#and i LOVE a superhero suit with a jacket

[starrysharks]

i am the cattt just chillin outt but in the night she's all i think aboutttt

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Request idea:

Your darling, adoring, wonderful boyfriend Jason sits you down And solemnly confesses that he is red hood. He’s been dreading this day for months. If you want to leave, he’ll understand and wait—-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU KNEW THE WHOLE TIME?

Jason thinks he’s in an angst fic. The reader is in a rom com where her boyfriend has been a ridiculously obvious superhero, but she’ll let him tell her when he’s ready.

Maybe some shaningany flashbacks where you’ve helped to keep his identity secret (stalling so he can change, giving alibis) while he was oblivious.

- Batchilla

To Wait and To Love

Hi Batchilla! Hope you enjoy! ♡ ~1.5k words

Your boyfriend is a vigilante, Red Hood, to be exact. You know this. He's just not aware you know this.

It's obvious, really, and kind of cute the way he makes excuses to leave. Sure, before you put two and two together, it was starting to seem like he was just dragging you along. But it all made sense when you caught sight of the helmet poorly concealed under his bed.

It makes you wonder if he wants to get caught. Especially when he brings you flowers from the shop you just saw him save from Poison Ivy on TV. Or freezer-burnt cartons of ice cream from your favorite ice cream shop, which was buried under piles of snow courtesy of one Mr. Freeze only twenty minutes ago.

You offer him big smiles and kisses of thanks, and your heart melts a little at how relieved he looks, how baffled he is by your understanding. And you do understand. To tell someone you run around in spandex and leather every night is a big risk, especially for someone who used to run crime in Gotham.

You're no angel yourself, even if he does call you one, and it's endearing to watch him scramble for excuses. It's even more endearing that he tries so hard to make it up to you when he's late, when he has to leave early, when he comes back battered and bruised with flimsy half-thought out explanations.

You'll let him take all the time he needs to tell you, and it's almost funny how easily you've come to cover for him.

"Jason? Oh, he's changing his suit. Someone knocked into me and I spilled my drink all over his jacket. How embarrassing," You laugh out, answering the reporter's question over Jason's absence from the latest Wayne Gala. It's only half a lie, you might not have spilled your drink but he's definitely changing his suit. It's just not the suit anyone would expect.

Once whispers of a break-in at Gotham National Bank started circulating the Gala, it wasn't hard to miss the meaningful glances between your boyfriend and his family. Sometimes you wonder how no one's noticed it before.

You smile brightly at him once he comes back, smelling like gunpowder and leather, and you let him kiss your knuckles while he mumbles apologies over getting caught up with an old friend. You don't imagine Riddler is exactly an old friend, but you teasingly tell him how he owes you a dance for making you wait. He smiles back, his own grin even brighter than yours, as he leads you to the dance floor.

You're opening the door to your apartment, chatting lazily with your friend after a night out.

"Is your boyfriend here? I remember you saying you two were practically living together," they ask, eyes trailing around your living space.

You hum thoughtfully, "We pretty much are. I think he might be sleeping or out looking for the stray cat we saw the other day. It had a bad limp." It's not a hundred percent a lie either, there was a hurt stray. You just know that Catwomen already picked it up, after a text Jason sent to Bruce Wayne's current girlfriend, Miss. Selena Kyle. Which would have been more of a surprise if you didn't already know who Batman was.

But it definitely isn't the truth, because you did catch sight of a red helmet following you and your friend back from the club. (Gotham never felt safer, than when he was watching over you.)

Your friend coos and starts to respond, when a thump sounds from the fire escape. They jolt, "What was that?"

"The cat, probably," You say quickly, letting out a laugh, "it's, uh, pretty big. Has a limp. Hey, did I show you the flowers Jason got me?" You gesture towards the bouquet behind them, and you both focus on the pretty blossoms.

Within minutes, you hear your bedroom door open and close. "Hi, baby," Jason drawls, looping an arm around your waist to pull you to his side, "Sorry, I fell asleep, how was your night?"

You pretend not to notice the limp he's nursing, one you're certain he should be resting, and tilt your head up to kiss his jaw, "It was fun. Missed you."

"I missed you too," he echoes fondly, and the three of you fall into an easy conversation. You distract your friend when you all go to sit on the couch, and if you choose to avoid sitting on his left side, it's certainly not because Red Hood hurt his leg fighting Killer Croc earlier this week.

Jason has never said your name like that before. His eyebrows are knitted together. He's kneeling in front of you, his hands clasped over yours as you sit on the bed.

"I love you and I– I have something to tell you," he chokes out, strained, "please, just– just, hear me out."

It clicks. This is it. He's going to tell you.

You smile and nod, it'll be nice to finally air out this secret. And maybe he could help you work on your excuses? It'll be easier if you're working as a team. You reach out and brush his hair back, unfazed and delighted he's trusting you enough with this, "Of course, Jason. Anything you need to tell me."

Jason is going to throw up. He's finally gotten his act together enough that he's going to tell his partner he's Red Hood. His stomach is churning, it's agony, knowing he could lose them over this.

They're so good to him. So understanding and patient and kind. He has no idea how he got so lucky. And he loves them. It's scary sometimes, how much he loves them. He wants this to last so badly. So, he has to be honest. Has to tell them he isn't what the world says he is.

He's a vigilante. Was a crime lord. He hurts people to save people. He terrifies the trash that calls themselves human. He's not good for you, but he tries. He wants you to still love him.

He wants you to stay so much. Even if he's not good. He wants you. You deserve so much more than the excuses and lies he gives. Jason's wanted to tell you for weeks, but he chokes on his words every time. He's never been so afraid of doing something. Not when he was a kid on the streets. Not when he was Robin. Not as Red Hood.

You look so perfect, sitting at the edge of your bed and smiling at him. He almost flinches when he thinks this could be the last time you smile at him.

He's on his knees. He's prepared to beg. He would beg to keep you.

He says your name, he tells you he loves you. It might be the last time he gets to say that to you. The thought makes him even more nauseous. He tells you he has something to say.

You brush his hair back and keep smiling. He wants to sob. You don't know. You don't know what he is, what he's done.

"I'm Red Hood," he gasps out, voice ragged.

A beat. You're still smiling, you still look happy, and you're nodding at him.

He blinks at you, "I'm Red Hood," he repeats, "I know that- I know it's a lot. I understand if you never want to see me again, but, baby–"

You lean forward and kiss him. He's more than just a little dumbfounded. "Jason, I love you too. I'm not leaving you. I, um, kind of already knew you were Red Hood?" You say, a sheepish smile coming over your face.

"You– what?" Jason stumbles out. You're still here. Still touching him. You kissed him. You look relaxed. Happy.

"I saw your helmet under the bed. Everything clicked after that," You tell him gently.

"And you're okay with that? You're okay with me?" He asks, tone betraying his desperation.

Concern flashes in your eyes, "Of course I'm okay– I'm more than okay with that, Jason. I love you, tights or not."

He lets out a laugh, and his stomach swoops, the tension dissipating throughout his body, "Yeah?"

You grin at him, cupping his face, "Yeah, but you're going to have to show me how you swing around rooftops."

He gets off his knees to kiss you again, he doesn't think this moment could get any better, "Is that all?"

You giggle, at the pure elation in his eyes, and he grins widely at your joy. Then, the moment does get better, "Well, I'm kinda interested in the car Batman drives around you."

"I could make that happen," he murmurs, and seals the promise with another kiss, "You wanna see the batplane too?"

Your eyes light up, and Jason thinks he might be addicted to the mischievous glint that flickers in your gaze.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Not My Type

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2,329 Masterlist Part 2

Summary: Bucky is dumb.

Warnings: Fatphobia.

A/N: something short, sweet and simple because I’m starting to feel guilty about not posting 😭

Steve watched, as his friend searched around the club with his eyes. He could assume Bucky was just waiting on the rest of their coworkers to get there, but he knew better. “She’ll get here soon enough, relax.”. Steve leans his back against the booth and takes a long drink of his beer. “Who?” Bucky asks, unconvincingly.

“Y/N.” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Bucky scrunches up his face “As if, man.” He ignores the look of disbelief Steve gives him. “Why deny it? I’ve caught you staring her down more times than I can count.”. Steve stands up and waves to signal Natasha to where they sat. “There’s nothing to deny, she’s not my type, leave it there so no one’s feelings get hurt, okay?” Bucky puts the bottle to his lips to shush himself when he sees you approach the booth.

“You guys look.” Steve’s speechless as he takes in the silk nighties the girls adorned. They all wore semi matching babydoll dresses. Color coded fishnets and heeled slippers adorned their long legs. Their hair was high and teased, makeup adding to the sultry bedtime look they were going for.

“You’re gonna catch flies.” Wanda remarks, leaving to find Vision having the time of his life with the DJ. Steve’s reaction to their costumes did nothing to calm your nerves. You went with the housewife costume too. Just a different approach entirely. Your hair sat in victory rolls atop your head, a thick stack of curls laying on your shoulders, a knee length dress with three quartered sleeves covered you. You’re painted your eyebrows on thinly, just to over line your lips, filling them in with your favorite red Mac lipstick. You were the most modest in your costume, but the most accurate.

You couldn’t wear a see through nightgown to the club. You would die of embarrassment, your rolls would be everywhere. At least in this thick cotton dress, no one could see the layers of shape wear you wore. You slid into the booth and sat beside Steve, getting sandwiched in when Sam finally arrives, late with no costume. “What took you so long, huh khakis?” You tease him, feeling nothing but comfort in his presence.

“You ever had to tell a 10 year old his idea isn’t good enough.” He laughs, “, You should go as yourself Unc!” He recalls the boys words over the phone. “Oh, of course, looks like a superhero to me!” You giggle, loving the thought of his nephews building up his self esteem. He was new to the team, no super strength or speed. Just courage, you admired Sam.

You finally take the chance to look around the booth. Steve wore his vintage Captain America suit, claiming it still fits like a glove. Bucky didn’t wear a costume, just his regular black t-shirt and leather jacket, no effort, even for Halloween. It helped Sam not look so out of place, so you just rolled your eyes at him. He tried way to hard to act like he didn’t care about anything, or anyone. You hate people like that, too self absorbed to carry on a conversation with someone who doesn’t benefit them.

You had been on the wrong side of his attitude before. Bumbling up to him after your first meeting. Stretching out your hand for a shake, he barely touched your hand as he shook your fingers, nodding at you with a curt “Welcome.” You didn’t think much of it till he sat beside Yelena, who got recruited the same day as you, and sparked up a lively conversation with her, telling her if she needs anything at the compound to come ask him. That was the first time Bucky hurt your feelings, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Y/N!” Someone yells at you from the dance floor. It’s Yelena dancing alone, “You promised me a dance.” She says, holding her arms out for you. You nudge Sam on the shoulder and do the most embarrassing scoot out of the booth you could imagine. Your dress rode up in the time you’d been sitting there, causing your thighs to stick to the old leather. Your face grimaces and you peel your skin away, hoping no one noticed.

“I’m on the dance floor, as promised.” You say, holding her hands while she dances on you. “You’re gonna need to do more than stand there if you want him to notice you.” She remarks, not skipping a beat. Yelena knew you too well, she knew you picked the 40s for a reason, not going with their free spirit 60s slumber get up.

Giving her a wide eyed look, as if he heard over the thumping music. “We both know I have no rhythm, stop that.” You giggle when she presses her back against you and slides down into a squat. She goes behind you and grabs your hips, forcing you against her chest. She grinds you into her pelvis, using her hands to guide your hips in sync with hers. You never moved that way before, and the sensuality of it had your heart racing. Yelena could be anyone, tightly holding on to you, you closed your eyes and threw your head back on her shoulder, just to imagine it was him for a moment.

You feel Yelena’s lips tickle your ear and she’s whispering “Look who can’t take their eyes off of you.” You tilt your head down and open your eyes to lock them with Bucky’s. He looks angry, like you pissed in his cheerios. You turn your body around to face Yelena, “I think he’s upset I’m blocking his view from you.”. That causes her to laugh out loud, grabbing your shoulders to shake you. “You’re mad woman! Look at what’s right in front of you.”. You laugh and look behind you to see Bucky staring down his beer now, instead of you.

“Yelena, I don’t know how to put this, he probably doesn’t even go for girls like me, skinny blonde seems more his type. You, you seem more his type.” You plead with her. She just shakes her head, “He doesn’t like me, I promise, Y/N.” You nod your head, trusting the closest friend you had.

•••••••

You make your way to the bar, grabbing a drink to cool yourself off. You’re walking back to the booth to get off your feet when you overhear Steve and Bucky’s conversation.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You look like a helpless puppy, just make your move.”

“As if I’d need to, she’s probably never had male attention, that’s too easy.”

“Just admit that you’re afraid of rejection.”

“From her? Never in a million years would fatty have a chance. Like I said she’s obviously not my type.”. Bucky instantly regretted the words as they came out of his mouth, he didn’t mean it. But Steve wouldn’t stop accusing him of having a crush on you.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you push them down. You knew better, Yelena didn’t, you shouldn’t have let her give you false hope. You choke down your pride and turn the corner, sliding into the booth as if nothing happened. “I think this is my last drink guys, I’m getting tired, and winter training starts tomorrow.”.

An echo of ‘boos’ and a “noooo why.” Almost tempt you to stay. But you know you’re not wanted here, by the one person that mattered. Steve catches your attention, “Are you sure? The nights still young.” He wiggles his brows. You give him a tight lipped smile, knowing he tried to get Bucky to make a move.

“Yeah, there’s really not much for me here. I came for Natasha.” He nods, giving Bucky a death glare. You finish your drink and when you stand up the previous shots you had with Wanda hit you. You quickly sit back down, grabbing the table for stability. “Are you alright?” Steve rests his hand on your lower back, scooting closer to you.

You shake your head, not being able to form words. You think you’d faint if you didn’t focus on breathing. “Let me help you home.” He can see the unsure expression on your face. “Wouldn’t be respecting the suit if I didn’t make sure you got home safe.”. With that he convinced you.

When the cold October air hits your face, it sobers you a little bit, taking away the dizzy feeling, leaving you with a thumping head. Steve takes a few minutes to join you outside, you left him in a heated whisper match with Bucky.

You’re leaned against the side of the building when he finds you. “Ready to go?” He offers you his arm but you shake your head. “No need to be such a gentleman, it’s just me.” You say, knowing he’s doing it just to be nice.

Steve cocks his head to the side. “Why shouldn’t I be a gentleman towards you?” He asks. You press your pounding head against the brick wall, closing your eyes to think of the right words. “The only reason a guy needs to be a gentleman is for good impressions. I highly doubt you feel a need to impress me.”.

He scoffs at you, “What gives you the impression that you’re not worth impressing?”. Even though you were tipsy, Bucky’s words seared your frontal lobe. You suddenly are at a loss for words. How do you tell him you were eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I just don’t get much male attention I guess.” You let him in, his eyes widen in realization that you heard Bucky’s harsh words. “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He says, stepping closer to you. You roll your eyes at him.

“No, he knew exactly what he was talking about. Fatty is no one’s type. No one looks at me and thinks “woah, the most beautiful woman in the world just walked in the room”.” You push yourself off the wall. “I understand that you wouldn’t get that, since you’re so perfect Steve. Women lay down at your feet, your options are endless. But not for someone like me.”.

