behind those earth-dark eyes. 
Joel drums his fingers on the handle of the shovel, unease rolling through his body as he shifts his weight. 
“Matters some,” he tells the ground. “With the holidays comin’ around . . . matters for Ellie – her first winter here in Jackson. Matters for Tommy, with that new baby of his . . .”
“Your nephew,” you supply as much as prod. Sometimes the only way to get an honest answer out of him was when he was just a bit pissed off and less guarded. Instead he just nods, gloved hand on his hip, thick jacket widening his already confounding broadness.
“It matters because it’s important. To me. It’s important to me.”
He meets your gaze and you’re struck full force again with that feeling like you drank too much of the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey too fast. Same feeling that couldn’t be drowned even with the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey when you shared a drink with him for the first time. When you managed to laugh when he bet you a whole day of stable cleaning duties that Willie Nelson and Chris Stapleton survived the apocalypse somewhere in a shack in Tennessee. Joel Miller was disarmingly funny when he wanted to be.
And even worse, disarmingly sincere.
You take his gloved hand in yours. You feel the sensation of his fingers threading through yours but not the heat you’ve grown so accustomed to. 
“Alright, then. What do you want to do about it?” You ask quietly, to the upturned collar around his neck, his green flannel peeking out from behind the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a lot of snow on the ground so that makes our options for date night kinda limited.” You scrunch your nose at him because you like to see the light in his eyes bloom when you do.
He chuckles, a rumbling sound, and he drops his forehead against yours, fingers tightening their grip around yours. Suddenly in your throat, your heart pounds. He’s never this affectionate in public. Maybe it’s those miraculously blurred greenhouse glass walls. 
His breath smells like that peppermint toothpaste that came in last week, infused with the warming-coil smell from the greenhouse. 
“Dunno yet.” He admits. “I’ll think of somethin’.”
“No ideas yet?” You raise your eyebrows against his forehead and he grins, shaking his head.
“Not yet.” 
“Then can I make a suggestion?”
“‘Course.”
“We finish bagging this dirt, then head home for a shower. In a really sexy way, obviously.” 
He huffs, smothering a laugh, and quick as lightning he kisses you on the cheek. But in the same movement, steps away and grabs the shovel again. You don’t have time to react to the fact he just kissed you for the first time outside of the four walls of his house before he’s scooping up dirt. You drop to your knees to pick up the bag again, your legs already weak.
“We both know you’re going to pass out on the couch the second we’re home.”
Your voice is steadier than you feel, as you look up at him. His face is flushed and that worry line between his eyes is gone. 
“You got me pegged, Miller. You got me pegged.”
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Two days later, he stands in the middle of his living room, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. All of the furniture has been pushed to the far ends of the room, up against the walls or against the staircase out in the hallway. He’s kept the overhead lights off and put the standing lamps in the corners, bathing the room in a despondent glow. He thinks, after a quarter of a century never even entertaining something like this, it might be interpreted as romantic. He hopes you’ll see it that way at least. 
He hears it now, in his head, even though she’s out in the disconnected garage, snug and warm as he could have possibly made it – you worry too much, old man. 
Ellie knows there’s something going on between you two. Hell, the entire town has cottoned onto whatever this is; you’re often seen leaving his house early in the morning, and he’s been seen on occasion strolling up to your house with flowers. It’s not new, it’s not a secret, but it is . . . it just is and that’s about as far as he’s gotten. 
He hasn’t had you over for dinner with Ellie in that very specific way that very much needs to happen, as it often does when there is a new presence added to an established dynamic – as Maria often reminds him. But that almost feels like presenting your head on a silver plate to Ellie to either sniff with disinterest or tear into – both terrifying scenarios, even though they seem unlikely. Ellie does in fact seem to like you very much, as her riding teacher and occasional greenhouse buddy. But would she continue to like you in the context of you being one half of “You and Him” as a pair? Together. As a couple . . . of people who are seeing each other, whatever that means in a world filled with the most aggressive form of fungus imaginable. 
This life in Jackson, this fragile second chance to remember and rekindle his own natural instincts, is too precious to bet on a question like that. 
So he doesn’t ask it. At least not out loud. 
That’s one of the things he likes so much about you: his silences aren’t entirely indecipherable and often are encouraged by your own. Except this silence about this particular thing doesn’t feel like one of your shared, comfortable moments and instead it’s encroaching rapidly into avoidance. 
Standing in that greenhouse and seeing the string lights over the town square reminded him of a long ago Christmas, dancing with his favorite person under a Christmas tree, and how good it made him feel. How special it made him feel. All these years later, safe in a way his body has almost forgotten, there’s an urge he has to share that feeling, to recreate it under entirely different circumstances, with someone new. Someone else. To not try and fight the smile that constantly threatens to buoy up every time he’s around you. 
It’s foreign, that feeling in his chest, but it’s not entirely alien, at least not of late. 
He knows he’s white-knuckling it because he knows firsthand how painfully quick it can all be gone. Taken away. Left and buried by a black river while the world burns.
But he’s worried he’ll crush it with how tightly he holds on. How hard he begs a silent universe for it to last just a little bit longer. 
His knees ache, his left shoulder goes tight when it rains, his body is not what it once was, but his mind is still there, still clear, and he remembers how romance used to feel, where it used to reside in his younger body, and as he stares out at the cleared room, listening to your footsteps overhead as you attempt to follow his vague instructions to “make yourself feel pretty” (because you already were to him, even covered in dirt and sawdust), he thinks this feels like the old world. An old world romance. It’s foreign, that feeling, but for the first time in a long time he doesn’t want to hold it at arm’s length.
“Joel?” You call from the top of the stairs, your voice tentative and cautious. But not cautious like you peeking around a corner to look for clickers. But cautious as in unsure, doubtful. You are a woman made up of a lot of things, with foundations unlike he’d ever seen before, but doubt is not a part of you. You never doubt him. 
“Yeah, baby?” Your nerves make him nervous and he futzes with a lampshade while waiting for you.
“Are you done down there?” 
He has to breathe slowly through the fluttering beneath his breastbone before he can answer. “Yeah, baby, all finished. You can come down now.”
“Okay . . . but you can’t laugh.” Him, laugh at you? There’s the instinct to smother the faint grin that spreads out across his mouth, but he told himself he wasn’t going to fight whatever came across his face tonight. If you see it, then you see it and he’s come to accept that. 
(Maybe even want that.)
He shakes his head, his only pair of nice boots (a thank you from a former rancher when Joel fixed his family’s heater) clicking on the hardwood floor as he stands at the bottom of the stairs. You must be hiding behind the wall because he can’t see you. 
“I’m not gonna laugh, sweetheart. Why d’ya think I’d laugh?” 
Silence faces him at the top of the stairs, and then:
“Because quite frankly I forgot my tits could look like this and I don’t know how to feel about it.” 
The snort that comes out of him is a poor attempt to muffle the chuckle. He thumbs the wood finial at the top of the bannister. 
“Can’t remember ever having any complaints before and I don’t think I’ll have ‘em now, no matter how they look.” 
“Whatever, Miller, you’re just a horn dog.” 
He rolls his eyes, fingers rubbing anxiously together at his side, as if he could tug the fluttering out of his chest. He leans on the other foot, the one with the bad knee, to adjust the slightly uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. A dark swirl in the second step of the stairs has become wildly interesting.
“Baby, just come down here. I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you grumble, still out of sight. “I know where you keep your feral child and I will not hesitate to let her loose on you.”
Joel nods, grinning faintly, still focused resolutely on the whorl in the floor. “That’s a real big threat from someone who –,”
The words die in his throat.
In fact, he’s quite sure he won’t be capable of speech for a very long time. 
That foreign feeling – that feeling he’s worked for twenty years to suppress – is ignited in his chest. 
You walk, no, maybe you float down the stairs in the most stunning red dress he’s ever seen. It’s definitely not yours – he knows every inch of your closet because he had inspected it studiously when you offered to keep some of his clothes at your place and he was trying very hard to delay putting a handful of his belongings beside a woman’s things in a move that felt heart-stoppingly domestic. 
No, he has never, ever seen you in this dress. 
Come to think of it, he’s never seen you in any dress and you were entirely correct that your tits look wildly different. Fantastically different, but –
“Maria didn’t have any heels that fit me to go with the dress,” you announce airily, your chin up. But your eyes dart over his face as if looking for something you need to find. “But it’s fourteen degrees outside, Joel, and I’m not doing whatever this is in just socks because that’s ridiculous so you’re just going to have to deal with the boots.”
The Boots. The ones you wear while crushing clicker skulls and tending the stables. They still bear damp spots from where you tried to clean the blood and dirt from the leather.
It’s rather incapacitating how arousing he finds this particular combination.
So much so, he doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything in a full minute until you bark at him, a cold tinge of panic in your voice.
“Joel!” His eyes snap to yours. Of course, you’re fucking beautiful – your eyes seem bigger, cheeks pinker, mouth wet – fucking Christ, where did you get make up? 
“Say something!” Those rosy lips drop down and to his horror, you’re upset. “Please!”
“B-baby, you look . . .” He doesn’t mean to grab your entire ass in one hand; he just wants to feel as much of that velvet on your skin as possible. You stumble into his arms, another something that is so unlike you, as he tugs you forward. Bends his lips to your ear to discover how fast you’re breathing. How fast your pulse races in your neck. The shudder that breaks the rigidity of your body when he brushes his mouth, the short bristles of his beard, against your skin is no surprise; you told him exactly what that sensation does to you in no uncertain terms the first night he ate you out on the table of your kitchen. “You look incredible.”
Your fingers bite into his biceps. Push back out of his arms, despite the obvious warmth in your cheeks. You level his arousal in a single glare. “Joel, I asked you not to tease.” 
Tommy once told him he was a pain in the ass to be around sometimes because he displays every negative emotion as anger and so it’s damn near impossible to figure out whatever it was he was so bent out of shape about.
Sadness as anger.
Shame as anger.
Guilt as anger.
Fear as anger.
With your fingers balled up, it's the tremor in your fists that gives you away. 
He had genuinely intended this to be a quiet night away from the cafeteria, away from the Tipsy Bison, away from anyone else. He wanted you all to himself and in his greed, he didn’t see it until he saw it in your eyes. 
How vulnerable being pretty made you. How vulnerable privacy made you. 
How being vulnerable made you so deeply, deeply afraid. 
Almost as afraid as he was. 
