#and i’m the poor loaf of bread

[thesuperiorrobin]

Damian Al Ghul was livid.

He leaves you on your own, after a month of convincing him that you’re fully capable of taking care of yourself with no help from his men, and now he’s starting to regret leaving you alone as he paces back and forth in his study, green and gold silk crumbling under his hold. Everything in the room is either pushed over or flipped. His hair is a mess from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it. His heart sank when he got a letter—a Ransom little from a long-time enemy of the Al Ghul family. They’ve taken you hostage and want something in return, and if he’s unable to meet the requirements then they’re sure your head will look pretty on their wall. The paper is ripped in shreds on the floor. The doors to his studies are slammed open and out he goes—jaw clenched and everybody fearing the dangerous aura that spills from him.

But you on the other hand hold no worries as you sit on the ground patently as you wait for your dear husband to rescue you. Locked up behind bars, Knees brought up to your chest—humming a soft tune as you feed a small mouse, that had caught your attention by squeaking at the very stale loaf of bread they have given you, you don’t hesitate, breaking it into pieces and give it to the poor starving animal. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been taken, but you know it’s been more than a day. The silk on your body is torn out the bottom, and bits of dirt cling to it. You bring your hand down—palm up. And the dirty mouse climbs, settling down comfortably with bread in its hand. Legs are not straightened as you place your hand on your lap, holding the dear animal softly. A soft sigh escapes your lips, head falling back and up against the wall. “How much longer?”

You don’t know how much passes right after.

But you hear screams and gunshots.

Tried eyes bore onto the door that’s on the overside of the bars. The mouse starts to shake in your hands—you feel it as you try to calm it down by gently rubbing the top of its head with your finger. The gunshots and screams get louder—they’re getting closer and you feel your heartbeat quicken a bit.

The door is kicked open—and you jump. Green and gold catch your eyes and a smile forms on your lips. “Finally,” you say, pushing yourself up with your green hand. Damian holds a frown on his face and a worried expression. His katana is placed back in its hilt.

“I apologize for being so late—“

“Don’t apologize” you cut him off “I’m just glad you’re here”

He says nothing and hums, opening the gate that held you secure in place. His arm is outstretched to you—waiting patiently for you to grab it and you waste no time in doing so. The minute he feels your hand against his, he pulls you closer in a heartbeat. In his arms he left you up your feet in bridal position. A giggle erupts from your throat, oh how he missed that sound, and you shake your head. “I can walk Damian. I’m not hurt, I kicked their asses before they did anything” your hand is brought up to his cheek, cleaning any blood that was left behind on his skin. He leans into your soft touch as he makes his way out of the room.

“That’s my beautiful wife,” he says in a murmur that makes your heart throb.

“Enough sweet talking me, let’s hurry and head on home” You wrap your arm around his should “Me and Perla need a nice bath”

Damian takes a glance at you, eyebrow raised in confusion “Who’s Perla?” He questions.

And just as you were about to answer a soft squeak comes from his shoulder, and a white small mouse stands still. Your other hand is brought up and a finger rubs against the white fur.

“She’s our new pet!”

Adding the mouse was so random! 🎊

[artemis32]

Locksley

yandere Batfam x reader

yes, i do love them. yes, it is a problem. yes, i will make this my entire personality for the next two and a half months

also, necessary disclaimer, there’s a piece of dialogue in this that i took from a youtube asmr channel (bite me, they’re interesting and i’m starved of attention) - it’s jimち asmr, if you’re interested

word count - 4.8k

mbe masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a hero, not in any sense of the word. Likewise, you didn’t consider yourself a villain. You were something in between - you did bad things for good reasons, you did good things for bad reasons. 

Living in Gotham changed people. No matter how kind or well-intentioned, everyone ended up corrupt sooner or later. Some just fell further from grace than others. 

The people you helped would argue that you were a hero, someone who deserved recognition and respect for your actions. The people you stole from tended to disagree.

You didn’t care much about what you were. Heroes, villains… They were all the same in your eyes. They wrecked havoc and left people like you to deal with the aftermath - an ordinary citizen who had neither the means nor the aspirations to fix what they’d broken.

****

You started years ago, before you were even a teenager.

It was small things at first. Single fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket, cough syrup. Things people wouldn’t usually notice. 

You realised pretty soon that you were good at stealing, good at getting away without people noticing. Very good.

Stealing felt justified in your young mind. You told yourself that it was okay. It was okay because you weren’t stealing for yourself. Never for yourself. Never committing a crime for personal benefit.

No, you stole to help others. You did what you could to help those that were too weak or scared to help themselves. 

In those early years, when you were still young and hopeful, you likened yourself to Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Now, years later, the sentiment had faded. 

You still stole from the rich. You still gave everything you stole to the poor. 

Poverty in Gotham was a disease. The densely populated apartment blocks in the Narrows, where you lived, housed more people than it should have, and those people had become somewhat of a family to you. Or at least as close as you’d ever get. So you did what you could to keep them safe and alive. Stealing food to keep them fed, stealing clothes and blankets to keep them warm, stealing medicine to keep them healthy, stealing toys to keep the children hopeful.

That was your job, your purpose in life.

It made you feel as though you had a use. Seeing how people’s faces brightened, how happy they looked to see you when you bought a spare blanket or some extra food, or a toy a hopeful child had been eyeing for a while, it made you feel as though your life wasn’t completely meaningless.

Your life had a purpose. And that purpose was to help those who couldn’t help themselves. 

So you did.

And you never got caught. Not once. 

Until you did.

****

This uniform is so fucking uncomfortable. How do these people do this all day? You think, slipping your index finger beneath the buttoned collar of your shirt, tugging at it in a lacklustre attempt to catch a breath.

As much as recon was necessary, it was also an annoyance most of the time. It was times like these that you thanked the stars above that you weren’t born into a wealthy family. Stuffy galas and boring board meetings were never your thing.

The crowd of wealthy tycoons and aristocrats barely paid the waitstaff a second thought, primping and preening as they mingled amongst one another, trying to impress people who were too self centred to notice them. 

You would’ve rolled your eyes and gagged at the sight, had it not acted as the perfect cover for you. 

Stealing the name tag and uniform off of the service roster was simple enough, and sneaking in through the service entrance of the disgustingly lavish manor was a breeze. Now, as you flit through the crowd of supercilious pricks, you feel grateful for your own nondescript appearance.

Blending in with the average service worker was a blessing, one you took full advantage of as you scanned the large ballroom. There were several large windows, massive panes of glass bordered with ornately carved ebony wood frames. The doors were just as grand, two sets of double doors, and a smaller service door in the very corner of the room, all dark stained ebony to match the windows, were just as detailed and lavish.

It made you sick.

How could these people live so wastefully? How could they live so easily? Their biggest worry was keeping their faces youthful and their houses fancy. It didn’t make sense. Even now, after months, years of doing this, it still confused you - the fact that you lived such a jarringly different life, one that seemed so pathetic in comparison to the vapid crowd that surrounded you.

At the very least, it eased your conscience, and made your job easier. You felt no pity, no remorse for stealing from people like those gathered around you. Very few of them had actually worked for what they had in life. No, it was handed to them at birth. Life was funny like that. Those who work hard are left impoverished, and those who give in to gluttony and greed never have to work a day in their lives for what they have.

You discarded the now empty serving tray behind a potted plant, slipping out the large double doors and into the empty corridor beyond. The halls were silent and dark, moonlight casting large shadows over the walls.

The manor’s antiquated runner rug muffled the sound of your footsteps as you crept along the wall of the corridor, carefully taking note of each door, drawing up a mental map as you continued. 

Every corner you turned was more extravagant than the last. You could practically feel the wealth seeping out of the walls. It disgusted you. 

At least it was nice to look at.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve made it up to the East Wing, the furthest part of the manor from the ballroom. It seems to be the personal quarters of whoever the hell owns this abomination of a house. On the trek up several flights of stairs, you’d passed a collection of bedrooms, several smaller living rooms, and,to your great delight, a study. Though, ‘study’ feels like the wrong word to describe the room.

It looks more like a grotesque mix of a library and a maze, and if you were any more wet behind the ears, you might’ve been intimidated by the sheer size of it. In fact, if you’d stumbled upon a room like this a few years ago, you’d have been in awe. The value of a single item in this room would have you set for life. 

But you don’t allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, keeping steely focus as you move silently, swiftly between towering shelves. You don’t take anything. Not yet. The time for that would come later. Right now, you focus instead on gathering information. The layout of the manor, alarms, sensors, residents.

The last part was always the hardest, especially with people like the elite of Gotham city. People came and went as they pleased, and the odds of you running into someone was higher in extravagant homes like this, what with their abundance of butlers and maids. But you’d avoided them all up to this point, never once encountering anyone in more than a decade of prowling.

And this manor - the famous Wayne residence - never housed more than a dozen people on any given night. You knew the staff and groundskeepers all went home in the evening, leaving the property all but abandoned at night.

You reach the end of the room, pausing only to glance over at the large grandfather clock nestled between two shelves before you turn on your heel and stride back towards the door. You’d gotten what you came for. Now, it was time to take your leave, full mental map in tow. 

Getting out of the gala was a lot easier than getting in, and you took the time to register the smaller details of the manor. In this time, you confirmed one thing you knew for certain:

Wayne manor disgusted you in all its excessive wealth.

Bruce Wayne may have appeared as some kind of well meaning philanthropist or humanitarian, but you knew his pockets ran deep. Much of his wealth, generational and unearned, was hoarded while the rest of Gotham was left to rot in poverty. 

It was, in part, the reason that you didn’t feel bad about what you were doing. He, alongside the rest of Gotham’s elite, had done nothing to earn what they had. You were just levelling out the playing field, giving those in the Narrows a fair chance at life.

And if you had to dirty your hands to help them, then so be it.

****

The thick carpet muffles your landing, though you don’t really need it.

Over the years, you’d mastered your movements, learning how to move silently, without notice. It’d been born from necessity, rather than genuine desire. Growing up in the Narrows wasn’t good for much, but at least you learnt pretty quickly that it was easier to get by if you went unnoticed.

You gently close the window, pushing the polished wooden frame with your fingertips, wincing at the soft click of the lock. Any noise was too much.

The corridors are empty as you silently sweep through the manor, as expected. You aim for the lavish library you’d scoped out a week prior, mental checklist ready. 

Avoiding the cameras and alarms is easy enough, especially when the majority of them scoped the perimeter, rather than the interior. The lack of security, combined with the excessive luxury confirmed what you’d always thought.

Rich people were fucking dumb.

They really thought their money could protect them from everything. Well, there was one thing that no amount of money could save them from.

People like you. People with absolutely nothing to lose.

You had no family, no prized possessions, no desire or greed. And you sure as hell didn’t harbour any fear for people like them.

Eventually, you arrive in the East Wing, slowing your stride slightly. You strain your ears for any hint of movement, blending seamlessly into the shadows as you prowl the corridor. The ornately carved solid wood door opens with a silent swoosh, and you slip into the room a mere moment later.

Someone’s here.

You take note of it a moment too late, slipping between two towering shelves the instant you hear the soft murmurs of a conversation. The lighting is dim, shadows dancing across the room, sourced from the crackling fireplace at the back of the study.

Fuck.

It takes you a beat longer than usual to calm your now racing heart, and the instant you get it under control, you’re back to creeping along the shadows, hands darting out to grab at ornaments and books, shoving them silently into every pocket and gap in your suit and small backpack.

If you could, you’d have brought a bigger bag, but you needed to travel light - light enough to make a swift exit if needed. 

You manage to grab quite a few things without nearing the source of conversation, which you’ve now determined to be two men murmuring lowly near the fireplace. Relief settles heavy in your bones as you creep back towards the door, thankful for the numerous shelves hiding you from view.

Lady Luck was a fickle being, and it seemed she’d decided your time was up.

When you’re about ten steps away from the exit, senses on high alert, time seems to slow, the baroque handle dropping slowly as the door is pushed open. You’re back in the shadows before it fully opens, back pressed against the wall while you weigh your options.

The door is out of the question. There’s no way to slip out without being noticed. The window, maybe?

One glance at the tightly latched windows across the room dash that idea immediately.

Panic swirls up your spine, threatening to take over. If you got caught here, there’s no telling what would happen to you.

As you scramble to come up with a plan, the door swings open and a man steps into the room. He’s young, fresh-faced, perhaps a year or two younger than you. He’s handsome too, in the way aristocrats often were - light eyes, tanned skin, full lips. He was striking. 

And he turned to look right at you.

You’re up, on top of the nearest shelf seconds before his eyes slide towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut, sweat slicked palms pressed flat against the dusty wooden shelf underneath you.

Fuck.

He lingers for a moment, taking a step closer into the shadows, to the spot you’d stood in moments ago. 

There’s no way he knew. He couldn’t.

After several tense, painful seconds, his brow twitches and he turns on his heel, striding over to the other two men, his gait confident and swift. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing only a bit as you try to stop the nervous tremors in your hands.

Escape comes hours later, near three in the morning, when all three men eventually retire to their rooms. You couldn’t get out of that eerie, shadowed manor fast enough.

****

“You really should lock your door at night, especially in this area. You never know when some creep might think about inviting themselves in. Windows too, for that matter - or else B&E’s would just be… Well, E’s.” 

It was barely two in the morning. You’d crawled into bed, still fully clothed, less than an hour ago, exhausted from a long day of work in the hellscape that was hospitality. You hadn’t even had the energy to look over your next few potential hits, never mind take a shower or have dinner.

So it’s no surprise that you’re disoriented, thrown off guard when you wake up to a masked man leaning far too casually against your derelict old couch, slim katana resting comfortably in his hand while he twirls it around.

“Then again,” he continues, ignoring the wide eyed look you give him. You flinch back, the movement too slight to notice as he straightens and strides over to you. “You’ve made my job easier. So I should thank you.”

He stands, hovering over you, arms hanging casually at his sides beneath his cloak as he regards you. The mask he wears hides his eyes, and it feels as though you’re staring up into dark, never-ending pits rather than eyes.

“Hm. You look different than what I expected. Younger. How old are you?”

If you weren’t so terrified, you might’ve laughed. Here, in your cramped, dingy bedsit, stood someone who appeared more demon than man, and he was presumptuous enough to critique your appearance. Worse still is the fact that you might’ve answered him, had he not swiftly changed topics.

“It doesn’t matter. A criminal is a criminal. Blackgate has a cell with your name on it.”

The train rumbles by and shakes the thin walls of your apartment, casting an eerie half glow bright enough to just barely light up your apartment.

Your blood runs cold.

Robin.

You’re moving before he has time to register what’s happening, tossing your worn knit blanket at his head as you leap from your bed, the small single’s frame groaning beneath you at the abrupt movement. You’re across the room when he recovers, hand on the doorknob. Seconds later, a vaguely bird-shaped dagger embeds itself into the doorframe right beside your hand.