Steve’s face had turned into a stone. His jaw clenched tightly. He let you vent out your frustrations. “The way you looked at the girls, the way half the club looked at the girls, I’ll never have that.”. You look at your feet and notice him take a step closer to you. You look up to see your faces not too far apart.

“I was looking at you too.” He reaches out, letting his hands hover over your waist. He rests them on your hips when your don’t push him away. “I don’t care what he said, he’s just insecure, he can’t admit that he thinks you’re hot.” You scoff at him this time.

“Steve whatever you’re doing, I get the whole nice guy thing. But just stop.” You say, pressing your hand against his chest. The thin polyester did nothing to conceal his smooth muscles. You feel him squeeze your sides tighter, his thumbs pressing into your belly. “He doesn’t speak for me.”.

You look into his dark eyes. “What are you saying?”. You’d never even humored yourself by considering Steve. You now had to rethink every encounter you ever had with him. “Forget him, let me show you how a real man appreciates a woman.”

He slides his hands down, letting them grasp as much of your ass that could fit in them. You gasp, he wasn’t afraid of your body, he knows what it has to offer. Judging by the way he gripped on to your ass like his life depended on it, he liked it.

“What if someone sees?” You say, pushing his hands off of you. He replaces them “I’m not afraid, why are you?” He leans down, connecting your lips, you’re frozen for a moment. How do you kiss him back? Before you could find out you feel a hand on your shoulder, ripping you away from Steve.

“What are you doing?” Bucky is talking to his friend, ignoring your existence. “Excuse me, we were in the middle of something.” Steve steps between you and Bucky. “You shouldn’t be out here hooking up with a random coworker.” Bucky says, trying to convince himself.

“Y/N isn’t a random coworker, Jesus Bucky, what’s your problem?” Steve asks, letting his anger show. He knew what he was doing, if Bucky wouldn’t admit it on his own, jealousy would work just fine. Bucky balls up his fists at his side “You know what my problem is.”.

You’re staring at Steve’s back, you don’t know what Bucky’s talking about. Is he so repulsed by a plus size woman, he doesn’t even want his friend with one? You were done, you’d never done anything to Bucky besides exist. He had an imaginary problem with you.

You stepped around Steve, crossing your arms in front of your chest. You don’t know where the boost of confidence came from, probably Steve’s lips and hand placement. You look Bucky up and down, truly taking him in.

He was perfect, and he knew it. It was starting to disgust you. “Just because ‘fattys’ like me have no chance with you, doesn’t mean that I’m not worthy of another man being attracted to me.” You take a step back, pressing yourself against Steve. Just to show Bucky, you meant business.

Basing it off of the hard indentation on the front of Steve’s spandex, he liked watching you tell Bucky off. You turn your body around to face him, throwing a look over your shoulder at Bucky, “Take me home Stevie.” You sing song in his ear.

A smirk falls on his lips, “Let’s do that princess.” He says while leading you out of the alley. Bucky is stuck in place, having an internal war with himself, that you weren’t gonna stick around for.

[bigbuffjoonie]

Holy shit WHAT A RIDE this chapter was!!

Versus | MYG, JHS - Chapter 6

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Hoseok

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, enemies to lovers, Villains!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: mentions of weapons - blades, mentions of blood/bleeding, stabbing, explosions, fighting (hand-to-hand combat), flesh-eating bacteria, a plane nearly crashes, switching POVs, kissing, grinding, Vitality gives in to temptation, Yoongi and Hobi give in to their instincts

Word Count: 2.7k

Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Supervillain exes Yoongi and Hoseok are sick and tired of having their plans for world domination wrecked by you, aka Vitality, the world’s most powerful superhero. When fellow villain Jimin suggests a little competition to see who can bring you to your knees, they both eagerly accept. Now the battle is on as both men engage you in fight after fight to see who will conquer you first. Will you finally defeat these two, or will they destroy you - and possibly take each other out in the process?

A/N: We're upping the ante with the battles this chapter! The lines are really starting to blur for our superhero and villains alike.

The chapter title comes from OK Go's Here It Goes Again:

I guess there's gotta be a break in the monotony But Jesus, when it rains, how it pours

Unbeta’d as usual. Please don't be a silent reader! 🥺 My inbox is always open! 💕

Chapter Five ✨ Series Masterlist ✨ Chapter Seven

Chapter Six: Jesus, When It Rains, How It Pours

As far as weeks go, you’ve had better. 

Monday started off with a bang when half of midtown was ravaged by a gila monster the size of a jumbo jet that escaped from some mad scientist’s lab after getting into some horrifically effective secret growth serum. Tuesday you took down an entire team of disgruntled ex-military men threatening to blow up the city if the officials didn’t meet their demands for, uh, actually, you never asked what they wanted, you just defeated them before they could do anything other than terrorize a whole building full of innocent hostages. 

Wednesday was nothing but meetings and team building exercises - honestly, worse than the giant lizard and the mercenaries combined. 

And here it is Thursday, and you’re once again fighting Yoongi. He’s really been on one lately, and you’re getting a little sick and tired of seeing his face. Especially when he won’t stop throwing those fucking blades at you and ruining your plans to spend the day relaxing for once. Well, relaxing as much as you can for a superhero busy constantly saving the world. So, like, eating banana Choco Pies and maybe binging a few episodes of All of Us Are Dead in between training sessions.

“Heads up, pretty bird!” Yoongi grins as another dagger hurtles through the air. You spin, avoiding the sharp projectile, and aim a high kick at his head. He manages to duck, dropping to his knees. Two more daggers slip from his sleeves and he chucks them as he laughs gleefully. 

His plan is going fairly smoothly today. It was so easy for him and Taehyung to break into the high containment lab where the government’s Disease Control department stores the deadliest pathogens on the planet under lock and key. Even easier to incite hysteria when he threatened to release a vial of flesh-eating bacteria into the water supply. He so loves to watch leaders scramble about like helpless ants, just waiting to be squished under his big black boots. 

Not to mention how much he enjoys the thrill of causing a total meltdown amongst the public at large. It’s too easy to manipulate people. They’re so dumb and panicky. 

How he loathes them.

But as much as he’d love to actually release some of these vicious viruses, he’s really only here because he knew you’d come. And now he has you trapped in an enclosed space, surrounded by vials filled with instant death, making it impossible for you to use your powers. You can’t exactly blast him to hell if it means you might accidentally smash some of these tubes and release the doom stored inside. Especially since he and Taehyung destroyed all of the room’s defenses meant to keep any breaches safely enclosed within.

“You won’t get away with this!” you hiss as you knock one of his daggers out of midair with a well-timed kick. 

“Are you sure about that? Seems like you’re fighting with clipped wings, pretty bird,” Yoongi chuckles darkly. “Careful! Wouldn’t want to let any of these icky germs get out, now would we?”

Lunging forward, you tackle him to the ground, pinning his arms down so he can’t release any more blades. You still don’t understand where the fuck they all come from - is he conjuring them out of thin air? Or does he have a whole bunch of them strapped to his body at all times? Is his pale skin just a collection of scars under his pinstripe suit? 

“What exactly is your plan here? Release the bacteria, and then what? What do you want?” 

What does he want? You, writhing underneath him, begging for mercy. It’s all he desires.

“I want chaos. I want to bring the world crashing down around us, until the streets run red and only the strongest survive. This world needs culling, and I am the reaper!” His eyes flash as he rants, fidgeting, trying to rock you off of him as you straddle his chest, keeping his hands pressed against his sides.  

“You’re the reaper? No, you’re a disease, and I am the cure!” you snarl, fist curled, winding up to deliver a knockout punch. 

Yoongi cackles wildly. “You’re the cure? Be honest–did you just come up with that, or did you rehearse that before you got here?”

Well, not that he needs to know, but yeah, you’d rehearsed that since the moment you left headquarters. As soon as you realized you were headed to the infectious disease vault, you knew exactly what you wanted to say for your finishing quip. Stupid fucking superhero banter.

“Fuck you!” A little more pithy than witty, but it’ll get the job done. Just as you’re about to smack him six ways from Sunday, there’s a stabbing pain in your shoulder. With a wounded shriek, you reach behind you and remove a dagger, point dripping with your blood. 

Taehyung stands in the doorway of the vault. Goddamn it, you forgot all about the sidekick. All the supervillains you fight always have a loyal lackey just waiting to step in and prove their mettle. Yoongi must’ve trained him to handle his blades.

His presence distracts you long enough for Yoongi to wiggle his arms free, throwing you off of him. Yoongi reaches for the dagger but you manage to keep a strong grip on it, and the two of you begin to wrestle, limbs tangling as Taehyung suddenly shouts.

“Hyung! Look out!” A vial sitting dangerously close to the edge of the counter suddenly topples onto its side, glass shattering. “Don’t let it hit your skin!”

It’s the flesh-eating bacteria. Your tussling with Yoongi has brought you right next to the counter, and your back slams into the solid cabinet doors. Time seems to slow to a crawl, every second stretching to an eternity. You glance at Yoongi before you look up, staring in dread as the contents of the tube begin to drip towards your face–

THOCK

A burst of wind ripples past your head and suddenly there’s a dagger sticking out of the wood, directly between your face and the oozing strain, catching every drop that dribbles down. Startled, you whip your head around to gawk at Yoongi. He’s frozen, arm still raised, a fierce look on his face. 

“Don’t just sit there, fucking move,” he growls, and you snap to, quickly jumping away from the counter as the lethal microbes run down the blade and trickle onto the floor where you had been a mere millisecond before. You lie on your side, panting, bewildered. Why the fuck did Yoongi do that? 

Yoongi’s stunned. Why the fuck did he do that? You were this close to becoming a bacteria buffet. If he hadn’t saved you, you’d be dead. He hadn’t even thought about it, just reacted on instinct, tossing a blade to protect you. 

Fucking hell, once again he really needs a minute to think. But now isn’t the time for any self-reflection, not with sirens blaring and Taehyung screeching in his ear that they need to leave before you shake off your shock and capture them both. He allows his confidant to pull him to his feet, and then he’s running, as fast as he can, away from the lab, away from the building, away from you and the expression on your face of total confusion - mixed with the one emotion he hates above all.

Hope.

Hobi’s made a slight miscalculation.

This thought occurs to him as he stumbles out of the cockpit of the jet, which is gradually diving towards the ground. 

See, his brilliant plan this week was to trap you on a jet skimming the upper bounds of the atmosphere and force you to fight him without your powers. After all, it’s an enclosed space about 6,000 miles above the ground. Since you can’t fly, why would you put yourself at risk by tearing a hole through the cabin or blasting one of the engines into smithereens?

The thing is, no matter how many times he had Jin sift through the scenarios and crunch the data, he completely forgot to take one factor into consideration: you’re kind of a compulsive idiot. 

“The controls are completely shot,” He hisses as he stalks across the cabin to where you’re standing, staring at your own hands. “As you in fucking shot them with that last blast!”

“I didn’t fucking mean to! Obviously!” you shout, snapping out of your shock. You’d been trying, really trying not to give in to the urge to just blow this asshole out of the sky, but he wouldn’t stop throwing punches and you just wanted to stun him, wind him enough to knock him down and pin him, except you forgot how fucking slick he is, how he moves like water when he fights, lithe body bending in ways you couldn’t even dream to, and with one smooth side step he’d avoided your blast. 

And now there’s a giant hole in the instrument panel and you’re going to die. 

Hobi should’ve prepared for this eventuality. He should’ve packed at least one parachute. 

Add it to the list of things he’ll go to his grave lamenting. 

“So what do we do now?” you ask, spinning around the empty cabin of the plane, looking for something that might help. Not that you have a fucking clue what would help. This isn’t a situation they’d trained you for when you’d started with the company. It was always assumed that if there were an air battle, one of the flying heroes would handle it. 

“We fucking die,” Hobi hisses. For once, he wishes he had Jin in his ear to tell him everything will be alright. But his communications are on the fritz thanks to the gaping maw that used to be the front of the jet. “Unless one of your stupid coworkers is about to swoop in here and save us?” 

One minute, you were on your way to a charity event, dressed to kill in your bright red strapless sequined gown, slit cut halfway to heaven up your right thigh, most decidedly not wearing the headpiece from your uniform despite your PR rep’s insistence because you think it’s tacky as fuck (and besides, it clashed with your dress something horrible), when your driver suddenly keeled over, blood spurting from his mouth, and the car went off the road. Before you could free yourself from the wreckage, you felt that invisible pulsing again, and everything went black. 

Now, as the train of your dress trails behind you, tattered from your fight, you wish you’d worn that stupid ugly-ass headpiece after all. Damn you and your fucking pride. There’s a locator beacon in the headpiece, which would really be handy right about now. You know Doc will track you eventually, but you’re not feeling very hopeful that he can do so before you become a superhero pancake.

“Save us?” you sputter, spinning around the empty cabin. “Who is this “us?” If anyone were to get saved, it would just be me, you fucknut! No one is coming to save you!” Whirling again, you aim a high kick at his head, scowling as he ducks. You chase him down the aisle, angrily tossing punches left and right, your throws getting sloppier the more irate you grow. “And you probably had that fucking radar-evading tech on again, just like you did in Argentina, right?? So no one knows I’m here and no one is going to find me until they dig my body out of the rubble!” 

Hobi catches your clumsy right cross and yanks you towards him, intending to restrain you, but the plane suddenly dips further and he ends up flat on his back, tugging you on top of him.

You huff furiously as your nose brushes his. From this close, his eyes are molten lava, burning into yours. His skin scorches you where it touches you, as though his entire body blazes with heat beneath you. 

Hobi is out of ideas. Out of brilliant plans, out of in-the-nick-of-time maneuvers. He knows his henchmen won’t get to him fast enough, no matter how swift his jets might be. So, for the first time in a very, very long time, he lets the panic take over. He stops thinking, and moves on instinct.

Wrapping a strong hand around the back of your head, he pulls you down, crushing your mouth onto his. 

There’s brief shock on your end, before the impending doom of your current situation floods your brain, sweeping all rational thought away in its wake, and you thread your fingers through his dark hair, cradling his head as you kiss him fiercely. You’re about to fucking die–why not live a little first? Go down happy. Or at the very least, anything but scared.

Of course his lips would be so plush. Of course his tongue would taste like sugar. Why would his kiss be any less irresistible than the energy flowing through him? Because it’s calling to you, again. Like a sweet siren song, an inviting melody only you can hear. 

This time, there’s no reason not to give in. 

As Hobi licks into your mouth, blindly needing to feel something, anything else right now, other than fear, and finding himself quite surprised that he is, you curl your fingers into his dark shirt and feed, pulling his energy into you. 

Hobi’s eyes go wide at the first tug. What is happening to him? It feels like something surging through him. His eyes roll shut in ecstasy. Holy shit, whatever it is, it’s fucking amazing.

You groan into his mouth, overwhelmed by the pulsating sensation of Hobi’s energy entering you. God, is this what it’s like to feed from a human? Jesus, why did you wait until death’s door to try it? You settle against him, thighs straddling his, and your eyes fly open (when did they close??) as you realize he’s hard as a rock between your legs. Is it from the kiss? From the fighting? Or could draining him of his energy feel as good for him as it feels for you?