Without a word, he turns to the record player, strategically hidden behind the couch and puts on the carefully selected record. The silent scratches for a moment before –
Your eyes widen as Nelson begins to sing his most beautiful love song (in Joel’s humble opinion). Your shoulders slacken, hands lose their grip, you blink up at him in total bewilderment. You aren’t an indecisive person, you’re quick as a whip, rarely confused – so this befuddled look on your face is kinda cute. 
Tucking that rare look on your face away for another time, Joel wanders to the center of the room, in the heat of the light from the fireplace, his good boots clicking over the wood. He opens his arms, hand out to you.
“Let’s try something new tonight.”
I'll always be with you for as long as you please
For I am the forest but you are the trees
The decision you make is a visible one. 
Your palm is warm, weighted as it slides over his. This time his hand respectably settles on your waist, then on your low back when (to his surprise) you come closer. He’s delighted to watch you smile at him, distantly aware of the stretch of his own on his face. 
Willie strums on his guitar, crooning softly, the sound warm and deep. With the weight of you against his chest, that feeling crackles like the flames over the wood logs in the fireplace. You drop your head, turn your cheek, and just before you come to rest on his shoulder, he sees your smile slide into a smirk.
“New, huh? What’s new look like for a sixty-five-year-old man at the end of the world?” Even with teasing, your voice is soft and sweet, the soft powder of cinnamon. Slowly, as if not to startle either one of you, he leans his chin against your forehead.
“You n’ I’ve been burning both ends, keepin’ the lights on. New to us is having a goddamn break.” His voice is low, meant only for you, and in the tremble of his deep bass, the words elongate in his mouth. He brings your intertwined hands just under his chin and when that goes well, he tightens his grip around your back, drawing you flush against him. It reduces the dancing to more of a sway but Joel can’t find a single thing to complain about. You gently tap the pad of your middle finger in the hollow of his collarbone to the beat of the song.
I'm empty without you so come grow within me
For I am the forest and you are the trees
And the heavens need romance so love never dies
“‘N ‘m only fifty-six, jackass.” 
You grin, twisting in his grasp, rub your nose on his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. He clutches to your back like a key finding its lock. 
You'll be the stars dear and I'll be the sky
And should any of this find us let them all be forewarned
That you are the thunder and I am the storm
“This is nice, Joel,” you murmur in his ear. The backs of his arms are growing warm by the fire. He presses his lips to your exposed shoulder, unsure of what to say, or what not to say, only nodding. He closes his eyes, trying to hold this moment forever in his memory. The soft flare of your waist, the winged-spread of your ribs, beneath his hands brings him back into your arms.
"Yeah?" Quiet, into your skin as if to muffle the question entirely, to muffle the unsure wobble in his voice. "It's good?"
He feels you nod beneath his chin, the smell of fresh soap escaping from the back of your neck, and the clamp around his throat loosens. He breathes, unimpeded for the first time all night, a low exhale taking the tension from his body as the air leaves his lungs.
Relief. A sinking down into the moment, into your arms.
You chuckle with your cheek against his chest and he feels the vibrations down to his stomach.
"Yeah, Joel, you did good. Really good." With the hand he holds in the air, you rub your thumb over the knuckle of his thumb, soothing. It used to bother him you could read the lines of his emotions as well as you read a book, as well as you write your own name, effortlessly, as if you had been given a guide no one ever thought to show him. But now, now that you understand how much this means to him, that you know he needs to be told he made you happy, it's more than relief. It's an unburying – a resuscitation of pieces of himself (seed-like bone fragments) that he thought had long since died in the soil of his ribs. "Thank you. I needed this."
He wants you to see the whole of him. Lift up an antiquated silver plate and show you the dents and scratches in his reflection. When you kiss his cheek gently, the hope floating in his chest flares, a solar explosion with tendrils that reach into the blackness of space and it asks him, what would you do to keep her?
Everything. Anything.
He shuffles closer, feels the warmth of your body lined up against his, the clean scent beneath the edge of your jaw blooming in his nose and throat. The hope hums, pitches dark like the forest floor in the rain, and grows teeth. His want for you digs into his skin and evolves into a needy, unsatisfied thing.
“Where’d you get this dress, hm?” He asks, lips half an inch from your shoulder. It falls and rises, never catching on your skin as he plays with the fabric. He runs his palm up your spine, the velvet coming with him, and watches as the swell of your thighs and the tease of your ass is revealed. Dirty old man. “‘N who do I have to kill to get you to keep it?”
You laugh into his neck. He wonders if you’re intentionally twisting his curls at the base of his neck to send sparks of arousal down his spine or if you are completely unaware of the cause of his insanity. Your hands are littered with scars and calluses and every time you touch him, he could melt through the floorboards.
“They found it in some strip mall and were actually going to strip it down for material. But Aaron at the sewing center owed me a favor and you said wear something nice, so . . .” You thumb the lip of his collar, your fingertips brushing the knot of his spine every time you drag your fingers back and forth. 
And I'll always be with you for as long as you please
For I am the forest and you are the trees
He knows you well enough to know that something lingers in your mind, but even after all this time, even after what he’s seen with you, been through with you, the things he’s done to you – he isn’t quite sure if he has the right to ask. 
Instead, he squeezes you. He means to do it just with his hands, but ends up swallowing you in his arms. 
Your mouth is pressed up against his chest when you finally go on. 
“It just seems silly to keep, Joel.” 
The high he’s been riding on all night falters, since you first walked down those stairs to him. Your eyes are wet when he pulls back and cups you by your cheek. He stops swaying with you.
“Why’s that?” 
There it is, that all too familiar flicker of fear. You can’t look at him, despite his every touch, his every glance pulling you into him, to be near him. 
“Because other people should have it. They should have a chance to . . .” 
You withdraw your head from his hands, his thumb brushing your jaw as you retreat. He might actually lose a piece of himself if you let go now, but instead you clasp his wrists in your fingers. You stare at your hands and his between you, as if this whole thing between you could solidify at your feet, finally real. 
Willie has stopped singing, only that musky drone on an empty track.
“Someone else should have a chance to feel pretty, to feel this way, because it shouldn’t be wasted and I’m afraid – I wonder if –,”
He knows he’s being a bit too rough when he takes your jaw and straightens your gaze to him, but his heart might fly out of his chest before he has a chance to say anything. His stomach turns, not knowing he’s not at the peak of a roller coaster drop, that he’s standing on solid ground, even if it swims under his feet.
“What you feel is not wasted.” A murmur, stern, as steadily and as serious as he possibly can be.
That feeling aches in his chest and you haven’t even gone anywhere. You haven’t left . . . yet. “What this is, is not wasted time. I spent twenty years wasting time, looking for something that wasn’t there, and with you . . . I can’t say I’ve found it –,”
“Why? Why can’t you say you’ve found it?” Your grip around his wrists tightens, eyes hard. “Why can’t you name it, Joel?”
“Can you?” He pulls his hands out of your grip and you let him go. “How can you ask for what you want when you can’t even ask to keep this dress?” 
“Because I don’t deserve it!” It’s not silence that follows; it’s emptiness. You face away from him, pressing the heel of your hand into your brow bone, teeth slightly bared. Your arm bars across your stomach like you are literally holding in your guts. Finally, you lift your head, the few scant tears on your face sparkling in the firelight. “I don’t deserve you, Joel. I don’t deserve any of this. Ellie, the way she . . . I’m here, warm and happy, acting like the fucking world hasn’t ended. Playing house, playing pretend. Pretending like I’m your –,”
You swallow the words caught in your throat, gaze leaping away from him. At your side, your hand trembles again. 
Oh, honey, the shit I’ve done . . . 
With wide, wet eyes, you watch him approach. He doesn’t look at you, instead seeing exactly where he’d like to put his lips on your stomach beneath the fabric. 
“Then what do you want, hm?” There’s a fold in the front of the dress and he runs his fingers along the edge of it. “We can’t fix it. Can’t go back ‘cause there’s nothin' to go back to. I don’t care what you had to do to get here, right here, with me because I’m so fuckin’ glad you are. I’m not pretending, not wasting my time, never was. ‘Cause you’re right.” 
Your hand over his stills his endless roving and then it stays, scarred hand over scarred hand. Your gesture says something to him, something so meaningful he has no idea how to put it into words. He swallows his attempt and instead, slowly, drags both hands over your hips, where they stay. Heavy against the velvet. 
You rest your own against his forearms, neither pulling him in or pushing him back. 
“I was right about what?”
His eyes flick to yours and maybe it’s presumptuous, maybe he really is an old man afraid of his feelings, or maybe living this long – despite everything that ever tried to make it otherwise – living this long has granted him the privilege of knowing with perfect clarity what you’re thinking when you look at him like that. How he wants to whisper it back to you and he decides he will the next time your skin is warm and tacky, body helpless beneath his. 
Your eyes shamelessly track the brush of his tongue against his bottom lip.
“That you’re mine. Just like I’m yours.” 
The hands at his forearms glide up to his chest. The rims of your irises have gone a bit blurred, a bit unstable, and you can’t decide whether to look at his mouth or his eyes.
“Joel?” Suddenly breathy, all begging, pleading.
“Hm?”
“Get me out of this fucking dress.” 
When your lips crash into his, his entire world narrows down to where on his body, yours touches: 
your rough hand cradling his cheek, the other fisting the collar of his shirt. His fingers digging into your skirt, the heat from your thigh nearly driving him to tear straight through the fabric to get to you. Your sweet, perfect mouth smeared against his, lips puffed pink, nose to your cheek. 
That warm, wet cunt he thinks he can feel through his boxers, jeans, the dress and your underwear. 
It’s not enough. 
The cry you let out is some mangled mix of a moan and his name when he licks the soft supple skin behind your ear and nips your earlobe.
“Baby, please – please – bedroom, we have to–,”
He grunts his disapproval at your words, overwhelmed by the scent that makes his mouth water as he stains the column of your throat with wet, humid kisses. 
“Joel, c’mon, honey, just upstairs –,” 
The last flickering tiny speckle of logic in his brain fights with itself; take your right here or haul you over his shoulder – which isn’t great for his back and, quite frankly, he intends to spend most of the night on his knees. 
First option it is. 
You mumble in confusion, eyes shut, chin brushing the thread of gray curls on the top of his head as he purposefully sucks a bright hickey into your collarbone, one hand cupping your breast, the other pushing you backwards. You go willingly, of course. 
