#when i say ask me about superheroes in mean in this au sense and in a general sense

[kaetor]

hello it's me Tumblr user kaetor coming to you live with another incredibly self indulgent p5 au courtesy of me and @argentsunshine . ask me about superheroes

[amethystarachnid]

I have an idea for this Accidental Roommates AU (example: both character and reader book the same apartment and are now roommates), and I hope this makes sense to you! So, it's with Tony&fem!reader. They'll turn into a lovely couple after some time, and adopt a kitten/cat together? Tony Stark is the biggest cat dad in the world, and no one will convince me otherwise hehe.

Thank you! 🧡 (or you can ignore this)

ROOM FOR TWO - part I

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: Finding out that the apartment you were supposed to live in is overbooked isn't the best way to start college, especially if your roommate it Tony Stark in all his arrogance. Will things between you two change when you have to co-parent a stray kitten?

ᯓ★ part II

ᯓ★ TW(s): pure fluff

ᯓ★ AU: Accidental roommates

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

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

A campus rental, small and cozy, isn’t what you pictured when you imagined your first college apartment. The place is narrow, the walls are beige, and the furniture is outdated—but it’s private. Or so you thought.

When you first walk in, your suitcase bumping against the doorframe, you’re ready to start unpacking, excited about this small taste of independence. But before you make it past the entryway, you hear footsteps and a muttered curse.

Then you see him. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at you like you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is sharp, confused, and a little annoyed. He’s got dark hair that’s messily falling into his eyes and he’s wearing a band T-shirt, ripped and faded like it’s been through too many wash cycles. His jeans are equally worn, fitting him a little too well, and he has this stance—relaxed but tense at the same time—that suggests he isn’t someone who’s often surprised. You know who he is, of course. He’s in your engineering class, always the one who asks questions so far above everyone’s heads that even the professor sometimes looks thrown.

“Um… I live here?” You don’t mean to make it sound like a question, but it kind of is. Because despite the paperwork in your bag and the email from the landlord, this feels wrong. Or at the very least, unexpected.

“No, you don’t,” he counters, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “I do.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to stand a little straighter. “I signed the lease last month. I have emails and everything.”

“Yeah?” He pulls out his phone, scrolling with one hand before he flashes his screen toward you. “So did I.”

You squint, trying to make out the details through the faint glare. And then it hits you. Your landlord—the one who’d been juggling your papers at your first meeting, his glasses slipping down his nose as he talked in circles about tenant rights and late fees—must have double-booked the apartment.

Great.

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, this has to be some kind of clerical error. I’ll call the landlord and sort it out. This isn’t—” he gestures to you, almost like he’s waving you off, “—what I signed up for.”

“Hey,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “I didn’t sign up for this either. You think I wanted a roommate?”

“Considering I was promised a solo apartment? No.” He rolls his eyes, the look almost theatrical. But there’s something tired in it, something that tells you he’s just as put out as you are.

You cross your arms and look him over, not backing down. “Fine. Call him.”

He stares at you for a second, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re challenging him, before he pulls up his phone again. He dials, waits for a second, and then mutters a low curse when he’s sent to voicemail. “Of course,” he grumbles. “The guy’s probably out somewhere completely unreachable.”

“Figures,” you mutter back. “This is a disaster.”

Tony shoves his phone back into his pocket and leans against the counter, watching you with a resigned sort of amusement. “Well, I don’t have anywhere else to go. And unless you’re secretly a millionaire with a spare apartment lined up, I’m guessing you don’t either.”

The sarcasm in his voice makes you narrow your eyes. “I have a backup plan, thank you very much,” you lie, because you’d rather not give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s got the upper hand here. But he’s not buying it. The way he’s smirking tells you that much.

“Right,” he says, dragging out the word, “but if you’re planning on staying at this backup plan, you’d better let me know soon because I’d rather not waste time unpacking if I’ll be the only one here.”

You bite back an irritated response, taking a deep breath instead. “Look,” you start, forcing yourself to be diplomatic, “why don’t we just… figure this out later? The landlord will be available at some point, and we can get this sorted then.”

“Fine by me,” he replies with a careless shrug, but you notice his eyes linger on you a little longer than you expect. “So what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you reply shortly, unsure if you want to give him any more than that just yet.

“Tony,” he says. There’s something about the way he says it that feels almost like a challenge, like he’s waiting to see how you’ll respond.