“Don’t move.”

For once, despite the alarm bells blaring in your head, you listen. You fight against your instincts and the burning in your limbs as he approaches, closer and closer with every taunting step until he’s right in front of you, another stupid bird-shaped dagger nicking the soft underside of your jaw.

“You’re coming with me. Peacefully.”

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his tone. It’s so condescending, as if he thinks he’s talking to a child. If this was anyone else, you might’ve fought back, but of the list of people you avoided, the Gotham vigilantes associated with Batman were top of the list. 

They were so irritatingly self-righteous, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d view you as a scum of the earth criminal, should they ever catch you. It was part of the reason you’d avoided them so religiously, and you’d done a great job of it up until this point. The only question on your mind right now, though, was-

“How?”

Robin tilts his head, mouth flat. “How what?”

You lift your chin a bit more as he raises his dagger, softly piercing the skin, as if in a warning.

“How did you find me?”

If you could see his eyes, you were sure they’d hold an incredulous look, as if to ask ‘are you stupid?’. But you weren’t. Not like this. You weren’t sloppy. And you sure as hell didn’t step on toes when you stole, especially not enough to gain the attention of a run of the mill vigilante. There was no reason for him to be standing here, in your apartment, all but pinning you to the door.

“How did you find me?” you insist, pushing forward despite the slight sting against your jaw. “What did you see?”

He sets his jaw, tilting his head down as he speaks through clenched teeth. 

“Stealing from Bruce Wayne of all people was a dumb move.”

Your blood chills in your veins.

So someone did see me then… That man. That boy. Fuck.

“It was especially dumb to stick around for four hours afterwards.”

At that moment, you weigh your options. 

If you go with him peacefully, all but turn yourself in, Blackgate would be the least of your worries. You stole from Bruce Wayne.

Wronging such an influential man would have its own set of unique consequences, and it wasn’t yourself you were worried about. Anyone you’d helped in the process would be incriminated. All those innocent people, the women and children, the elderly people who lived around you… 

No. You couldn’t go with him. 

Prison was one thing. Endangering those you swore to help was another entirely.

With your mind made up, everything else is easy.

You grab the wrought iron coat rack beside the door and swing it upwards, aiming for his head without a second thought. The moment he releases you and shoves you back, you’re out the door, sprinting down several flights of stairs.

Too slow. Faster. Move faster.

You hear him behind you, footsteps ringing out like a death knell. 

He wants you to hear him. You know he does. A vigilante like that, someone as skilled as him - you wouldn’t hear him unless he wanted you too.

Honestly, you were quite proud of yourself. You’d made it further than you’d expected. The uneven gravel stings against your bare feet as you sprint through the side alley, aiming for the main street.

It was pointless. You knew it was. Even if you could make it that far, it wouldn’t amount to anything. No one would help you. No one could help you.

Regardless, you still feel disappointed when he grabs you by the collar of your thin, old sleepshirt, yanking you back. The exit to the alley, a mere two metres away, seems to mock you.

In that moment, you think about what you’d done. You truly think, and realise that you didn’t regret a single thing. You didn’t care about what happened to you. Everything you’d taken had helped so many people, far more than it would have helped Bruce Wayne, gathering dust in his old study. 

Everyone had been so happy, so relieved at how much you’d managed to help them. The amount you’d received for the stolen goods had been enough to care for everyone in your building ten times over. 

So no, you didn’t regret your decision.

This time, Robin doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, gripping the back of your neck tightly and knocking you out a moment later.

****

“Who is she?”

“Her name is-”

“I know what her damn name is. I mean, who is she?”

Tim pauses, eyeing Damian with a strange expression, clearing his throat and continuing after throwing a perplexed glance at Bruce.

“...well, uh, she lives in the Narrows, has for more than a decade. She went to Gotham public high school and received her high school diploma, with no further education. She’s… pretty unremarkable, to be honest. Works in a shitty diner in the East End, earns less than minimum wage...” he trails off for a moment and shrugs. “There’s not much else to say.”

Damian clenches his jaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Her address. What is it?”

Again, Tim throws Bruce a glance, sharper this time, choosing his words wisely.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary information. It’s not a big deal, she only took a few things. And it doesn’t seem like she kept any of it. Actually, I’m kind of impressed–”

He’s cut off in an instant, Damian’s glare sharp and filled with rage.

“It does matter. She stole from us. She–” 

The green-eyed youth sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his arms to his side, flexing his hands.

“...she was right there. She was inside the manor, ten steps away from me, and I didn’t fucking notice. It took us two weeks to notice she’d been here at all!”

His words are like venom, belying the real reason he’s so worked up, and Bruce watches him with a blank expression, stepping forward after he’s calmed down slightly, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder.

“I understand your frustrations, but you can’t allow them to cloud your judgement. Don’t allow your emotions to rule your actions. While I agree we should find her, I don’t think we need to be as… extreme as you’re suggesting. She’s just a civilian - albeit a very… efficient one. Take some time, calm down, and we’ll discuss what to do from there, okay?”

Damian shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stalking out of the Batcave with a few short, clipped words thrown over his shoulder.

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

****

A very frazzled looking man is the first thing you see when you come to, temple aching terribly where the angered Robin had decked you hours earlier. Presently, the man hovering over you sighs when he sees your eyes open, though it doesn’t seem to be a sound of relief. His mouth tugs down at the corners, brows pinching together.

“Don’t.”

He presses a palm to your shoulder, keeping you flat on your back when you try to sit up. His tone is stern, flat, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders sag and he loosens his hold, fingers flexing against your shoulder.

“Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

The words seem more like a plea than a demand, but you listen regardless. Even if you wanted to move, the pain rippling through your skull makes you too dizzy to sit up, let alone stand.

“...do you remember anything?” he murmurs, bright blue eyes roaming your face worriedly.

Licking your dry, cracked lips, you avoid his gaze. Would it be better to lie, you wonder? Would he know? You had a feeling he might. And you had a feeling that somehow, being honest just this once would help you a lot more than lying ever could. 

You swallow thickly, glancing back at him before answering. 

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, head lolling forward as he mutters.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Before he can ask you another question, before you can say anything else, there’s a flurry of movement at the entrance to the room, several people storming in. The racket makes your head throb, and you feel faint and woozy as you lean back against the admittedly plump pillows.

You wonder distantly why you weren’t in a prison cell or a hospital. If you’d been in a better headspace and perhaps not concussed, you might’ve been concerned, but it was effort enough to focus on staying conscious at the moment.

“No, Damian! I have had enough! You explicitly went against my instructions– You kidnapped a civilian!”

Chancing a small peek at the arguing duo, you catch sight of little more than two blob-like shapes, the taller of the two yelling animatedly while the shorter stands stoically, staring off to the side, towards–

Towards you.

“She’s awake.”

That has the taller man falling silent for a moment. He sighs heavily, murmuring. 

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, I have to deal with your mess.”

With that, he turns and strides over to you, placing his hand on the shoulder of the young man at your bedside, a silent dismissal. He remains standing while the other two leave, staring down at you expressionlessly.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

…I’m so dead.

You jolt up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you blurt out.

“Mr Wayne, I–” 

He holds up a palm, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

There’s a pause, one in which he looks down at you before sitting down with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“I don’t care that you stole from me. Usually, I'd just file a police report and go about my day, but my son… Well, you upset him.”

He leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his blazer.

“You see, he’s a prideful boy. It’s never caused problems before, at least, not like this. I mean, involving a civilian, that is. But you seem to have struck a nerve. He’s holding quite a bit of animosity towards you.”

Bruce leans forward again, elbows resting on his thighs as he regards you with a critical eye.

“And I’ll admit, you caught me too, to a degree. You broke into my home without my notice. You were right under my nose.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, as if the very idea of you evading him was impossible. “It’s impressive, I won’t deny it.”

A strange flutter fills your chest, something that feels oddly akin to pride. Bruce Wayne of all people was complimenting you. Or, at least, it felt like a compliment. 

“Why is he so upset?” 

You regret the question the instant it leaves your mouth. His gaze, which had been slowly warming up, turns cold and flat at that.

“...because you slipped right by him. Do you understand what a feat that is? How much you’ve wounded his pride? For you, an untrained young woman from the slums of Gotham to have fooled him, a trained assassin. Robin. You understand, don’t you? He took it as a very personal offence.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for stealing? Did this man, Bruce Wayne, really expect you to believe that his son, the sweetheart of Gotham’s high society, was the Robin? And an assassin to boot?

He huffs a silent laugh, brows raising as he regards the expression on your face.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s shocking. Damian Wayne, Robin? You’ll get used to it.”

Your hands are shaking now, sweaty and white knuckled as you clutch the bedsheets, and you feel your blood pressure rising. If you weren’t careful, you’d pass out soon. Swallowing thickly, you ask the question urgently gnawing at the forefront of your mind.

“If he’s Robin, then…?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He was handsome, in an older gentleman kind of way - tall, strong, sturdy build. Even the wrinkles and lines marring his face looked attractive. No wonder women fell over themselves in an attempt to catch his attention.

“Yes. You catch on quickly, don’t you? Well, that’s to be expected from Gotham’s own do-good Robin Hood, I suppose. Yes, I am Batman.”

A choked noise dies out in your chest. 

Of course I’d steal from Batman. Of everyone in Gotham, this is who I choose? God, why is my luck so shitty?

His admission sows a seed of unease in the pit of your stomach, and your eyes dart around the room for the first time since you’d arrived. It was large, larger than what you were used to, though the only furniture was the bed, a vanity, and a small couch near the window. The window that was locked tight, covered with solid iron burglar bars. Bars you had the sinking feeling were put there to keep you in.

You turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

He stands, posture straight and assertive as he eyes you callously. “Because, unfortunately, your actions, and my son’s impulsive decision have both pushed me to make a decision I have no choice in. It means that, until we decide what to do with you, you won’t be allowed to leave–”

Evidently, his admittance to essentially abducting you is what sends your blood pressure through the roof. You pass out before he finishes his sentence, praying with the last of your fading consciousness that this was all some twisted nightmare.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

country club steve getting insanely protective when reader gets pregnant 🥺🫣

TW: mentions of pregnancy

Steve was in his office with Eddie and Jonathan when you came home, grocery bags in hand, your purse draped over your shoulder, pushed out by the swell of your pregnant tummy.

He looked up from his stacks of papers when you walked by the open door on the way to the kitchen, calling out a breathless greeting as you passed. There was a frown on his face when he appeared in the door frame, shirt sleeves rolled up and behind him, Eddie was chuckling.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steve’s words would’ve come across much more sharp if he didn’t look so tired with you. You and your ‘antics’, as he liked to affectionately call them. “Honey.”

“What?” You laughed, still out of breath as you shoved the grocery bags on the counter. You didn’t even pause before you reached up on your toes to push the new cereal boxes onto the top shelf of a cupboard. You sent him a glance from the side of your eyes, as exasperated as he was. “Steve.”

You tutted when he appeared behind you, hooking his fingers through your belt loops to keep you firmly on your feet. “Christ, woman. Can you just— can you just sit down?”

“I’m putting the groceries away, Steve, not running a marathon.”

“You shouldn’t be doin’ anything,” he grumbled, taking the box from your hand and pushing it onto the shelf with ease. “You should be resting, yeah?”

“I’m pregnant,” you huffed. “Not dying—”

“—but your poor back, baby, you said it was hurting you last night—”

“—you didn’t seem to mind when you had your way with me—“

Jonathan coughed, cheeks pink and Eddie cackled as he skirted around Steve and grabbed a packet of chips you’d just bought, ignoring your glare.

Steve sighed, world weary. “That’s different.”

You snorted, pinning him with a look. “Can I put my groceries away now? Before your friend eats us out of house and home?”

Eddie tried his best to look contrite as he shovelled his stolen snack into his mouth. “What? M’hun-ry,” he mumbled.

“Let me help?” Steve bargained. “Let us help, yeah?” And when the man shot his friends a look over his shoulder, Jonathan and Eddie jumped to attention, mumbling their agreements as they ambled aimlessly around the kitchen, hoping to find where everything was supposed to go. “And I’m cooking tonight okay?”

You snorted again, thoroughly amused. You were only just gone two months, hardly suffering through your first trimester, but who were you to argue with such a rare offer? “You are?”

“I am,” Steve confirmed, shoving at Eddie when he tried to throw the loaf of bread in the cupboard under the sink. “And I’m gonna run you a bath too, yeah? With that nice shit you like, the bubble stuff.”

[ravenssilver]

hello. welcome to raven succumbing to the voices.

aka 1.2k words of mountain realizing he’s emotionally neglected a lot of the time.

cw: dew gets emotionally spoiled, mountain has lots of trouble with his feelings, mountain lore👹

under the cut, if you please<3

Aether was gone.

Everyone was tentative around the subject, not wanting to trigger Dew into another fit of anger. Nobody really knew what Dew was mad at. It could’ve been Aether, the Ministry, himself—but nobody could say for sure due to how closed off Dew had been.

Swiss was always making jokes with Dew, wanting to distract him from the pain of not having one of his mates with them. Cumulus always got a fresh loaf of Dew’s favorite bread whenever they had a rest day, and everyone knew she’s rather be baking the loaf rather than buying it.

Cirrus was a silent comfort, in the shadows where Dew would hide, always willing to wrap her arms around him and whisper sweet nothings to the fire ghoul.

Rain, and by extension Aeon, were always there for Dew to rant to. And Aurora was more than happy to braid Dew’s hair whenever Rain initiated a mini spa night in whatever hotel the ghouls and their Papa were staying in that night.

And Mountain was tired of it.

He was tired of being the backbone, the one who constantly lifted everyone up when he was on the verge of crumbling himself. He was tired of watching everyone coddle Dew, and whisper with each other when the fire ghoul was asleep about oh, poor Dew—or—he’s been feeling better! Maybe he’s getting used to not having Aether around?

Mountain huffed behind his book, glaring over the tops of the pages at the fire ghoul sleeping on the tour bus couch.

He was tired of Dew being helped while he was tossed aside.

But he also felt like shit. He was feeling the same pain as Dew, yet here Mountain was acting childish, jealous over his mate who was getting the help that he needed.

But was it really being childish? Or was it realizing the mistakes of the pack, and how he felt being left in the dust when he needed support as well?

Mountain’s glare softened as he felt thorns growing from around his antlers. He slouched down a bit in the table booth, hiding his face behind his book until he could control the tears welling in his eyes.

He just wanted Aether back.

It wasn’t often Mountain was late to pre-show roll call. But tonight?

He was just so tired.

Mountain’s body was now facing the effects of being stressed out and emotionally worn. His stomach was constantly churning, he had an ever present ache right behind his eyes that never seemed to go away, his back was rigid and it hurt to move.