Until the backs of your legs hit the couch and there’s nowhere else to go. In the stumble, your dress rides up even higher and those thighs he’s actually lost sleep over appear to him. He drops to his knees, hands like meat hooks as they squeeze your waist, pulling that warm cunt even closer to him over the edge of the couch. You groan when he pushes the skirt up even higher, practically to your tits, as he explores your outer, then inner thighs with soft strokes of the back of his hands. He presses his nose to the crevice between your thigh and hip and inhales. 
“B-baby, the windows,” you swallow thickly, slurring like you’re drunk, grabbing at his shoulders like you’re trying to steady yourself, or turn him towards the windows. “I mean – the curtains, baby, the curtains are –,”
“It’s a fucking blizzard outside,” he explains tersely with his eyes still closed, as if irritated to have a conversation instead of focusing every ounce of concentration he has to the heat and smell beneath your black panties. He drags his teeth over the elastic band around your hips and makes you whine his name for an entirely different reason. 
You don’t make him stop or wait when he tugs those panties down your hips. In fact, you help, lifting your hips, the irises of your eyes so wide and black, you look halfway out of your mind.
Good.
He gathers the skirt he was once so fond of and stuffs it into the cushions behind you. You watch him as he moves, eyes half-lidded, finger scraping your bottom lip. Around his ribs, your knees dip back and forth, moving targets, like he’s forgotten why he’s here and needs reminding. 
His big paw, the size of which makes you feel indescribably small, catches your knee and stills it, gaze dark and heavy. Do not test me right now. You try not to moan. 
“Can’t believe I’m going to let you fuck me with my boots on,” you whisper airly, watching with delirious fascination as he puts one of your slender legs over his shoulder. His mouth is actually watering at the sight of your damp curls. 
“Not gonna fuck you. Just gonna eat your pussy. You’ll know the difference.”
“Semantically, it’s the sa-a-me thi-ng, Jo-e – ah, Joel!” 
His tongue up inside you turns you into a whiny, high-pitched, feminine mess. He eats like he does everything else: diligently, quickly, and silently. 
Until you bury your fingers in his ash-flecked curls and tug. 
That first deep, loud moan ripples through his body, rolling him up just off his heels, his crotch seeking some kind – any kind – of friction. 
The feel of his mouth humming against your cunt has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Please, oh fuck, please –” 
You are a grown woman. You should not be making these noises. 
You also shouldn’t be using a man’s face to get off . . . but you do it anyway.
“Tha’s it, baby,” he mutters when your hips grind against his face. His nose catches your clit and around him, your thighs wobble. “Use me, fuckin’ use me.” 
His grip around your calf over his shoulder turns rough and he knows he’ll bruise you, but fuck, the thought of you walking around town with a mark in the shape of his hand where everyone can see —
He briefly lifts his grip from your thigh to adjust his iron-hot cock in his jeans. From his view over your cunt, it doesn't seem like you noticed, or even saw him leave your skin. He watches you writhe, try to capture your breath, eyes crammed shut as your hips rock almost without your control. He takes a chance to lick the musky dampness from his upper lip when your cunt rolls back from his face a fraction of an inch — and then he sinks in again.
Call it age or the fact that you both are here at the end of the world, but the first night he ate you out, you told him exactly how and where you like it, unabashed and in control and honestly it’s the hottest thing he can think of in recent memory. 
He would have written it down on the backs of his eyelids if he could. 
He follows it to the letter.
“Joel – Joel, baby, please don’t stop –,” You buck and moan beneath him as he spells out your instructions with his tongue along your cunt. He dots the i’s with a tap of his tongue or a lick on your clit. Just inches above his head, your chest heaves, your fingers locked into his curls, gently pushing him closer to your puffy pussy as if he’d ever waste a drop of what leaks out of you. 
With a flat-tongued brush against your suffering clit, you arch off the couch, your sighs now verging on desperate, high and whinging, because it’s just not fair how good he makes you feel. He can feel your foot curl against the planes of his back, the rubber heel heavy, your mouth open and wet, with your eyes locked on the ceiling as you try to ride out your humming orgasm with a semblance of control.
“Look at me.” 
No other man has ever been able to make you come with just his mouth, you told him once.
And no other man ever will. 
It’s sweet, the way your eyes soften briefly when you lock eyes with him, crouched between your thighs — before your head tips back, lips wrenched apart in a silent scream, and you come, as hard as he has worked for the flush of slick down his chin.
There’s goosebumps on your thighs, he notes. He rubs his thumb against your raised skin and you shudder, head rolling against the back of the couch.
He’s already feeling a slight twinge of shame at the noise his knees will inevitably make when he stands, but for now he’s content watching you glide down from your high, his head against your knee, shoulders still stretching your legs open wide. 
To his delight, you manage to laugh, your hand draping over your eyes. You can see the shine of the dull light all across his lips, his chin, his nose and you have to close your eyes. He should make you lick it off him, but not tonight.
“Top marks, Miller, as usual,” you mumble, “but the threat of voyeurism really deserves the extra credit.” 
He grins. Still waiting for your breath to slow, he wipes his mouth with his palm and slides the leg over his shoulder down in between his own thighs. Propped up on one knee, he begins to unlace your boot. He holds your calf like it’s delicate as he gently drags the boot over your heel. 
He’s just as reverent with the other side. 
And then your boots, the pair, sit at the end of his couch, like they were always meant to be there. 
His heart, easing down from its own thunderous beat, squeezes and that feeling, that strange-not-so-strange feeling, the one that dictates practically every action with you, dribbles into his veins. 
You open one eye. A flutter of lashes, coy and playful, the curve of your mouth guarding a hoard of secrets.
“Now, Joel Miller . . . will you take me to bed?” 
It’s a question. A request. Your eyes, as dark as ever, on his warm his chest, all the way down his spine. You’re asking, politely, for a thing you both know he would never, ever deny you. 
He cannot lose you, he just can’t. 
He stands and, yes, his knees crack and pop, but he regains stability when he toes off his only good pair of cowboy boots. He nods, grinning, and offers you his hand.
The walk, half-run up to his bedroom is something his brain designates as not important enough to store away. 
Instead, it languishes in the way you stretch out on his mattress before him, ass in the air, knees spread over his blankets and arms sliding through crumpled sheets towards the headboard. 
The room is dark, the only light fighting its way through the downpour of snow comes from the lamp posts that dot the street outside. But the veil of snow warps the light and everything in the half-darkness is doused in blue. 
The shadowy, blurred curve of your shoulder, blue. 
The spread of your fingers on his mattress, blue.
The swollen bottom of lip of your mouth —
“Joel.” 
The snow falls so fast and hard, it patters against the windows and the sides of the house. It’s the only thing he can hear over the pounding of his heart and the short breath in his lungs. He stares at you, soaking his blankets in your scent and slick, and you stare right back in utter and total silence. 
You sit in the center of his bed, bare for him beneath the velvet dress that is red like blood, your patchy white socks at complete odds with your smeared make up and the fucked-out look in your eyes. But there’s something else there too. 
Something softer. Gentler. 
You reach out a hand to him and he goes to you, like always. The instant your skin touches his the instinct to fuck you hard until you’re bruised and crying evaporates. He doesn’t think you want that anymore either. 
No, you need — 
“Joel, please come here. I need you.” 
You need him.
The mattress squeaks when he settles one knee and then the other on top of it, his fingers stroking your ear, brushing the tips of your hair, while he kisses you with an ache that is not physically manifested. Instead, it resides —
“I love you,” you whisper. 
You pull back infinitesimally, just enough that your eyes are all he sees. 
A patient silence hangs from the ceiling. The sound of snow falling. Of baited breath. The scratch of your fingers against at his beard —
“I love you too.” You smile and his body is no longer big enough to contain his heart. “I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?” 
Your gaze traces the same path your fingers take when you think he’s sleeping; it runs over his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows, the plush curve of his lips. Like you can’t believe he’s there with you. Like you can’t believe he’s real. 
That feeling — that feeling he had been fighting because it always was the only thing that would ever really do him in — is love. He loves you. 
He loves you.
And you love him. 
Didn’t think they told stories like this anymore, not in a world like this. So maybe, for once, Joel Miller just got lucky. 
“No. It’s not. Just be sure you mean it.”
He can't tell if the glow in your eyes comes from within you or it beams out of him. “Every word.”
Eventually, he sheds you of his favorite dress of yours, your only dress, and he lays you back, fully bare in the nest of his blankets. In the corner of his bedroom, the heater hisses like the wind from a purple storm, the static crackle of warmth hovering in the air. You watch, with eyes that shine like stars, as he pops apart the pearl-snaps holding his shirt together. 
And then his white undershirt goes next. He used to worry what he looked like, until he found someone else who had done exactly what was necessary to survive. 
When he goes to unzip his pants, you sit up, hair mussed and the hickey he gave you earlier throbbing like a dream. 
“I wanna do it.” 
He lets you unbutton his jeans, slide the zipper down, at the edge of the bed, but your hands are shaking, your breath stunted.
“I’m fumbling like a teenager,” you huff, a small, flustered smile on your face. “It’s like I’m nervous, but what is there to be nervous about —,”
His mouth pressed up against yours creates the most beautiful silence of all. 
How do you want me, you ask him and he thinks, all the time. But he takes you both under the covers and settles in next to you. He positions one leg over his hip and immediately you know exactly what he’s asking for. Quick as a whip, you are. 
There’s a rustle of covers, the bed slats squeaking, and then he’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. You kiss him again, maybe nervous still. 
He disconnects, when you slip between his legs and take his thick, leaking cock in your hand. 
“Baby, wait, do you need — I know it’s a lot — I’m a lot –,”
He can’t fathom why he’s so nervous either. But you chuckle, shake your head, smile at him. 
“Don’t need anything but you.” 
Your leg wraps tighter over his hip, knee up to his ribs, as he sinks inside you. The palm wrapped around the back of your knee grips roughly only once.
This is true silence. The instant where the world goes muted, everything distant and muffled, when he’s first buried deep in your heat. 
Your fingers thread through his curls and suddenly all sound is cranked up to an eleven. Your rapid, stilted breathing, the groan of the bed, your soft smothered moans, or are those his? —
“Fuck me, Joel.” 
Eyes never leaving yours, he does. 
Your fingers dig into his skull, nails biting, hand wrapped around his neck to hold yourself steady as he thrusts up into you. He thumbs your stiff nipple, half of his hand still grasping your ribs. 
You meet him thrust for thrust, a slow steady pace that draws sweat to his hairline and endless gasps from his mouth. But your gaze stays strong, never falters. Your hand slips to his shoulder, to stabilize just a bit more, but then it's on his chest, twisting his chest hair and he thinks he feels that sparkle of sanity, of rationality, any restraint to hold back crack and shatter between the clench of his teeth. 