But you just nod, trying to ignore the way he’s sizing you up, like he’s deciding whether you’re friend or foe. You’re here to study, to focus on your degree—not to get tangled up in whatever Tony Stark’s got going on.

“So, um…” You gesture around the apartment awkwardly, not really sure what to do next. “I guess we should… set some ground rules?”

“Sure.” He pushes off the counter and stands in the middle of the small kitchen, arms folded as he looks at you expectantly. “You start.”

“Alright,” you say, steeling yourself. “Number one: respect each other’s space.”

He nods, almost a bit too seriously. “Agreed. Number two: no loud music after ten.”

You arch a brow, half-smiling. “Already calling me a party animal?”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “I’ve seen you in class. You don’t look like the type who needs extra chaos, that’s all.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or a jab, but you let it slide. “Number three: split the cleaning. I’m not a maid, and I don’t plan on cleaning up after you.”

“Noted.” He holds up his hands in a mock defensive gesture. “I’m pretty tidy anyway.”

“Good.” You cross your arms, feeling slightly more in control of the situation now that you’re laying down some structure. “Number four: don’t touch my food.”

He smirks at that, leaning a little closer. “You think I want your ramen?”

“It’s very good ramen,” you retort, bristling a bit at the implication.

“Sure, sure,” he says, grinning now. “Anything else?”

“Not for now,” you say, though you know there are probably a dozen more things you could add. But you’ll figure those out as you go. For now, you just want to unpack and get this over with.

“Cool,” he says, nodding in agreement. He turns, heading toward the living area, which also serves as a shared bedroom thanks to a convertible couch and a twin bed crammed into one corner. “So, who gets the couch?”

You hesitate, looking between the couch and the twin bed. The bed is closer to the window, which would be nice, but the couch has more privacy since it’s further from the door. “Uh… maybe we take turns?”

Tony snorts, plopping himself down on the couch and stretching out, arms folded behind his head. “I’m good here,” he says with a smirk, like he’s already staked his claim.

Your irritation flares again, but you let it go, deciding that it’s not worth the fight. “Fine. I’ll take the bed.”

“Perfect.” He doesn’t even open his eyes, clearly satisfied with the arrangement.

You grab your suitcase and start unpacking your things into the small dresser on the far side of the room. Every now and then, you catch him watching you from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

The silence stretches out, a little too heavy and a little too tense, until you can’t take it anymore.

“So,” you say, desperate for a distraction, “what’s your major?”

“Mechanical engineering,” he replies without missing a beat. “What about you?”

“Engineering, too,” you say, feeling a bit relieved that you have something in common. But he just raises an eyebrow, like he’s not sure if he’s impressed or skeptical.

“Didn’t peg you as the type,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You laugh a little, rolling your eyes. “Yeah? And what’s ‘the type’?”

He shrugs. “Just… different. I dunno. You don’t seem like you’d be into all the math and circuits and long nights in the lab.”

“Shows what you know,” you say, surprised by your own defensiveness. But it’s true—engineering is your passion, even if people don’t always expect it from you.

Tony sits up a little, watching you with newfound interest. “Fair enough. Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

The way he says it, like he’s almost daring you to, makes you feel like you have something to prove. “Maybe I will.”

He grins, and you can’t help but smile back, despite yourself. There’s something about him that’s annoyingly charming, even if he’s a bit smug.

“So, guess we’re stuck together,” he says, stretching again and giving a mock yawn as he looks around the small space. “Might as well make the most of it, right?”

“Right,” you say, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. It’s going to be a long semester.

The evening settles in, the sky outside darkening as you both settle into your corners of the small apartment. And even though it’s awkward and tense and neither of you is thrilled about the arrangement, there’s a strange sense of possibility in the air. As much as you hate to admit it, maybe being roommates with Tony Stark won’t be the worst thing in the world.

Or maybe it’ll be a disaster.

The first few weeks of living with Tony Stark are, in a word, chaotic.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that sharing a space with him means constantly navigating a fine line between friendly coexistence and utter frustration. He has this way of making himself at home in every corner of the apartment, like he’s somehow managed to expand into all the free space. You can’t go to the bathroom without finding his razor on the sink, his textbooks spread across the counter, or his laundry draped over a chair. And then there’s his music—always loud and mostly classic rock, blaring at all hours, completely ignoring your “no loud music after ten” rule.

One morning, as you walk bleary-eyed to the kitchen for coffee, you trip over a pile of Tony’s sneakers lying by the door.