The force building inside you is so intense, stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before - even more powerful than that nuclear warhead you’d disarmed one time by draining it dry. It’s extraordinary, how fucking good it feels, how fucking good Hobi feels, and as the sensation overwhelms you, you break the kiss, arching your back and letting go, releasing all that rippling energy in one big blast.

The jet explodes around you, disintegrating into nothing.

Hobi’s eyes widen in shock as you destroy the plane. Acting on instinct, he wraps his arms around you as you hurtle towards the earth in a freefall. He tucks your head into his neck, as if to protect you. 

Or maybe just to hold you close during the last few seconds of your lives. 

That’s when a strong hand suddenly grasps and yanks him out of midair.

“Shit, Vi, what the fuck did you get yourself into this time?” an irate voice demands, and then Hobi blinks and he’s zooming through the air as your flying teammate holds you both tightly and zips you towards the ground below. 

As soon as you’re standing on solid earth, your teammate throws Hobi down, pinning him to the soil. You drop to your knees, thankful to be on the ground again, breathing deeply as your heart continues to hammer frantically. Your teammate starts ranting about your “little stunt” fucking up his day off (as if you kidnapped yourself!). But you don’t respond, glancing at where Hobi, who lies with his hands cuffed behind his back, peers up at you. His dark eyes are turbulent, unsettled oceans churning wildly, and you know your own gaze matches his. 

Neither of you speak, and before long, he’s being whisked away by the containment team and you’re alone, staring at the dirt under your knees, marveling at how you survived but still feel completely wrecked. 

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

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[luveline]

maybe could I ask for miguel seeing spider girl with a bruise on her face and getting protective (when in reality it was just over something dumb) thank youuuu <3

ty for requesting! Finding his Spider-Girl is never easy. He’ll assume you’re wearing your watch and find it forgotten in his room, or under a chair in the cafeteria, or twitching and loosing smoke at the bottom of a garbage can, nowhere near your actual location. 

Today, he checks all your usual haunts and decides he might break up with you if you don’t start leaving him clues as to where to find you. Not that’s he’s your boyfriend (of course he’s your boyfriend), but he’d put an end to your… relationship, should he have to. 

He’s getting annoyed at his own thoughts and, by extension, you, when he finally finds you lying casually across a couch in a common area otherwise abandoned. You’ve projected your phone game onto the ceiling, music leaking from the cans of your headphones, with your socked feet dangling over an armrest, a drinks bottle by your head.

“Where are your shoes?” he asks loudly. 

You glance his way. “Hi, Miguel.” 

“Are you walking around without shoes?” He bends one way and another looking for them. They’re on their sides under the coffee table among a legion of dust bunnies. 

“What?” 

“I said–” He hates playing this game. “Take the headphones off, and then we’ll talk to each other.” 

“I’m gonna take my headphones off,” you say. 

He rolls his eyes. You stop projecting your phone, snapping it closed on your chest and struggling up into a sitting position, legs retrieved from over the armrest and crossed beneath you as your headphones slip around your neck. You’re in sportswear with a jacket too big for you over your shoulders, cute cargo pants he adores and potentially would love to take off of you, and he’s so busy noticing your uncharacteristic outfit that he misses the huge bruise on your face, the yellow, red and purple like a stain under your eye 

He has amazing vision. “What happened?” he asks, practically diving for you, bending down to take your unbruised cheek into his hand. “Who did that to you?” 

You haven’t been on a strike mission in weeks, and your combat training is all but done. 

Someone laid their hands on you. 

Miguel goes into a fugue. “Sweetheart,” he says, his voice flat, almost cold, “who hit you?” 

“Miguel, I’m a superhero–”

“I don’t remember the last time you went home,” he says, immediately brushing this possibility away. You don’t fight crime in your dimension, Spider-Girl a poorly received vigilante. “You haven’t been in training, I didn’t send you on the strike this morning because you didn’t want to go.” He touched you with extreme care, thumb barely pressed to your skin, but he talks with precision. “So I’ll ask again. Who hit you, cariño?” 

“Miguel,” you laugh, pushing his hand off of your face to wrap your arms around his neck. He covers your back instinctively. “I’m fine, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting all macho.” 

“You aren’t answering my question.” 

“Oh my gosh.” You cling to him. He could stand up at full height and be sure you’d come up with him. He’d quite enjoy that, to his secret pleasure, you with your legs wrapped around his hips. You don’t like being carried is the kicker. “Miguel, I hit myself. My hand got caught when I was taking the suit off and I hit myself in the eye, it’s fine.” 

Your back is soft. His hand less so as he rubs your back in surprised, short lines, up and down and up again. “Idiot,” he says, his voice turning to rasp at such a low volume. 

It must hurt, even if you did it to yourself. Miguel peels you away from his neck and stations you gently on the couch. “I’ll take you to the medbay,” he promises, giving your shoulder a little push. “What’s wrong with you? You hit yourself? You’re like a kid.” 

“I am not! It happens to everybody.” 

“Never happens to me.” 

“You cheat. Your suit flashes on and off.”

“It does not.” Miguel decides he is going to carry you whether you like it or not. You aren’t wearing shoes —he doesn’t need you getting any more injured. “Alright, hold on to your phone, my brat.” 

“Your what?” you laugh, though any humour you hold is lost when Miguel grabs you up with ease and cradles your full grown body to his chest in a princess carry, “Miguel! Stop, put me down! You know I hate this.” 

“You might hurt yourself again. I’m taking necessary precautions.” 

You sigh and drop your face into his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll allow it. You got so, so mad thinking somebody hit me, I think you deserve to carry me around like a large cantaloupe.” You draw a heart into the base of his neck. “Will you grab my shoes?” 

“I’ll circle back.” 

“Thank you. How’d you even find me? I was hoping I’d be healed the next time we saw one another.”

“At bedtime, you mean?” 

He resists the urge to kiss your cheek, or tell you how he’d found you (mindless combing of the building, seduction of your most likely location, and dumb luck). You don’t need the ammunition. 

[amethystarachnid]

MUTANT BODYGUARD - part I

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff and spicy (I mean, it's Logan...)

ᯓ★ Story type: short story

ᯓ★Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ TW(s): Reader has stalkers and crazy fans, said stalker gets inside reader's apartment and Logan uses his claws on him

ᯓ★ Timeline: doesn't follow a timeline in the x-men movies, just...maybe before days of future past?

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ From: Marvel Bingo, Bodyguard romance x Age Gap

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier lover click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn't my first language and this isn’t proof read

You’ve always hated the idea of needing a bodyguard. It feels ridiculous, like some over-the-top celebrity diva move. But ever since your career skyrocketed, the tabloids won’t leave you alone. A role in a blockbuster film, a few chart-topping singles, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of you. The constant media frenzy, the “fans” who somehow know where you live, the paparazzi camping outside your apartment—it’s become too much. When the threatening letters started showing up, your manager insisted on hiring a bodyguard.

You rolled your eyes, argued, but eventually caved. You love your career, but you’re not an idiot. You know when things get dangerous.

So, here you are, pacing back and forth in your living room, waiting for the “best in the business” to show up. The guy your manager picked. No name, no details, just a reputation for getting the job done. Whatever that means.

You stop mid-step when the door opens. In walks a man who looks like he’s seen and survived more wars than any human being should. His hair is a wild mess, and the dark scruff on his face gives him a rugged, almost dangerous look. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built like someone who could easily break someone in half with his bare hands. He’s wearing a leather jacket, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal thick forearms that have clearly seen some action.

You blink, not expecting…well, this.

“You’re the bodyguard?” you ask, eyes sweeping over him. You were expecting someone in a suit, maybe with an earpiece and sunglasses. Not…a lumberjack biker.

He glances at you with piercing, slightly narrowed eyes. “Logan. And yeah, I’m your bodyguard, sweetheart.”

You cross your arms, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

He gives a half-smirk, the kind that’s both infuriating and somehow annoyingly attractive. “Noted.”

There’s an awkward pause as he looks you up and down, assessing you in a way that makes you want to shrink under his gaze. “So, what’s the deal? You a princess or somethin’? 'Cause I gotta say, this gig doesn’t exactly scream 'royalty.'”

“I’m an actress, actually,” you respond with a touch of sarcasm. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

Logan’s unimpressed. He shrugs, clearly not the type to follow pop culture. “Nope.”

You’re not sure whether to be offended or relieved. On one hand, it’s nice not to be recognized. On the other hand, what rock has this guy been living under? You’re practically everywhere these days.

“You can Google me later,” you say, waving a hand dismissively. “I guess I’ll just assume you’re qualified.”

“More than qualified,” he growls, his voice deep and gravelly, like it’s been dragged across the pavement. “I don’t do babysitting, but your manager was…insistent. Apparently, someone out there’s got a real interest in makin’ sure you don’t stick around long enough for the next season of whatever-you’re-in.”

You narrow your eyes at him, irritated by his attitude. “Well, lucky me, right? Having you around means I’ll definitely survive to make another movie.”

He smirks again, this time with more of an edge. “Keep that attitude up, and I’ll have you wishing they got to you first.”

You snort, because as gruff as he is, you’re not intimidated. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties.”

“I don’t do parties.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan, unable to stop yourself from throwing in a bit of sass.

Logan’s eyebrow twitches, but he seems more amused than annoyed by your attitude. “You’re gonna be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

“Only if you deserve it,” you quip, sitting down on your couch and crossing your legs. “So, how does this work? Do you stand in the corner looking all broody while I go about my life? Or are you planning on following me everywhere like a lost puppy?”

He scoffs, taking off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “You wish. I’m not here to play lapdog. I’m here to make sure no one tries to kill you. If that means following you around and making sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble than you’re worth, so be it.”

“Comforting,” you say dryly. “It’s nice to know you think I’m worth saving.”

Logan pauses, eyes locking with yours, and for a second, the air between you shifts. His gaze softens just a fraction, enough that you almost forget the gruff exterior. Almost.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were,” he says, his tone quieter but no less intense.

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Then he glances around your apartment. “You got security cameras?”

“Uh, yeah. Around the building,” you say, still trying to shake off the weird tension between you two.

“Good. I’ll check the perimeter. You stay put,” he orders, turning to leave.

“Oh, sure, yeah, I’ll just sit here quietly while my life’s in danger,” you call after him, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Don’t worry about me.”

Logan stops at the door and looks over his shoulder with that damn smirk again. “I won’t.”

As he walks out, you can’t help but shake your head. This is going to be a long job.

The first couple of days with Logan are…interesting, to say the least. He’s always there, a constant shadow, but he’s not the hovering type. He gives you space, but you can feel his presence in the room, always alert, always watching. And the banter—well, that hasn’t stopped.

“You think you could maybe try not to look like you hate being here?” you ask one morning as you head out for a meeting with your agent.

Logan’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face. “This is my happy face.”

“Really? Because it looks a lot like your ‘I want to punch someone in the throat’ face.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “That’s pretty much the same face.”

You sigh dramatically, brushing past him. “Well, you’re really selling the ‘friendly bodyguard’ vibe.”

“Good thing I’m not here to be friendly,” he shoots back, falling into step beside you.

“Right. You’re just here to make sure I don’t die.”

“Exactly.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, but you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan looks at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, but I’m growing on you.”

“Debatable.”

But as you both walk out into the chaos of cameras, fans, and flashing lights, you realize he might be right.

The next few days pass in a blur of meetings, interviews, and public appearances. With Logan by your side, everything is under control. He’s always there—solid, unflinching, and frustratingly good at his job. You don’t feel a single ounce of fear when he’s around, but you do feel something else, something that keeps tightening between you two like a stretched wire.

It’s impossible not to notice how Logan moves, how his muscles flex under that leather jacket when he’s surveying a crowd, the quiet, simmering power in his stance. And then there are the looks. God, the looks he gives you. It’s subtle, but whenever you catch his eye, there’s this electric charge, a tension that wraps itself around you both, even if no one else in the room can feel it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though. At least, not out loud. It’s ridiculous. He’s older—way older—and this is supposed to be professional. You’re not some starry-eyed girl who’s going to fall for her bodyguard just because he’s dangerous and good-looking.

Right?

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. But the more time you spend with him, the harder it is to ignore. He’s just so there, so…Logan.

The rumors don’t help either.

It starts with a photo—just one. The paparazzi manage to catch Logan opening your car door, his hand on the small of your back as you slip inside. It’s a simple, professional gesture, but in the world of tabloids, it’s something else entirely. Within hours, the internet is flooded with headlines: Mysterious Man Seen With Actress Y/N! New Bodyguard or New Romance?

You laugh it off at first, but the rumors snowball. Suddenly, every gossip site is buzzing with theories. Logan’s too attractive to just be a bodyguard, they say. You’re spending too much time together. There are whispers about the age gap, about the “forbidden attraction.” Some tabloids get more imaginative—Logan: The Bad Boy Who Stole Y/N’s Heart? or Secret Fling with Older Bodyguard? Inside the Dangerous Romance.

“I can’t believe people are actually buying this,” you mutter, scrolling through a particularly ridiculous article.

Logan’s lounging on your couch, reading through a security report. He doesn’t even look up when he responds. “You’re famous. People’ll believe anything.”

“Yeah, but this?” You wave your phone at him, exasperated. “Secret romance? Seriously?”

Finally, he glances up, his expression unreadable. “You worried about it?”

You snort. “No. It’s just insane. People will say anything for clicks.”

Logan’s silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer than necessary. “It’s not that crazy, y’know.”

You freeze, your heart doing a weird little flip. “What’s not?”

He smirks, just a touch of amusement in his eyes. “You. Me. The rumors.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I—what?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “People see what they wanna see, darlin’. You’re young, successful, in the spotlight. They think you’re gonna fall for the first guy that gives you a little danger, a little excitement.”

You narrow your eyes, heat prickling at your skin. “And you think you give me that?”

Logan’s smirk widens, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. “Don’t I?”

Your stomach twists in response. There’s no denying it—there’s something between you two, something you’ve been ignoring for days. Weeks, maybe. But hearing him say it, so casually, like it’s a fact you both already know, sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“Logan,” you start, trying to regain some control, “there’s nothing—”

“Yeah? You sure about that?” His voice is low, and suddenly the space between you feels smaller, like the room’s shrinking, the air thickening. He’s not even touching you, but it feels like he is, the weight of his presence pushing against every nerve in your body.

You swallow hard. “We—there’s an age gap.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, there is. Doesn’t seem to stop ‘em from talkin’, does it?”

“No, but—” You stop, frustrated, because what’s your argument here? That you’re not attracted to him? That you don’t spend half your nights thinking about what it would be like if he wasn’t just your bodyguard?

Logan stands, slowly, and you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. His sheer size makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. He moves closer, and your breath catches in your throat as he stops just in front of you.

“Thing is, people are gonna talk,” he says, voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do. So, the way I see it, you got two choices. You keep fightin’ what’s happenin’, or…”

He pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips before slowly moving back up to meet your gaze.

“…you see where this goes.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. There’s no more pretending, no more banter to hide behind. The air is thick with everything you’ve been avoiding—the attraction, the tension, the unspoken desire that’s been crackling between you both since the moment you met.