“Goddamn–,” 
He rolls, taking you under him and demanding a faster pace. You push your hand against the headboard, the bed knocking against the wall in rhythmic, hypnotic thuds. 
He thinks you hiss his name before you bite down his shoulder. 
The sharp shock of pain lights up his brain, channeling the sudden awareness that he liked that so fucking much all the way down his spinal cord where it presses hot against his groin. 
He lifts up onto one elbow, skin sweat hot and sticky as it splits from yours. 
“Tell me what you need to come,” he pants.  
You whine again, your throat dripping sweat, but that’s not an answer. Knowing he has about a half-a-dozen to a dozen good grinds before it puts too much strain on his back, he uses every single one of them to drag you to the knife’s edge. 
“What–,” grind, “do you need –,” grind, “to come?”
The wail you let out nearly makes him come on the spot. Your eyes have that same, out-of-this-world, off-this-planet unfocused gaze, any sort of language impossible. You plead with him in the silence. A silence loaded with damp moans, grit teeth, and skin against skin against skin against skin against skin. Best sound in the world, as far as he was concerned.
You arch until he lifts above you and, taking the hand that was by your head, tuck it down between your legs. You let him grasp around with spread fingers where you are wet, where his cock rocks into your body, watch as that pulls him apart faster with dark eyes, before pressing his thumb against your clit. 
There, you say without words. There is where I need you.
Once, twice, he circles – he can feel the tightness in his back already settling in, his jaw fixed and locked, his body battling the two overwhelming sensations of dull pain and fierce, wild pleasure – and you hit your release and you soak him in it. 
He falls then too, falls just as hard and as fast as you, the chronic pain he holds in his shoulders, his neck, his back, his knee fleetingly gone in the rush of heat that branches out of his body from his groin and it feels divine.
When he lies on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck, the heat from your humid skin warming up the breath in his lungs, the throb of your body matching his, his mind wiped clean, the thought occurs to him:
It’s not silence he’s found with you, it’s quiet. 
It’s peace.
Eventually, some awareness seeps back into his trembling body and he rolls off of you, but takes the curve of your jaw in his hand as he goes. He can’t settle into the pillows because he can’t stop kissing you, love bites occasionally against your lip, as if where his body fails, he proves his love for you won’t end so easily.
Eventually, you press your fingers into the base of his skull and, like a reset button, he groans and drops onto his back. 
Eventually, the quiet returns. Only soft noises, murmurs of existence outside of this perfect little room, fill the space. 
Eventually, he falls asleep with you curled up next to him. 
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He knows you love waking up in bed together, but he also knows you love fresh coffee even more. 
Which is where Ellie finds him the next morning. 
He nearly adds too much ground coffee to the pot because he’s distracted, lost in thought about the way your curves looked in the bright morning light, when the back door slams open and a little creature made of entirely scarves, mittens, and an oversized purple jacket stomps into his kitchen and clomps its snowy shoes on the rug. 
“Joel, we gotta go!” She’s a little breathless, red-cheeked too as she unwinds the scarf around her head and her face is revealed. “We don’t wanna miss it!”
“Miss what?” Joel asks, this time carefully measuring how much water the pot needs. 
His question is not met with her usually buzzy chatter. Instead, she’s stopped undoing her scarf and just stares at him like he’s been beamed down from another planet. 
He realizes all too late that he’s still in PJs at 9AM (basically a sign of another apocalypse), he’s making more coffee than just for himself, and he’s smiling. 
Shit.
“Ellie, um, I –,”
She rolls her eyes. Her scarf is flung off her neck and she starts yanking off her gloves, her plucky attitude back, if not a bit smug.
“Get your girlfriend up too. They’re lighting the big tree in town square in an hour. I know she’d be pissed if she missed it.” 
So definitely caught. Time to be “The Adult” here and put it out on the table. 
“Don’t call her that.” Joel eyes her. Coffee percolating, he grabs a slice of bread and Ellie’s favorite jam. “Makes it sound like we’re fourteen.” 
She frowns at him, classic “pouty-mouth”. 
“I’m fourteen — rude. But seriously, and I say this because I care, get over yourself. Call a spade a spade. You’re dating her, fucking her–,”
“Ellie!” 
"– and you make gross ga-ga eyes at each other when you think I’m not looking."
She slides into the seat at the island in front of him as he pushes the toasted bread with jam across the marble to her. She takes a bite, chews with her mouth open, and shrugs. “That’s a girlfriend, dude.” 
Joel turns back to the eggs that might be burning, his shoulders hunched and fist tight around the spatula. Hate it when the kid is right. 
He salvages what he can of the eggs, plates them along with two strips of bacon on two plates, and balances a mug of coffee on each. He tries to salvage some of his dignity with a glare. 
“When you’re older, you’ll see some things just don’t need labels.” 
At that, she rolls her eyes again and snatches up the last strip of bacon from the folded, greasy napkins. “Whatever, you dork.”
Argument soundly lost, he gathers up the plates and heads back up stairs. She’s still mumbling to herself as he goes. 
“'Girlfriend', pfft . . . much better than fuck bunny!” She yells to no one in particular.
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You hear the entire conversation from bed, the door cracked open enough for the sound to travel. Muffling a giggle, you snag his white shirt from the floor and draw it over your head. You should probably be more embarrassed that Joel got caught in his Walk of Shame, even if it was to his own kitchen to make breakfast. But . . . you’re just not. 
The smile is still on your face when his footfalls approach the door and he sticks his head into the room.
“Sounds like we’re busted,” you smirk. 
Joel almost chuckles. “'Bout as busted as you can be.” He hands you one plate and sits on the end of the bed with his own. He takes a low, slow sip of coffee and you follow him. The eggs are nibbled at and the bacon is perfectly crunchy.
“So . . . girlfriend?” 
He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.” 
“I mean," you slip the plate and coffee onto the bedside table, then hug the sheets around your knees, "I agree with you on the bit about labels. It seems silly. And not wasteful silly. Just . . .”
“Silly.” Joel’s eyes are as dark as his coffee, warmer than it too. “Doesn’t really capture the whole thing, does it?”
An apocalypse and a half later, and a boy’s sweet eyes on you can still make your stomach swoop. 
“No, it doesn’t.” 
“Then what do you wanna say, if people start askin’?”
You bite your lip, eyes up in faux-thought. “Truth be told, I'm kinda partial to fuck bunny. Cute like with a little tail and ears —,"
The groan from Joel and subsequent head shake makes you laugh enough for you to take pity on the old guy. You crawl closer and his eyes slip from your face to where the sheet tucks under your knees. But a hand on his cheek returns his gaze.
"I like what you said last night." Your smile is soft, pleased. "That I’m yours. Like you’re mine.” 
Joel’s warmth bleeds from his whole frame as he leans in close to put his mug on the bedside table, then leans in closer still to you. He drags his nose over your bare, exposed shoulder, in a way that is sweet and sensual all at once. He stops with a kiss on the hinge of your jaw. 
“I like that too. I like saying that you’re mine.”
Ignoring the shiver that rockets up your spine at the low hum of his voice, the flutter of his lips barely against your cheek, you tuck an errant curl around his ear and it immediately springs back up again. You smile and he smiles back, a youthful shine in his eyes.
“Wherever you are, I am too.”  
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Listen to: I am the forest by Willie Nelson
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zyhkoo · 4 months ago
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☆ don’t blame me
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jealous batboys x f!reader
requested by anon
Dick
As his partner, it was expected for him to cling around you. No matter where you went, he was there. Your apartment, the supermarket, outside your work area- anywhere really. He doesn’t mind if you get along with his friends and family, he’s very happy that you get along with them. But if Dick sees someone he doesn’t know, smiling and spending time with you. That’s when he gets jealous.
Today, he went on his usual routine by fetching you from work but then he spots you with a man he doesn’t know.. Dick leans towards you, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to his body as he interrupts the conversation. You raised your brow at the sudden gesture but he ignores you.
Dick glances at the man that you have been talking to, narrowing his eyes slightly. He doesn’t say anything to the man, for now. Instead, he glances down at you, a small smile on his face. “Hi, babe.”
“Dick this is-“ he immediately cuts you off “Uh, huh.” He nods, completely ignoring the man as he keeps his gaze fixed on you. “I was just looking for you.” He pulls you even closer to his side. “I missed you.” He murmurs, his hand on the side of your waist, gently massaging your hip.
You looked at him skeptically “You just saw me an hour ago?” you crossed your arms. He tilted his head. “And?” A slight pout formed on his face. “Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”
The man in front of you two chuckled “Well, my name is Romhelle, I was her former classmate back in high school.” he explained. That made him immediately stop pouting. His eyes darted towards Romhelle, silently sizing him up. His grip around your waist tightens ever so slightly.
“Oh? You two go way back then, huh?” He tried to sound as casual as he could, but clearly, there was a hint of jealousy in his voice. “Not so.” Romhelle replied “We weren’t that close.” he added. You glared at Dick “See? You don’t have anything to worry about.”
He chuckled quietly, glancing down at you before his gaze returned to Romhelle. “Oh, I’m not worried. I know she’s mine,” His hand moved from your hip, and to your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. After bantering with the guy, he immediately got along with him. He was laughing, talking with him like they were best friends and as if he wasn’t jealous a moment ago. You only stood there absolutely baffled.
Jason
Jason doesn’t like sharing unless it's with you. Stephanie asking if he could share the cookies he bought? Nope, it’s his. Tim asking if he could borrow his controller? Just use your own. Damian borrowing his equipment? Absolutely not.
He would especially be Jealous if you got along with his family members. The way you laughed and enjoyed your time with them made him feel so petty. He doesn't know why he was like this, but he always hated it when you interacted with them. He would always try to find reasons to pull you away from them, whether it be 'training' for a mission or going on patrol.
He huffed as he leaned back into the couch. His eyes are not leaving you talking with Damian. He knew he should not be jealous over something so small. He was his little brother after all, why is he so worked up about him? I mean, he’s so much better than some kid. When Damian left, you finally noticed what was up with your boyfriend.
“What’s the matter?” you asked. He looked up at you, arms still crossed over his chest. He let out a huff, avoiding eye contact as he talked. “I’m not jealous.” You only chuckled “I didn’t ask if you were jealous.”