“Tony!” you shout, cursing as you nearly spill your coffee. “Your shoes are everywhere. I can’t even walk in here without tripping.”

He pokes his head around the corner, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Relax, Y/N, it’s just a couple of shoes. Don’t get your circuits crossed.” He grins around the toothbrush, somehow managing to look amused and cocky at the same time.

You glare. “It’s not just the shoes. It’s the shoes, your textbooks, the dishes you leave in the sink—do you know what a dishwasher is?”

He raises an eyebrow, half-amused, half-unbothered. “Do you know what a chill pill is?”

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, and try to focus on your coffee. He’s insufferable, really, and yet… somehow, every time he flashes that grin, you feel a flicker of something you can’t quite name. Not that it makes him any less irritating.

The semester picks up, and with it, so do the all-nighters. You’re both in the same engineering program, and you’re both competitive. When he’s hunched over his laptop at two in the morning, the screen casting his face in an eerie blue light, you find yourself in the same position, furiously scribbling equations, desperate to finish before he does. Occasionally, you catch him glancing over at you, eyebrow raised, like he’s silently challenging you to keep up. And you do.

One night, you’re both exhausted, sprawled on opposite ends of the couch after a particularly grueling set of lab assignments. You’re barely holding a pencil in your hand, too tired to even write another line. He’s in the same state, eyes half-closed, notebook resting against his chest.

“You’re not as bad at this as I thought you’d be,” he mumbles, half-asleep.

“Thanks,” you mutter back, too tired to argue or throw a sarcastic response his way. “You’re not that bad, either.”

He huffs, like he’s barely holding back a laugh. You don’t know why, but the sound actually makes you smile.

Tony’s bad habits still drive you crazy, though, especially when it comes to his tendency to hog the tiny bathroom you both share. One morning, after he’s been in there for over twenty minutes, you finally bang on the door.

“Tony, hurry up! I have class in half an hour!”

The door cracks open, and he peeks his head out, hair still dripping from his shower. “Calm down, I’m almost done.”

“Almost done? You’ve been in there forever!” you snap, crossing your arms.

He grins, completely unfazed. “If you’re so desperate, feel free to join me.”

You feel your face heat up, and before you can come up with a comeback, he winks and shuts the door again, leaving you fuming and red-faced in the hallway. That’s Tony, always pushing buttons just because he can.

Over time, though, things… change. Somewhere between the petty arguments and the grudging coexistence, you start to fall into a rhythm. You still bicker, but there’s an unspoken understanding now. You’ll swap the couch and the bed without making a fuss, automatically take turns in the kitchen, and sometimes, you’ll even study together.

You find out that Tony’s more than just the arrogant guy from class—he’s sharp, quick with a joke, and oddly attentive. Sometimes, you’ll wake up to find a fresh cup of coffee waiting for you, and he’ll wave it off, muttering something about it being “just convenient.” And in return, you start picking up his shoes without complaining, throwing his clothes into the hamper, and even bringing him snacks during your late-night study sessions.

It’s a Friday night, and for once, you’re not spending it at home or at the library. You’ve actually got a date—a rarity in your life—and you spent more time than you’d like to admit getting ready, carefully putting on makeup and smoothing down your dress.

Tony, of course, has been watching with that teasing glint in his eyes the entire time, slouched on the couch with his laptop, occasionally smirking like he knows something you don’t.

“You’re actually going out with this guy?” he asks, after you’ve checked your reflection for the fifth time.

“Yes, Tony, people do go on dates. You should try it sometime.”

He laughs, that casual, easy chuckle that you hate because it always manages to sound good. “I don’t need a date, Y/N. I get enough action as it is.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. “Enjoy your action tonight, Stark. I’ll be back late.”

But as the evening wears on, your mood changes. You’re sitting at a café table, checking your watch for the third time. Your “date” was supposed to meet you half an hour ago, but there’s no sign of him. A growing feeling of embarrassment builds in your chest, and with each passing minute, it gets worse. You don’t want to be that girl who waits around for someone who clearly isn’t coming. With a sigh, you grab your bag and head home, hoping Tony won’t notice your early return.

When you open the door, though, Tony looks up from the couch, eyebrows raised. “That was… fast.”

You sigh, closing the door and leaning against it, trying not to let the disappointment show on your face. “He, um… he didn’t show up.”

Tony’s expression changes, softening a little. He puts his laptop aside and stands up, crossing the room to stand in front of you. For once, there’s no teasing in his eyes, no smirk. “Wait, he stood you up?”