You take a shaky breath, trying to think through the haze of want clouding your mind. “Logan, this is—this is complicated. We can’t just—”

“Why not?” His voice is rough, raw, like he’s barely holding himself back. “You’re not some kid. You know what you want. So do I.”

There’s a dangerous edge to his words, something primal that sends another surge of heat through you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity that makes it hard to breathe, let alone think straight.

You try to hold on to logic, to the rational part of your brain that’s screaming at you to slow down. But when you meet his eyes, all dark and stormy, your resolve crumbles.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” Logan murmurs, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. His hand moves, just a fraction, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you close. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because you can’t tell him that. You can’t say the words when your whole body is aching for something you know you shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about.

He steps closer, and the air between you crackles with the kind of tension that makes your skin tingle. “Last chance, sweetheart.”

Your pulse races. Every rational thought, every reason you’ve been telling yourself not to cross this line, fades into the background. All you can think about is him—his scent, his presence, the way his body radiates heat like a furnace.

“Logan…” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

That’s all it takes.

In one swift movement, he closes the distance between you, his large hands finding your waist as he pulls you against him. The world tilts, and before you can think, before you can breathe, his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, and absolutely relentless.

You gasp against his mouth, but it’s lost in the kiss, in the way he takes control, his grip firm but careful, as though he’s been holding himself back for weeks and now there’s no stopping it. He tastes like whiskey and danger, and the moment his tongue brushes against yours, your knees threaten to give out.

You don’t even realize your hands are in his hair until you’re pulling him closer, pressing against him as if you can’t get enough. The kiss is rough, intense, filled with every ounce of pent-up tension you’ve both been ignoring.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Still think it’s just rumors?” he growls, voice ragged.

You can’t speak. You just shake your head, fingers still tangled in his hair, your body flush against his.

Logan smirks, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Thought so.”

Just as you start to lose yourself in the heat of Logan’s kiss, a sharp, sudden beep cuts through the haze. It takes a second to register, but when you pull back slightly, you see Logan’s face shift—his entire body going rigid. His phone is vibrating in his jacket pocket.

The change in him is immediate. The heat, the softness, all of it hardens into something sharp and dangerous. He pulls away from you, grabbing his phone with a quick, practiced movement. You don’t get a chance to ask what’s happening because his jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at the screen.

"Shit," he mutters, already moving toward the door.

“What’s going on?” You ask, heart still racing from a mix of adrenaline and confusion.

Logan’s whole demeanor has shifted into something colder, sharper—his focus laser-like. "Someone’s inside the building."

Your stomach drops. "What? How? Shouldn’t the security downstairs—"

"They got past it," he interrupts, throwing on his jacket in one fluid motion. His eyes are darker now, more alert, and it sends a chill down your spine. "Stay here."

Before you can protest, he’s out the door. But the idea of staying still, alone, in a situation like this? No chance. You grab your phone and follow him, keeping a few paces behind as he stalks through the hall, every movement precise, calculated.

He barely glances back at you, his body a wall of tension, like he’s ready to explode into action at any second. "I told you to stay back, Y/N," he growls under his breath, his voice low and urgent.

"And I don’t take orders," you snap back, even though you’re trembling inside. The hallway feels too quiet, too still.

Before Logan can argue, you both hear it—heavy footsteps, coming from the stairwell. Your heart skips a beat. You weren’t prepared for this kind of fear. Sure, the letters had freaked you out, but this? Someone actually in the building, hunting you?

Logan moves so fast you barely see it, pushing you behind him as the door to the stairwell creaks open. The figure that steps out is shadowy at first, but as the light hits him, you see a man—unshaven, wild-eyed, and holding a small knife that glints in the dim light. He’s muttering something under his breath, eyes locked on you.

"There you are," the man breathes, voice unnervingly soft. "I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Before you can react, Logan steps forward, his body a barrier between you and the man. "Back off," he warns, his voice so low it rumbles in his chest.

The stalker’s eyes flick to Logan, sizing him up, but instead of retreating, he grins. "You think you can stop me? I’ve been planning this for months."

You feel your skin crawl, bile rising in your throat. But Logan is a wall of calm fury. Without a word, he lunges at the man, moving so fast you barely register the impact. Logan’s fist connects with the guy’s jaw, sending him stumbling back into the wall with a sickening thud.

It should have ended there. Any normal man would have been down for the count. But the stalker scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with manic determination, swinging the knife wildly.

You gasp as the blade slashes through the air, missing Logan by inches. But he’s not rattled. He ducks, then pivots with a speed and grace that shouldn’t be possible for someone his size. And then, with a growl that sounds more animal than human, Logan throws the stalker against the wall, pinning him there.

The man struggles, trying to bring the knife up again. But then, something happens—something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Logan’s hand shoots forward, and suddenly there’s a metallic SNIKT. Three long, razor-sharp claws extend from between his knuckles—gleaming silver, impossibly deadly. They punch through the man’s jacket, pinning him by the shoulder to the wall.

The stalker lets out a scream, eyes wide in terror. But your own scream is stuck in your throat. All you can do is stare, your brain struggling to comprehend what you’re seeing.

Logan has claws. Metal claws.

What the hell?

With the stalker writhing in pain, Logan leans in close, his voice a low growl. "You picked the wrong damn target."

The man whimpers, his bravado completely gone as blood trickles from the shallow wound. Logan jerks the claws free, and the man collapses to the ground, groaning in pain but still breathing. Without a second glance at his attacker, Logan turns to you.

“Y/N,” he says, stepping toward you, his voice a low, rough murmur that sounds far away. “It’s not what you think—”

But you stumble back, the knife in your hand trembling, not because of the stalker lying on the floor, but because of him. Because of what you just saw.

“Y-you…what—” You can’t even get the words out, your mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. “What are you?”

Logan’s face tightens. He’s clearly seen this reaction before. “I’m a mutant,” he says quietly, the calmness in his voice almost unnerving given what just went down. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but—”

“I—” You take another step back, your heart still racing. “Mutant? Logan, you—what the hell did you just—” Your eyes drop to his hands, where the claws retracted just moments ago. “You have claws?”

Logan doesn’t move, his hands by his sides, still covered in a few drops of the intruder’s blood. His whole body looks tense, as though he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, his voice low and steady. “But I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never—”

“You—” You’re shaking your head, not even sure what you’re trying to say. Everything’s too much. You’ve only ever heard horror stories about mutants, about how dangerous they can be, how you should keep your distance. You’ve never known anyone who was one…until now.

And it’s Logan. The guy who’s been protecting you.

The guy who just kissed you.

“I need…I need some space,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper, your mind still reeling.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something that looks almost like regret crossing his face. But he nods, stepping back slowly. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re scared. But I’m still the same guy I was five minutes ago. I’m not the enemy, Y/N.”

You know that. Deep down, in some part of yourself, you know that Logan wouldn’t hurt you. He’s saved your life, protected you, and been nothing but loyal. But right now, your instincts are screaming at you to get away, to process what the hell just happened.

“I just…please, I need to be alone,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Logan’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something. But then he nods once, giving you space, just like you asked. “I’ll be close,” he says quietly, before turning and walking away, leaving you alone in the hallway with your racing thoughts.

As he disappears around the corner, you lean back against the wall, your knees threatening to give out. You’re not sure what scares you more, the stalker lying unconscious on the floor, or the realization that Logan isn’t just a man with a bad attitude and a dangerous past.

He’s something else entirely.

And you have no idea what that means for you both.

The next day is a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions. You wake up to the soft light filtering through the curtains, but instead of feeling rested, your heart pounds in your chest, and the events of the previous day come flooding back. Logan’s claws, the way he fought off that intruder, the raw power he displayed—it all feels surreal.

You spend the morning trying to distract yourself, throwing yourself into your usual routine. You have interviews lined up and a photoshoot to get through, but every moment, you can’t shake the image of Logan standing over that intruder, the fierceness in his eyes as he retracted those deadly claws. There’s a knot in your stomach, a strange mix of fear and something else you can’t quite place.

Despite your attempts at normalcy, you’re acutely aware of the absence of Logan. He hasn’t checked in, hasn’t texted, and that silence weighs heavily on you. You told him you needed space, but now, part of you wonders if you made a mistake pushing him away.

As the afternoon stretches on, you finish your last interview and head back to your apartment, an unshakable sense of anticipation coursing through you. The place feels different without Logan’s presence, quieter, more hollow. You take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself for whatever comes next.

The door swings open, and you step inside. The scent of leather and Logan’s cologne still lingers in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. You glance around, half-hoping to see him leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, that trademark smirk on his lips. But the space is empty.

You walk into the living room, the tension from the previous day still hanging in the air. You’re about to pour yourself a glass of water when a knock on the door startles you. You freeze, heartbeat quickening as you glance at the clock. It’s late, too late for anyone else to drop by.

You approach the door cautiously and open it, your breath catching in your throat as you see Logan standing there, his presence filling the doorway. He looks as imposing as ever, dressed in a black t-shirt that hugs his torso, the leather jacket thrown over one shoulder. His hair is tousled, and there’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw that somehow makes him look even more rugged.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and a touch uncertain.

“Hey,” you manage, heart racing. The tension between you two feels palpable, and you can’t ignore the rush of warmth spreading through your body at the sight of him.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his expression serious, but there’s an underlying urgency that makes your stomach flip.

“Of course,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. He walks past you, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, sending a rush of heat through your veins.

Logan turns to face you, his expression shifting, revealing the storm brewing behind his eyes. “I wanted to talk. About yesterday.”

“Okay,” you say, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze. “I mean…you didn’t have to come over.”

“I wanted to,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “I’ve been thinking about you, and I… I didn’t like how we left things.”

The way he looks at you makes your heart race. There’s a vulnerability in his expression, a longing that mirrors the tumult inside you. But there’s something else too—something electric.

“I was scared, Logan,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just happened so fast. I didn’t know—”

“I know.” He steps closer, closing the distance between you, the heat radiating off him wrapping around you like a thick blanket. “But I’m still me. I’d never hurt you.”

You search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception, but all you see is sincerity mixed with an undeniable hunger.

“I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this.” You gesture between the two of you, feeling the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hanging heavy in the air.

Logan takes another step closer, his voice a rough murmur. “What do you want?”

Your breath hitches. The question hangs in the air, charged and raw, and for the first time, you allow yourself to confront the truth of your feelings. “I want—”

Before you can finish, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignites the fire simmering beneath your skin. It’s not the same as before; it’s deeper, more urgent, filled with the need to reclaim what was almost lost.

You melt against him, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. Logan’s hands roam your sides, fingers skimming over your hips, drawing you nearer as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he pulls back, his breath mingles with yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race. “You want this,” he says, voice low and rough, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “You want me.”

“I do,” you admit, your cheeks flushing as the words spill out. “But it’s complicated, Logan. We shouldn’t—”

“Who cares?” His fingers slide down your arms, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re not just some celebrity to me. You’re not just a job.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice is a whisper, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive.

“I mean you’re you. I don’t care what the tabloids say. I don’t care about the age difference or the rumors. I want you.”

His words send a thrill through you, igniting a spark of something wild and reckless. You’ve never felt this way before, not like this. It’s heady, intoxicating.

“Logan, what if—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, more demanding this time, as if he’s trying to erase every doubt from your mind. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel every muscle in his body, the heat radiating off him in waves.

And then it happens again—the sharp, undeniable rush of want overwhelms you. The world outside fades away, and all that matters is this moment, this connection, this man standing before you.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. “This is crazy,” you say, your mind racing, but the way Logan looks at you silences your doubts.

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly. “But I’d rather be crazy with you than without you.”

Your heart flips, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You’ve never wanted someone like this before, and the thought sends a thrill of excitement through you.

“Then what do we do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, heart racing at the thought of what lies ahead.

Logan smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think we start by not overthinking this.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, igniting a fire in your core. “And maybe just…enjoying each other.”

His lips trail down to your neck, kissing a path that makes your head spin. You lean into him, surrendering to the moment as his warm breath sends shivers down your spine. The world outside is forgotten, and it feels like you’ve stepped into a realm that’s just yours and his.

“Logan…” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, desire flooding your senses.

His lips brush against yours again, teasing, playful, igniting the tension that’s been building between you two. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “I promise I won’t bite…unless you want me to.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, and the air crackles with undeniable tension. Maybe this is crazy, but right now, with Logan’s warmth enveloping you and the world outside forgotten, it feels more than right. It feels like fate.

Days turn into weeks, and you and Logan become a fixture in each other's lives. What began as a chaotic bodyguard relationship slowly evolves into something far more intimate—something neither of you anticipated but both desperately needed.

You find yourself falling into a routine, one that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. Every morning, he’s there, often making breakfast—his way of saying he cares, even if he does burn the toast. Every night, you curl up on the couch with him, sharing popcorn and movies, laughter filling the spaces where tension once resided. But it’s the moments outside those walls that change everything.

You don’t keep your relationship a secret, not intentionally, anyway. You both know the world you live in—the public scrutiny, the flashing cameras, the endless rumors. But Logan doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it emboldens him, a rebellious spark igniting in his eyes whenever you’re out together.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, you find yourselves strolling through a park in downtown Los Angeles, the kind of place where everyone is too busy with their own lives to pay attention to two people in love. But as you walk hand in hand, you can’t help but notice a few heads turning.

“Logan, I think we’re being watched,” you murmur, glancing around at the passersby. The mix of curiosity and surprise is palpable, but you also feel the warmth of Logan’s hand gripping yours, reassuring and steady.

“They can look all they want,” he grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss against your temple, his stubble grazing your skin. The contact sends a thrill through you.

“You’re not worried about the tabloids?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Let them say what they want. At least they’ll get my age wrong,” he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Besides, you think I care about some headlines? I’m more concerned about you.”

A warmth blooms in your chest, and you can’t help but lean into him, your heart swelling with affection.

But the cameras don’t stop. That evening, as you both enjoy dinner at a trendy rooftop restaurant, the whispers and glances become more pronounced. The waitress seems to be holding back a grin as she serves you drinks, clearly recognizing Logan and you. You glance around, feeling a little exposed but also exhilarated.

“This could be the new gossip for the tabloids,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. “‘Famous singer falls for mysterious bodyguard.’”

“Or maybe ‘Local badass finally finds a reason to smile,’” he counters, winking at you. You laugh, the sound bright and airy, and it feels good.

You both savor the evening, leaning into the playful banter and the stolen glances that carry an undeniable spark. But when the two of you leave the restaurant, a group of paparazzi suddenly swarms you, their cameras flashing like fireworks in the night.

“Y/N! Is it true you’re dating Logan Howlett?” one of them shouts, voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“Logan, how long have you two been seeing each other?” another calls, pushing closer, their cameras nearly colliding with your faces.

Logan’s grip tightens around your waist, and you can feel his tension rising. You glance at him, but he simply raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips. “Guess they’re interested, huh?”

“Yeah, interested in our personal lives,” you whisper, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“Let them watch,” Logan says, stepping closer to you, almost as if to shield you from the chaos. “Just remember—they don’t know the half of it.”

You share a glance, and there’s a spark of understanding in his eyes. With a deep breath, you face the throng of reporters. “We’re happy together,” you say, your voice steady despite the cameras flashing around you. “That’s all that matters.”

The crowd quiets for a moment, the buzz of excitement hanging in the air. Then Logan leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, and the cameras go wild. The moment feels electric, and as you pull away, you can’t help but grin.