You sat on the floor with him and cupped his face, squishing it a bit “C’mere. Tell me what's wrong.” you coed teasing him a bit. He pouted more when you squished his cheeks. He tried to look annoyed and upset, but it was hard not to feel happy with you. “Nothing’s wrong.” He looked away, mumbling. “It’s stupid.”
You looked softly at his eyes “Come on, tell me.”
“Mn? Why not?” you asked.
“Because they’re annoying and obnoxious. Why are you getting along with them so easily?”
You caressed his face “Hey, there's no need to be jealous. I just enjoy their company, that's all. It doesn’t mean I enjoy yours less.” you reassured him. “I’m not jealous.” He mumbled, he scoffs. “I just don’t know why you like them so much, it’s pissing me off.” You only chuckled softly “Oh, come here you.”
You grabbed his face and placed a hard kiss on his cheek. He huffs, his face was dusted pink as he refuses to look at you. “You’re embarrassing me.” he said as he leaned to your touch anyway. You placed another kiss on the same spot “That’s the point.”
He couldn’t fight the small smile that tugged at his lips as you continued placing kisses on his cheek. He felt a warm sensation spread in his chest.
Stephanie walks in the two of you, her gaze darkened as she looked at the two of you with a scowl. “Gross, get a room!” she exclaims. Jason glares at Stephanie as soon as he notices her standing there. “Why don’t you learn how to knock, Blondie?”
Bruce
Bruce doesn’t really get possesive, he knows he’s yours and you know your his. If a guy would hit on you, he would just tell them to back off. But if someone way out of your league has your attention, that’s when he gets jealous. Why would you enjoy your time with a lame person?
When he introduced you to Clark, he had never been this Jealous his entire life. How did you get along with him so easily? He doesn’t get it, he literally has a reporter salary…
On the drive back to Gotham, you noticed he was more silent and brooding as usual. “What’s wrong, love?” you asked. “Nothing.” he grumbled, his hand tightening on the steering wheel.
“You know you can’t lie to me, Bruce.” You said, rolling your eyes. He stayed quiet for a few moments before letting out a sigh. “Clark.” he muttered under his breath, a scowl on his face.
You raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hold back a snort. “What about him?” you asked, pretending to be clueless. Bruce's scowl deepened as he shot you a sideways glance. “You were getting along with him pretty well.” he grumbled, his tone laced with annoyance.
You couldn’t help but laugh at his jealousy. “Are you...jealous?” Bruce's grip on the steering wheel tightened even more. “Jealous? Me? Of Kent?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant. “Please.”
You placed a hand on his thigh, trying to calm him down. "Don't worry, love. You have nothing to be jealous about." you assured him gently. His body immediately relaxed at your touch, and he reached down to cover your hand with his. "I know." he muttered, his scowl softening slightly. "It's just... Clark has a way of getting under my skin."
"You were laughing at his jokes," he remarked, "...You never laugh at my jokes."
“But you don’t do jokes.”
"I can do jokes," he protested, "I just... choose not to."
You smiled, finding his grumpy expression endearing. "Sure you do," you teased, patting his thigh. He let out another huff of annoyance.
"It was... annoying."
“You think everything Clark does is annoying." you pointed out.
🦇 discord server, please like and reblog!
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caffeinatedvigilantewriter · 4 months ago
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So Danny and Ellie are in a predicament.
Ellie has been freshly deaged to a 18 month year old. Sam, Tucker and Jazz are dead and gone.
Danny who is 23 ish is running from the GIW and Fentons ends up in Gotham when he gets caught
Last minute he shoves Ellie into an alley and leaves a note if to someone finds her
And he’s gone, taken.
Damian is now 23 and Batman. Bruce and Alfred have passed away (Bruce’s heart couldn’t take years of being Batman and Alfred got too old)
Everyone else… to put it lightly… aren’t on speaking terms.
Dick is in Bludhaven, Cass is in Kong, Jason is with his outlaws, Tim alternates between the Titans and WE (but doesn’t talk to Damian outside of the company). Duke and Steph are in collage.
Damian is alone.
Back to Ellie. Damian is on patrol and finds a crying baby in an alley at 1 am.
At first, he’s angry. What kind of parent leaves their child like that?
Then he finds the note
He takes Ellie in and raises her alone in the manor while being Batman and trying to find her dad.
Leslie- who’s now retired- helps in babysitting Ellie when he’s busy with being Batman or WE but hes always there to tuck her in every night.
Eventually, Duke- tired of the family’s pride and stubbornness ruining their family- comes home for Christmas break (around 6 months after Damian found Ellie)
He arrives while Batman is on patrol, hoping to surprise him and instead has his shit rocked by a 2 year old with Lazarus green eyes the moment he walked in the Batcave.
Damian arrives and explains everything.
Duke switches to online collage and resumes living in the manor.
Signal is back on the streets and Ellie gets an uncle.
Tim is the next person who catches on.
He realizes Batman’s patrol routes are shorter (Damian didn’t want to leave Ellie alone at night) and Batman sometimes abandons patrol in the middle to leave (Ellie was crying and Leslie couldn’t calm her down)
And so Tim pays him a visit and he sees Damian napping with a two year old on the couch and is like :0
So, instead of doing the Logical thing and waking him up he leaves and calls the rest of the family.
While Duke laughs in his face, the others plan to all appear next week at the manor and interrogate Damian as to why he adopted a kid.
Coincidentally, that night The GIW have cracked down as to where the ghost baby is and they break into Wayne Manor while Damian is on patrol.
He doesn’t get back in time.
Everyone else arrives a week later to find Damian in the batcave, looking like he was close to a passing out from exhaustion.
Duke returns from patrol and explains the situation and everyone bands together to help Damian find his daughter
They didn’t find her, but they find Danny.
After busting him out and telling Danny that Damian was the one who took care of Ellie for months
He eventually heals his wounds in the safety of Wayne Manor.
However, because Damian was the one to raise Ellie for months and the other not only ignored his calls but didn’t even stop by to check up on him he doesn’t trust the others as much.
So Damian ends up caring for him.
And over the course of the three months it took for them to locate Ellie, they begin to fall in love.
Cue the rescue mission the moment they find Ellie.
Damian and Danny eventually get together and GIW gets dismantled. Everything is fine and dandy…right?
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lilacgaby · 4 months ago
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˗ˏˋ🖍️crayons and connections
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pairing: prohero!katsuki x nanny!reader
summary: after a harsh relationship he really didn't want another try at romance for a while. at least, not until he hired you. he thought he loved the way you cared for his kids, but you both knew it was something more.
tags: fem!reader, domestic au, use of pet names, no proofread, fluff, cursing, taking care of kids, a millisecond of angst i swear trust me, comfort
(a/n: i couldn't get this au out of my headdd)
wc: ~3k
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katsuki was honestly sick of his wife.
she would nag him constantly, asking for his cards and attention without ever asking about him or how he was doing. everything was an argument now, most of their nights would eventually end up with him on the couch.
the only lights of his life were his newborn son and one year old daughter. he had adopted the 'staying for the kids' mindset, but her skipping out on their shared daughter's first birthday was his breaking point.
who knew 'i want a divorce' would be the happiest words he'd ever uttered such far? watching her cry and swear she'd be better feeding the hole of despair that had opened over their three year relationship, that had only really blossomed because she got pregnant.
he had made her sign a prenup, thankfully, so he got to keep the house. with a payment and some paperwork he was left with full custody of his kids in his house, to sleep in his bed for the first time in ages.
well, only because he hired you.
it was only natural that he needed a nanny, i mean he was gone for most of the day patrols. after taking some in for interviews, he eventually landed on you after some hours of questioning.
he was exhausted, some of these hags were terrifying, both in their practices and appearances. he relaxed a bit at the sight of you. you were really pretty.
"hi mr-- um bakugo was it?"
you and no idea who he was? it kind of hurt but would end up working out in his favor.
"yeah, just katsuki's fine."
"oh, okay! i'm [name], uh-- i have a couple years experience for babysitting and i worked as a nanny for some other families too--"
as you rambled about your past experience and why you were good for the job, katsuki's mind went elsewhere. you looked breathtaking just speaking there, he swore your hair was flowing in the wind and that the sun shone brighter around you.
not to mention you were really sweet, he had saw you making small talk to the hags earlier, which meant you really were a saint.
"so uh-- yeah that's all about me... uh, hello?"
"oh! yes? that was all really impressive [name]. so, would you be available from eight in the morning to about ten at night? those are my current patrol hours, and obviously you'd be compensated for this trial."
"yes, that's perfect for me! when can i start?"
"uh.. tomorrow?"
"okay!" you stuck out your hand, a small smile on your lips. "nice to meet you katsuki."
he shook your hand firmly and you bowed before leaving.
the next day you arrived earlier than anticipated, he was suited up in his heroes outfit, relishing in the moments where his kids were still asleep.
he heard a knock at the door and opened it. it was you, a tiny purse behind you. "hi katsuki! woah wait a minute.. are you like a hero?"
he shrugged his arms. "yeah, you know only like top three, nothing big."
he saw your eyes widen. "oh wow! sorry for not recognizing you, i don't really keep up with all that stuff-- but im sure you're really strong!"
he nodded, "hell yeah i am. anyways, come in."
you were greeted by a large family home. you were sure your apartment was the size of the kitchen alone. huge halls and grand staircases filled the space, lavish chandeliers all shaped as explosions hung from the ceiling. not to mention the crazy amount of trophies displayed.
the rocking chairs and baby blankets scattered about were seriously out of place, making you giggle a bit.
when he looked back at you, you immediately slapped your hand over your face. "something funny?"
"no, no it's just-- your house is so nice!"
"thank you? anyways, i'll take you up to their rooms now."
you followed behind him, even his kids had huge rooms. you were super kind of jealous.
he opened the door and waved you over to see a small, adorable baby boy sleeping in a cot. "this is kei, he's only eight months." he whispered. "he fusses a lot, but he loves music."
he closed the door slowly behind, and walked to the room straight across. a tiny toddler laid in a princess bed, the room drowning in all things pink. "this is kioko, she's a handful. she turned two a bit ago." he whispered, closing the door behind him to give you a basic rundown of the schedule.
"so, they normally wake up around eight. there's a lot of formula for kei in the kitchen, and kioko just likes cereal. kioko can and will play all day, but kei gets real sleepy."
you nodded along making mental notes of everything.
"they eat lunch around three, but a snack before then is fine. dinner is at seven and they go to sleep at eight."