You shrug, forcing a smile. “It’s not a big deal. I probably wasn’t his type, anyway.”

“Not his type?” Tony’s face hardens a little, his tone sharp. “Y/N, he’s an idiot. You’re amazing. He just missed out on something great.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t have to say that.”

He shakes his head, his hand reaching out almost instinctively to touch your shoulder. “I’m not saying it because I have to. I’m saying it because it’s true.” His gaze holds yours, steady and warm, and for the first time, you realize just how intense his eyes are.

There’s a moment of silence, heavy and charged, and you feel your pulse quicken. You’re standing close, closer than usual, and for once, there’s no witty comeback, no sarcastic remark from him. Just Tony, looking at you like he sees something in you that no one else does.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. “I just… I guess I feel a little stupid, that’s all.”

Tony’s face softens, and to your surprise, he pulls you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re not stupid, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice a warm murmur against your hair. “Some guys are just idiots. Trust me—I know a lot of them.”

You laugh against his shoulder, feeling some of the hurt and embarrassment melt away. “Thanks, Tony.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders, his gaze searching yours. “Anytime. Seriously.”

For a moment, you just stand there, lost in his eyes, feeling something shift between you. He’s still Tony—annoying, messy, impossible—but there’s something else there now, something unspoken. And suddenly, the idea of him as just your roommate feels almost… disappointing.

He seems to feel it too, because he lets go and steps back, clearing his throat. “So, uh… if you want, we could watch a movie or something? My treat. I have some popcorn in the cupboard, and I promise not to talk through the entire thing.”

You smile, nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And as you settle onto the couch together, for once in comfortable silence, you can’t help but feel like this night turned out better than you expected.

The first time it happens, it’s an accident. You don’t even plan on a second Friday movie night, but somehow, it just becomes part of the routine.

A week after your canceled date, you both end up crashing on the couch with a couple of cheap takeout containers, both too tired to think about cooking or studying. Tony puts on an old action flick, and you spend half the movie rolling your eyes at the ridiculous stunts, only to find him muttering a dramatic running commentary just to make you laugh. By the end of it, you’re not sure if the movie was any good, but you’re grinning, and you realize it’s the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks.

From then on, Friday movie nights are a thing.

Every Friday, no matter how hectic your schedules are, you and Tony put aside a couple of hours to flop down on the couch and watch something. The movies vary—from classic thrillers to cheesy rom-coms, and even the occasional animated film—but somehow, it always feels like the best part of your week. And, slowly, it becomes one of the best parts of living with Tony.

You look forward to the comfort of those quiet evenings, knowing that you can just curl up with a blanket and relax without any pressure or expectations. Tony usually picks the movie, claiming he has “refined taste,” and you mostly let him—except for the times when you insist on watching something with a little more plot and a little less gratuitous explosion.

One Friday Night

It’s late in the semester, and you’re running on fumes. Between exams, projects, and late-night study sessions, you’re barely getting four hours of sleep a night. You’re slouched against the arm of the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket, trying to keep your eyes open as Tony scrolls through the movie options.

He shoots you a look, one eyebrow raised. “You sure you’re up for this? You look about two seconds away from passing out.”

You wave him off, trying to suppress a yawn. “I’m fine. Just… pick something, preferably not too loud, and not too complicated.”

“Noted,” he says with a small smirk, settling on a lighthearted rom-com.

You start the movie together, but within minutes, your eyelids are drooping, the exhaustion from the week catching up with you. Tony glances over at you occasionally, eyes softening each time he catches you nodding off, but he doesn’t say anything. He just shifts slightly so you’re more comfortable, like he’s already expecting you to fall asleep.

And then, without really thinking about it, you let yourself sink against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you drift off. He freezes at first, his body going stiff as he looks down at you, eyes widening. But you’re already halfway to sleep, curled up with your blanket, completely unaware of how close you’ve moved.

Tony’s expression softens, and he settles back into the couch, letting his arm drape casually along the back, his body relaxing beneath your weight. He takes a deep breath, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He’s always liked having you close, but you’re usually too guarded, too quick to pull away if he even nudges a little closer during the movie. But right now, with you dozing off against him, he can’t help but feel a quiet kind of happiness.

When the credits roll, he’s still sitting there, one arm around your shoulders, careful not to move too much in case it wakes you. He’s not sure why it feels so right, holding you like this, feeling the warmth of your body against his, but he doesn’t want it to end. Not yet.