“Wow, you’ve really got it bad, don’t you?” he teases, the playful glint in his eye returning.

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your heart soaring.

The reporters seem to be taken aback by the chemistry between you, the dynamic clearly more than just a simple bodyguard-client relationship. You can hear the murmurs among the crowd as you both walk past, the air buzzing with a mix of curiosity and approval.

“Do you think it’s serious?” one of them asks.

“I heard she’s been seen with him a lot,” another replies, voice laced with intrigue. “What a power couple!”

“Wonder how long they’ll last,” a third one scoffs, but you’re too high on adrenaline to let their words get to you.

As you reach your car, Logan turns to you, his face softening. “You okay?”

You nod, a burst of happiness washing over you. “More than okay.”

“Good,” he replies, smirking. “Because now you’re stuck with me. The tabloids might as well start preparing for a long-term feature.”

“Is that a challenge?” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Absolutely,” he says, pulling you closer as you both settle into the car. “Just remember, if they start digging into our lives, I’m the one with the claws.”

You burst out laughing, and as he revs the engine, the world feels like it’s finally aligning. The chaos of the paparazzi, the gossip, the rumors—they all fade away. Because in this moment, it’s just you and Logan, ready to take on whatever the world throws your way, together.

[vampzity]

spidey senses | J.YH

"when nothing adds up i’ll be your number, you’re 106 and i’m 94." — 200, mark

—✫ pairing: spider-man! yunho x gn! reader

—✫ genre: ateez, drabble, spider-man au, fluff, jeong yunho

—✫ synopsis: you were always very close with yunho, but you never quite knew who he really was whenever he made excuses to leave or cancel plans with you. as close as you felt with yunho, you didn’t realize you were close with someone else in the process.

—✫ wc: 923

[warnings]: cursing, really no other warnings but that

—✫ a/n: i love spiderman. i needed a spidey yunho idea to be written so here we are ! mark’s new mv just urged my will to do it. not my favorite piece, but I really wanted to write it and keep it short! *not proofread*

“Where the heck is he?”

You sat on your bed, annoyed as you continued to check your phone. He should’ve been here by now, but of course, he was late as usual.

You and Yunho were supposed to go out to a new cafe that opened in town. It closed at eight and the plan was to leave at five, but when you had checked the time, it was now pushing 7:30.

It didn’t help that today was the day you were planning to admit your feelings to him, determined to take the weight that’s sat on top of your shoulders for so long. You two have been close for some time, so what could go wrong? There was a chance he had felt the same, no?

You sighed heavily, taking off your shoes and jacket as disappointment filled your heart. This was the 4th time this week he had been late, or even a “no-show,” and you were tired. Just as you were going to lay down, a tall man flew in through your window, wearing red and blue.

“What the fuck?!!” you yelled, throwing your shoe at the figure in your room.

The shoe flew at his head, earning a groan out of him as he grabbed the back in pain. Your eyes widened at his suit, realizing the similar spider webbed pattern layered across it.

Did Spider-man really just fly through your window?!

The man sighed heavily and began to turn to you., rubbing the back of his head softly as he held his mask in his other hand.

“Dude, you know I come in through your window all the time.. why would you hit me???”

Your eyes widened as you two stood face to face. Your face in utter shock as he came into view. Did he even realize his mask was off? Surely, right? Maybe he wasn’t the smartest superhero everyone made him out to be.

“Yunho?!” you spoke, your eyes practically popping out of your head as his own did with you.

He quickly looked down, seeing the mask scrunched in his hands. It was at this point that Yunho knew there was no going back, and now he had to come clean. What excuse could he possibly make to you? Especially in such a quick amount of time? It was inevitable.

“Shit.” he brought his free hand up to his face, shaking his head softly as he realized his stupidity. “Well.. uh, let me explain myself.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting to the side in bed as you made room for him to sit down. He took a seat, sighing as he tired to explain the ordeal to you; from how he was bit, to when. How he had gotten used to his powers and ultimately decided to use it for good. It also brought answers to the billions of questions you’d have over his whereabouts, as to why he was always so late to hang out with you or even why he ditched you at times.

You punched him in the arm, crossing your hands as you sat there in disbelief. Yunho looked at you with a shy smile, unsure of how you may take the news.

“You idiot. You should’ve told me.” you mumbled, holding onto his hand.

He shrugged and squeezed your hand softly. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. It’s a big responsibility, you know?”

You nodded, standing up as you pulled him with you. You took the mask from his hand, placing it over his eyes. His face turned red as he felt your hands rest in his, still unable to see where you were.

“I was still worried about your whereabouts, Yunho. I hope you can learn to trust me.”

You both exchanged a smile as you rested your hand against his cheek. Pulling his face to yours, you rested your lips on his softly. Your lips intertwined as his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His lips were warm against yours, making your heart beat out of your chest.

You pulled away from him, keeping your eyes low as he pulled his mask up from his own. He smiled at you softly, his hand coming up to your chin. He lifted your head slowly to look at him, kissing you one more time before beginning to speak.

“I don’t think you understand how long I’ve waited to do that.” he chuckled softly, his cheeks as red as blood.

You blushed, feeling your heart rest as he calmed your nerves with his confession. The weight you once felt living on your shoulders, was now gone. He did feel the same, felt the exact same as you. Your bond was too strong, not even a mere superhero confession could break that apart. It only made you stronger, and you were grateful for that.

“Does this mean I’m your sidekick?” you smiled cheekly, a laugh escaping you as he rolled his eyes.

“Hmm… I’m not sure..”

Yunho wrapped his arm around your waist, placing his mask back on and bringing you toward the window. He opened it, bringing you both out onto the fire escape.

“How about we go for a ride and find out, hm?”

You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up. You wrapped your arms around his chest and neck, holding on tightly as he prepared to take off. He tilted his head at you, signaling to you that he was smiling under his mask.

“Alrighty spidey sidekick, hold on tight.”

taglist: @skzline @evidive @xoxkii @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog

@dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @honeyhwaaa @sundaybossanova @kittykat-25

@losrpark @yyaurii @aestheticjoonie @roomsofangel @mingtinysworld

@minghaoslatina @rvereri

*comment to be added to the taglist!*

—divider creds to owner—

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am so deeply deeply in love with Superhero suit designs that incorporate normal clothing.

Like, skin tight spandex or futuristic looking tactical armor is cool and radical, but like, Conner and Jonathan Kent's Superboy costumes are PEAK character design to me.

The leather jacket??? The sunglasses where a mask might usually be??? So good.

The superman hoodie with a cape in place of the hood has stolen my entire soul. As a whole entire adult, I deeply want that hoodie. The ripped jeans?? The sneakers?? It's perfect.

And this is primarily a DC comics fanblog, but I do have to shout out the Miles Morales Spider-Man suit with the hoodie, shorts, and sneakers over it.

[abbyslev]

papamin finding out you and yuuji are dating

a/n: THIS WAS SO CITE TO WRITE MY HEART

nanamis first time dressing you up was for a corporate christmas party.

he called his mother, asking for advice. eventually, his neighbor who so happened to be a kind lady with kids around your age helped you. after a few lessons, he learned. from them on, he dressed you up, doing your hair.

nanami didnt believe in leaving you behind, bringing you to every party and event he possibly could. something about you having him by his side, plus you kept everyone entertained, always telling them about how your daddy was a superhero and that he’s a hard worker.

-

nanami’s last time dressing you up was your formal dance.

he zipped your black dress up, moving your hair back into place. you turned around, waddling in front of your mirror. “what do you think?” you place your hands on your hips, cheesing. “i think you look beautiful, hun. as always.” he smiled at you. three quick knocks echoed through your home. “i’ll get it.” nanami left the room quickly before he started tearing up.

it long after, itadori bursted into your room, flowers in his hand. pink, the same shade as his hair. “these are for you!” he handed them to you, politely bowing. “thank you.” you hug him. “hey, you got a haircut!” you run your hands through his somewhat combed through hair.

god, you two were not beating the dating allegations. (that were very true, but you were terrified of your father finding out you were dating itadori.)

“do you like it?” “love it.” “i love your dress, black is your color.” “thanks!” you blushed. nanami cleared his throat. “sorry, nanamin!” itadori turned red, facing him. “photos?” nanami pulled out his phone. “you know it!” you grinned. itadori placed his hand in a respectable place, his grin wide and cheese flushed.

nanami took a couple, before turning around and taking a surprise selfie. “beat you to it.” he chuckled. “it’s okay, i got you earlier and you didn’t even know it.” you stuck your tongue out.

“alright. let’s get going, you two. be back before curfew and have lots of fun, okay?” nanami waved the both of you off. “yes, dad. i love you!” “love you, hun.” he watched as your and itadori made it down the stairs.

-

“that was a lot of fun. i wish jujustu had more dances.”

“oh, for sure. i didn’t even get to show you all of mine!” itadori laughed. “thanks for walking me back.” you leaned against his shoulder. “not a problem.” he blushed. the boys dorm wasn’t far from the mentors homes, anyway.

“i’ll see you tomorrow at training. and thanks for the shoes by the way.” you scratch your neck. itadori had taken his shoes off and tried his best to tie them tight after your heels had given you blisters. “no problem, anything for you.” he took the key to your house, opening the door.

“i love you.” itadori leaned down, giving you a quick kiss. “you be safe. don’t be late, i love you.” you waved him off, grinning from ear to ear.

“well, you certainly didn’t tell me you had a lover.” “dad!” you jumped up high, hand over your chest. there you stood, lipstick smudged and itadori’s suit jacket over you, with his huge shoes on your feet. nanami stared in confusion. “my feet hurt. and i got cold.”

nanami pointed at his lips, eyebrows furrowed. “oh.” you covered your lips. “im just messing with you. you two aren’t so secretive as you think.” nanami laughed. that was the day nanami realized you weren’t his little girl anymore.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being A Fire Supe

Requested: Heyy can I request the boys preferences to dating the reader that's a fire supe, maybe they radiate alot of heat so they like hold them for warmth? (I hope you see my vision lol) - anon

A/N: I see the vision my love!!!! Thank you for requesting!! I really love this idea!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher hates sharing the bed with you, especially in the summer. You're a million degrees, and you just make the heat and humidity of the night worse. He does, however, love that when you're engulfed in flames, your clothes burn off. You always make sure you have another set of clothes, or at least Butchers jacket, to cover you up. He whistles and hollers and cheers you on and, after you're safe and covered, makes tons of jokes, many of them sexual. He needed to warm up to you at first, no pun intended, but after he got to know you, he was able to overlook his own bias against Supes and fall for you. His favorite thing is holding your hand. Your hands are so warm, especially when you're nervous or excited your skin can get so much hotter. Despite some of the discomfort he knows how powerful and necessary you are, to the team and to him.

Hughie blushes uncontrollably when he first sees your clothes burn off. You've gotten a lot more comfortable with it over the years, so you're not as fazed as you used to be. Hughie's never cared that you're a Supe. He knows there are good ones out there, and you're one of them. Still, he's getting used to you. Your relationship is pretty new, and he doesn't want to overstep, but he's got a lot of questions. Sometimes, it's uncontrollable. You'll boil just about anything you're holding. The shower steams as soon as it touches your skin. You rarely wear a jacket even in the dead of winter. For the most part, it's under control, but if you're really scared or worried, that's it. You're up in flames. He tries to help you when you're in that state, talking you down, offering support, and making sure you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You apologize profusely, but he shrugs it off. He loves you even if you burn through every piece of furniture. You'll figure it out together.

Annie met you when you were in The Seven. You and Lamplighter were a bit of a duo. Thank goodness Vought had the technology to make you a suit that wouldn't burn away every time you used your powers. That's about the only thing you liked about Vought. When Annie left, you were right beside her. In the beginning, she was afraid you'd be like everyone else, but you quickly proved that theory wrong. She fell for you instantly. She doesn't mind that you run hot, especially in the winter when the insulation in the apartment is shitty. She knows you have a lot of insecurity attached to your suit, something you held on to, all those years you spent with Homelander and the team, so she tries her best to talk it through, to get you to see just how powerful you are. It takes a long time before you start believing her. You work on your confidence together. You aren't anyone's sidekick. You're a superhero.

M.M. has a lot of issues with you at first. He doesn't like any Supe. You really have to prove your goodness, which is even harder because you like him so much and end up saying the wrong things. After he gets to know you a little better, he warms up to you. He still doesn't love the whole Supe thing, but you're a good asset for the team and you make him laugh. Once you start dating, you're a little more open about your abilities. You boil the pot when you're cooking with your hands and you light candles with the tips of your fingers, you let go of some of the control you had over your temperature and radiate as much heat as you like. When you're protecting him, you're while body is engulfed in flames. He's never seen you like that before, powerful and unapologetic. He's definitely left speechless, thought you can't tell if it's showing off your full abilities or the fact that you burned your clothes off. Either way, you don't mind.

Frenchie loves your abilities. He thinks you're powerful and dangerous and definitely a huge help in the fight against Homelander and Vought. It does help that, whenever you go all out, he gets to see you naked, though he's working on creating undergarments that don't burn away. He knows you have a lot of self-blame about being a Supe, wondering how your life could have looked had you not been able to burn through every chair you sat in or was able to feel fear and rage without bursting into flames. He thinks you're perfect just the way you are and reminds you of that constantly. He loves giving you nicknames. His favorite is Petite Flamme. He wants you to be proud of yourself, not insecure. You might think you're destructive, but he only sees power when he looks at you. Homelander should be afraid when he's up against you.

Kimiko never knew you without your powers, at least not for long. You were both held captive, both injected with Compound V. Whoever you were before then no longer exists. It was hard to control. They'd put you in separate cells. You had nothing that would catch fire. Just you and the concrete. Still you became friends and later a couple. She was never afraid of you. Where others saw destruction or uncontrollable power, she saw strength. She doesn't blink twice when you burn off your clothes or become a human heater, making the room twenty degrees hotter than it normally would be. She tells you she could never be afraid of you and she means it. When you unleash your full abilities she's awestruck, not scared. You're so much more powerful than you give yourself credit for.

[darsynia]

Steve and Avenger!Reader going to a Christmas Market please! 🥰 Can be any sort of relationship but wouldn't mind a Christmas Market proposal...

Thank you so much, this is perfect for both @buck-star's fluffy winter event (Christmas Market) and Day 1 of @the-slumberparty's December Daze: (let me dust the snow off your coat/hat/shoulder)

Words/Warnings: 2,315 / tooth-rotting fluff

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS | BUCKY BARNES

Don’t Mind If I Do

“Even North Carolina is freezing cold this morning, I checked. Trust me, this will be worth it.”

You frown in your perfect blanket cocoon. “All right, I’ll be out front by 8. And I’m cranking the heat in my rooms to 74 while I do it, just so I’ll be in a nicer mood for you!”

“You won’t regret it, sweetheart.”

With that, the two of you hang up, and you tap the + icon multiple times in the app that controls the heating in your suite. The Avengers Compound isn’t much to look at from the outside, but they make up for that in amenities. The only catch is, the suites are much too small to share with anyone. Despite your year-long committed relationship, you and Steve haven’t been able to truly ‘sleep over’ or spend couples time comfortably while stationed here. His rental apartment in NYC is lovely, and you’ve spent time together there, but both of you tend to be work-oriented. You’ve made do with what you have, even when that means sometimes cramming into Steve’s twin sized, extra-long bed here at the Compound.