"okay, i think i got it."
he nodded. "i think you do too. there's extra keys in the counter by the door. call my assistants if there are any emergencies, i wrote the number on the fridge."
you nodded again, "kay, i got it. you get going though, it's already eight twenty!"
"fuck. okay, i'll see you later."
"bye katsuki."
the door closed behind him and you were alone. you decided to start prepping a bottle. just as you finished, you heard the wails of a baby ring throughout the halls.
you walked up to the cot, speaking softly. "hi kei, i'm [name]." as you picked him up, he gurgled in confusion. "i'll be taking care of you from now on, let's go eat."
you kept him in your arms. he was looking up at you curiously, making you smile as he touched your face. as you walked to his sister's room, where sure enough she was awake too.
"hi kioko, im [name]. i'll be taking care of you, okay?" you said, reaching out a hand for her to shake it.
she grasped your hand. "okay. go eat?"
"yes, let's go eat. follow me, okay?" she followed after you sleepily, her blanket and stuffed animal in her arms as you led her to the kitchen.
you placed her brother in a high chair first, giving him his formula. "can i pick you up?" you asked her.
"up-up!" she said, raising her arms up in the air. you carried and placed her into one too. "so, what do you wanna eat?"
"cookie!" she pointed to an expensive cereal brand you'd never even seen before. "oh, okay."
you placed a bit in a tiny bowl, adding some milk. they ate relatively peacefully, were they really as crazy as katsuki said?
yes, yes they were. kioko was a ball of energy, walking any and everywhere. she wanted to play every single game known to mankind. it didn't help that hide and seek was hard in such a huge house.
kei clung to you. as you searched for her he never wanted to leave your side, he'd start sniffling when you even left his sight.
lunch and dinner were a blur, you made the food katsuki had told you to on the sticky notes he'd left around. you had a bit too, and man did these kids eat good.
kioko finally crashed, tugging on the back of your pants. "sleepy time." you were washing dishes, so you wiped your hand clean to ruffle her hair. "okay, go wait for me in your room."
you finished up, picked up kei from where he was sat by his activity cube, and walked over to kioko's room.
you read her a book, 'the giving tree.' she fell asleep halfway through, utterly tuckered out from the day. kei fell asleep against your chest, you went and laid him down in his cot.
you looked around the house, seeing the mess. you sighed. "let's do this."
the house was sparkling once you were done, a pot of coffee on the stove as you waited for katsuki to get back. you seriously didn't know how you were going to go back your one-bed apartment now that you've seen how the rich live.
the door sounded, it was katsuki. "hi katsuki! how was uh-- patrol?"
he was covered in soot and dirt from head to toe. you internally sobbed at your hours of mopping going to waste. "oh uh, it was good. caught some guys and shit."
"ah, that's cool!"
he looked around. "did my brats cause you any trouble?" he eyed how clean everything was, from the dishes to the floor.
"they're full of energy, but so cute it makes up for it."
he wore a soft smile. "yeah, they really are."
"you know, they both look exactly like you. it's cute."
he flushed slightly, "yeah?"
"mhm, oh! i had leftovers from earlier? if you wanted some."
"yeah, i'll eat them." she smiled and started to grab her things. "so, does this mean i pass?"
he smiled too. "yes,
yes you did."
days melted into months of your routine with kei and kioko. some days katsuki would come home early, letting you play games all together. you'd cook with him sometimes too, laughing at how precise he was about it.
everything got a bit real the second kei spoke his first word to you.
"mama."
you and kioko got so excited, recording a clip to send it to katsuki immediately.
the entire day you were so happy, treating the kids to a secret extra snack, and letting them beat their favorite baby popcorn.
a knock on the door was heard, you were feeding kei so you walked over to the door with him in hand. you thought it was odd, why would katsuki knock?
except it wasn't him, it was some woman. "uh.. who are you?"
"oh, so he thinks he can replace me so quickly? newsflash, bitch, i'm his ex wife."
"can you not curse in front of the kids?"
"i'll do whatever the fuck i want. you know why? because i'm actually connected to those kids. you're just playing mother, he'll dump you eventually."
she slammed the door behind her. "star her mama?" kioko asked behind you.
"yeah, stranger."
you had gotten a bit weird after that, acting weird about affection and things surrounding it. you didn't know why, but she really did make you question your role in their lives.
you weren't a mother, you were a nanny.
katsuki finally got fed up with your new, odd attitude. he questioned you with a look in his eye.
"why you been acting so weird?" he asked, his mouth full with food.
"huh? i don't know what you mean?"
he pointed his chopsticks at you. "you've been acting all weird 'round 'em. you don't like that they call you mom or something?"
"no! it's just.. don't you think it's weird?"
"no. i'm happy that they like you so much."
"you don't think i'm trying to replace their mom?"
"they never really had one in the first place. she was never around, so if she said some shit to you know she wasn't half the person you are."
"oh.."
"so she did come."
"yeah. she did."
"[name]. you are ten times the person she ever was. you're perfect without trying. actually, you do try. and that's why..
that's why we all love you."
you both turned red, which made you laugh. "thank you katsuki."
you reached out and held his hand.
"seriously, thank you."
he put a restraining order on his ex the next day, also going to get flowers for you as it was his day off.
you'd started to sleep over after that, the affection between the two of you growing gradually.
he gifted you a room in the house, fully furnished with about ten thousand dollars left in one of the drawers so 'you could decorate for yourself.'
that room went mostly unused though, as most nights you'd end up cuddled with katsuki in his bed.
the fridge was filled to the brim with photos by kioko, who'd love to draw all four of you as one big family.
katsuki even asked her for a small one, one that he now keeps in the back of his phone case for good luck.
he asked you out officially with kioko's help, her unwanted help that is.
she snuck out after bedtime where he was speaking to you on the couch, you in his arms as he was mustering up his courage--
"pleaseeee have a play date with daddy, pleasee?" she said, using her puppy eyes.
"we all love you a lot, but he loves you this much!" she spread out her arms to make a point, making you laugh.
"okay! okay, i already said yes kioko. go to sleep, okay?"
"yay!" she ran up to her room and you heard the door close.
"so.. about our playdate?"
he took you out to a fancy dinner of your choice, telling you to order whatever you'd like. his mom was babysitting so you two could relax.
he'd learned a lot about you from his kids, your favorite color, the music you liked, the way you like your eggs, but it was different to hear it from you.
he thought you were so gorgeous and kind, so sweet to him and the lights of his life. who was he kidding? over the last year you'd become a pillar of his life.
he enjoyed going home knowing you were there with his kids, you were there to hear about his stresses and support him.
he was happy to support you, to let you stay in his house. to let him pay for things for you, to let him make you smile.
one 'playdate' turned into multiple, you went out every other week.
he knew he had to do something, a grand gesture to show you just how much he loved you, how he wanted to continue building this perfect family of his forever.
he knew how much you treasured the opinions of his kids, he loved that about you.
so, he got them in on it. kioko and kei each held a gift for you, one of your favorite flowers and the other of your favorite perfumes.
you were at a seriously gorgeous park, streams the only noise you could hear for miles. you saw your two favorite kids sitting on the picnic blanket.
"kioko, kei?"
"mommy!" they ran up to you, kei handing you the bouquet of roses, and kioko handing you a vial of perfume.
"aw, thank you you two. where's your dad?"
"hes waiting for you! come come!"
"come!"
they guide you to a secluded area, with a natural arch of overgrown vines, where katsuki is waiting for you.
"katsuki?"
"[name]."
"what's all of this for?"
"you." he took your hands into his, looking deeply into you.
"you're important to me. you've.. you've become the thing i was missing. the thing i searched for in other people.
and, you've become that to the people i care about the most too.
so,"
he got down on one knee infront of you.
"will you marry me?"
the word yes escaped you before you even realized it. you tackled him into a hug, which prompted kei and kioko to join in.
everything was just so sweet from then on.
kioko was the flower girl at your wedding, kei was the ring holder.
your first kiss shared under the altar was magical, the memory of it forever engrained in your memories, and in your lips.
your honeymoon was bittersweet, as you missed your two headaches. but you and katsuki also enjoyed the private time alone with eachother, embracing and finding comfort in eachother's presence.
when you got home though, your picturesque family was about to have a new addition,
you were pregnant.
whilst everyone was debating whether or not you'd have a boy or girl, to everyone's surprise once you and katsuki cut the slice of cake open..
it had both colors.
you we're having twins.
as you looked over at katsuki, a shocked expression on his face, all you could do was laugh.
laugh because you couldn't have ever imagined a life this perfect for you.
but it was a wax-drawn line of fate that led you to katsuki,
and you'd always be thankful for it.
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tag: @kovu-bunnbunn
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flwrkid14 · 1 month ago
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Bruce shares custody of Tim with Harley Quinn
Yeah, you read that right. Gotham’s broodiest billionaire vigilante and the queen of chaotic energy are co-parenting Tim Drake. And, somehow, that’s not even the weirdest thing that's happened to the bats this year.
Why? Two words: Joker Junior.
The details are locked down tighter than the Batcave, but here’s what everyone knows (or guesses): Joker broke Tim in ways none of them can fathom. He didn’t just try to kill him—he tried to make Tim like him. And while Tim clawed his way back from the brink, he didn’t do it alone. Harley was there.
She was part of the nightmare. And then, unexpectedly, she was part of the healing. She stepped in, helped Tim survive when Joker was doing his worst. When it was all over, when Joker was (temporarily) gone, she didn’t vanish into Gotham’s chaos. She stayed.
And somehow, somewhere along the way, Tim started calling her “Mom.”
And Bruce didn’t stop him.
Cue the Batfamily losing their collective minds.
Dick is pacing the Batcave, gesturing wildly. “Bruce, this is Harley Quinn we’re talking about! You don’t just co-parent with a rogue! There are laws against this! Or, like, there should be!”
Jason is sitting on the Batmobile, arms crossed, voice dripping with disbelief. “She’s literally a former rogue. She tried to kill you! Like, more than once. This is insane, even for you.”
Steph is perched on the edge of a desk, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Okay, but, like, can you blame Tim? Harley does make amazing pancakes. Better than Alfred’s, honestly—”
A scandalized gasp echoes from the other side of the room.
Cass just watches quietly, her head tilted, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her face. She gets it. She’s seen the way Tim softens around Harley, how he relaxes in a way he doesn’t around anyone else.
Damian glares at Bruce like he’s lost his last shred of common sense. “Father, you have truly surpassed yourself. Allowing that woman into the sanctity of our home—”
Duke raises a hand cautiously. “Okay, but can we at least talk about how Tim basically has diplomatic immunity now? No rogue in Gotham is gonna mess with him. He’s Harley’s kid!”