Eventually, you shift a little, mumbling something in your sleep, and he swallows, feeling his heart skip a beat. He’s never thought of himself as someone who’s into all that romantic stuff, but right now, he’s sure he wouldn’t mind just staying here like this for a little longer.

After that first time, the accidental cuddling becomes a regular part of Friday nights. Some weeks, you manage to stay awake for most of the movie, laughing and joking with him, but other times, especially when you’re exhausted, you inevitably end up leaning against him. And each time, Tony stays perfectly still, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, secretly relishing the feel of you snuggled against him, warm and close.

He never says a word about it, and you don’t notice, or at least, you don’t seem to. It’s a quiet, unspoken thing between you. And in a strange way, it brings you closer, turning those Friday nights into something special.

One Friday, as you’re drifting off, you mumble something into his shoulder. “Thanks, Tony… for putting up with me,” you say, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Anytime, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You’re a lot easier to put up with than you think.”

And even though you’re already asleep, the faint smile on your lips tells him you know.

One rainy Tuesday, you’re buried in textbooks, barely aware of the time, when the door bursts open, and Tony steps in, drenched from head to toe. There’s water dripping from his hair, his hoodie soaked through, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the tiny, gray-furred creature cradled in his arms, mewling pitifully as it clings to his chest.

You gape at him. “Tony, what—?”

He grins, holding up the little kitten, who peers at you with wide, curious eyes. “Found her outside the library, all alone in the rain. Look at this face—she’s practically begging for a home.”

You blink, not entirely sure how to respond. “Tony, we can’t just… bring a stray home.”

“Why not?” He’s already taken off his jacket, now gently rubbing the kitten dry with the inside of his sleeve. “She clearly needed someone, and I figured, hey, we’ve got space. I already named her and everything.”

You fold your arms, fighting a smile. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is her name?”

He lifts the kitten up, gazing at her with an affectionate look you’ve never seen on his face before. “This is Dumpling,” he says, voice soft as he scratches under her tiny chin. “She looks like a dumpling, don’t you think?”

You burst out laughing, surprised at how fitting it is. The kitten has round, wide eyes and soft, fluffy gray fur that’s sticking up in odd directions. Despite your initial protests, you can already feel yourself softening.

“Alright, Dumpling,” you sigh, reaching out to stroke her tiny head as she lets out a delicate purr. “I guess you’re ours now.”

Tony grins, triumphant, and Dumpling stretches a little, her tiny body relaxing against his chest. And just like that, you have a cat.

Within days, Dumpling has taken over your lives—and, somehow, your relationship with Tony transforms right along with it. The two of you fall into an easy routine of “parenting,” like you’ve somehow become an unlikely team. Dumpling’s food bowl is filled, water is changed, and cat toys litter the living room floor, a mess that somehow makes the apartment feel homier.

You and Tony develop a sort of playful banter around it, too.

One morning, you catch him standing at the kitchen counter, holding a small spoonful of tuna over Dumpling’s head, his expression one of extreme concentration as he tries to get her to “high-five” for it. You snort as you walk into the kitchen.

“Really, Tony? We’re training her now?”

He turns, smirking. “Hey, she’s got potential. I think with a little more time, she might be able to help us with homework.”

You roll your eyes but secretly love the way he’s taken to Dumpling. “You’re just spoiling her,” you say, grabbing your coffee.

“Oh, and you’re not?” He raises an eyebrow, pointing to the fluffy cat bed you impulse-bought online last week. “I think someone’s getting a little too attached.”

“Okay, fair.” You shrug, and as if on cue, Dumpling saunters over to you, rubbing against your leg and purring. You bend down to pick her up, laughing as she curls up in your arms. “But I’m the responsible one. She’s clearly a daddy’s girl.”

“Oh, so I’m ‘Dad’ now?” he teases, reaching over to scratch Dumpling behind the ears. She stretches into his hand, and he gives you a mock-stern look. “That makes you the mom, doesn’t it?”

You feel a slight flush at his words, but you roll your eyes, playing along. “Fine. But if she wakes up at three in the morning, ‘Dad’ is definitely taking that shift.”

He chuckles, and there’s a warmth to it, a little spark that seems to light up every time he glances at you.

As the weeks pass, Dumpling becomes an integral part of your Friday night ritual, usually curled up in your lap or wedged between the two of you as you watch movies. She has this adorable habit of pawing at Tony’s arm if he stops petting her, and though he pretends to be annoyed, you know he secretly loves it.