Besides, you remind yourself as you rush through your morning routine, Steve Rogers isn’t the ‘shack up’ type, so it’s not like you’d be sharing an apartment if one were available. Still, it feels wrong to wake up without his warm, strong body next to yours on a cold day like this.

Steve had told you to dress for being outside, so after pulling on a thick pair of socks and lacing up your hiking boots, you don a knitted hat and shrug on a winter coat over your sweater. You meet up with Steve in the atrium of the building, feeling that familiar flush when he turns and lights up to see you.

“Oh perfect, you look nice and warm,” Steve says, quickly adding, “--and beautiful too. Very.”

He always leads with the truth, but as a boyfriend, he’s made you feel lovely enough for a superhero, leading to this in-joke of adding that compliment as an afterthought. You know him enough now to recognize when he thinks the second part first, and the face he’d made after turning around tells you this is one of those days.

“Are any of those pre-requisites for your secret Saturday morning outing?”

“Two of those are permanent, but yes, being warm will help,” he says, holding out a bare hand for you to take.

Inwardly grinning, you start to slip off your own glove, then pause. “Exactly how cold is it in North Carolina versus here? Do I need to grab a scarf?” Before working with the Avengers, you’d been stationed at Fort Liberty, so the climate difference between that and upstate New York had taken a little getting used to.

Steve takes your glove, tucks it into your pocket (being sure to crowd close enough to blatantly smell your hair), and then takes your bare hand in his bare hand to walk out into the brisk December air. It’s cold.

“At least ten degrees warmer than this, but I’d be happy to offer my arm as a scarf,” he says, squeezing your hand as you wend your way through the parked cars.

“You’re ten times better looking than all of my scarves, so I think I win!”

The drive is cozy with the heat on and an oldies Christmas station crooning the classics. After almost a half hour of light conversation and heavy exchanged glances, Steve pulls into a charming neighborhood decked to the rafters with holiday cheer. You peer out the windows, trying to figure out the plan. Are there sleigh-hay rides? An ice skating rink? Maybe a holiday quilt show set up in an 18th century church somewhere? You’re so caught up by the possibilities that you miss the instructions Steve gets from a woman wearing a high-vis jacket and Santa hat until the car parks, and he turns it off.

There’s something almost ceremonial about the way your boyfriend pats each of his warm trenchcoat’s pockets to find his gloves before pulling them on and flexing his hands. It’s captivating, not dissimilar to the way he girds himself for battle (whether physically or morally, you’ve noticed).

“You see my hat anywhere?” he asks, finally turning to look at you.

“Crap. I might have sat on it,” you realize.

Steve grins. “Well, it’ll be warm.”

You both get out of the car, and Steve dons his pre-warmed hat before gesturing toward the city center a few blocks away. “Christmas market.”

If your life was a film, that’s where either the Hallelujah Chorus or a full-on tire screech would have happened, but as it is, you fall sideways into him and catch yourself on his lapel, looking up at him with wide, delighted eyes.

“You promise? Oh God, that was way too Hallmark of me, I’m sorry-- but… you promise?” you ask, going through three vastly different facial expressions in the process.

“I promise,” Steve says, taking your hand in his, then lifting both to kiss the back of yours.

Christmas markets had been a staple of your childhood, and your family used to travel pretty far afield to see new and favorite ones. As your family’s circumstances had changed, those trips had dwindled, and by the time you were out of high school, they were a treasured memory of a no-longer-possible past. The years since then have mostly involved you throwing yourself into your work, becoming the kind of person soldiers and civilians alike can trust and rely on. If you’re honest, your time with the Avengers has been more fulfilling than even those precious school years of summer beaches, birthday parties, and chilly strolls through magical small-town holiday displays.

Part of that is Steve, a genuine hero and painfully good man who somehow seems to love you almost as much as you love him. Since the first moment you met he’s held out his hand for you in support. He’s a teammate, a challenger, a role model, and honestly? A partner. 

“Snow! Look at that!” You can hear the smile in his voice. Light, gentle flurries have started to drift down just as you visit the first festive stall. It’s perfect timing, since some of the crafts on display are delicate handmade snowflake ornaments. “If you’ve got an ‘in’ with the weather, sir, I’d love to learn your secrets,” Steve jokes with the owner. 

“It snows for you, to make perfect day for you and your wife!” the elderly man says with a beatific expression. “Please, you must take one for your tree at home.”

The two of you have two separate small trees, a result made necessary by the size of your living spaces at the Compound. You can see Steve tense up, clearly uncomfortable with the hinted, benign falsehood.

“Oh, but I must have both of these, too! How much?” you rush to say, pulling out your wallet and holding them up next to the one the owner pressed into Steve’s hand. It feels like your responsibility to meet the men in the middle.

“This is so we can see them from all angles, you understand,” Steve says.

“Of course!” the man says, a secretive smile playing on his lips. “Three is a good number, and I wish you a successful day!”

Steve’s cheeks have a distinct pinkish tinge to them for the next set of booths, but you avoid teasing him about it. This is not the first time someone’s misidentified the two of you as married, and you’ve always tread very carefully during those moments. Have you dreamed about marrying Steve Rogers? God, yes. You’d never say anything though. Proposing to Captain America is almost a national sport, something you’ve witnessed firsthand. Heck, you wouldn’t be surprised if he rejected you out of habit if you tried proposing.

It does look like you’ll both get to dodge your more famous secondary identities today. A lot of that is thanks to Tony’s fleet of look-alike cars, his insane security for the whole campus, and the way Steve can somehow dress and look like a regular, if burly country guy. However it’s happened, you’re incredibly grateful that your relationship has skated under the press radar. You suspect that Steve’s ‘couple behavior’ this morning is a result of happiness, holiday cheer, and perceived anonymity (you like the scruff he’s sported these past weeks, but… come to think of it, you wonder if he grew it just for that extra layer of obfuscation. Cap doesn’t quite pull National Icon status with hints of a beard, after all).

After forty minutes of happily wandering from booth to booth and window display to window display, the two of you decide to partake in the reason why everyone’s there so early in the morning: Christmas pastry from one of the best bakeries in central New York.

The town has set up a charming eating area just off the central square in a church parking lot. There are evergreen trees lining one side, each decorated in a different (sometimes chaotic) style and heavily festooned with lights. The picnic tables are all red and green, and hanging from a few of the arching lightposts is a bundle of familiar-looking plant-life. Steve sends you to snag a seat ahead of him while he waits in line, and when he comes back, he’s got twice as many goodies as you expected, all piled up on one plate.

“They all have a label on them saying ‘Mistle-hug,’” he says, standing at the end of the table. “I have two plates’ worth here, but they were much more stable like this.”

“How are we going to eat all this?” you ask, delighted nonetheless. You take the plate and carefully liberate the second stacked plate so you can distribute the bounty evenly, but Steve doesn’t hasn’t sat down yet. “If you don’t come pick out what you want, I’m going to get greedy!” you lie in a singsong voice. All he does in response is say your name softly.

“What are you--” you ask as you straighten up and look over at him. He’s standing at almost battle stance, frozen still with one hand tucked into the inside of his jacket. You immediately see the beautiful pattern the snow’s made on his shoulder, and pop to your feet with your phone.

“Wait, that’s not--” Steve says in a bewildered voice, his brows adorably furrowed even when you show him the picture.

“Here,” you say impudently, reaching up to kiss at his shoulder and thus melt the ‘offending’ snowflake art so he can feel free to sit down. “All perfect now.”

“You’re completely right,” Steve says. There’s something odd in the tenor of his voice-- and then suddenly he’s on one knee in front of you, pulling that hand out of his coat pocket with a recognizably-sized box.

You’ve got tears in your eyes, flowers blooming in your heart, and powdered sugar on your hands, which is why you’d chosen to kiss the snow off instead of brush it, but then Steve starts to speak.

“I was going to do this by the big tree, but then it hit me-- I spent years locked in ice, and it was all because I was waiting for you to come kiss all the cold away. You’re everything I didn’t and couldn’t know I needed-- a warm smile, a fighting heart, a clever mind, and more than that, you make me feel smarter, stronger, and happier when I’m with you. Will you marry me?”

You can barely get the word ‘YES!’ out past the lump in your throat, but you’d started nodding as soon as he opened his mouth. Steve tugs the ring out of the box and slides it perfectly onto your finger before surging upwards, pulling you into a twirling, joyful hug that dances the two of you a good few feet away from your table.

“Look, they’re under the Mistle-hug!” some voice calls out, and Steve’s --your future husband’s-- chest starts shaking with laughter. He sets you down and you both look up. A mere centimeter above his head spins one of the fake mistletoe pieces, its label dislodged by your antics. A ‘Hug! Hug! Hug!’ chant starts from the growing crowd of onlookers, and you nod up at Steve, your heart in your eyes.

“Don’t mind if I do!” he quips, engulfing you in a bear hug that leaves your newly-adorned left hand once again resting right on his chest. At the very edges of the roaring in your ears you hear a few people correctly guess who the two of you are, but you’re too delighted to mind.

A half hour later, when most of the well-wishers are finished offering their advice, encouragements, and pieces of paper for Steve to autograph, you notice that you’d left a powdered sugar outline on his coat.

“Oops, sorry about that,” you tell Steve, nodding at the handprint and grabbing a wreath-adorned paper napkin to dip it in your cider to wash it off.

“Leave it,” he says, stopping you with a possessive little thumb swipe across the ring he’d placed on your finger. “Feels like it belongs there, just like you, sweetheart.”

You want to tell him all the ways you love him, all the things he’s made better in your life, all the demons he’s conquered for you simply by being Steve Rogers, but you’re speechless. All at once, the perfect tension-breaker hits you, and you can’t help but laugh.

“What is it?” Steve asks in a wary, amused tone. It’s another sign of how well you know each other.

“Can we try to convince Tony that I get to take the name Mrs. America?"

As it turns out, that’s exactly what most of the next day’s news articles call you.

[itscherrylipsforme]

A love story yet to be written: Jason Todd x Vigilante!bookworm!fem!reader

Summary: The mysterious Red Hood has been your loyal teammate since you became another one of Gotham's vigilantes. Many literature puns and "subtle" flirty comments later, he has decided that it's time to meet you when you two are not covered by the city's darkness and your secret identities

Warnings: Just dozens of references to my fave classic lit authors and novels

Requested: yes

Words: About 1570

Author rambles: God, this has been on my drafts for so long. Glad I was finally able to publish it. Thanks to the anon who sent the request, hope you like it 🫶🏼

Masterlist Characters I write for

Likes and reblogs are appreciated ღ

I do not authorize any of my works to be copied, translated or plagiarized ✗

Gotham’s skies were pitch black when you submerged, like every twilight, in its streets and roofs. Masked face, combat boots, dark sweater and jeans paired with a black leather jacket and a bulletproof vest under all of it. Pointed daggers on your belt, a pair of guns attached to your back harness just in case. Being a vigilante was not an easy side job, but you needed to do it.

Some people simply can’t watch their whole world fall apart and stare blankly. And you would certainly not stay back when your beloved city was drowning in corruption and crime. Growing up you had always been aware that they were others protecting you. Batman, Robin, and the other peculiar crime fighters that had joined them with the pass of time. But being honest, Gotham was a criminals dump, and all the help they could get counted.

 So, you decided to do you your bit. Trained hard, learned how to hide in the shadows and started to feel that what you did matter to your people. Recognition was not long in coming, although fame was not what you were after anyway. One night a camera caught you beating up one bastard who was trying to assault a young girl, next day you were on the news. Dusk they called you and you were not annoyed by the nickname, it suited you in a certain way.

You soon became another no-faced admired warrior to your neighbours. Not bad for the girl who used to be bookworm theatre kid back in High School. Becoming one of Gotham’s saviours was not one of your dreams job as a child, but life has surprising turns waiting for us. What was even more unexpected is that you ended up meeting one of the other vigilantes and that he had become an interesting fellow during the otherwise solitaire superhero’s nights.

“Nice to see you here in the dead vast and middle of the night, darling” He greeted you, after hearing your feet landing in the same rooftop he was in. Didn’t matter if he was backwards, you had started to think he had developed a sixth sense to notice your presence. You could almost bet he was smiling bellow his metallic helmet.

“Good night, Hodd” You answered coming by his side. “Shakespeare, wasn’t it?”

“Smart girl. Hamlet, more precisely” You agreeded “You arrived later than you use to”

“Missed me, geekie boy?” A little chuckle broke the silence of Gotham.

“Of course I did! I would not wish any companion in the world but you” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his gaze locked in the city’s sky. “And admit it, you are as much a nerd as I am”

“The Tempest? Have you been rereading Uncle Willy’s plays again?” The question ended up sounding like a half-joke half-teasing “And you are right, bookworm and proud. We wouldn’t get along so easily if I weren’t. I declare after all that there is no enjoyment like reading”

A slow nod was the only answer you received. You were certain that a smile was decorating his face at the moment. But not in a million of years you could have imagined that his usual smirk was now followed by a pinkish tone in his cheeks. How long he had been like this around you? He couldn’t recall exactly. This flirting slightly hided between book quotes and glances had been part of your friendship for quite sometime now.

The only problem? He couldn’t bear with being just a friend anymore. When it had all started? He didn’t know. Maybe the night he met you. And when the two of you started patrolling together like every other night, he couldn’t help coming back to those sweet memories still fresh on his mind.

“Another superhero wannabe” that’s what he thought when he first saw you moving from celling to celling without the grace and rhythm that only years of practice can give you. And he was not wrong, you were an amateur, one who still need to practice, but you definitely were determinate enough for that. Jason was not aware of this, therefore he decided to have some fun.

“What are you doing here?” He asked jumping to your side with a voice tone much deeper than his usual one.

“Patrolling” You managed to say in a whisper, rising your head to look at him directly. Shivers run through your spine, not knowing what to do. But you would not allow him to notice your fear.

“Scared of me darling?” He leaned a little so he could be nearer to your face.

“Not even a little, I know who you are” You answered and somehow the most daring and wittiest part of your mind chose to add the next sentence “And also there is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others.”

“My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” He finishes almost instinctively.

He stared at your for some instants, not believed the words that had just come out of your lips. Another vigilante? Who quoted Austen? The night was turning up to be quite interesting.

“You are a sharp girl, with a good book taste” He resolved. “Red Hodd, at your service” He offered you his hand and his presentation, although it was no needed.

And that’s how all started, now a few months later you two keep protecting Gotham from whoever and whatever treats it. This night had been tranquil, a seldom occurrence, and Jason hadn’t talked to much, his mind was focused on a matter which had been troubling him for weeks. When the first rays of light threaten to appear, it’s time to farewell. Not without cracking some bad puns first of course.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Dusk is the sun.” He smirked once again.

“First, that’s contradictory. Second, you seriously have to get over your Shakespeare era”.

“Does that mean I don’t get a proper goodbye?” Even with his voice modulator you could hear the teasing edge on the question.”

“Of course, you do” You tried to come up with something silly, yet sweet. “Good night, sweet prince, and flights and angels sing thee to thy rest!”