He was sore, and he knew he life was about to get a whole lot more exhausting after tonight’s ritual.

“Mountain?”

The earth giant blinked behind his goggles and looked down, seeing Aurora. Her much smaller hand was picking his up, a frown on her face as she felt how heavy his arm was, his exhaustion clearly echoed in the way he was holding himself.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay? You seem tired. Your ritual jitters aren’t as noticeable as usual,” Aurora spoke softly, reading the shaking of his hand as just simple jitters.

If only.

“I’m fine. Ready for the rest day we have tomorrow.” Mountain said simply, his face emotionless as he looked down at Aurora. His neck screamed at him as he looked down at her, the amount he had to strain his muscles almost laughable due to Aurora’s size compared to his.

Aurora nodded, a smile on her face.

“Me too.” She chuckled. She went to say more, but Papa cut her off, reeling in all the ghouls for the pre-show huddle.

Mountain sighed and stiffly walked over, taking note of how Rain, Swiss, and Aeon all walked over with Dew huddled between them.

His eyes narrowed as he watched how Aeon gave Dew a small buzz of quintessence to give him an energy boost. Mountain grumbled silently, knowing he could’ve used that small amount of energy much more than Dew.

But who was he to demand Dew stops getting the attention and support that he had been drowned in the for the whole tour?

A soft sigh left Mountain as he joined the huddle, tuning out Copia’s words.

Tomorrow.

Resting tomorrow will help.

He hated his sleep schedule.

Mountain was up with the sun the next day, and no amount of keeping his eyes closed lulled him back to sleep.

Mountain huffed and rolled onto his side, opening his eyes and discovering he hated something a lot more than his God forsaken sleep schedule.

Swiss was in the bed two feet away from him.

As well as Dew, Rain, and Aeon.

A low, earth rumbling growl left Mountain and he was immediately standing up, roughly unzipping his travel bag and pulling out some regular street clothes, his toothpaste and toothbrush, and his hairbrush. He grumbled as he walked to the bathroom, quickly getting ready for the day before he tossed his pajamas and hygienics onto the bed.

Mountain grabbed his phone and a room key before storming out of the room, ignoring how his now glamoured body complained with each step he took.

He didn’t know where he was going. He wasn’t even sure which city he was in.

He just needed to leave.

He turned his phone off after a while. The constant buzzing was getting on his nerves, and he had gotten close to tossing his phone on the sidewalk and letting it get trampled by the crowd.

He was so mad. The anger was only growing as Mountain realized how childish he was being.

He decided he needed to punch something. Hard enough to break whatever faced his wrath.

He wanted to indulge. He wanted to allow himself the brief respite that would be bruising his knuckles as his fists slammed down over, and over, and over, and over again.

Damned Beelzebub..

Mountain huffed and turned on his heel, walking back to the hotel and praying to his Lord below that he would be calm by the time he finished the fourteen block walk.

He just wanted to feel normal again.

Maybe he just wanted to be noticed.

Mountain listened to the quiet snores of Swiss and Rain, ignoring the growling voice in the back of his mind that was reminding him Dew had a key to the hotel room.

He didn’t want to be mad at Dew, and after lots of thinking, he realized he wasn’t. Envious, for sure, but he didn’t blame Dew, despite how much he wanted Dew to feel the hurt that he had been feeling. He wasn’t jealous anymore.

Mountain sighed as he looked over at Swiss and Rain.

He knew he could join them. He could start an unofficial and unannounced ghoul pile, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to see any more of the pack until he had to.

He was mad at them for forgetting him. He was mad at them for leaving him in the shadows and putting Dew in the limelight of their care and attention.

Tears welled in Mountain’s eyes as he realized what he was actually upset about.

He rolled onto his side, facing the wall so he could have some resemblance of dignity as he begrudgingly let tears fall.

He was an afterthought.

And he had reached his limit.

Mountain curled into himself and buried his nose into his knees, whining quietly as his back screamed in pain yet again.

This rest day wasn’t very restful.

[obanais-koibito]

Hantengu Clones x Reader Jealousy

ℛℰ𝒬𝒰ℰ𝒮𝒯ℰ𝒟

𝐔𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐢

You had recently got a pet bunny and there was never a second where you were away from it. The bunny was fluffy, chubby, and had big long floppy ears. His fur was white and had little swirls of brown so you named him Marshmallow. You would carry him around everywhere you went while peppering him in kisses. Urogi noticed your attachment to your new companion and thought it was adorable at first but then he noticed that you were a little too attached. 

He would often hear you talking in a high pitched voice saying things like, “Aww you are the cutest thing in the world!” Or “who’s the bestest and cutest friend? You are!” He would also see you playing with the bunny’s ears or even squishing the face of the bunny. He soon began experiencing an anger towards the bunny, that bunny was taking all of your love and affection away from him and he was getting sick of it.

“Y/n, you can spend one day without that thing.”

“Nooo, look at how cute Marshmallow is, how could I leave such an adorable fluff ball all alone?”

You cooed while gently scratching behind Marshmallow’s ears. Urogi felt his eye twitch twice and he took a deep breath to compose himself.

“You can leave it for one day to spend time with me.”

He said and wrapped a wing around you to pull you away from the pillow that Marshmallow was laying on. 

“H-hey!”

You wrestled your way out of his grip to go back to your bunny who now looked like a loaf of bread due to the way he was sitting. You gushed at the absolute cuteness and began to play with the ears again while Urogi watched you and shot a glare at the bunny. That ‘fluffball’ was an actual demon he thought to himself. 

“Hmpf, if you don’t give me attention, I will-“

He didn’t know what he would do, he didn’t want to hurt you physically or mentally but he also wanted to give you a choice in which you would end up spending time with him.

“Ooo is someone jealous~”

You said with a smirk and he stuttered a bit before shaking his head and refusing to look you in the eyes.

“Pfft, why would I be jealous of a bunny that is taking all of your attention for itself?”

He faked a laugh and you didn’t buy his words for a second. You took the bunny in one arm before wrapping your other arm around Urogi.

“Sure sure…you know, I can spoil you both in affection.”

He sighed before hugging you back, this was fine, but he still held a grudge against that bunny…

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮

You and Karaku were stargazing when he heard something moving in the bushes and was prepared to fight off whatever it was but then a tiny cardinal hopped out of the bushes. It’s feathers were ruffled up a bit and its leg appeared to be broken and it let out a weak chirping sound.

“Aww poor thing, who or what would do this to such a beautiful and small bird?”

You asked no one in particular as you gently cupped the bird in your hands.

“I don’t know but put that thing down, what if it has a disease?”

Karaku said, a little annoyed at the fact that it interrupted your date. You gently stroked the cardinal's head with one finger and it snuggled up to your warmth which made you gush.

“Awww, it’s so cute! I’m going to name you Cherry!”

“You’re naming it?!”

“Duh, we’re keeping it, we can’t leave it all alone in the woods, what if something eats it?”

“It’s the circle of life.”

“Karaku!”

You ended up taking Cherry to your home while Karaku reluctantly helped you find supplies to tend to the cardinal. Once a small bandage was carefully wrapped around Cherry’s leg and it had a warm bath, he snuggled up in your palms which made you stare at it in awe. 

“Does that thing have a spell on you or something?”

Karaku asked, jealousy beginning to consume him, he should be the one who has all of your attention.

“You probably have one on you since you can’t see how cute and adorable this little guy is!”

You said and placed a light kiss on the top of Cherry’s head. That completely shattered any self composure that Karaku had left.

“That’s it! We are going to get rid of this bird right here, right now!”

“No we are not! What if I found you injured in the woods, would you want me to leave you?”

He hadn’t thought of it like that, he certainly wouldn’t want to be left alone with a broken leg, he sighed heavily before he agreed.

“Fine…we can keep it, ON THE CONDITION that you don’t give it all of your affection.”

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮

You were sitting on the couch reading while waiting for Aizetsu to get back from his walk. You then heard the door open and got up to go greet him when the sound of a soft meow was heard. As you turned the corner, you saw a tiny orange kitten snuggled in Aizetsu’s arms.

“Y/n, I-I hope this doesn’t upset you but I found a kitten outside and was wondering if you would like to-“

“Oh my gosh it’s so cute!”

You ran to the kitten and began scratching behind its ears and it started purring. Aizetsu let out a sigh of relief, he was thankful that you weren't mad at him for bringing a stray kitten home. You looked up at him with big round eyes and pleaded.

“Aizetsu, can we pleaaassseeee keep it?”

He smiled softly at you and nodded.

“Yes, that’s actually what I was going to ask-“

You took the kitten out of his arms and hugged it tight while petting it.

“I’m going to name you Pumpkin!”

You exclaimed and sat on the couch to cuddle the kitten even more and Aizetsu watched you, an odd feeling going through his body. He sat down next you you and was about to hug you when you stood up.

“We should give you a bath to get you all cleaned up!”

He watched you walk away and he felt sad that you were giving the kitten attention and affection instead of him. The whole day went on like this, whenever he tried to speak or touch you, you would not notice and keep pampering Pumpkin with the affection that Aizetsu craved.

 He was beginning to regret bringing the kitten but he saw how happy you were and decided that maybe this was temporary, maybe you would give him some attention later.While the kitten was busy eating the food you gave it, Aizetsu took this opportunity to confront you about what’s bothering him.

“Uhm,Y/n?”

“Hm?”

You hummed while not turning your head or gaze towards him.

“Do you think you can not focus on Pumpkin so much?”

“But look how cute this little guy is.”

You cooed and he sighed.

“Well, I also would like some of your attention and pampering, I feel like you care more about the kitten more than me…”

His words provoked you to turn to him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just got carried away but don’t worry, I will pay more attention to you and I promise I care a lot about you.”

He felt a smile appear on his face and he hugged you and melted into your warmth.

𝐒𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐨

He already despised the idea of a pet running around but he despised it even more when you would do nothing but spoil your new pet ferret. 

“Aww you wiggle around like a noodle!”

You cooed as you continued to knit a narrow sweater for your ferret, Finigan to slide into. Sekido glared at the creature for what seemed like an eternity and Finigan began to feel frightened and slid into the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Oh my gosh you really are too cute!”

You said, clueless to the reason as to why he was provoked to hide in your sleeve.

“Can you stop paying so much attention to that damn creature?!”

Sekido’s blood was boiling at this point, he tried to convince himself that he was not jealous of some furry noodle but he kept getting angrier and angrier at Finigan. He was your boyfriend, not Finigan so therefore he should get more attention than an animal that couldn’t even respond.

“He’s not a creature! He’s our little child.”

You said as you gazed at Finigan with so much love and adoration in your eyes. He huffed and pulled you into a tight hug.

“You can go one hour without that stupid thing.”

He grumbled as his cheeks began to heat up. You stared at him while petting Finigan when it finally hit you and you smirked.

“Is my darling Sekido jealous of little Finigan?”

He shot a glare at you before turning away to hide the fact that he was blushing. 

“S-shut up! I just don’t want this abnormally long skinny guinea pig looking creature to brainwash you.”

You laughed a bit at his reaction and wrapped an arm around him.

“Fine, fine, I’ll give both of my boys affection.”

You kissed Sekido on the cheek which flustered him even more before you gave headpats to Finigan who looked up at you and if the ferret could smile, he would.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 14 - That’s what friends are for

Summary: Izuku shows his Sweet Pea around his secret lair. Katsuki doesn’t appreciate being ignored.

One loaf of bread was murdered during the making of chapter. Blame Kirishima.

Warnings: Swear words, a lot of kisses

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“I guess, I owe you an explanation.” Izuku sighs, looking anywhere but you, his cheeks tinted pink.

Honestly, you would be happier to just get a kiss, but the state of this “secret lair” is also quite concerning and would probably be nice for it to make some sense to you before you end up calling the mental hospital on the poor guy.

“That would certainly be helpful, Izu.”

The walls all covered with bookshelves on all the sides except the one with the “door”. There is a massive cork board there filled with pictures, newspaper cutouts and official statements from the agency covering up a map of the word. There is also a bigger map just of japan, that one is filled with several printouts, most of them around the Tokyo area but there are a few articles pinned to Rishiri and Wakkanai in the Hokkaido prefecture then another several to Korsakov and Nevelks in Russia.

The bookshelf are half filled with books, mostly of geography, history and other topics that might come in handy for a case and the other half is filled with thousands of notebooks, all looking worn out from the constant use.

There is a massive corner desktop a meter away from the actual corner so there is enough space for Izuku to move around the bookshelves. He could walk circles around the whole place with no problem and knowing how restless Izuku he probably did that a several thousand times already. The left part of the desktop is full of paperwork and the other one has the same single person CCTV setup as the people in his agency. By the look of it he’s been looking at a footage of a harbor before you came here.

“Okay, so…” Izuku takes a deep breath. “These notebooks are the ones I’ve written about the heroes when I was young. I’ve kept up with this hobby so there are also a few new ones there about the current heroes. This place was supposed to be my little geek corner where I can write my silly little notes and geek out over quirks. This… has changed a lot since this case came by. This place was supposed to be my mind palace, a place where I can re-gain my motivation, my strength, to remember my roots. The cork board on the wall is about this case as well. I think I’ve found a connection between Japan and Russia. I saw an unregistered ship on the CCTV leaving the harbor in Russia heading our way, probably full of illegal drugs or props, I don’t really know. I sent my findings over to my team an hour ago. They probably have all of this information anyway but Katsuki asked everyone to leave me out of the work e-mails for the time being and it frustrates me to not know how the case is going…” frustrated tears roll down Izuku’s cheeks. You can’t help but run over to your boyfriend and hug him to soothe his troubled soul.

“You know I understand why you are doing this, right?” You mumble into his ear and Izuku starts sobbing. “You know you should’ve just told me this and I would have understood. Katsuki made a massive mistake by leaving you out of this. I know it came from a good place but he should have known you won’t be able to sleep well without seeing those e-emails, seeing that they are indeed working on the case.”

“I’ll stop, Sweets. I swear this is the last time…” Izuku begs, but there is no reason for him to do so.

“You don’t need to, Izuku. I’m not mad. You just need to take a deep breath. Relax. Then come back here, do your thing for a few hours and once you close that door, leave all the pain behind. I don’t think you working on this case is a bad thing.” You admit. “It doesn’t make your recovery longer and it helps to soothe your soul knowing that you did your part. As I said, I understand. We will talk to Katsuki, okay?”

“That won’t make this place feel less dreadful, though. It’s not… fun to be here anymore and I hate that.” Izuku mumbles with his cheeks red.

“I can help with that.” You give Izuku a cheeky smile and he perks up right away.

“Tell me the plan, boss.”