One night, Tony is stretched out on the couch, Dumpling sprawled lazily across his chest as he scratches her head. You’re curled up beside him, drowsy after a long week, watching a classic rom-com as the rain patters against the window. It’s cozy, peaceful, and you’re so comfortable that you can’t help but let your head rest against his shoulder. The weight of his arm, slung casually over the back of the couch, feels like it’s holding you there, like maybe he wants you just as close as you want to be.

Somewhere in the movie, Dumpling hops down and trots off to her bed, leaving just the two of you on the couch. You’re both quiet, the movie long forgotten as the rain falls softly outside.

When Tony shifts beside you, you feel him turn slightly, his gaze lingering. You look up at him, and for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other, the space between you seeming smaller and smaller.

He clears his throat, almost like he’s about to break the silence, but instead, he just chuckles softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. “You know, I think Dumpling was onto something.”

“Onto what?” you murmur, heart beating just a little faster.

He grins, that warm, gentle grin you’ve come to love. “She figured out she likes being close to you way faster than I did.”

Your breath catches, and you’re not sure if it’s the rain or the warmth in his voice, but something inside you pulls you toward him, drawn by the tenderness in his eyes, the way his fingers lightly brush your cheek. “Tony…”

He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “Yeah?”

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t wait, his lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s tender, unhurried, like he’s savoring the moment, and you melt into him, feeling the warmth of his hand gently cradling your face. All those unspoken moments, the teasing, the playful “parenting” of Dumpling, the late-night study sessions—all of it seems to click into place, like you were always meant to be here, like this.

When you finally pull back, your face flushes with warmth, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“I didn’t know I needed that,” he says softly, a little breathless, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

You smile, your fingers finding his as you hold his hand. “Neither did I. Guess we can thank Dumpling.”

He laughs, that soft, happy sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “Yeah, our little matchmaker.”

From then on, the apartment feels different, warmer. Friday nights turn into something even sweeter, and Dumpling, your shared “little family member,” watches with a quiet approval, curling up beside you as you and Tony share the couch, hands intertwined, each of you finally knowing exactly where you belong.

Being with Tony as a couple is somehow both everything you expected and completely different. The teasing and playful dynamic remains, but there’s a new, unspoken warmth in everything you do together, a kind of quiet intimacy that’s hard to put into words.

You both quickly fall into a routine, but with small moments that make your heart race, the soft touches and lingering glances that remind you this is real now. Dumpling is still the center of attention in your little “family,” and her mischievous nature keeps you both on your toes.

It’s a lazy Tuesday morning, and you’re attempting to get ready for class. You’re putting on your makeup in the bathroom when Tony comes up behind you, arms slipping around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder as he gazes at your reflection in the mirror.

“You know, you look pretty cute in the mornings, even if you’re annoyed,” he murmurs, grinning as he watches your expression in the mirror. Dumpling is at your feet, playfully pawing at the hem of his jeans as he nuzzles against your shoulder.

“‘Annoyed’ is putting it lightly,” you say, though a smile slips through. “Dumpling decided to wake me up at 4 a.m. because someone decided it was a good idea to feed her a can of tuna last night.”

He shrugs, unrepentant. “She deserves the best. Besides, you look extra pretty when you’re slightly annoyed.” He presses a gentle kiss on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You roll your eyes but turn to face him, the playfulness in his eyes melting into something softer. He brushes a thumb over your cheek and then kisses you softly. You hear a soft meow at your feet, and Tony chuckles against your lips, pulling back only to scoop Dumpling up. “Alright, little one. Mom and Dad have classes to get to. Try not to destroy the place while we’re gone.”

Dumpling mews indignantly but seems satisfied when Tony scratches her head, her loud purr filling the bathroom.

Word about you and Tony spreads across campus faster than either of you expects. For a while, you just think you’re imagining the occasional stares, the murmurs when you and Tony sit together at lunch, his arm slung casually over the back of your chair as he chats with his friends. But soon enough, the stares turn into glares, particularly from some of the girls who used to linger around him before you two were official.

You overhear whispers in the library one afternoon as you’re studying. Two girls at a nearby table are staring over, murmuring to each other with pinched expressions.

“Can you believe he’s with her? Tony Stark?” one of them says, not-so-subtly looking you up and down.

The other girl huffs, rolling her eyes. “She must’ve done something to reel him in. I mean, he could do way better.”