With that you made a small joking bow and left the rooftop to go back home. It had been enough; Jason had made out his mind. He was going to look for you. He needed to see the unmasked face who had been able to be the first one to win his heart. Luckily, one of his many siblings is a professional hacker.

A bookstore, somehow, he was not surprised at all when Tim found your worked there. In his jean’s pocket there was a small piece of paper with dozens of cheesy books lines that made him think of you. "You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read." "We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright." “You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how” … And those were only the first ones. There were not enough words in the books from your bookstore to describe how nervous he was and how much he wanted to tell you he loved you. But he could at least try.

Your elbows were resting on the counter, another novel laying in front of you. When the doorbell rang announcing another client, you immediately smiled and looked at Jason. You left your seat to meat him by the door, the book long forgotten.

“Took you long enough to find me, geekie boy” You gritted him.

All his speech and quotes banished in the air with just a single sentence of yours. He finally came to himself.

“Wait, were you waiting for me?”

“Of course, I did” You chuckle, God he loved that sound “For almost two months, after all your bad pick-up lines I thought you would be ready to come and met me in person”.

“But… How have you recognized me?” Confusion was still seen on his face.

“Easy. Looked for the libraries and bookstores that had your favourite tittle. Cheeked the names of all the men who borrowed or bought them. Looked for their photos on the internet and compared them with the physical description I had from your” You shrug your shoulders as that work was nothing to you “I am a vigilante after all”.

“I have a brother who would love to meet you, you know?”

“Maybe later, but I guess you came here because you had something to tell me”.

He took a deep breath. Just a few hours, that was all he needed to win you over this time. "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.” He said softly, but determinate “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I love and admire you.”

Just after he finished your lips were meeting his in a soft and sweet kiss, like the ones written in romance novels.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul” You whispered to his ear.

“Actually, that’s from the movie, not the book”.

You had to kiss him again, this time with more passion, to shut him up.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

You're just like an angel p1 (Yandere Miguel O'Hara X female reader)

I was not immune to the simping, different to my usual but I hope you guys enjoy

Warning: slight nsfw

"Hey I'm sorry but I'm gonna be stuck on a late shift at the scrapyard tonight. I have some noodle packets in the cupboard you can use to cook dinner tonight" you messaged your siblings as you got onto your scooter.

"Hope you have a good night (Y/n)" one of your colleagues said as they walked past you.

"You too" you replied as you put your phone away and started your scooter.

You hated lying to your siblings but you had to do this tonight, a shipment like this from Alchemex wasn't going to happen again in a long time. You had to get your hand on more of their materials to further the inventions you were working on. Perhaps you'd even try to improve that suit of yours. You'd have to at some point, the rumors of 'The Vulture' were going around now as well as a new superhero called Spiderman, he'd certainly be an issue if he got in your way now.

You drove all the way to a storage house. You got off your scooter and hopped off before heading inside.

"Good evening Maggie" he greeted you by the fake name you'd given him when you rented out the storage room.

"Afternoon Thompson" you replied as you made your way to the front desk. He handed you your key and you made your way to your designated storage room.

You unlocked the padlock and pulled the roller door up. A single duffle bag and a Jerry can were inside. You kneeled and opened the duffle bag and pulled out your gear and inspected it. You hissed at the dents in your armor plating. You knew this was inevitable with aluminum but you had no lightweight alternative you could afford.

You tried it on and all the mechanisms seemed to work well so you packed it back up except for the lucky green pilot jacket that you'd received from your grandfather before he passed away. You put that on before grabbing the bag and Jerry can before leaving.

"I don't understand why you don't just keep that stuff at home, you always seem to need it," Thompson said as you handed back the key.

"I'm just afraid one day my granddad's air force memorabilia will get damaged or stolen at the apartment I and my family live in, so I leave them here until I go out to the veterans' gatherings," you explained.

"Well that makes sense, you must love your granddad a lot" he replied.

"Yeah, he was my role model. Having these helps keep his memory alive" you explained, it was a partial lie, the jacket was a treasured piece from your grandfather and he was the person who sparked your love of engineering.

"Have a good night" you said before leaving. Your next stop was a gas station to fill the jerry and your scooter before driving out to New Jersey along Route 95. Alchemex had cut a fair chunk of the road off so they could drive safely as well as a fair amount of security from what you heard. You put on your armor, and heavy-duty gloves and filled the jetpack with petrol, and wiped it down putting it on. Then you put on the makeshift gas mask you had made with an aluminum cover in the shape of a beak before putting your earplugs in and grabbing your binoculars and keeping an eye on the road.

Eventually, you saw the headlights in the distance and you put on your goggles and grabbed your bag with some tools before pulling the wire to start the engine and pulling another to open the wings. You ran in the direction of the wind and soon took off. You flicked a lever on the back to put it to a higher power.

You used the wire for your wings to steer you forward until you were above the truck. You hovered above it, determining the best spot to land. If you were too close to the front or back the security drivers would see you so you had to be meticulous. You managed to land in the middle of the trailer, turned your jetpack off, pulled in the wings, and quickly grabbed the blowtorch from your bag to burn a hole into the metal. Once done you stood up and slammed your foot in the middle causing it to fall.

You jumped in and put your blowtorch to the side as you started going through the various boxes of equipment. You took some motherboards, some strange-looking cells that you assumed were batteries, a few miniature glass computer monitors, and a speedometer. You had just grabbed your blow torch and put it in your bag when you heard a screech and a smash just seconds before the truck violently shook before it began to roll. You were tossed around and into the walls before blacking out.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up with a pounding headache. You sat up and kept your eyes closed as you tried to ride your headache out. Once it started to fade you opened your eyes to see you were in a plain white place that seemed like a warehouse. You looked around for your bag but couldn't find it.

"Where the hell am I?" You asked yourself.

"Somewhere you don't belong" a deep voice responded that made you freeze up for a moment. You looked around for the source only to see a bright red light heading towards you. You luckily dodged and looked towards where the light had come from to see a figure dressed in a suit of blue and red. Your mind thought it was that supposed Spiderman but it wasn't the same suit. It was very similar though, a copycat maybe?

"Hey Spiderman, I don't know where I am. I'll just leave and we can just forget about this right?" You asked. Something else was thrown towards you and you sprinted behind one of the shelves. You looked back at what he threw, it seemed like some kind of forcefield cage. Something straight out of science fiction.

"Ok, so I'll take that as a no?" You muttered as you put your earplugs back in and pulled the wires hoping to God it didn't get damaged in the crash. It started and you tried to fly through the top shelves to avoid whatever he was using but another red light was launched your way, this time you weren't so lucky. That red line managed to stick to your jetpack lever and turned it off. You screamed as you fell but were stopped last second by another red line. Another removed the earplugs.

You looked up at him now noticing his suit was glowing almost as if it were a screen. What kind of tech did this man have?

"You're quite the amateur," the man said as he pulled you up. This was definitely not the same Spiderman the news had been talking about. That was for certain, they made the one on the news seem like a novice.

Once he pulled you up you were quick to throw a punch to his face. He didn't even try to avoid it, he didn't even react to it.

You threw another, this time however he caught your fist.

"Why don't you just give up?" He asked you slightly amused by your attempt to hurt him.

"No! I know you're going to take me to the police! I can't get locked up!" You screamed in desperation, there was something so pathetic in your desperation yet at the same time he found it a little admirable that you'd even try to fight back against him.

You kicked and punched as hard as you could but nothing seemed to affect him. Within a blink of an eye, he returned a punch to your stomach and you collapsed In front of him as all the air left your body. You were gasping for air as he dropped another cage thing onto you.

"I'm not taking you to the police," he told you, you should have felt relieved but you didn't, surely he wouldn't let you go so easily. You tried to get up but then you felt the worst feeling imaginable, like your entire body was being stretched and stabbed at the same time. You screamed out in pure agony before passing out from the pain.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up again, this time you were in a dark room, and the only light was from the platform. You looked down at yourself to see you had been tied to a chair with only your undergarments on.

"Hey, where the hell are my clothes!" You screamed. The platform began to lower and you saw that Spiderman again, this time he wasn't wearing the mask. Olivey skin, dark eyes, and brunette hair all with a well-sculpted face to match. However, it was apparent that he was quite a bit older than you were.

"They're folded in the corner, had to make sure you didn't have any other devices on you" he explained in a neutral tone as he made his way towards you. His accent made his words roll pleasantly but you still could not trust him.

"So why am I here? don't you think I'm a little below your league to be wherever this is?" You asked.

"I just have a few questions to ask you" he replied as he stood just a few feet away and observed you with a scrutinizing gaze. You tried to keep calm but he could see how nervous you were. You certainly weren't like any of the anomalies he'd met before, you were far less confrontational.

"If I can go home then I'll answer them," you said.

"It all depends on how you answer them" he replied

"Name?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)"

"Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn"

"Occupation?"

"Working at a scrapyard, is that all? These questions don't seem important enough for you to know" You asked him after the first few rapid-fire questions. You could have lied but you were not in the position to do so, he could very well have all the answers and is just testing your honesty.

"Do you use The Vulture as an alias?" He continued as he disregarded your question.

"Well, I don't personally however that has become something the public has begun to use for my crimes" you explained. It was clear to him you weren't a real villain, at least not yet. You weren't without flaws but in comparison to the Vulture from his universe you were a Saint. At this point, he was genuinely intrigued by you.

"What about your past?" He asked.

"Nothing remarkable, I just lived in a low-income family for all of my life" you replied.

"Really… I don't think an average crook would go to the effort you have, what made you?" He asked.

"You want to know?" You questioned.

"I need to know as much as I can" he replied.

"Well… my family has always been rough, my father didn't want a baby but my mum insisted on keeping me so my father left her before I was born. I ended up being the eldest of three with my siblings from different fathers. From a young age, I was fascinated by machines and wanted to be an engineer. I pretty much studied my ass off, especially after my mum's late fiance died in that car accident. At that point, I knew I had to get a scholarship if I had any chance of helping my family, so I tried to ace pretty much everything I could to get a scholarship from high school. I was told by all my teachers that I'd get that scholarship…" you explained as you felt your blood boil and heart race from anger.

"but on graduation day that scholarship was awarded to none other than the principal's own son. He could have easily afforded to send his son on his own dime but no, he had to take my one chance… my one chance to help my family get out of all the poverty we'd been living in!" You Hissed as your knuckles turned white from how hard you clenched them.

"Getting a job after high school was a struggle but I managed to find one at a scrapyard. It didn't come without its obstacles but I persevered. Eventually, I realized that nothing was going to get better from just perseverance and a smile on my face like I'd been told all my life. Clearly, I had to do things the dirty way if I ever wanted to get out of my situation. That's when I turned to stealing in an attempt to make my inventions, however, I could only get so many materials from scrap so I had to figure out how to get my hands on better materials. That's when I made that" you explained as you pointed to your jetpack that had been placed on the floor. However, you noticed that a similarly designed flight harness was on display along with other pieces of tech on the wall.

"I guess my design wasn't as original as I thought…" you nervously chuckled, you were a little disheartened at the discovery. You sighed as you turned your head to the other side to look at the ground.

Miguel had tried his best to avert his gaze from your body. He really shouldn't have been thinking of what he was but the thought of those lush legs wrapped around his hips or his cock sandwiched between those subtle breasts. He was cursing himself, you were someone he had only just met, and a villain at that.

He was only brought back when he heard you scream as you glitched.

"What was that?" You asked between panting.

"You're glitching, it's because you ended up in a dimension you don't belong in" he explained.

"Dimension?!" You exclaimed. This really was some science fiction stuff you got yourself in.

"Yes and this is where the main questions begin," he told you.

"How did you discover a portal?" He asked.

"I have no idea, the last thing I remember is the truck I was in rolling" you explained.

"You didn't see anyone different at all?" He asked.

"Nope, not at all" you replied.

"Can I leave now?" You asked. Sure he could have let you go, you didn't have any information on the anomaly that entered your dimension. However, you were still a personal interest of his.

"I can't right now, I still have my suspicions about you," he told you in a stern tone.

"Please, I gotta look after my siblings and I'll lose my job if I don't get back soon" you tried to reason.

"I'll let you go in a few days," he said before your restraints were removed. You quickly hurried to your clothes to put them back on.

Once you were back in your clothes he handed you something, a wristband.

"What's this for?" He asked.

"It'll stop you from glitching for the day" he explained before another cage surrounded you. You placed the wristband on and inspected it.

Now you wait, hopefully, you'll be sent home soon.

[hyperblue]

‘Baby you need to get some sleep.’ not kon spoke from just over his shoulder, his hallucination was eerily detailed. Right down to the stitching on kons leather jacket, the dimples in his cheeks, the texture of his hair, the way he cared deeply and endlessly. ‘You wont be any good to anyone if you carry on like this, wont be any good to him.’ Tim hummed in acknowledgment.

‘I’ll sleep in a minute, i just wanna watch him for a while.’ He’ll sleep when he’s viable. Tim was currently sat on the floor in front of a large glass tube full of slightly luminous green liquid. Suspended in the middle of the tube was a foetus, soon it would be a baby. Their baby. He just needed to watch it a while longer, just until it was old enough to be viable outside of its growth medium. His son, his half kon half him miracle. ‘What should we call him do you think.’ he turned but not kon had moved, his hallucinations always hovered on the edge of his vision just out of proper sight. Just out of reach. a reminder they were unattainable, a dream.

‘Baby I don’t think anything, I’m not real remember.’ He sighed deep and long.

‘I know, i know you aren’t real just make something up. Tell me what i think he would’ve wanted. Let me pretend we’re doing this together.’ Not kon was stood on the other side of the tube now, image warped by the growth medium. He put his hand on the glass right over their son. ‘Just tell me anything, anything at all.’ He was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of deep sadness, of bitter cold loneliness. All he wanted in this moment was for real kon to tell him what to do, to guide him out of this mess. Not kon would have to do.

‘Well, i like the older all American names. Even though you always found them silly.’ He closed his eyes and huffed out the smallest laugh, this was unfortunately very true. ‘If it was a girl it’d be easy, Wendy Wayne! Wendy Wayne-Kent?’ The laugh was more real this time because not kon (his brain?) was correct. Their daughter would’ve been named for Wendy the werewolf stalker and he would’ve let it happen. Not their son though. He sat quietly for a few minutes just thinking.

‘How about Ward? Old school, American, has some meaning too it, not horrifically long or embarrassing, suits all life stages.’ He tried to look up at not kon but he was back behind him in his peripheral vision. Shame. Not kon nodded.

‘Yeah i think I would’ve liked that, or you think I would’ve liked that whatever. Maybe Edward, ward for short.’ Tim nodded, a sensible name. Something he could grow up with. A small gift he could give to his son.

‘Edward Jonathan Kent-Wayne. Big name for such a little thing.’ He put his hand on the cool glass and stroked over where his baby was growing stronger by the minute. ‘Big name big shoes big legacy.’ He felt a phantom touch on his shoulder, there and gone in a second, his brain filling in a gap. But it was enough. Enough to feel like kon was with him. He hoped not kon didn’t know what he planned to do after their son was born, hoped he could be ignorant where tim couldn’t be.