“Are those papers on your desk important?” You nod towards the massive mess and Izuku looks at you with a confused face. He’s so cute, even with the dried tears dirtying his puffy cheeks.

“Let’s make paper cranes. Whoever does the most wins.” You give Izuku a shit eating grin while he stares at you incredulously.

“That’s your big plan, Sweets?” Izuku finally laughs, the sound loud and airy. Oh how much you missed that laugh.

“You are laughing, aren’t you? So shut the fuck up and get to work.”

Izuku is terrible at this. His fingers are too chunky to make the cranes look neat but he does his best and the frustration on his face is playful, a face of a kid ready for a challenge. It takes him a whole hour to get the hang of it but after that you two manage to clear out the desk almost completely. There are only a few papers left now, and there are at least 30 cranes sitting on the keyboard, most of them made by you but there is a constant smile on Izuku’s face so the pain in your fingers was definitely worth it.

“And now that the desk is almost clean…” You push yourself up to sit down on it, legs sprawled out to make space for Izuku to come between them. “It’s time for the boss to reward his hard-working assistant with some cheeky kisses!”

Izuku snorts. It’s hilarious.

“Oh, office AU? Forbidden love? I love that trope!”

Now it’s your time you laugh like a maniac.

“Oh my god, Izuku, you sound like me, that’s unacceptable!”

“Hey, where’s the respect for the big bad boss?” Izuku uses black whip pull you towards him, tentacles snaking around your waist until there is no space between you two at all.

“Are we actually gonna role play?” You ask between two snickers.

“No, it’s really fucking weird to be honest.” He giggles back and attacks your mouth with so much fervor you barely have time to reciprocate first but after a few seconds you finally kiss back, your legs snaking around his middle to pull him even closer. The kisses get deeper and deeper as the time goes, his tongue dancing with yours and you somehow end up sprawled on the desktop, your neck bent in a really uncomfortable way as you try to keep your posture so he can kiss you deeply. Izuku takes your head in his hand to help with the strain of your neck, and you just kiss and kiss and kiss, devouring the other until Izuku’s stomach makes a growling noise and you both start laughing, completely flushed and lips red.

“Wanna get a home made bento from me so we can share it on the rooftop of our office and share cheeky kisses while eating?”

“I’m quite sure those fanfictions usually end with the secretary being bent over a desk screaming the boss’s name.” Izuku retorts cheekily. You can’t help but laugh out loud again.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” You mumble as you pepper small kisses on Izuku’s lips who’s smiling like an idiot, content and happy for once.

“Don’t tell her, she’ll cry.” Izuku help you up with one hand and makes his way towards the exit. “Come on, I’m starving.” Izuku takes your hand and pulls you forward but he only makes a few steps before your back ends up against the hallway wall. Izuku steals a few more passionate kisses, moaning about not being able to use his other hand then walks towards the main exit again then stops after a few meters and kisses you again like he’s trying to make up for the time wasted in the last 7 days. Eventually, you make it to the exit, stumbling out of the hallway in each other’s arms (well, one arm in Izuku’s case. Duh.) but a loud “OI” coming from Izuku’s bed ruins the moment.

Katsuki and Eijirou are sitting on the end of the bed, Eijirou looking smug with a knowing smile on his face while Katsuki blushes like a virgin seeing people making out for the first time.

“I told you there is no reason to freak out, Kats.” Eijirou says loudly, a shit eating grin blooming on his face.

“Why the fuck do they even have phones if they don’t fucking use them?!” Katsuki throws your phone in your face and you barely catch it before it hits you straight in the face. You almost burst out laughing as you read the messages.

Group chat: Deku updates

2 days ago

You: He’s still not talking to me. He looks tired. I don’t think he sleeps properly.

Ei: That does sound like Izuku. Don’t worry. He’ll be back in a few more days. Did he eat?

You: Yeah, a bit.

Katsuki: All good, then.

Today

Katsuki: I’m going to the store, need anything?

Katsuki: That protein shit Deku likes is on sale, want me to buy some?

Katsuki: Oi

Katsuki: Don’t fucking ignore me you punk

Katsuki: I bought 10 bags of it, good luck putting that away, you piece of shit.

Katsuki: Oh, they have a limited edition All Might chocolate, there is only one left!

Katsuki: Oh well, someone bought it and ate it. How sad. *picture of Katsuki biting All Might’s head off.*

Katsuki: WHY ARE YOU NOT RESPONDING YOU FUCKING FREELOADER

Katsuki: DEKU ISN’T RESPONDING EITHER WHAT THE FUCK

Katsuki: I’M COMING OVER AND I’LL SHOVE YOUR STUPID PHONES INTO YOUR ASSES YOU USELESS BUNCH!!!

“So here I was, fucking worrying my ass off about you two, while you were busy fucking in Izuku’s secret room. Peachy. Also, I ate the food on the table. It was fucking cold anyway. Fuck you.”

Izuku actually gawks at that, his stomach making a rumbling noise just a second after.

“What Katsuki is trying to say is that we ate the cold food and made you guys some lovely spicy lentil soup instead as it’s way past breakfast anyway. We went into a cute little bakery on our way and got you guys some fresh bread! It was still hot when we bought it!” Eijirou says with dazzling eyes.

“What Ei is trying to say is that he bought two loaves of fresh bread and ate one of them on the way here. The whole fucking loaf. He just… tore into it like an animal. I think I want to divorce. I’m living with a monster.”

“Says the guy who eats a full ass ghost pepper like it’s a fucking apple.”

“I ship you guys so much.” You mumble out without meaning to and Izuku starts giggling.

“You are such a nerd.”

“I’ve never thought I’ll hear Izuku saying that to anyone. You two really are two peas in a pod.” Eijirou adds on, but Katsuki is done with the small talk and ushers everyone to go to eat.

The soup is amazing and when you bring up the topic about the e-mails, Katsuki is surprisingly understanding.

“If you think that’s okay then… yeah, we can do that.”

And that’s it. A few hours after that Izuku gets his first work e-mail and he almost cries from happiness because his findings were actually right and the guys managed to pinpoint the exact location of their warehouse just an hour after he sent them the e-mail.

Then he actually cries, but this time, from the relief.

“This week was so bad. I missed you much. I’m so tired and so stressed about to future, this fucking cast is so itchy and my butt hurts from all the sitting!” Izuku laughs in the middle of his crying fit, somehow happy about feeling all of those things all at once. “Fuck, I thought being stressed is the worst thing but whatever I’ve been through this week was far worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I was so empty. I swear my soul wasn’t a part of my own body. It was so terrible, Sweets! I would rather get another blast in my chest than go through another week like this!”

“Don’t say that!” You reprimand right away. “Also, whatever it was, it’s over now. You are back. You’ll be fine. 2 more weeks and the cast will be gone, too. Now cuddle the shit out of me, you stupid.” You plop yourself down next to him on the sofa, ready to be loved.

“Kiss attack!” Izuku is back to his normal self, giggling and laughing as he kisses you all over until it’s time to go to bed… And finally, you don’t need to go to bed alone.

“I love you, Sweets.” Izuku mumbles, his face hidden in your neck as per usual. The bed is so warm and comforting you can barely keep yourself from falling asleep in the middle of your answer.

“I love you too, Izu-Izu.”

… next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

- Jesus Christ, finally done with the angst! I hated every second! Every single one of it!!!!

- The next chapter might be late, I got hooked on a manga called “signs of affection”. The first few episodes of the anime is out if you guys wanna give it a go! I swear it’s the cutest shit I’ve ever read/watched! So yeah, I binged the whole manga in a few days after I watched the first episode but I got so distracted I haven’t written the new chapter yet so if it’s late, I’m sorry. I also posted all the angst chapters 1-2 days ahead of my usual schedule so… LET ME BREATHE 😂

- I choose Korsakov and Nevelks because they are the “closest” cities to Japan. Just check the map and you will see the vision. It’s not important though, I won’t go into too much details about the case in the future, but I thought it would be nice to have a peek into it!

- While writing this chapter I realized that technically, Izuku would be able to keep himself on top with the help of black whip… Now the only question is; are these two desperate enough to use Black Whip at their first time or do they wait until Izuku’s hand is healed completely and can lean on it? Let me know what you think. 😂

- Eijirou’s terrible way of eating bread was actually inspired by me. 😂 I’m a celiac so I can’t have bread and most of the gluten free breads taste like ass. There was this small bakery a few streets down from my flat, in Budapest, Hungary, and they were selling freshly made GF bread. Me and my friends went over to my flat and I was too hungry so I took the whole bread out of the packaging and literally just tore into it like an animal and stuffed half of the bread into my mouth in one go and my friend almost died. (Mind you, I’m really small, 158 cm and 45 kg 😂) She couldn’t look into my eyes the whole day. I still miss that bread so much that every time my bestie comes over to England I ask her to bring me some haha

- The next chapter will be called Br0cc0liB0i! 😂

- Also, have you seen the new Kirishima x reader ficc I started to post? It’s super fluffy and cute! Check it out! Please!

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 3 | Earning Trust

Amanda knew immediately the second she crossed the threshold of her home that she was in over her head. The minuscule boy in the palm of her hand needed intense care, and his size, being no bigger than her thumb, was going to be an immense challenge. 

Still, Amanda knew she made a promise to this boy, and she refused to let him down now - especially after they first met. She had earned a fragment of trust, and she intended to keep it. 

Finally making it past the mountains of boxes, she stepped into her kitchen and set her hand onto the counter. The slight jostle made the poor boy whimper pitifully. 

“You’re okay. I’m here,” she reassured just as she had done the whole way home. Seeing him in full light, Amanda wanted more than anything to give him a bath, but more importantly was the fact that he needed food. One handed, Amanda fished out a bowl and a standard can of chicken noodle soup and began heating it in the microwave. 

She wished she could give him something a little more nutritious and home-made, but that would have to wait. At the moment, her life was upside down. Everything happening was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she needed. 

While the little boy stayed huddled in her hand, Amanda continued to work. She realized after fumbling around for a minute for a spoon that she had nothing in her house that would be small enough for the child. Amanda, as her thoughts bounced around her skull like a bouncy ball, didn’t want to scare the child with a spoon that he could sit on; but he also needed something to eat the soup with. 

The boy watched with his insightful eyes, keeping eerily quiet, while Amanda searched. 

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Amanda suddenly came up with an idea, but she’d need the boy to listen to instructions for this to work. She snagged a dish cloth from her sink and ran it under the water, moving delicately to not startle the little boy. When it was just barely damp, she turned off the water and held out just a little corner for him. 

“Could you rub your hands on the cloth? Okay? Rub your hands on the cloth,” coaxed Amanda as she mimicked the motion with her thumb and index finger. The infinitesimal child blinked uncertainly before inching himself across Amanda’s palm, making a tingling shiver shoot up her arm, and imitating the motion, rubbing his hands on the cloth. 

Her mind was absolutely numb. This boy was absolutely amazing. At every turn, she was discovering something new about him and what he understood. Did that mean he could speak as well?

The thought was fascinating, but it would have to wait because, just then, the microwave dinged. Amanda moved instinctually at her own pace simply to look over at the kitchen appliance, but it was enough to jostle her hand and make the boy whimper and take cover against Amanda’s curled fingers. 

“Oh… oh no… It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry,” muttered Amanda as she curled her fingers a little tighter. The boy whimpered again, hiding his soft brown eyes as he kept them shut tight. His breathing was rapid, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Amanda could feel him against her fingertips. It made her heart hurt, so she tried coaxing him a little more. “I’ll move slower. I promise. You’re okay.” 

Seemingly convinced, the sandy haired boy to open his eyes once again after a few minutes and looked back up at Amanda. To her, it looked like he was seeking reassurance in her eyes, and she freely gave it. 

“There you go. See? All better,” Amanda encouraged. Moving slower now, Amanda retrieved the soup, a soft drink cap, and the loaf of bread from the kitchen counter. With the items neatly organized, Amanda dipped the cap into the warmed soup and tested the temperature to make sure he wouldn’t get burned before daring to lower both the cap and the little boy to the kitchen counter. 

Goodness… he’s so small. He looks like one of those little salt and pepper shakers, Amanda thought as she kept her hand on the counter, the boy still sitting on the edges of her fingers. He was looking around at all of the cabinets and drew his legs in toward him, obviously intimidated. 

To make this a positive experience, Amanda acted quickly and pinched off a corner of bread and offered it to the boy. His little features furrowed in confusion as he carefully took the bread from in between her pinched fingers. He rotated around so he could face her but didn’t leave the safety of her hand. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option she had. She didn’t want to force the boy off. If her hand was where he felt safe, then that was where he should stay. 

Amanda moved the cap of soup onto her palm in front of the boy before pulling her own bowl toward her. 

“Here now, watch me, okay? Just dip the bread into the soup, like this,” instructed Amanda. Keeping her hand steady, she took her own piece of bread and dipped it into the liquid, swirled it around, and then brought it to her lips for a bite. The soft brown eyed boy watched Amanda do this several more times before looking down at his own piece of bread and, to her amazement, dipping it into the broth in the lid, imitating Amanda’s behavior. 

Thankfully, Amanda didn’t need to continue repeating the action because the moment the bread and salty soup touched his lips, the boy began to eat ravenously, broth dribbling down his front and into his already filthy clothes. 

Now really able to see him, Amanda saw that the little boy’s outfit consisted of a shirt with a faded yellow button on his front that took up most of his chest and a big green button on his back that was like the one on his chest. He was barefoot, mud caked in between his toes, and his pants were obviously soiled. 

It made Amanda’s heart twist in her chest. How long had this boy been out on his own? 

When the little pinch of bread was gone, the most pitiful look filled his eyes as he looked back up at Amanda eagerly, to which she happily gave him another piece. He inhaled three fair sized bread pinches before he showed signs of slowing down. It was on the fifth piece that he slowed and stopped, simply holding the bread close and nibbling on the edge absentmindedly. 

Amanda knew she would need to get some utensils for him, but now was not that time. Now, after the boy had some food in him, she managed to convince him to drink a little bit of water before she shuffled both of them to the bathroom. 

A bath was in order. 

She stepped up to her bathroom sink and began to run some warm water. She found some vapor bubble bath that would probably do the little boy some good and added that to the running water in the sink. 

At first sight, however, the boy whimpered and scuttled across her hand to grasp her thumb with all of his might. He was shivering violently and fell to his knees. Amanda kept her free hand cupped near her thumb in case the little boy accidentally lost his balance. Perhaps it was instinct, but the boy’s ability to balance on such a malleable substance like a hand was incredible. 

She couldn’t pause to marvel at him now, however. 

With a feeling like a punch in the gut, Amanda tried figuring out how to convince this child he was alright and that the water was alright. 

Did something happen related to water to make him so afraid? Amanda wondered. The horrid thought that he had been swept away in a rainstorm from his family made her heart clench. Just keep reassuring him. Show him it’s okay. He trusted you with the bread, right? 