Their words sting, but you pretend not to notice, focusing instead on your notes. Just then, Tony appears behind you, pressing a kiss to your temple, and plopping down in the seat next to you. The two girls exchange wide-eyed glances, their whispers silencing instantly. You try to brush it off, but Tony notices the tension in your shoulders.

“Don’t listen to them,” he says quietly, his hand finding yours beneath the table. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

You look at him, and he gives you that soft, reassuring smile that makes everything else fade away. With him beside you, the whispers and stares don’t matter. You squeeze his hand, feeling a quiet pride at being the one he chose.

The Friday movie nights are still sacred, but now they have an even cozier feel. You and Tony snuggle up on the couch, Dumpling curled between you or lazily sprawled across your laps. The cat’s purring is a constant soundtrack, her favorite place being Tony’s lap, where she can knead her tiny paws against his hoodie.

One night, you’re nestled together, Dumpling snoozing away as the credits roll on an old thriller Tony insisted on watching. You turn to him, still feeling the thrill of the movie but comforted by his warmth beside you.

“I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?” you murmur, resting your head against his chest.

He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “The best team. Even if Dumpling keeps trying to sabotage my snacks.” He’s referring to how Dumpling “steals” the popcorn from his lap whenever he’s not looking.

You smile, pulling his arm closer around you. “And if she’s got any competition for attention on campus, I think I know who her biggest fan is.”

He laughs, his arm tightening around you, his face lighting up. “Well, can you blame me? Between you and Dumpling, I’ve got everything I need.”

It’s a quiet Saturday morning, and you’re curled up in bed, still half-asleep, when you feel the mattress dip slightly. You open one eye to see Tony settling Dumpling gently beside you, her little head nestled into your pillow. He grins as you blink at him, half-confused and half-amused.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you. Dumpling lets out a tiny squeak between the two of you, as if demanding her own share of attention.

With Tony’s gentle kiss, the cozy weight of Dumpling snuggled next to you, and the soft light filtering through the window, you can’t remember ever feeling this content. It’s just a small moment, but it’s perfect, each day settling you further into this life you’re building together.

One night, you’re both lying in bed, Dumpling curled up at the foot, fast asleep. You’re wrapped in Tony’s arms, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your shoulder as you lie in comfortable silence, the room lit by the soft glow of the city outside.

Out of nowhere, Tony clears his throat, and you can feel his heartbeat quicken slightly. He takes a breath, then murmurs, “I love you.”

It’s so soft that you almost miss it, but your heart skips, warmth flooding through you. You look up, seeing the nervous but hopeful look in his eyes.

A smile spreads across your face as you reach up, touching his cheek. “I love you too, Tony,” you say, voice soft but steady.

His face breaks into a grin, and he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead as if sealing the words between you. Dumpling lets out a sleepy, annoyed noise, but you both laugh, neither of you moving.

if you liked the story don't forget to leave a like, a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more! <3

[suzukiblu]

Day ten of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

The waitress comes over with another steaming mug of hot chocolate for Kon and Tim awkwardly orders not-Robin's-coffee-order, which since he's panicking he defaults to Caroline Hill's usual for. She's a med student, she drinks enough caffeine for his tastes. And also she likes extremely sugary drinks, which is definitely to his taste. 

Look, Robin can't drink an iced brown sugar oat milk espresso with six extra pumps of syrup and four extra shots of espresso, especially in front of the exact teammate who would tease him the most mercilessly for having a finicky drink order, but Caroline Hill can drink anything she wants, and Tim Drake is just gonna be channeling her for this conversation, he guesses. Her Twitter account already got him here to begin with, so he might as well.

“That is a concerning amount of caffeine in one drink, dude,” Kon observes with a raised eyebrow instead of teasing him over either the syrup or oat milk, which is not actually what Tim expected to hear. But, well, he's not Robin right now, so maybe Kon isn't feeling the same urge to start shit that he usually seems to. 

Tim's not sure how to feel about that. But Robin is, technically, an “authority” figure and a fellow superhero, and Tim Drake is just some guy, so . . . 

Actually, Tim doesn't really know how Kon gets along with civilian guys. He's seen him flirt up plenty of civilian girls, obviously, but he doesn't really seem to talk to all that many guys. Like . . . ever, actually. 

Weird, he thinks, repressing a frown. 

“How would you know, you're Kryptonian,” he says. 