And it’s true. Between Harley’s reputation and Poison Ivy stepping in as Tim’s unofficial stepmom (because of course she and Harley got back together), the rogues have adopted a weird kind of reverence for him. Tim’s no longer just a bat to them—he’s Harley’s kid.
Picture this: Tim’s out on patrol, and Riddler has the gall to interrupt with a riddle—only to end it with, “You’re sharper than I thought, kid. Guess Harley taught you well, huh?” before disappearing into the night.
Harley’s brand of parenting is chaotic but deeply personal. She knows Tim’s tells, the way his hands shake when he’s overwhelmed or the too-quiet moments when he’s retreating into himself. She’s the one who sits cross-legged on the floor with him, working on puzzles and cracking jokes until the tension lifts.
She carries extra band-aids in her purse because “Ya never know when a fight with some thug is gonna leave ya with a paper cut!” She also leaves sticky notes on his projects with scribbled messages like “You’re a genius, baby boy!” or “Don’t forget snacks!” They’re goofy, sure, but they make Tim smile when he needs it most. She keeps a stash of snacks in the Manor because Tim forgets to eat when he’s working. She shows up with pancakes at 3 a.m., douses everything in syrup, and calls him “baby boy” in that soft tone that makes Tim feel… safe.
Even Harley’s chaos has an odd kind of comfort to it. She’ll burst into the Manor unannounced, dragging Tim into impromptu “self-care parties” with face masks, bad rom-coms, and every flavor of ice cream imaginable. Somehow, it works.
Ivy, on the other hand, balances Harley’s energy with her own structured nurturing. She insists on “proper nutrition” and occasionally sends Tim home with meal prep containers filled with organic, eco-friendly food labeled things like “Stress-Busting Smoothie” or “Brain-Boosting Soup.” If Bruce raises an eyebrow at it, Ivy simply reminds him that “The human body can only fight crime properly with the right fuel, Bats.”
One time, she cornered Bruce in the greenhouse, pointing an accusatory finger. “If you send Tim out on patrol without a proper meal or at least six hours of sleep, I swear, Bruce, your rose garden is compost.”
And while Harley is the queen of hugs and chaos, Ivy is the one who sits with Tim on the porch at night, talking softly about resilience and regrowth, using plant metaphors Tim pretends not to understand but secretly finds comforting. Once, after a particularly bad night, she gifted him a small cactus with a note: “Even when it feels like the world is trying to tear you apart, you’re stronger than you think. Also, low maintenance, like you.”
Bruce knows the family doesn’t fully understand. But as he watches Harley teaching Tim how to make lasagna one night, the two of them laughing as the kitchen turns into a war zone of flour and tomato sauce, he doesn’t regret it.
Sometimes family doesn’t look like you think it will. Sometimes it’s stitched together from the most unexpected pieces.
And sometimes, it’s an ex-rogue, a traumatized teen, and a brooding billionaire all trying to figure out how to keep the lasagna from burning.
Welcome to Gotham.
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teastyun · 7 months ago
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༻ pound town
arcane sevika x female reader (nsfw)
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a/n: i'm going to war (exam phase is about to start), therefore i must make haste (my hiatus starts again). also, i got a new job so i'm not sure when my hiatus will end :(
pt. 1 ; masterlist
grabbing the broom from the back of your mechanics shop, you start you usual closing routine as the streets of Zaun more active as the day ends. growing up in Zaun, you appreciate the livelihood of the people, but grew wary of the criminality rising abruptly at the end of each day. enforcers started to patrol the quiet streets of Zaun and hang up missing posters of Jinx, who you've been visited by for several occasions over the last few months for tech equipment she required. you grew fond of the girl and would occasionally even slip a few extra pieces, and she would thank you proudly by telling you about her latest new technological improvements.
one time, she told you about a prosthesis as her newest invention. Sevika immediately came to your mind and the way she held your cheek the last and first time you saw her. or the way her bionic arm held your hips so strongly as you rode her strap. shit, you really are down bad for this woman who doesn't even know your name.
as several months gone by since then, you managed to gather your savings and invest it into your shop for new techs and products to sell. you were finally able to call your shop your full time job and scrap your shifts at the brothel completely. Sevika didn't only save your shop, but she saved you from drowning in exhaustion as the only thing you ever did was work day and night.
you hoped to see her again, but your hope was slowly scarped as each month passed by.
after sweeping the last corner of your shop, you only had to rearrange your products before you could finally leave to go home. as you tidied the screws collection, the door to your shop opened audibly by your crystals dangling from the person entering.
"we're closed-" you start, but stop as you see the person at the entrance.
there she was, standing in her usual cloak and a hood that hid her face, but you recognised her nonetheless. she took her hood off with a smile as she looked at you. "good to see you again."
suddenly, you felt naked again. although she knew your identity (prolly even the whole time), the mask would hide your facial expressions and reactions. now, you are standing there with a shocked impression written on your face, unsure of how to react to the person that is the reason for your shop to still be alive.
"i see you created something out of this shop since the last time I've seen you," she speaks with a soft smile on her lips as she takes a look around in your shop. "thank you. you were actually a huge help last time we've seen each other," you respond, your hands linked together behind your back as you turn to look around your shop.
honestly, your shop is quite shady from outside with its half-broken broken neon sign spelling the name mechs n' treasures. but once you enter, you quickly realise that it's a one man's business by it's intricate appearance. it has so much personality now that you have as much time as you'd like to spent in it, decorating it with your favourite things you've collected over the years that weren't too precious to be displayed in your small flat above your shop. a few colourful crystals dangle around your entrance and the door to your flat, reflecting the neon lights from the streets of Zaun onto the mechanic pieces you sell. tidiness is your top priority, since it's hard to keep such an old shop neat and clean. you love your old and shady, but precious personal shop and wouldn't wish it to be any different. business seemed to be booming recently, too. you had no idea why, but Zaun is a quick and fast learning city with its advantages and disadvantages, resulting in people visiting your shop to buy the pieces they require for their newest project.
now, Sevika is standing in the centre of your shop, taking one of the mechanical pieces into her hands and looking at it in detail.
"can i help you with something?" you ask, looking at her with curiosity. after she puts the mechanic piece back into its tray, she says "I was hoping you could me out with this."
she reveals her bionic arm, where you see the its shimmer capsules completely shattered. surprised, you walk towards her and take her bionic arm into her hand to have a closer look. you inhale her smoky scent and suddenly were confronted with a vivid memory of the first night you guys met at the brothel, as you sat in her lap writhing under her touch. focus. you twisted a few pieces to inspect the reachability of the broken capsules. "I assume you won't be able to take it off?" you ask her, your eyes still fixed on an odd piece you've found.
she shakes her head, "it would be a hazard trying to put it on afterwards. do you think you'll still manage to repair, though?"
after twisting the last few pieces for inspection, you leave her arm. "shouldn't be no issue," you take a look at your wristwatch and notice how late it already is. a few extra minutes won't hurt, you decide.
you nod towards the counter, "take a seat, i'll be right with you."
entering the back of your shop and take a big breath. fuck, this intimidating woman still effects you after several months. at this point, you were sure you even forgot about her.
you grab your toolbox and head to Sevika, who is waiting for you behind your counter on a chair. her cloak is thrown over your register's desk, revealing a similar outfit you saw at the brothel. only now you realise how muscular this woman actually is. her arm is almost fully exposed by her sleeveless top and a choker around her neck makes you shake off your dirty thoughts.
you place the toolbox on the counter before you take a seat next to it. Sevika watches every move of yours, making you even more nervous than you already are.
grabbing your first tool, you lay her arm in you lap and start unscrewing the plates that cover the isolation of the shimmer capsules. her arm felt heavy, but oddly warm in your lap for the fact that it's broken. you remember how the same arm pinned you down on her strap a few months ago.
your brain is almost about to malfunction if Sevika wouldn't have interrupted your thoughts, "so, how is your shop going?" she asks as she leans the side of her upper body on the counter. when you look down at her, she's only mere centimetres away from your face. her grey eyes digging into yours. your pussy clenches as your breathing stops at the sight of her. you quickly look away and focus on her arm again. "it's going well," you start and grab for another tool to remove the shattered pipes. "sometimes it's exhausting to handle a shop alone, but you get used to it, you know."
her eyes follow your movements on her arm while she hums as an indication for you to continue. "once, a dude i recognised from the brothel came to pick up a few things and i couldn't help but wonder what his day job is. he was a sex worker as well, so he probably even recognised me," you tell her. it's unusual for you to share thoughts and memories of your old job. you weren't ashamed of it, but you much happier spending your time in your own shop and not thinking back to your old routine.
she shifts in her seat to look up at you, "i'm glad you were able to escape that shit hole, beautiful," she says quietly, careful of the words she chooses, "do you still remember that night?"
your movements halt immediately at her questions and you felt her eyes laying heavily on you, watching every single movement. the way you took a deep breath, trying not to appear nervous around her. the mere thought of that night made you feel butterflies in your stomach and wetness in your core.
"i do," you confess. without meeting her eyes, you continue your maintenance on her bionic arm in your lap, trying to suppress the urge of jumping into her lap and kissing her senseless. "do you?" you ask in almost a whisper, unsure if you even wanted to know the answer.
when she didn't, your eyes travelled to hers in question. she seemed to be in deep thoughts as well before she asked "how couldn't i?"
her eyes finally meet yours and you recognise such sincerity and trust in them, you couldn't help the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips.
"you were the only thing on my mind in this cruel world," she continues, making you feel several things at once. "and i don't even know your name."
you chuckled and referred your eyes back to your almost finished work, concentrating on exchanging the pipes.
"so, you're not even going to tell me?" she asks amused.
"what, my name?" you act oblivious, knowing exactly what she wanted. now it was her turn to chuckle at your teasing. "you can be a pain in the ass, you know that?"
you shake your head in disbelief with a smile on your lips as you screw on the last iron plate on her arm.
"move it," you command and she obliges. she moves her joints, making the shimmer that was left in her tank fuel her new pipe, while moving it a few more times in several directions. you've never seen machinery working with shimmer so closely. you wonder how the metal felt like against your skin.
ripping you out of your trance, she stands up. right in front you, almost between your legs, which you desperately wanted to close at the sight as you felt your pussy clench.
"thank you," she looks at you, her eyes wandering from your neck down to the rest of your body. it's like she can't help herself, checking you out as you sit on her cloak next to your work instruments.