It was a weak argument, but it was all she had. 

“It’s okay sweetie,” coaxed Amada, speaking once again in a low, sonoric tone. “It’s just water, see?” With that, Amanda carefully placed her other hand under the water and moved her fingers around, splashing the liquid around the sink. The little boy continued clutching Amanda’s thumb as he whimpered. 

She had to try something else. Then, she got an idea. 

Amanda cupped her one hand and caught some of the water in it before pulling it away from the faucet and holding it up to the little boy. 

“Here, see? It’s just water,” reassured Amanda as she tapped the puddle of water in her palm while holding it up to the boy. 

He turned his soft brown eyes to Amanda before looking back at the water. Tears still staining his face, he leaned forward and barely touched the water with the tip of his finger. 

The miniscule boy instantly retraced his finger and huddled against Amanda’s thumb, but a smile from her and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” had the boy tapping the liquid until the tears stopped. 

It would take Amanda another twenty minutes to coax the little boy under the stream of water where she gently massaged soap into his hair and over his clothes. While she worked, she watched the boy’s eyes drifting further and further down, drowsiness overtaking him. The sight was adorable beyond words. Though tentative, his trust mixed with exhaustion was making this little boy fall asleep in her hands. 

Amanda dried him off, careful not to jostle his head, and carefully constructed a toga-like outfit. Cutting away the little boy’s clothes was nerve wracking and made Amanda’s heart ache at seeing all of his injuries as well as his little ribs, which were clearly visible. There were also numerous bruises on his body as well as scratches, some of which ran from the base of his back to the top of his neck. 

Was he attacked by something? How long has he been out there? Where are his parents? Did he have parents? 

Amanda organized a shoebox with some snacks, water, and bedding and set the unconscious boy inside. Evidently, he had fallen asleep in her hand while she put together a space for him.

His little forehead furrowed as he twitched and turned into the bed Amanda made for him.

Now, more than ever, she needed to find out about this little boy, and, beyond that, she needed to find a way to protect him - no matter what.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

TTD - And then They Were Roommates ™

Before Villain was their roommate, Hero never had any peculiar feeling about their apartment. They were grateful to have a roof over their head, but were not particularly picky about how it looked like under. It wasn’t like they had the kind of time to arrange the place. To be honest, with their working hours, they didn’t see why they would find energy left for this. As long as they had a bed and electricity, it was fine. The result was a reasonably clean room, but a rather bland place. The only thing that was really personal was the vanity in the bathroom, covered with hair products and beads of all colors. At Villain’s displeasure, Hero spent hours in front of it, because unlike some people whining from behind the door, they had their priorities well in order.

True, Hero had felt a bit insecure when Villain had entered for the first time, stopping in front of every furniture with such solemnity you’d swear they were staring at a masterpiece in a museum. Flustered, the not-so-proud owner had explained that they were not that rich, but Villain had seldom made any comment, and well, with their shadow covering them it wasn’t like their body language was readable. Maybe they were tired too, and after their place had just been destroyed by Supervillain it was understandable. They’d glistened towards the guest room and locked their door without a word.

The agency had called in the middle of that night for news. Hero, toying with their blanket, had assured their superior on the phone that yes, Supervillain had been destroyed for good, no they weren’t making it up, and oh by the way, Villain had reformed and changed their ways, hmmhmm, yep, definitively. On the other side of the line, that declaration was met by no little skepticism. After one hour of pleading, they’d at last convinced their interlocutor not to send a team to eliminate the threat. The next day, they were ordered to keep Villain under lock and key. Villain had stared when they’d shyly explained the situation to them, brandishing a padlock they didn’t really know how to use, and had only said:

“I could open this pathetic thing in my sleep.”

Given how gifted Villain was with building tools and machines, it was probably no idle boast. The good news, though, was that they’d accepted to stay in their room whenever they were left alone as long as Hero would give them an old game-boy left in a drawer for years to keep them occupied. As time passed, it became evident that Villain was an indoor creature who was delighted at the idea of not stepping outside ever again. In return, Hero had given them pretty much whatever they wanted, including scraps of metal and lots of tools. At first, they’d said nothing, but when parts of the room had began to be covered with sinister forms, they’d felt they had to put their foot down:

“You are not building a torture room in my place.”

“What else am I supposed to do, you oppressor ?”

“I’m the one paying the taxes.”

Villain had sulked for a moment after that, but then they’d suddenly asked:

“Aha, but what if my torture tools were also useful appliances?”

Hero had stared and said:

“No.”

“No as no or no as it can’t be?”

“Both.”

“You have little faith.”

Villain had immediately put themself to work. In an alarmingly short time, they’d built a tiny guillotine for the kitchen. It could cut even coconuts properly, in one strike. Hero couldn’t use it much, because it made them feel sorry for the poor vegetables (especially after seeing Villain do it, yelling “death to all of you, you feeble preys!” at a bunch a carrots), but they had to acknowledge it was a decent tool to slice a loaf of bread. Actually, Villain was good with the kitchen in general. Being disturbingly fond of cutting vegetables and fruits, it was no surprise that they’d fallen in love with the blender Hero had never used before:

“For what it is but a miniature death trap, where my innocent victims are trapped in a transparent prison and melted into oblivion by unforgiving blades?”

Hero had asked what kind of blade would be forgiving, and they’d got lightly tapped on the head with a cardboard tube for their trouble. But the outcome of all of this was a fridge always filled with bottles full of drinkable food that never got Hero’s stomach upset. Villain had even made a damn acupuncture chair which spikes looked deadly, but were in fact quite soothing. After that they’d stood up, and Hero just knew that they were puffing their chest behind their shadow:

“So, have I succeeded in my impossible task?”

And Hero could do nothing but answer:

“Yes. Completely. It’s genius.”

And it was. Really, the biggest beef they had was the time when Villain had stolen their two favorite magnets on the fridge. They’d stopped dead in front of the aro and ace pride flags that fixated the to-do lists of the day, declared that green, purple and black were traditional colors for villains and so they were “bound to have them”, had yoinked them and flied back to their room before Hero had time to react. And as much as they were for people exploring their own identity, how were they supposed to keep their groceries list in sight now?

But none of this was the weirdest thing. It was the fact that whenever Hero returned to their place with all these strange additions, it didn’t feel bad or crowded. It was the strange new and warm feeling that finally they were home, they were home, they were home.

(Though they still wanted their magnets back.)

*

Check the These Two Dorks Masterlist or Tag for more snippets with this Hero and Villain. This is how they met and now they’re roommates.

Or back to Hero x Villain Masterlist.

[arteastica]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (13)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.7k

“I mean, if that’s something you’re comfortable talking about.” You rushed to add, fearing your question might open old wounds. “We don’t have to talk about it if-”

“No, it’s fine. You told me about your family, it’s only fair that I tell you about mine.” His eyes scanned the ceiling, as if trying to find the starting paragraph to a really long, complex story. He then took a deep breath and said: “My father, his beard was always unkempt and so was his mustache.” You chuckled lightly, tickled by the unexpected and rather random beginning he chose for his story. “He disliked loneliness. Not only when it came to people, but also objects. He didn’t like it when things looked lonely. If he passed by a bakery and there was only one loaf of bread left at the end of the day, he would buy it even though we had enough at home. If there was a book alone on a table, he would place it in a group with the others.” If your eyes hadn’t been glued to him the way they were, scanning every inch of his face, trying to read all the sentences you knew he was purposely leaving out of his story, you would have missed the way his lips twitched as they tried but failed to compose a smile.

“He rarely got drunk, but when he did, his habit of bringing lonely things home would only worsen. One time, I woke up in the middle of the night, startled by a noise that to my sleepy 8-year-old self sounded like a woman crying.” He said, as you shuffled against him, having no clue where this story was going. “Scared, I looked out the window only to see my father trying to push a cow inside the house.” You opened your mouth in disbelief. “He said the poor animal was all alone in a field, looking like it could use a friend. The next day, he had a hard time explaining to our neighbors that he wasn’t trying to steal their cow.”

“Well, that alone tells me a lot about him.” You said, the thought of a perplexed, golden-haired boy in his pajamas, and an equally confused thousand-pound cow being forced through a small door in the middle of the night making you chuckle. “What did he do for a living?”

“He was teacher.”

“Let me guess, History.” His eyes widened, head tilted to the side, asking you to explain your deduction as well as the conviction present in your voice. “I mean, that would explain a lot of things, including your love for History as well as all these books.” You said, pointing at the shelves that covered the walls of his room.

“These are not books. The ones in my office are. But these… these are just things I write.”

“All of them? You mean as in journals?”

He nodded before explaining: “Writing helps me clear my head, especially after expeditions. When we come back from a mission, time moves on and so does life, at least for those who survive. But what about those who don’t?” The question seemed to be directed at the air and not particularly at you. “What about those who never make it back home?” He paused for a moment, seemingly letting the taste of those words linger on his tongue like bitter lemon, before continuing. “When my men die out there, they are not really left behind. They are forever immortalized in the pages of these journals. It’s my way of remembering them, of making sure their sacrifice doesn’t go to waste.” Your eyes paced around his room, things slowly taking on a whole new meaning, and you wondered how much anguish and sorrow were trapped in the pages of those journals. “They stay behind and trust us, the living, to go on and find meaning in their deaths.”

You stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace without speaking, but simply, quietly understanding. Understanding that writing was his way of finding meaning, of making sense of it all. Understanding that a scout’s life was never easy, you knew that from the get go, but it was then and there where you finally and fully comprehended the dimensions of the position you held, the implications of the path you had chosen. And, when your vision started to get blurry, and your mind, to wonder if one day you would become a character in one of those dreadful entries, you decided it was time to change the topic.

“So! Your father was a teacher.”

“Yes, and I was in his class.” He paused for a moment, the space he decided to leave between each word, as well as the calmness in his voice, reminding you of trees after a violent rainstorm, battered and partially uprooted, but still standing somehow, or at least trying to. “One day, he was talking about how humanity was forced to take refuge within the walls to protect themselves from the Titans, and how that bought them 100 years of peace.” There was something about his voice that took you back to a rainy day, ten or fifteen years ago, sitting by the classroom window, only that this time your head wasn’t propped on your hand, your pencil wasn’t tapping on the desk, and your mind wasn’t lost somewhere far away, wondering when you would be able to go home. Because this time, the commander was the one speaking, and his voice, while monotonous and gentle, had the spark required to narrate the longest of stories without losing the audience’s interest in the process. A rare skill you had known only one more person to have: Hitch. That, paired with his ability to explain complex things, made you think he would make a great History professor; and you couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would have looked like had he chosen to follow his father’s footsteps.

“In doing so, any records of our earlier past were lost for all of time.” His voice pulled you back to the present, and you nodded, both to signal you were following his story, and to shake the vivid pictures that had started flooding your imagination, vivid pictures of him coming home after work to a warm dinner on the table, to his family, to a beautiful house in some small village or to a cozy cabin in the middle of some quiet forest, instead of this lonely office trapped between walls of cold stone. An alternate reality where he wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, startled by nightmares of titans tailing behind him, trying to devour him and his men.

“At least, that’s what we’re all taught.” You looked at him, your brow furrowing in suspicion, sensing there was more to this story. He seemed to be trying to decide what he would say next. Or whether to say it at all. And before you could tell him it was okay if he didn’t want to say more, he decided to continue. “I… having doubts of my own, asked my father a question. At first, he evaded answering and ended class as normal. But after we got home, he answered my doubts. He said the history books given by the government were full of contradictions and mysteries.” Something about that last line reminded you of a conversation you had with your own father a while ago, about those government conspiracy theories he was so intrigued by. But you didn’t want to interrupt, so you just nodded and let the commander go on.

“My father continued to tell me more, and even as a child, I was astounded. You see, there’s a reason he didn’t tell that story to the entire class, but I wasn’t smart enough to know.”

“You told the story to someone else.”

He nodded. “To other neighborhood kids. And one day, the Military Police came to question me.” He was looking straight into the fireplace, as if having a staring contest with the flames. Almost as if someone was standing in the middle of the flames, staring back at him, and he wasn’t allowed to break eye contact. You thought about the scenery reflected in his eyes. The blue in his eyes mirroring the bright, red fire, as well as glimpses of an emotion he had never displayed in front of you before. Slight anger, maybe. “My father didn’t come home that day… And I haven’t seen him ever since. He died in some accident in a faraway town. Or so I was told.” He added, sadness scattered around his eyes like stars in the dark night sky.

His words reverberated inside the silent room, spreading across the available space, reaching every corner, and stabbing every inch of your heart in the process. You had somehow deducted his father wasn’t around anymore, so when he started narrating the story you hadn’t expected it to have a happy ending. This, however, was way beyond your imagination. This was downright traumatizing, another level of disturbing for sure. And you felt horrible for asking him to pick at a wound that had barely even scabbed at all. But you also knew that his father hadn’t died in an ‘accident’. “Based on what I knew-”

“The government. He was silenced by the government.” You concluded, words leaving your mouth at the exact same time the thought was born.

He nodded again before continuing his story. “One hundred and seven years ago, humanity that fled into these walls… The king had altered their memories to make them easy to rule. That was my father’s theory.” You had never listened to this part of the story before. It was as if important pages had been ripped off the history books you studied at school. And the whole sensation was very odd. It left your mouth dry and your skin shivering. It was like finding there was an alternate ending to a book you had read a hundred times. One you never knew existed. A darker one.

He didn’t say anything, and you felt he was giving you time to process everything and reach your own conclusions.

“Because if he hadn’t done that, civilization within the walls could never succeed.” You finally said.

“Exactly. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been thinking… Why did my father have to die for nothing more than getting close to the truth?” He asked, and you knew this time he wasn’t talking to the air nor to you, but to himself, his voice and the emotions behind it raising like water reaching its boiling point. “Even those in the government would believe what they’re doing is just. However, I realized one thing about them: What they’re trying to protect is not humanity.”

“It’s their gardens, houses, and land.” You completed the sentence before he could, having lived far too many years around them to know what their most precious possessions are.

“If anyone dares threaten their authority, they’ll be silenced, whoever they are.” The hand that was intertwined with yours tightened its grip on your fingers. “In the end, there was nothing to justify my father’s death. In the end, my father was killed by human greed.” His knuckles went ghost-white. “And by the foolishness of his own son.” Still staring into the dancing flames before him, you noticed he had the eyes of a man whose future resembled a dead-end street. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing seasons die one after another, knowing that his father would never come home. The eyes of someone who was tired of seeing tomorrow die even before it came. The eyes of someone who spent a whole life dreaming upon days that would never return, dreaming of a person he would never see again. And you wondered if it was his father whom he saw in the flames, or was it a younger version of himself? Or maybe, he saw memories of happier days. Memories of a past he would never be able to go back to, along with scenes of a future he would never be able to move on to. Because his legs remained forever trapped in the heavy muds of regret.