Ward slept peacefully in his car seat where its set on top of a metal table a ways behind him, not kon is hovering over him humming something soothing and quiet. Tim sits down with a couple pieces of printer paper and sets about writing his son a letter. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone for, how long he’ll leave ward with Bruce so he fills the letter with information about himself, information about kon, information about how ward was created. Stories about his daddies he wants his son to know, not battle stories not tales of superheroic glory but dumb inconsequential little memories. Tiny shining pieces of the complexity that was Conner Kent, about how they met, how they fell in love, the short months they got together. He fills ten pieces of paper front and back with memories and love and whatever tiny pieces of wisdom he has to pass on. He signs it off like this.

‘My ward, my miracle, i hope you have never once doubted my love for you. I hope you know the only reason i left you with your grandfather is because I’m very sick right now and wouldn’t be able to keep you safe and happy like he undoubtedly has. I wouldn’t have been able to surround you with family or give you the stability you needed to thrive. One day when I’m better I’ll come back and hopefully you’ll want to know me, but if you don’t i’ll respect your wishes. You are the most perfect, beautiful and impactful thing I’ve ever created. You are my heart outside my body. In my minds eye you are the spitting image of your daddy and whatever you do you’ll be a credit to his legacy, i know this as well as i know anything. Know that i love you now, and i still love you whenever you read this again.

Your father,

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne’

He slips the papers into a Manila envelope seals it and addresses it to ward, he writes another much shorter letter which is sealed in a regular envelope addressed to his dad.

‘Bruce,

Im sorry for the stress this surprise and my disappearance will cause you, but i am not sorry for either the surprise or my disappearance. His name is Edward Jonathan Kent-Wayne and he is my son, look after him while I’m gone. Im not fit to look after myself right now let alone a baby so i entrust him to you - you kept us all mostly alive and none of us where invulnerable quarter kryptonians. By the time you read this ill be long gone and I’m not coming back until I’m better however long that takes, if he gets old enough to start asking questions give him or read him the letter I left addressed to him.

I know I’m asking a lot but there is no one else i could or would trust with him, he is and i suspect will always be my greatest triumph. Love him, embrace being a grandfather, get Alfred to help you adjust. I hope i will be back soon, i doubt i will be.

Your son,

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne’

He slips the Manila envelope, Bruce’s letter, and the birth certificate listing both him and Connor into a bag with some clothes and supplies for ward. It is legitimate if of illegal creation - not that anyone will be able to tell.

Tomorrow he will drop ward off with a very discreet nanny who has been paid through the nose to keep him for three days and then drop him off at wayne manor. Tim has $17,000 last minute round trip first class flights leaving from Newark landing in Bordeaux that he only intends to use one way under the name Manon Alarie, hes got one of his mothers Chanel skirt suits from the 80s - its a black white and grey tartan material with shoulder pads, hes got a cashmere sweater shirt, black stockings, a circle brimmed sort of shallow trilby hat thing to obscure his face, a skinny black leather belt and gloves, a pair of punishing black so Kate’s and enough gold and diamond jewellery that he hopes he can pull off ‘wealthy teenager dressing up in mummies clothes from the 80s to seem older’ well enough that no one will question anything. After he lands in France he will shed manon and adopt someone else. He speaks french well enough maybe he’ll stay there maybe he’ll go somewhere else. He has near unlimited resources from his destruction of the league and all the time in the world.

He wont stay in Bordeaux for long though, he has faith in Bruce’s detective skills to be able to track him to there. But France is large and he is adept at disappearing into the crowd. Oracle will know where he is but he trusts babs to know what he needs to do.

Kal arrives in less than an hour. He’s dressed in a suit and tie and his glasses are askew on his face, he stares at the baby and at the dna readout back and forth again and again for ten minutes. Finally he breaths out a long shuddering breath and slumps into one of the batcomputers desk chairs. ‘Well shit Bruce.’ His sentiments exactly. ‘And he’s definitely kryptonian? for sure kryptonian?’ He’s staring at the dna test again.

‘His overall dna structure is an incredibly close match to kon-el’s and about a 45% match with your’s and other full kryptonians. The stuff that went in is 50/50 from both the parents but the structure is more kryptonian than you would expect. In layman’s terms he got more of kons kryptonian stuff than his human stuff.’ Kal scrubs his hands over his face and sighs.

‘How did no one know about this until the baby showed up, and where the hell is Tim? And what’s the babies name? And how am i supposed to tell my mother.’ The last few words were hissed out as if ma Kent was going to teleport behind them and start berating them for hiding a grand/great grand baby from her affectionate clutches.

‘I currently have little information about the nature of his creation or the wearabouts of my son, you were the first call after i ran his blood work. Had to make sure he was actually Tim’s baby and not just, you know, a random baby.’ Kal nods. ‘Tim left some documents with him, there’s a letter for me and for the baby and a birth certificate thats either real or a very impressive forgery. He’s called Edward Jonathan Kent-Wayne but we’re to call him Ward apparently.’ Kal smiled at that.

‘Pa might actually cry when he finds out, i might’ve taken a while to step up with kon but they loved him as soon as they found out about him. They’ve been doing worse than they’re willing to let on to me i think, a great grandbaby is about the best news they’ll have heard all year.’ He reaches out and strokes the sleeping boys downy cheek ‘god hes gonna need a kryptonian name isnt he.’ Bruce nods and clears his throat.

‘Kons not around and it only feels right that a kryptonian does the honours, what do you say grandpa Clark.’ Clark groans and punches his leg a little too hard.

‘Do not call me that grandpa Bruce, yeah see how it feels.’ It feels not good. He feels older than he ever has looking down at this baby, his son’s baby, his grandson. His latest blue eyed black haired boy. Kal thinks for a minute before smiling all teeth. ‘I didn’t do right by your daddy when i named him, but I’m gonna do right by you.’ He puts a single finger into wards hand and shakes it up and down a couple times. ‘Welcome to the house of El Kyn-El. Son of Kon-El son of Kal-El son of Jor-El.’ He turns to Bruce and translates. ‘Kyn has the K like me and Kon and it means gift, Kyn and El he’s a gift from the stars.’ It’s a good name, a beautiful name. He hopes Tim would be ok with Kal giving it to him. He needs to go lie down in a dark room with his grandson.

‘Ok Clark take a picture and tell your mother she can have as many as she wants if shes on call for any baby kryptonian emergencies.’ Clark laughs but does as hes told. Before he leaves though he turns to Bruce one last time.

‘You sure you’ve got this, i could take him or ma and pa could probably if its too much. It wont be easy if hes got powers like kons.’ Bruce nods, solemn and grave - all batman.

‘I need to do this Kal, Tim is. He’s the smartest of us besides Barbara, we wont find him until he wants to be found. Oracle could but she’ll respect his need for distance and wont tell us where he is unless he’s trying to get himself killed. I need to do this for him, for my son, i need him to know his trust in me was not misplaced.’ Clark claps him on the shoulder, gives him a sad little smile, and is gone before he can blink. Ward is an eerily quiet baby, he probably gets that from tim, and he thinks some lying down in the dark time would be fun and beneficial for them both.

Three scenes from a clone baby fic I’ll probably never finish, idk i just wanted to share the burst of inspiration your clone posting gave me x

okay but what if you actually finish it?? pretty please??? 👉👈

the writing is so good, we LOVE tim hallucinating kon, i also love the way you've gone with this, especially tim leaving for the sake of his child (i'm sure nothing would go wrong! there's absolutely no way this decision would backfire later!); i know a lot of clone baby au enjoyers are "tim would NEVER leave his child" truthers but honestly i can definitely see him not breaking the cycle of leaving since, you know. leaving was all he's ever known for his own parents

thank you so much for sharing this, hope you'll find time to finish this fic bc we need ALL the clone baby fics we can get

[cucumberteapot]

Ugh! I love how so unapologetically punk this film. Obviously, there's Hobie with his battle jacket and electric guitar, and his whole Vibe™ immediately comes to mind, but the subgroups of punk are so deeply entrenched throughout the entire movie.

Like Hobie's style, in particular, reminds me so much of how British punk fashion is accumulating old, worn, even ugly pieces of clothing and turning it into something cool. It's thrift stores. It's hand-me-downs. It's customisations. It's momentos from friends. Maybe even piercings done by friends. It's about taking things from different places and making them your own - which is exactly how Hobie ends up making the dimension travel watch. Another thing is Hobie's blue laces, which I've been told is punk-code for having killed a police officer. We as audience members can go back and forth on whether ATSV is a copaganda film or has its themes, but I believe that tiny detail about Hobie is huge for a film distributed from a country that often values authoritative institutions more than it citizens.

Gwen is implicitly trans and shaves half her head, which is, from my understanding, HUGE for trans women who experience gender dysphoria. A lot of Gwen's fashion and prom dress especially reminds me of Hayley Williams in the late 2000s-early 2010s. It's very experimental, which I feel matches her age and uncertainty about being Spiderwoman, her dad, and Peter's death.

There's also a lot of concept art for Gwen's hair where her side-cut becomes an undercut and she wears it in a pony tail or bun and I just think they're so cool - D especially.

Miles G Morales' design is so heavily inspired by alternative goth fashion and techwear - a mix of combat attire and hip-hop streetwear. It's loose yet slick with it's own customisations in the crown-cut collar and the spray-paint insignia, and incorporates high-advanced technology in the mask.

It's futuristic. A what-could-be. And specifically what Miles could've been if he wasn't bit by the spider. Another cool thing, I don't know if this is related but worth pointing out, is that Prowler wears a modified (leather, bomber, varsity??) jacket. That's kinda crazy for an superhero/anti-hero suit if you think about it. Most of the time you'll see Marvel or DC characters running around in a spandex suit or (for women) almost nothing at all. But like Hobie we see how Miles G styles himself even when he's disguised. Like I wouldn't be surprised if his outfit change was just turning the jacket inside out like a sukajan jacket.

ATSV has so many characters with the own specific styles and it's really nice to see where most franchises are all or nothing when it comes to character design aesthetics.

[chocotonez]

skz putting their jacket over your lap

a/n: hiii, merry Christmas Eve if you celebrate!! I hope you all stay warm and enjoy your winter <3 also I forgot to put a read more on this one so sorry about that lolol

warnings/genre: gn language but y/n wears skirts, shorts and dresses and stuff, fluff, mentions of food and slight cat calling/harassment in seungmin’s (guys stare at u and whisper shit), discomfort in revealing clothing in hyunjin but that’s a really bad way of explaining it so see for yourself if u want

chan

-he always keeps his arm around you at public events, so when you were at a dinner party to celebrate the release of his new album he could feel how cold your skin was

-the dress was suggested to you by a stylist since you didn’t really know what to wear, but someone call irene cuz…

-you were constantly pulling down the skirt, and he could feel you shuffling like every five seconds because just breathing made the dress ride up

-“are you okay?? wanna go home?” And you, who’s literally eating the best fucking food you’ve ever tasted and having the time of ur life supporting ur boyfriend obviously shot down his offer

-so he took the coat he came in with because suddenly this takes place in the winter and puts it over your lap, before kissing the top of your head.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, okay? We can leave any time.”

lee know

-lovingly already giving you shit about it before you even leave the house

-“baby, I love you and all and I think you look amazing but those shorts are gonna be uncomfortable as hell”

-“hoes never give up their clothes”

-he didn’t wanna be overbearing so he was like “whatever nerd let’s go”

-you guys were sitting outside and you were already pulling your shorts down, minho only noticing when you entered a grocery store because wtf why r they so cold

-gives you the “I told you so” look and forces u to take his jacket :>

“wrap it around your waist idiot, tell me if you want to go home.”

changbin

-ur probably gonna have to ask him bevause dawg doesn’t realize

-but when you do tell him he’s like !!! “Oh my god I’m so sorry, of course you can have my jacket!!” and he’s holding ur hand all reassuringly and apologizing n ur like “it’s ok I was literally just unbearably cold”

-feels so bad that he didn’t notice how u were literally freezing to death :,)

-bonus is you get to see him roll the sleeves up of his collared shirts + he gets to see you comfortably enjoying yourself so everyone wins

“I’m so sorry again!! Tell me if you need anything else, okay?”

hyunjin

-your supporting your boyfriend at a little formal party, and it was an indoor event at a familiar location that has never been uncomfortable ever in your life

-and then it was uncomfortable, you were just rubbing your legs and the feeling of leather on bare skin was weird and why the hell was it so cold??

-but you looked so hot in this dress ?? so what can someone do. you didn’t mind dressing up, but being in such a weird environment made you dream of the pajama pants you’d put on when you got home

-hyunjin takes his suit’s blazer off and casually slides it over to you without even blinking an eye, as you look up like ??? dawg I didn’t even say anything and he’s just like “I know~~”

-he just knows you very well and he also likes the trope of u wearing his suit jacket after a party, so he insists you keep it because u look so cute

“I can just tell when you’re uncomfortable! I’m a psychic, hehe >:]”

han

-“eeee i don’t like this dress, I feel weird in it”

-“omg babe no!! u look so good :>”

-“no my legs r just cold”

-feels like a superhero and the coolest boyfriend ever to put his coat over your lap, he’s so proud of himself :,)

-he feels like he’s the protag of some romance drama, n he loves it!! and you’re no longer freezing ur ass off so thank goodness

-pretends to forget his coat so he can see you wear it on the way home or something like that

“hehehe, you look cute! do you need anything else? aren’t I just the best?”

felix

-idk he’d probably forget a jacket too so you’d both be awkwardly freezing at a restaurant so we’re gonna put you in an award ceremony

-you were his +1! so you dressed up extra nice for the evening, and you sat next to him as winners came up with their thank you speeches

-I think he’s very attentive to you if you guys go out together cuz he wants you to enjoy every moment with him!!

-so he notices v quickly when you use the table cloth as a blanket for your lap or shake your legs, and he hurriedly gives you his suit jacket so you don’t feel so uncomfortable

-kisses your cheek after, and when cameras catch this cute asf moment you two go trending on twt for 24 hours :,) you guys are just so cute together!!

“Does it feel better than the table cloth? I thought so, I can ask staff for something more accommodating, just let me know <3”

seungmin

-you guys are taking the train home after a day out, and you’re just scrolling on your phone before he leans over

-“the guys across from us are looking at you, do you wanna move?”

-you decide to just stay as the only free seats were reserved for others who needed it more, so you just say like 180 degrees away from them

-you could hear them whispering, and you subconsciously pulled your shorts down, not even knowing if that’s what the problem was

-you tried to ignore the gawking before you saw a grey hoodie fly over your lap, seungmin gently holding your waist to turn you back forward and giving the guys across from you the most uncomfortable eye contact until they stop

“Weirdos. Don’t feel insecure or anything by them, probably just never seen someone as hot as you before…”

jeongin

-trips over his two feet to get to you

-you guys planned for lunch at a cafe, and while you were waiting for him you texted “omg this skirt is so uncomfortable lolol” and next thing you know someone’s sprinting at you full force while holding their jacket

-it’s your loving boyfriend who broke into a sprint the second he read your text

-“h-here, put this over your lap if you want” “how far did you run??” “bro just take it I beg”

-you can’t help but laugh because he’s so out of breath and didn’t even mind the eyes staring at him because he was just running in a panicked frenzy

-boyfriend mode: activated

“I’m not a simp, shut up. Just want you to feel comfortable you loser. (lovingly)