"you even look beautiful in your casual attire," she whispers as her eyes meet yours again.
"so," you wrap your index finger through her choker, "how about taking it off and see what's hidden underneath?" you cock your head before you pull her closer. your legs are opened by her thighs between them as she looks down at you, clearly surprised by your boldness. "i don't fuck nameless girls," she says in an equal tone to her low chuckle.
you take a quick look at her lips, wondering what they would feel like on yours. "didn't seem so last time we've seen each other."
your finger is still wrapped around her chocker as you grin. she didn't answer. she knows you're messing with her.
she places her arms on each of your sides, the sounds of her bionic arm moving leaving a shudder throughout your body. she's dangerously close.
"if i remember correctly, last time you've fucked yourself, princess."
shocked by her comment, your grin fades as you suddenly remember how you rode her in that brothel, eagerly chasing your orgasm as she guided you through it.
you let go of her choker and rest your hand at the back of her neck instead, caressing the soft strands of brunette hair as you try to maintain yourself.
"y/n," you whisper. Sevika's eyes widen at first, but a slight grin sets on her lips at the sound of your name.
"beautiful name, princess," she whispers back and you feel her breath on your lips with each sound she speaks.
you close your eyes as you feel her full lips grazing yours. "y/n," she whispers repeatedly. her lips finally touch yours, first cautiously but confident after a few seconds of lingering. you copy her motions and gasp when her tongue grazes your lower lip.
pressing her more firmly against yourself, you part your lips for her tongue to enter. she faintly tastes like cigarettes, but more of a harsh liquor you can't really pinpoint. your arms cling desperately around her neck, feeling her torso pressed around yours in your heated kiss. you lock her against your core with your legs around her hips, moaning as she leaves your lips to leave kisses on your neck. "you have no idea how often i thought of kissing you," she whispers before she trails down kisses to your exposed shoulder and collarbone, licking the line of it and pressing soft bites against your sweet spots.
instead of responding, you pull her up again and lock your lips together. you press your lower body against her in search of the friction you desperately seek, but with no success. her lips form into a smirk against your lips as she realises what you're seeking.
frustrated, you separate yourself from her and motion for her to step aside, so you could jump of the counter. "i have a bed upstairs," you tell her. Sevika stands there confused, but god does she look hot. her lips are glazed from your spit and her hair looks slightly tousled from your hand that clung to it.
she doesn't let you move, though. instead, her hands are pressed firmly on your side as she still stand between your legs. "i thought that might be more comfortable..." you say, unsure of the current situation. she shifts in her stance to let you stand up.
"fuck, yes. i mean, yes, let's go upstairs," she chuckles after stumbling over her own words and her bionic arm moves to gesture you to lead the way. you laugh at her sudden awkwardness but go ahead to lock up your shop.
walking up the stairs, you fumble for your home's keys. Sevika followed you closely behind, touching your waist and kissing your neck as you try to unlock the door, a sigh escapes your lips as you try to unlock your door.
as the door closes behind you, she pins you against it. her hand holds your wrist against the door as she kisses you feverishly. her bionic arm slips beneath your ass to lift you up, so you could wrap your legs around her hips. you press your breasts against her, trying to seek for any further touches. "the bed, Sev," you say between kisses, too occupied to actually resist her touch.
she ignores your words and losses her grip on your wrists instead to wander to the buttons of your shirt, never breaking the kiss. "patience, beautiful," she whispers as her lips leave yours to press a kiss on your cheek. "we have all night, right?"
your arms find their way back around her neck, playing with her loose hair. "please," you respond, your eyes making contact with hers. you peck her lips before you say, "i want to touch you, too."
her head falls onto your shoulder as she groans, "you make me loose my composure so easily," before looking back into your eyes with need and desperation "do you realise that?"
you grin at her confession and kiss her hot and wet, moaning into the kiss as she continues to unbutton your shirt until your bra is exposed to her hand. she grazes the outlines with her fingertips, making a shudder run through your body as you gasp. you press your chest into her touch and she gladly responds with cupping your breast while biting your lower lip.
her index finger grazes your puffy nipple through your bra and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips.
she pecks you one last time with a smile, before looking around your small flat, seemingly inspecting your small setup where your bedroom and living room are combined to your cozy grove.
her hand moves to your back, stabilising you in her arms before she finally heads to your bed to lay you down on it, watching you as you lay there with your undone shirt and the few strands that escaped your hairstyle completely wordless.
similar to her, you exhale at the sight in front of you. Sevika is still fully clothed, so you pull her down by her collar to kiss her hard, wrapping your legs around her waist to pull her body on top of you. "take this off," she whispers against your lips, her bionic hand gripping your shirt as her hand sneaks behind your neck to tilt your head for her to suck.
she kisses and bites your sweet spot, disrupting your motion of pulling your shirt off and making your eyes roll back in pleasure. you moan her name in frustration before she finally let's go.
"this too," she tells you as she eyes every little detail on your torso. when you take your bra off, her bionic hand cups your breast. the sharp and cold details of her metallic hand exposed on one of your most sensitive parts of your body leave you breathing hard, moaning as her pointy fingers pinch and twist your nipple. "you have no idea how often i thought of touching them since that night," her eyes are not leaving your chest as she confesses.
"you could've touched them that night," you respond, your hand finding the back of her head as you play with her small ponytail. after hearing your words she looks at you, almost with a shocked expression on her face. "there's no way i would have touched you without your consent," she tells you. surprised by this sudden turn, you move up to rest your weight on your elbows, looking at her in disbelief. "but you payed for that night with me," you state, still confused by what she just said.
she's just as surprised as you, cupping your cheek softly as she spoke, "y/n, i would never do anything to you without your consent. do you know that?" she asks you, her eyes never leaving yours as she spoke. you've never experienced any sex partner expressing their respect to you verbally. and fuck, this is probably the moment you realise you have feelings for this woman in front of you. you nod in response, still overwhelmed from your thoughts and feelings. she smiles at you as she says, "good girl."
your soaking pussy almost purred at that nickname. kissing her quick but softly, you grind your clothed hips against hers as you kiss a trail down her neck to her exposed collarbone.
she exhales heavily at your motions before saying, "tell me what you want, beautiful."
"i want you to fuck me," you respond after hesitating, still nibbling at her collarbone as a soft moan escapes her.
"with this," you continue as you grind stronger onto her clothed cunt than before.
her bionic arm holds herself on the bed as her fingers trace your curves. "with my fingers?" she teases as she opens your trousers with her other hand slowly.
your lips move up to her ear, licking and biting her soft skin. "no," you whisper, "with this."
you press the seam of her jeans with your fingers against her clit, making her grip your hips hard from your sudden touch. "fuck," she mutters in response, clearly trying to compose herself before she continues to fully undress you.
"under one condition," she starts as she takes in your naked body with hungry eyes, "i'll have a taste before i fuck you," she unbuttons her shirt, revealing a dark bandeau bra beneath. she's in a hurry, so she won't bother to take off her unbuttoned shirt, but moves on by removing her jeans as well as underwear in one go.
you try to take a peek at her body, but she immediately kneels between your legs to kiss the soft skin of your thighs, dragging her motions slowly to your soaking pussy as her hands hold you firm beneath her touch. feeling her breath on your clit, you whine from sensitivity, gripping the sheets beneath you as she finally tastes you for the first time.
both of you moan from the touch, your hips stutter beneath her strong hands. she eats you out like a starving woman, humming at the sounds you're making. your clit is circled by her tongue as she softly bites and sucks before your legs start shaking from the pleasure that builds up in your lower belly.
she moves her arm from your thigh to press softly against it, realising how close you are. "come on my tongue," she tells you, intensifying her motions as you come hard. the way you moan her name sounds similar to a scream, your thighs pressing against her head as you throw your head back in pleasure.
she gently guides you through it by licking in decreasing motions, careful of your sensitivity. as your calming down, she kisses your clit one last time before she straightens herself to watch you after your first high.
her lips and chin are glistening from her pussy and strands that were originally framing her face now hang loosely. "you did so well, beautiful," she whispers, climbing on top of you to press kisses into your face. "fuck, you really sent me to another dimension," you confess, laughing a litte at the absurdity. she chuckles at your words, grinning as she examines your face.
"are you still down for another round?" she asks carefully, giving you the space you might need, but you nod as you smile at her. she kisses you before she straightens again to manhandle your legs, placing one on her shoulder as she moves her own over your other to align with your pussy, not starting just yet. she caresses the long on her shoulder as she presses kisses along with it.
she looks absolutely breathtaking while doing it. you feel her pussy kissing yours, and fuck, she's driving you crazy. the unbuttoned shirt exposes the abs you eyed earlier through the tightness of her shirt. her v-line is deeply defined, even more when she starts to slowly grind against you. her pointy bionic fingers suddenly press into your thigh as she gasps from the pleasure she suddenly receives. her grey eyes watch you heavily, making sure you're alright with her pace as she slowly picks it up.
"you feel so good," you whimper as you meet her motions by copying hers, crying from the sensitivity from your earlier orgasm. "fuck- i'm close again."
she grins at your confession, pushing herself harder on your clit as you cry out from the friction. she's mostly quiet, but a gasp escapes her lips anytime you improve your speed.
"come with me, y/n" she leans down, kissing you with so much passion as her eyebrows furrow in pleasure. you moan into the kiss, your breasts moving with each thrust as your nipples graze against the cotton of her bandeau. you felt your orgasm creeping, but you weren't ready for the intensity it comes with. you cry out against her lips, holding her against you as you feel her groaning from her own orgasm. both your hips stutter in your motions before you stop to look at her.
her head rests in the nape of your neck and the only thing you feel is her hot breath against your skin. as you untangle your legs, you kiss on the side of her head. "are you alright?" you ask after several seconds of silence.
she vaguely nods, still maintaining her breath before she answers "you have no idea what you're doing to me."
you smile as you caress her hair through your fingers. "i'd love to figure it out in the future," you continue, making space between your faces so you could look at her as you speak. "this idea you've just mentioned," you clarify as she looks at you speechless.
she kisses you passionately after a few seconds, smiling as she realises what you were suggesting.
"let me take you to dinner after your shift tomorrow?" she asks as her thumb trails your cheekbone. you nod, kissing her on the cheeks before you answer "gladly."
you both fall asleep, and sooner or later date nights with Sevika become your favourite traditions as you two engage in a passionate, but intimate relationship with each other.
tags: @sevsbaby @womenathleteshaveme @macaroni676
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