“Before I knew it, my father’s theory became true inside my heart. Now, my mission in life. It’s to prove my father’s theory once and for all.”

You wanted to string together the right words, one by one, until they formed a bridge that would lead you closer to him, so he wouldn’t feel so alone. Because, even though your bodies were pressed so closed together, you could tell his soul was lost somewhere far away, somewhere dark, somewhere lonely. And you knew his father would have hated it for him to feel that way.

You stayed still, silent, and slightly mad at yourself for not being able to say something to him. The night is always dark if no one holds the light, so you wanted to hold it for him. You really wanted to. But you were astounded and overwhelmed by all the information, both about his past and about the reality you all lived in. His father’s theory, if true, would change the world as you knew it. As everyone knew it. A possibility that, if true, would change everything.

In the end you made peace with the fact that you weren’t wise enough to know what to say, and opted for gently wrapping your arms around him instead, pulling him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him as tightly as you could. If you couldn’t tell him, you would show him. If words were beyond your ability, you would make sure actions weren’t. He immediately responded by tightening his arms around you and pressing his nose against the top of your head, where you could feel him breathing heavily. He took such a deep breath that, for a moment, you thought he was going to cry. But no, you knew he wouldn’t, that would be nearly impossible. Because at this point, given the rate of pain he had been enduring for years, at that rate your eyes would run out of tears before your heart could let go of the pain.

As your head rested against his chest, in such proximity to his heart, and as its beating told you more about the pain he had been living with for all those years since his father’s passing, a question popped up in your mind.

“The basement. In Eren’s house. It has something to do with this. Doesn’t it?” You spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Intel suggests that the basement of Eren Yeager’s home in Shiganshina holds a vital secret regarding our enemy. That’s our destination. By getting there, I can prove my father’s theory. I know it.” He held your hand tighter. “I just know it.”

His words carried the exact same conviction they did during meetings when planning strategies or during expeditions when giving commands in the field. Only that this time they were infused with something else, a certain vulnerability. A vulnerability that, along with the violent beating of his heart against your ear, explained to you why he was so committed to the cause. Why he had decided to give his entire life to the Survey Corps. It all made sense now. You understood that it had less to do with freeing humanity from the walls, and more to do with his late father.

As his heartbeat lulled you to sleep that night, your mind became flooded with thoughts of the basement and the secrets that could be hidden there. If there was something hidden at all, in the first place.

-

next chapter

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[captain-lessship]

Call Me

A/n: Because of two posts I have made, I have driven myself to writing this. I love this man and would die for him

A call came on your phone, you groaned as you rolled to other side of your bed and answered it.

“This better be important. It is almost  ten at night.” 

“How quickly can you be in Japan?” 

You sat up, worry growing, “That important,” you thought, “Do you know when the next flight leaves?” You flick on your lamp.

You heard typing, “Knowing how long it takes you to pack, traffic, going through security. There’s one that leaves at four in the morning. A direct flight will take fourteen hours and 5 minutes.” He responded. 

You yawned, “Okay, go ahead and buy the ticket. I will get ready and next time, sweetheart, if you have the slightest inkling you have a case I could work on, call me. You know I have become fond of solving them or at least helping Watari take care of you.”

“I am sorry for waking you, I really am.”

You got up and walked to the bathroom, turning on the light and then the shower. “Only because you know I get when I don’t sleep.” You joked.

You could hear a slight smile in his voice, “You do get cranky.” 

“I better let you go fight crime, Batman.”

“See you soon, Robin.” 

You pressed the read button on your phone, a pleased look fell to your face as you got ready.

As you walked through the airport, you were scanning the crowd, knowing that a terrible murder could have been hiding in plain sight. 

Then you saw a familiar face: an old man, holding a sign with one of you aliases written on it. V

You smiled. L came up with it.

You walked up to the old man and took off your dark sunglasses, “Hello old friend, we going for Granddaughter and Grandfather again?” He nodded, you promptly hugged him. 

He hugged you back. “Let’s get you to the hotel, shall we?” He offered you his arm, which you gladly took.

You and Watari talked the entire car ride. You both were happy to see each other but the news on the car radio snapped you from the friendly reunion. 

“This guy, he’s got a lot of people confused, doesn’t he?” 

“Yes, the police are trying their best but I think it wise for L to call you. Even if you can’t be of much help case wise, you are a moral boost wherever you are.”

“Aw, thanks. But I’m sure poor L is so focused on one part there will be a moment I will ask him a question and it’ll click in place, like it did the last few time.” You giggled.

A slight smile was drawn from the old man, “Yes, that was honestly rather lucky and funny. I think it’ll do him good to have someone to diffuse the tension.”

You talked more as you reached the hotel. 

“I will go in first. We can’t be seen leaving or entering together. I will call you and act as if you’re going to see an old friend.” He stated as he got out of the car and began walking to the entrance. 

You waited for several minutes, your phone rang. You promptly answered it and began talking along with Watari as you walked in and through the lobby. 

You hung up once you got in the elevator, your thoughts drifted to L. It had been four year since you met him, an odd but great four years. You grinned as you thought about your other days with him.

L was perched on your counter, watching intently as you shifted flour. 

“L, if you want to help, could you cream together the butter and sugar.”

“I prefer watching you, if that is alright.”

You put your hand on your hip, “You ever heard the story about the Little Red Hen?”

He shook his head no, “I never read children’s stories.”

“So the synopsis is that the little red head does all the work to bake herself a loaf of bread. All of her friends, who she asked for help, now ask for some bread,” you look at L, “And she says: No.”

He was already making a move for a bowl.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered that. L was a very intelligent and was confident in all of his decisions but there were moments where he was goofy and mildly childish.

The elevator dinged opened, you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and walked out into the hallway,  now scanning the room numbers to find the room. 

You saw Watari exiting one of the rooms, you two said nothing when you passed each other. When you came to the door he exited from, you did the knock.

“It’s unlocked, come in.” He said.

You looked around then opened the door, promptly shutting it behind you once you and your belongings were inside. 

You locked the door, then looked into the room. You were a little amazed. Last time it was a motel on the side of the highway but this? This was beautiful. You knew the room would be better just based on the lobby but this was better than you imagined.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” 

Your eyes found L. Ever so slouchy and tired looking. You walked to him and stood directly in front of him. Had he been standing at his full height, he would’ve been slightly taller than you but do to his posture, you were eye level.

“Hi.” You said, trying to look irritated. 

He just smirked ever so lightly, “Hello.”

He opened his arms and you fell into them.

“I swear to god, if you ever do this to me again, I will dangle you by your feet out a window.”

“Violent, aren’t we?” He muttered, hugging you tighter. 

“Tired.” You mumbled.

“Take your things to the bedroom and you can take a nap. I have called the Special Task Force to a meeting here. You are welcome to either stay asleep or join us.”

You pulled away from him, still in his arms, “They’re coming here? Do you know how bad of a hostess this makes me look? Not having anything to offer them to eat? Oh and the fact you’re going to reveal yourself to them.”

“It’s not ideal but I need to do it to gain a level of trust.”

“But do we trust them?” 

His black eyes were looking direct int yours, scanning your face and your reactions. You sighed. 

“Of course you do or you wouldn’t offer.” You yawned, “Aren’t you tired?”

“Only a little bit.” He answered.

“Then come to bed for a while. What time is the meeting?”

“Midnight.”

You checked your watch, “A two hour nap would do you some good.” 

He hummed, he was thinking about it which meant he really must be tired. You simply grabbed one of his hand that were still on you and led his to where you guess the bedroom was. 

You were right, you made him sit on the bed while you went to retrieve your suitcase to grab your pajamas. 

“Are you going to sleep in that?” You we’re referring to his jeans, which you personally couldn’t stand to sleep in.

“Yes.”

You rolled you eyes and sighed, “Fine, give me a minute.” You sat your suitcase on the bed and opened it. 

You took out a pair of ankle length silky pants and a black tank top along with items like your toothbrush, tooth paste and your overnight moisturizer. You quickly did your night routine in the bathroom and got changed. You exited the bathroom to see L in the exact place you left him. His eyes darted to you.

You walked to the left side of the bed and rolled back the covers, sliding under them and let your eyes to see L still on top of the covers, per usual. He did this anytime he had to be up before you. He scooted closer to you, using you as his his pillow. You pulled your arms free from the covers to let to your fingers carefully play with his hair and let the other intertwine with his. 

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you too,” he responded, a light yawn followed. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

[sea-lanterns]

What do you mean the end of a loaf of bread is the best bit, 100x more if you make the bread into toast.

-🚬

I’m more of a bagel girlie myself, but even then, I can’t fathom the idea of making toast out of the end pieces. It just looks more dry 😖

My poor wife Navia would have to eat the end pieces— actually, no. She wouldn’t. If we lived together I solely believe that Navia and I just collectively agree not to eat the end pieces and use them as compost :(

Hubby Arlecchino could eat them tho!

[kia8088]

Title: In Passing

Author Note: I’m just a girl, missing writing RomComs. Enjoy, maybe!

Mangoes.

Rice.

Bread.

Pads.

She scanned over her list for the 37th time.

It was 4 things, so surely, her grocery trip should be no less than 20 minutes. It was supposed to be a quick trip in and out.

Hinata went to grab a shopping cart, searching for the smaller ones. It was her method to not over-shopping.

Mangoes.

Bread.

Rice.

Pads.

“Maybe I should pick up a few cucumbers,” mumbled the young woman, as her cart rolled into the store. Her senses were flooded with colors and smells of fruits and veggies. “No,” she coached herself.

Pads.

Bread.

Rice.

Mangoes.

She approached the array of fruits. Opal eyes scanned prices and any sign of a sale. Something about being poor really does put things in perspective. She scoffed at the organic sign and reached for two okay-looking mangoes.

“If the pesticide kill me before the climate, oh well,” she muttered, stuffing them in the available plastic bags. The tired woman rolled her shoulders and glanced up at the cucumbers—just for a second. There was a man standing there, placing 7 cucumbers in a bag.

Mentally, she was preparing to judge him until she saw his cart—which had multiple smaller carts in them.

He was one of the Delivery Shoppers. She just knew he was NOT giving the customer what they wanted.

Her giggle must have triggered him, he whipped his head over his shoulder. She was taken aback by how attractive his face was, despite the actual look of disgust.

Her lips parted and cheeks warmed in embarrassment. Suddenly her oversized shirt and no bra situation felt very silly. She quickly turned her cart and bumped directly into the banana section. She shrunk more into herself and to avoid turning around, she grabbed a bunch of bananas and sped her little cart away.

Mangoes.

Bread.

Rice.

Pads.

Bananas.

In reality, he may have not even noticed her. He may have been looking past her. In reality, no one probably even noticed her knocking into the Banana Bin and therefore, there was no need to panic buy.

But…

“Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “I could use 5 bananas. I like them. They’ll be great breakfast.”

Even though she never eats breakfast.

:::

Sasuke was just trying to make a bit of extra money. Naruto talked him into being a “InstaShopper.”

There he was standing there trying to figure out what a half of pound of cucumber weighed when he heard the girliest, pitchiest giggle.

He peered over his shoulder to see a girl. While it looked like she just slumped out of bed, she was…

…bumping into the Banana Bin.

He smirked as she drove her little cart around the corner. She was attractive but if he wasn’t technically “working” then he…

…would still not approach her because he wasn’t a creep and didn’t feel like going viral for attempting to bother a woman alone. He had class. He had manners. He…

“…five should be enough,” he assumed. Next on his list was hotdog buns. He popped one earphone in and continued his shopping.

:::

Hinata stood, arms folded. Must there be so many opinions of bread? Wheat. Honey Wheat. White. Whole Grain. Potato.

“Potato?” She squinted, leaning towards the words. “Since when…”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said an employee.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” She moved her cart backwards and crashed into the one behind her. Hinata turned to apologize and saw it was Cucumber Guy again. “I…”

His face remained stoic. And beautiful. She touched her own cheeks in a sort of jealousy. She panicked once again: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“I…,” he started. “Need those buns.”

As the words left his lips, she witnessed his dark eyes widened. There was so much regret on his face, then in a split second, his face relaxed. He turned around without a word, without the buns and left the aisle.

Oh, that was…not suave.

She placed a loaf of the cheapest honey wheat bread in her cart and moved along. She needed to get out of this store before something silly and chaotic happens.

Mangoes.

Bread.

Rice.

Pads.

Bananas.

Luckily she ventured into the aisle with the rice without a hiccup. No signs of that cute cucumber-buns guy. She was almost done.

She swerved into the Care Aisle, and wished she had horse blinders because in truth—why not buy the toothpaste since she was already here. Oh, and soap. There would be no second trip if she also went ahead and got more shampoo. She’d be saving a trip, thus saving money. That’s girl math.

She finally got to the feminine care, grimaced at the prices before picking up her old faithful, no need to ponder, but she did dream of ruling the world and destroying The Pink Tax.

“I need a treat for sticking to my list,” decided Hinata.

Mangoes.

Bread.

Rice.

Pads.

Toothpaste.

Soap.

Shampoo.

…and bananas.

Yup, the list. She deserved a sweet treat. She smiled moving through the store, with an overwhelming sense of confidence. Opal eyes lifted to the signs above and noticed “Water, Wine and Beer.”

She needed a glass of wine with her future sweet treat, but more importantly she needed a cases of water for work. She turned down the aisle and saw him.

Cucumber-Bun guy holding her favorite wine. As she got closer, she noticed there weren’t many of bottles left. He glanced her way and moved to the other side, allowing her to cruise up to the aisle.

He had the last one.

Her hand touched the spot where the wine should be. She slowly turned to the wine in his hand. He looked from the wine to the piercing ghostly stare of the women in front of him.

She watched in horror as he scanned the bottle with his work scanner thingy, and placed it in his cart.

“That’s unfortunate,” mumbled the man.

No, what’s unfortunate is that she didn’t have one of those remotes to pause time. She’d use it to pause time and kick him in the shin. Maybe also a little kiss on the cheek because, hot damn, extra attractive people aren’t supposed to be in public doing mundane things.

What’s also unfortunate, had she not stopped for shampoo and soap, she would have beat him here.

But what’s most unfortunate is she said: “Don’t forget the buns.” Without thinking ahead, which would have been fine had she sped out the aisle but she needed water.

Mouth agape, his eyes followed her to the water section.

:::

He wanted to laugh because how dare she? He watch her then proceed to struggle with a case of water. Served her right! Wasn’t like the wine was for him! Wasn’t like he purposely withheld the cheapest, sweetest Moscato.

Karma was quick and just.

However, unfortunately for him, he could be a gentleman when the time calls for it. He left his cart, walking towards her. “I’ll help,” said the young man.

“No, i got it.”

“Do you?”

She did not. He picked the case up with ease. She noticed he had really nice arms as well. He sat it in the bottom of her tiny cart, it hung off the sides but it was the effort. He did notice her flushed face and smirked, “You’re welcome.” He returned to his cart.

She coughed: “T-Th-thank you!”

:::

Hinata placed a hand on her chest. Ovulation week was beating her up so bad. Openly staring at that man like that should have warranted an arrest, at the very least.

He left the aisle and she went back to grab an extra large bottle of a random moscato. She just needed a sweet treat so she could leave!

Mangoes.

Bread.

Rice.

Pads.

Bananas.

Soap.

Shampoo.

Toothpaste.

Water.

Wine.

She quickly tossed some jumbo cinnamon rolls into her stuffed cart and went to check out: she tried her best to go as fast as possible. The anxiety of people waiting on her had started to creep. She glanced at the line and there he was Cucumber-Buns one person behind her.

The employee helped her with her large bottle of wine and the wobbly case of water. She quickly finished and headed out the store. Though, part of her was kind of sad…

Some sort of strange thing happened between CBG (Cucumber Bun Guy) and herself. Maybe it was in her head. She purposely moved slowly out the store. Extra slow wheeling out her cart.

CBG could be a psychopath, possibility is high because most men are, and here she was hoping for one last interaction. So she stopped, literally to smell the flowers they keep outdoors.

“You…uh, need help?”

She turned to see him, a bit breathless. He motioned to the case of water.

:::

Truth be told, he scanned the hell out of those groceries…because truth be told, to Hell with seeming odd… he wanted her name, at least, it was the 21st century. Exchanging numbers was so 90s. However, he had to catch her before she entered the parking lot.

Creep scale goes through the roof when men approach women in the parking lot.

She smiled but shook her head. “I got it…but, um,” she stammered, pulling at her t-shirt. “Can I have your, mm, n—?”

“Yes—“

“Young man,” an elderly woman tugged on his arm. “Won’t you help me with these groceries. My wrist hurt an awful lot. It won’t take long!”

Her cart was filled and overflowing.

Hinata giggled as the older woman didn’t give him a chance to decline before pulling him away. “Uh, Sasuke is my name,” he told her.

“Hinata…” she waved.

He nodded. She nodded. Maybe next time, she decided. Maybe they’ll meet again in passing.

Mangoes

Bread

Rice

Pads

Bananas

Toothpaste

Soap

Shampoo

Water

Wine

Cinnamon Rolls

…and Sasuke? Mm.

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi, :)

Can you write soft degredation for Tommy Miller where he is doing that to female reader. Tommy is a soft dom and the reader is a sub <3

Omg so sorry for the wait luv u for being patient E xoxoxo BUT I ENJOYED WRITING THIS IMMENSELY I need him especially when he shows up in tlou hbo HNGHFFJNN also I did use some twang bc they Texan also my fav thing is when Joel gets Distressed and the accent IS OUT

Kink Bingo - Degredation

Little slice o’ heaven

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: >2k

Tags: Soft dom, Tommy Miller is a sweetie pie who luvs his lady, pnv!sex, SOFT SAPPY LOVEMAKING, slice of life, set in Jackson, fake innocent reader, light Degredation kink, general warm n fluffies and orgasms

You couldn’t help but worry every time Tommy went on a patrol. But he was extremely capable, everyone in the safe haven knew that. Joel and Tommy once took out over 20 infected on a patrol, including those ghastly clickers and near impenetrable bloaters.

You stoked the fire in your shared cabin with your love, stew cooking on the stove. He’d radioed he would be back soon. You frowned, the asshole had been gone for a week. But you stayed busy, tending to the kids of the community, teaching them the ways of this new life. Well a life they’d only know.

There was a niggling feeling Tommy liked to go on extended patrols with Joel so they could bond. Which considering how volatile they were at first it warmed your heart. Padding back over to the pot of beef stew you stirred the contents, eyes flickering out the window.

People milled around, kids playing. You never thought life would become so…normal. Heavy boots and the creak of the door drew your attention, Tommy throwing off his jacket, running a hand through his long hair. He toed

off his thick boots, eyeing you softly. You smiled, putting a hand on your hip and teasing, “Bout damn time Miller.” He grinned and strode toward you, sweeping you into a big hug.

He nuzzled at your neck, drawling, “Sorry sorry, there’s my girl. You know how it gets up at those ski lodges.”

You rolled your eyes and teased, “Yep, playing guitar and laying on those couches you love. Leaving your poor pitiful baby at home, slaving over this stove and caring for the snotty children.”

Tommy’s grin widened, dark eyes sparkling. He kissed your lips quickly, big hands caressing your waist. In that southern drawl of his Tommy laughed, “Oh you’re fine, needy lil’ thing.” You harrumphed and turned back to the stove, pointedly shrugging off your lover.

Tommy snickered, coming up behind you and rasping in your ear, “C’mon baby, don’t you play cold w’me.” You turned to look, face innocent, “I’m almost done with the food, go on and sit down. Mercer gave me a bottle of wine he pilfered at a resort down the way.”

Tommy gave your ass a light smack, stomping to the rickety kitchen table. A pretty little flower from the greenhouse decorated the center. The fire crackled in the background. You poured the stew into some bowls, grabbing a loaf of bread to soak up the hearty flavor. Tommy called from the dining room, “You better be nice after we’re all fed, been thinkin’ bout your pretty self.”

You blushed and ignored the obvious sucking up. Carrying the plates to the table Tommy groaned, “Damn baby that smells good, much better than that dried shit Joel n’ I been eatin’.” You snickered, “Figured you’d need something to warm up.”

The pair of you ate in bliss, Tommy updating you on his adventures and you talking about the rowdy kids at the school. Time caught up, and the wine was drained. Suddenly you felt tipsy and flushed, Tommy’s lids lowering. You knew that look. Pillowing your hand on your chin you hummed, “What’cha thinking about stud?”

He leaned forward, a hand on your thigh, dangerously high. You’d been wet since his scent filled the room again. For y’all’s age difference, Tommy was insatiable. He crooned, “What d’ya think, sugar?” You couldn’t help the little whimper emanating from your chest.

That damn Miller man had you hooked since you stumbled into Jackson, half starved and crazed. He was kind and patient, teaching you more survival methods. As a former reluctant FEDRA teacher he found you a spot for schooling the kids. But with a much less militaristic, fascist curriculum.

People made jokes about Tommy being too old, but you liked it. He was dominant, rugged, and oh-so-sweet under the rough and tumble demeanor. Tommy snapped to get your attention, humming, “You all spacey already honey? Don’t take much for ya’.”

You trembled and whimpered, “Need you Tommy.”

He grinned, squeezing your thigh. The man hummed nonchalantly, “Why don’t you put up the dishes and I’ll get us all set up in the bedroom huh baby?” You nodded obediently, standing on woozy legs. The wine definitely did not help. Gathering the plates, a fork fell, clanging against the table.

You yelped and jumped, Tommy already up and assisting you to carry the dining ware. He sighed, “Sorry sweets, didn’t mean for that, here.” He walked you to the kitchen and pecked your cheek, his stubble brushing your soft skin. Your mind was blank as you scrubbed and put up the dishes, eager to get with your man.

The bedroom was dim, a single homemade candle you had crafted with the kids dimming the room. Tommy had washed, curls cascading to his shoulders— dark eyes gleaming. The heady atmosphere almost made your knees buckle. The Texan crooned, “C’mon over here darlin’.” You gulped and crawled forward, robotically beginning to shuck off your clothes.

Tommy grabbed you and pinned your trembling frame to the bed, tutting, “I get to undress my baby girl.” You whimpered, “P-please Tommy!” He laid plush kisses on your lips and neckline, rugged hands pushing down your pants. He ordered gently, “Up now, know how soft ya’ get.”

He shucked off your thick sweater, gifted by him of course, and the dreary long Johns underneath. Next came the bra, you shouting at the chilly air hitting your nipples. Tommy chuckled, warm hands palming the tender flesh. You mewled, “S-sheesh baby, feel so good.”

“I know sugar, young hot blooded thing like you needs this. Good thing your old man knows what to do. My girl.”

You arched into his lean body, hands pulling at his thick clothing. Little by little his tanned scarred body came on display. You simpered, “I missed you, handsome.” A calloused hand caressed your cheek, Tommy murmuring in your face, “Missed ya’ too hun, sweet thing. Can’t get enough.”

Tommy slowly crawled on top of you, smiling down softly, but the dark gleam in his eye betrayed the benign look. You spread your legs and laid back, outstretching your hands to wrap around the man.

Your lover pressed flush against you, nipping at your jaw while he adjusted himself to mold to your needy body. His hot length slid against your folds, sinewy thighs flexing. You whined his name, running fingers into inky curls. The man gasped, swearing lowly, “Christ you’re soaked sugar, can’t help yourself can ya? All sopping from me steppin’ into the room, naughty thing.” You flushed and scrunched your eyes, moaning, “You get me so hot- gosh- Tommy!”

He laughed again lowly, “You haven’t sworn yet.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You wanted Tommy to dick you down, not question your word choice. You spluttered, “W-wha?”

He replied as if you were a dolt, “Obviously I haven’t banged the schoolteacher outta ya’ yet.” You batted his shoulder with a scoff, thrusting up against his cock to get back to the matter at hand. Tommy groaned, hand gripping into the bedding beside your head. He grunted, “Fine fine, so needy.”

You watched as a scarred hand guided his dick into your core, mouth agape in ecstasy. You whined, “Yeah- yeah, god Tommy!” His pretty lips fell atop your own as he slid the extent of his hot, pulsing cock inside of you. The pair of you kissed softly, tenderly as he began to move. The old bastard was right, you couldn’t go (too) long without being fucked.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, softly moving along with his movements. Tommy murmured, “Everyone knows your secret baby,” he licked up into your mouth, “Prim little girly likes gettin’ it from ole’ Tommy Miller.” You whined and clenched around him, eyes darting away from his smug face.

He gripped your chin gently, guiding your vision back to his face. Tommy teased breathily, “Ain’t I right honey? You love being my little slut hm?”

You cried out softly, pussy convulsing around his cock. Which was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing all the right spots. You shoved your face into his dampening neck, whimpering at it all. Tommy cooed, hand skimming down the middle of your torso to play at your swollen clit.

“S’okay baby, I know. Don’t have to tell me none.”

His calloused thumb swirled around your bud, sending a lick of fire up your body in a wake of goosebumps. Your fingers dug into his back, moaning his name wetly into the tanned skin. Your thighs clenched harder around Tommy’s slim waist, mewling, “S-shit yes, m’yours yours!”

He groaned again, fucking into your pussy harder, thick tip bumping that spot that drove you wild. Tommy rasped, “Thas’ right, whose pussy is this huh?” You blubbered nonsense, panting and writhing under his undulating movements, earning a sharp crack to your ass.

You howled, “Yours Tommy! Fuck- my pussy is yours baby!”

“Thatta girl.”

Crack.

You scrabbled at his shoulders, moving your lips back to hungrily gnash against your lovers mouth. You moaned and whined between frantic smacks, drool collecting on your lips. You tightened around Tommy, pleasure making the world spin. You cried into his smiling mouth, “Fuck I love you, fuck me so good, m’so lucky.”

“Mmm, I’m lucky sugar, fucking hell, get the sweetest doll in Jackson. Ain’t nobody taking you away from me.”

He fucked brutally hard after talking, proving his point that you weren’t going anywhere. You yanked on his curls, the swirling on your clit sending you to the precipice. Tommy gasped and nipped your lip as you whimpered, “Closeclose, oh god, fucking god, Tommy!”

He moaned, “Yeah, yeah baby, that’s it, come for me.” He pressed his forehead to yours, panting roughly, the bed creaking under both of your panicky movements. Your eyes crossed as you throatily howled a wordless noise, cunt clamping down on Tommy’s cock.

You shivered and held to him, tears pricking at your eyes, overwhelmed mewls escaping your drooling mouth. Tommy swore and pulled out, painting your trembling belly with white streaks. He heaved, “Sshshit! Oh baby girl.” You replied, “Yeah, yeah, s’good!”

You blinked slowly, orgasm ebbing away sadly, Tommy blindly reaching around for a cloth to wipe you off. He did so lovingly, cooing, “Such a good girl for me. Love you.” He tossed the ruined fabric to the side, flopping next to you. Tommy laid on his side, arm draped around your waist.

You turned to face him, tucking a stray lock of his dark hair back. A goofy smile erupted on your face, sucking in a breath before teasing in a hoarse voice, “You been getting jealous? Everyone knows I’m yours.” Tommy rolled his dark eyes, pulling you closer to lay kisses on the bridge of your nose and lips.

“Maybe. Young bucks’ll get sent to the woods if I catch them hawking you down again.”

Snuggling closer into the man you giggled, tucking a leg between his own. You sighed, “I’ll make sure to give the kids a warning. Fool.” He shrugged and held you tight, a warm light in this strange world.

[guess-i-do-art]

So I’ve been thinking about Sunrise on the Reaping, how it’s gonna play out. You know what would be really depressing?

Haymitch Abernathy, “first” victor from District 12. Winner of the fiftieth Hunger Games and the second Quarter Quell. A poor boy from the Seam who defeated twice the number of tributes. The unlikely champion.

He’d used the Capitol’s arena against itself. He endured extreme pain and injury. He had to witness his beloved Maysilee die right before his eyes. Watched as an ax cut through a girl’s head. Remember the countless young lives he took. The horrors that could have driven him to insanity.

After being announced as the victor and being taken from the arena, he received medical attention before having to sit through countless interviews being watched by everyone in Panem. Haymitch put on a smile, saying exactly what the Capitol wanted him to. The entire time he hid his emotions, not letting anyone see through him.

All Haymitch wanted was to go home. To see his family. He caught a glimpse of them waving and cheering as he stood before the District, but the Peacekeepers wouldn’t let him go to them. His mother, who he could always confide in. His father, who never expected him to say anything but would always listen. His siblings, who he could open up to and show his weaknesses to without being judged. His pet, because he found that being around animals was healing.

He was finally allowed to return to his little home on the edge of the Seam, facing the woods. This was where he grew up. He knew the house to be noisy and warm with fire from the coals harvested by his own father. Haymitch was impatient to step through the door and be greeted by his family, surely proud of him.

But something was different.

Silence. The house was cold, empty, and dark. There was no sign of struggle; all the furniture was standing up, but nothing seemed to be in its normal place. An uncut loaf of bread rested on the kitchen countertop. Everything was clean and perfect. Perfect, except for the lingering smell of blood. Haymitch immediately dropped his things, his victor’s crown clattering to the floor. He felt tears streaming down his face. He took a step forward.

Lying on the dining room table was an ax, and a glass vase holding a singular white rose.

Yeah I write sometimes. Haymitch is my favorite character so obviously I’m going to dump more trauma than necessary on him. It’s how I show affection 🫶

I am not exaggerating when I tell you I screamed and immediately started working on fanart when I heard Sunrise on the Reaping was coming out, I’ve been waiting for this for idfk 4 years?? Which isn’t very long but I’m quite impatient

The drawings above were made by me :D there’s the full picture, then a close up of the rose + ax and another of Haymitch. Woody did an amazing job as Haymitch but my heart belongs to the book accurate POC version of him ☺️ I suggest clicking on the images to see them better

Sorry if everything looks weird :/ I’m not used to drawing stuff like this

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Andrew | Out Of Sight, On My Mind | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: "You wrote me letters?"

When Andrew returns to Capernaum, you give him the pile of letters you have written him over his absence.

Requested by Syd

Your fingers slide over the pomegranates, apples, pears and cucumbers as you try to select the finest ones for your own home, sliding them into your basket as you find them looking delicious enough. Allowing the familiar merchant behind the stall to keep the change, you continue traversing the market with an already well-loaded wicker basket around your arm. 

It’s busy today; It has been busy for a few weeks now, ever since Jesus’ sermon on the Korazim Plateau. The encampment on the outskirts of the village has evolved into a small town in and of itself and you wonder if the pilgrims outnumber the inhabitants of Capernaum. Frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised. Needless to say, the traders around the place have never been more lucky with their bartering and fish is completely in fashion nowadays. Had your husband still been in the fishing industry, you’re sure he’d have earned a good amount of denarii. Still, his current occupation means wealth in a different way, and you’ve never been more supportive.

You buy a loaf of rye bread and consider a few sweet treats for yourself but decide against it, then continue your walk to purchase a skin of red wine and a bunch of flowers for the kitchen table. Slowly but surely, your weekly groceries are starting to compile in your basket, until one item is left on the list. Your favourite one, no less.

An old lady named Shiloh sells her late husband’s wares from a worn-down carpet on the corner of the street. The guards have been turning a blind eye on the fact that the elderly woman does not have a permit in exchange for occasional parchment and wax so that they can write home to their wives about how horrible Capernaum-duty is to them. Whether it’s because of the people not fond of their presence or because of their tyrant of a Praetor is not disclosed in said letters.

“Shalom (Y/n),” In spite of her poor eyes, Shiloh always recognises you from a distance. “The usual, I suppose?” She smiles at you, visibly missing a few teeth. The old woman is pushing sixty-eight.

“Shalom, Shiloh. Yes please.” 

She hums and packs your weekly order from her - a small roll of parchment and an ink refill, as well as a nice sharpened stylus to replace your previous one. 

“You have been writing again, no?” 

“You know me.” you breathe with a small nod of your head.

An amused sound leaves the elderly woman as she reaches out to you with a bony hand, giving you the items you always buy from her. 

“I got you another few inches of parchment, free of charge.” 

“Thank you.” you whisper. “God bless you.” 

You hand her the money you owe her and she gives you a kind smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling even further than they already are, and she squeezes your fingers with a force that is surprisingly firm for her age. “Adonai bless you too, (Y/n). As well as your husband. Have you heard from him?” 

“Not since he left for the ministry.” 

“I’m certain he’s doing alright. You must be very proud of him.”

“I am.” 

A beat of silence as Shiloh gives you a small nod. “Anyways, I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’ve got something to take care of.” 

You nod to mirror her expression.

“Shalom shalom, Shiloh.”

“Shalom shalom.” 

As you start walking off, tucking your newly acquired items into your basket, a familiar figure flashes in the corner of your eye, causing your heart to skip a beat. 

“Zee?” 

Simon the former Zealot halts in his tracks and smiles as he recognises you as the wife of his friend.

“Ah, hello (Y/n). It’s good to see you again. I hope things went well in our absence.” 

“Have you seen—” you pause, realising it’s more polite to ask about the ministry first. “How did your travels go? What have you been up to?” 

Simon’s face lights up with a glittering smile as he recalls what has been happening. “Oh, (Y/n), things went just wonderfully. Of course people were quite cautious with us, which is understandable, but we’ve been healing the sick and lame in the name of our Lord, and— Ah, I could tell you so much about it, but I need to go somewhere right now. Let’s talk about it later, alright?” 

“Sure—”

He already brushes past you on his way to his meeting, when you call out after him.

“Simon?” 

He stops and turns to you. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Andrew?” 

Zee shrugs and shakes his head. “No, not yet. Maybe he went straight home?” 

That must be it. You breathe a thank you and wish him a good day before heading back home as fast as your feet can carry you, your heart hammering inside your chest as if you’re going to see your teenage crush instead of your husband of three years. That same heart clenches unpleasantly the second you set foot over the threshold of your shared homestead only to find it empty. 

Perhaps he has gone to the place where they usually went whenever Jesus required all of them in one place — the house of your sibling in-laws Simon and Eden — and upon putting down your basket onto the kitchen table, you rush that way just as fast. 

Upon arriving there, you find a few familiar faces, but Andrew not among them.

“Is everyone back yet?” you query. 

Nathanael shakes his head.

“Not that I know of.”

Eden puts a hand on your shoulder. Something has been laced in her features since a few weeks but you haven’t dared to ask about it yet. You reckon it’s just because she had been missing Simon as much as you have been missing Andrew.

“Why don’t you go wait for him at your own home, and I’ll send one of the boys over in case he shows up here. Okay?” 

You sigh and nod at her, giving her a grateful smile before heading back to your house, playing the waiting game for a while longer.

Around the evening, however, he has not returned yet. The moment you have to light the candles, there is still no sign of the man you so dearly love. Your heart weighs inside your chest like a heavy stone, concern and longing swirling together in a way that has you tossing and turning all night. 

The spot on the bed next to you is way too cold and empty even though you had been managing in the past weeks. Sleep does not come to you, for you are too worried that something might have happened. You watch through the bedroom window how the first rays of sunlight creep through the gap between the curtains. 

Your mind is heavy when you rise that morning. As you get ready for the day, adjusting your veil onto your head, your gaze goes to the pile of letters you had compiled over the weeks of Andrew’s absence. Messages ranging from how dearly you missed him to how proud of him you were. Every roll of parchment contains a date written meticulously next to the seal so that Andrew can figure out which letter had been written on which day. After all, you had received no address to send them to, no clue where he was at any time. This had been your second-best option.

With a sigh, you grab the parchment you purchased yesterday and sit down at your desk, grabbing a fresh stylus as well as your new inkwell to refill your old one with, before starting on yet another letter, featuring today’s date. For a moment, you look out the window before you, a yearning hum leaving your lungs. 

The words come easily. Paragraph after paragraph leaves your pen as you write about how much you miss him, how much you hope he is safe and how worried you are that he hasn’t returned opposed to his peers, who have been trickling back into Capernaum over the past two days. You suddenly have to fight the tears that have welled up without your knowledge. Once the parchment is scribbled full until the final line, you sign it with your name.

It takes a few minutes to dry as you stare out of the window, hoping to see a familiar head of curls pop up. However, the street outside your home remains painfully empty, apart from the regulars walking about. 

You seal the letter and add it to the pile, making sure to put the date on the outside of it, and go about your day. Or at least, you try to. It’s hard to focus on anything now that you’re even more worried than you were, for it can’t mean anything good that he and Philip are still on the road.

A few days pass, and your thoughts are filled with all kinds of scenarios that you’d rather not think about. Images of Andrew being hurt on the side of the road, pursued by an unwilling audience looking to stone him, the idea of him in prison not much unlike John the Baptist, who he always admires so much. At night, you are plagued with terrors of Andrew laying dead in a dry creek somewhere, desecrated by the people who didn’t want to hear the message of the Gospel. You startle up in cold sweat and tears every time the nightmare comes to the part where it shows you his marred face. In your waking hours, you continuously pray for his well-being.

Part of you begs for it to not be a vision of the future. 

Preparing proper meals is also getting tough for some reason, even though you enjoy cooking itself thoroughly. Only one plate, one portion a day, no sneaky thievery of your husband stealing bits and crumbs from the counter behind your back; a taste test, as he always calls it. Even the scent of the herbs you add to your loaves doesn’t bring you the joy it used to. 

You’re just kneading the dough after the second rise when you suddenly feel a pair of hands on your hips and you gasp, spinning around with a handful of proofed dough, ready to slap the intruder across the cheek with it. The moment you hear a familiar chuckle and look into an even more familiar pair of dark eyes, you feel your hammering heart start to relax and race again just as fast.

“Andrew!” 

The moment the name leaves your lips, your throat is tight as you start to sob. “Andrew, you’re home!”

“Yes, I’m here, love. Did you miss me?” 

You put down the dough and embrace him, making sure to not touch him with your palms now that your hands are sticky,. You bury your nose into his neck and inhale deeply, laughing and crying at the same time. 

“I thought something bad had happened to you! That you had been…” 

The solemn expression on his face makes you trail off.

“That I’d been imprisoned?”

“Killed.” 

The silence isn’t at all reassuring. “Well, not everything went the way it should have.” Andrew whispers, deciding that being honest with his wife in spite of her concern is best. “Philip and I left quite the impression at the Decapolis, and let’s just say that not everyone was very receptive when it came to our message, but… Oh. Oh, love, no, don’t cry. I’m home now, aren’t I? Nothing happened, we weren’t hurt.” 

He thumbs away your tears as you rub your hands clean on your apron so that you can touch him, too. 

“Well, Philip tripped over a rock on our way back and injured his toe pretty bad, but that has nothing to do with it. He was pretty miffed about it.”  

The mental image of Philip whining as Andrew has to help him stumble home is somewhat amusing, causing you to smile through your tears. 

“The rest of the group was home already,” you sniffle, “I was really worried about you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting for a few days longer, my love.” 

He presses a soft kiss against your forehead, a sensation that you had dearly missed. Once he lets you go, you step away to properly wash your hands.

“You’re lucky I decided to bake an extra loaf today,” you murmur, “So you can tell me all about what happened at the Decapolis. I reckon you have a lot to tell me.” 

Andrew chuckles and rubs his neck a little awkwardly. 

“Yeah, you could say that. Is it alright if I tell you later? I suppose that Philip and I need to discuss the matter with Jesus first.” 

“Of course.” you murmur, “Take all the time you need. As long as you’re here with me for at least a while, alright? I’ve missed you way too much to let you go again so quickly.” 

Andrew hums and squeezes your waist. 

“Of course, I’ll be all yours for a few days. I’ve missed you too, my love.” 

“Hmm. Go freshen up, you smell.” 

The former fisherman lets out a noise. “I thought you liked the scent of sweat on me.” 

“I do, but not like this. Now go.” 

With a small laugh, Andrew withdraws to your private chambers to put on something clean whilst you continue your baking. Now in a lighter mood, you find yourself humming a song whilst you can hear Andrew rummage around in the background. 

“Hey, love,” he pipes up from behind you as he walks in, wearing a clean tunic, with his hair a little brushed out. “What are these?” 

When you turn to him, you feel your cheeks flush as he’s holding three out of the countless rolls of parchment that are still on the desk in your bedroom. 

“Oh! Uh, those… Those are letters.” 

“Letters? To whom?” 

“Well, to you, but I had no address to send them to, so I decided to write all my thoughts, hopes and fears down so that I could give them all to you once you returned home—” 

“You wrote me letters?” 

Your face is a little pink as he watches you in slight disbelief. His voice is so gentle, as are his eyes.

“Ah, well, I… I wanted to tell you just how much I missed you, and how much you mean to me. Do you think it’s silly?”

“Silly?” Andrew lets out a scoff, “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous! I think it’s wonderful! Adorable, even. I don’t even deserve such love. How many are there?” 

You turn away your gaze and swallow hard, still a little embarrassed. 

“At least thirty.” 

“Thirty...?” Andrew whispers in response, stepping closer to you, placing his hand under your chin to tilt it up towards him. “My love…” 

You let your gaze meet his and he smiles, a sight that never fails to get you weak at the knees, and you hum in slight shyness as you avert your gaze.

“I thank Adonai every day for you, you know that?” Andrew murmurs, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, my dearest (Y/n).” 

You hum and dare to lock eyes with him again, smiling up at your husband.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Andrew whispers back, pressing his forehead against yours. You stand like that for a few long moments before he speaks up again.

“How about…” he starts, “How about tonight, we spend some time together. I will read every letter out loud while you lay in my arms at the fireplace, and we’ll enjoy some wine and bread together. How does that sound?” 

Your heart flutters at the thought and you nod eagerly, a fond smile spreading over your features. 

“I think that’s a great idea, my love.” you answer him, sighing happily. “And until then, you go and rest for a bit, okay? You must be exhausted.” 

“Well, you are likely tired too. Worrying about me all day and night. I know you. We’re not that different in that regard, you and I.”

You give a soft sigh and smile at him, swatting his shoulder playfully.

“Alright, you got me. But you go and take a nap. I’ll join you as soon as the bread is out of the oven.”

“I’ll keep you to that.” Andrew muses, giving you a quick peck on the lips before sauntering towards the bedroom, having difficulty suppressing a yawn. Even though it is the middle of the day, he is bound to be sleeping like a brick the moment you are done here. 

With a fond smile, you watch how he walks off, a grateful feeling in your gut as you silently thank God for Andrew’s return, turning back to your work in the hopes of finishing your baking as soon as you can.

[bugbyte]

For real though, I suspect most people who may be reading this aren’t this type, but if you spot someone in a wheelchair doing something and you think they need help, please ask before you do anything.

We were out grocery shopping today and Delade wrangles the cart and I manage the list and stuff. We get to the register and he’s loading the big part of the cart onto the belt and I’m getting the stuff from the top part because I can reach it and hand it off. We have a system and it works. There’s this older woman who has been creeping into my space the entire time we’ve been in line. Every time I move, she moves with me, but like, inches from my back. It’s enough to set off the annoyance flags in my head but whatever. So I start grabbing that stuff to hand off, and I glance over, and her hands are hovering above the stuff I’m grabbing and finally I just have to shoot her a look like “what are you even doing??” And then she stopped. She was like ready to pull my stuff out of my hands, though.

Like, I understand wanting to be helpful, but I wasn’t having trouble and I wasn’t even unaccompanied? Not that that should matter, either. It’s my legs that have issues, not my arms. It makes me anxious because I don’t want to have to say anything but all these older folks just want to jam themselves into situations where they’re not needed, like “oh you poor thing.” I am not a poor thing, I can pick up a loaf of bread, please don’t touch me or my groceries, and get out of my space in case I have to move so I don’t run over your feet.