“Half-Kryptonian,” Kon says, then waves a hand around the café. “And like, you know, also this entire planet is full of people who can just tell me these things. Five thousand milligrams is the minimum lethal dose of caffeine for a healthy adult, which is something like seventy-five shots of espresso, but more than four or five shots in a day is still not gonna be great for you, and you just ordered six.”

“. . . how the hell do you just know that off the top of your head?” Tim asks, blinking at him in absolute bewilderment, and Kon smirks in smug amusement.

“Dude, I was programmed by exhausted grad students pulling six months straight of all-nighters,” he says, pointing at his own temple. “I know every possible thing there is to know about every possible caffeine delivery system. Including the illegal ones and the ones the government hasn't yet realized should be illegal.” 

“Huh,” Tim says, still more than a little bewildered. That does make sense, he guesses, but since Kon's already told the team he has absolutely no useful background in any kind of science or math past the absolute kiddie-level basics when they were all exchanging information about all their personal training and experience, it's still a surprise to hear. Shouldn't Cadmus have prioritized an actual education over things like safe caffeine intake for baseline humans, especially since Kon's safe intake level is probably different from a baseline human's anyway? Which–well, he guesses Kon did get cracked out of his cloning tube early, but still. They at least should've been building up the basics for him. Like–more than the kiddie-level basics, he means. 

Cadmus is definitely not capable enough to be in charge of Kon. Like, at all. Ever. Tim has fewer and fewer regrets about this whole plan every minute, in fact. If anything, he should've started drafting it the day he met Rex Leech, never mind the fact that Kon hadn't technically existed yet at the time. Or after the Poison Ivy incident, maybe. At the least he should've done up an outline or two after he and Kon and Bart had helped Suzie escape recapture and then collectively lied to the government about it.

“You work for those guys, right?” he “asks” as Kon takes a sip of his new hot chocolate, because while the best time to start this whole plan was months ago, the second-best time to start it is now. “Project Cadmus?” 

"Yeah," Kon replies, looking a little surprised by the question. Tim reminds himself to con the team into brushing up on the superhero version of stranger danger, because Kon answered that question way too easily. "Well, just started to. I'm a field agent. How'd you know?” 

"I've done some research on you since we first met," Tim says, which isn't even a lie; just some careful phrasing. "I really appreciated what you did for me. And to be honest, I think we'd get along."

"Oh yeah? Tell me all about it," Kon says as his posture shifts a little and he flashes him the kind of smirk he normally reserves for, well . . . 

Huh, Tim thinks in vague bemusement.

Kon's flirting with him. 

. . . huh. 

Not actually the angle Tim was intending to take here, but . . . well, he's not above taking it. And anyway, Kon's just a flirt in general, so it's not like it means anything. 

Admittedly Tim hasn't actually seen him flirt with a guy before, but presumably Kon's just feeling out an opportunity to experiment or not ready to be out to the team yet. Tim's not, so he'd hardly blame him for that. Tim's not even out to Steph.

And he's definitely, definitely not out to Bruce. 

Well, ideally he'll be a supervillain before that becomes necessary, assuming his life goes to plan. 

Robin was always going to be a temporary gig, after all. 

"I don't know," he says, and lets the corners of his mouth curl up in amusement. "You just seem like my type of guy." 

"Your type of guy?" Kon says, his smirk widening as he leans in towards Tim, who decides to pretend that particular bit of flirtatious implication was actually intentional. Tim is . . . not all that great at flirting, admittedly, but it's not like Kon has particularly high standards past “didn't explicitly tell me to fuck off”, so Tim figures he'll be able to get by for long enough to have this conversation. 

Not much longer, but all the same. He has a plan to pitch, that's all that actually matters here. 

“Yeah,” he says. “And I wanted to thank you for saving me, so . . .” 

“You wanna thank me, Tim Drake?” Kon asks with a slower, wider smirk, leaning in a little more again, and Tim instantly turns bright red as he realizes how that actually sounded. 

Yeah, okay, he is actually the worst at flirting. Fuck. 

“Uh, yes!” he says quickly, very much needing to clarify that statement before his stupid fucking hormones try to talk him into maybe just . . . leaning into that particular miscommunication a little. Not the goal here. Definitely not. “I mean–being a field agent doesn't sound particularly lucrative? And I know being a superhero isn't.” 

“Lucrative?” Kon blinks, expression turning puzzled. “I mean, I guess not. I don't need that much money or anything, though, I just live at Cadmus these days.” 

“You live in a lab?” Tim says, letting himself sound as incredulously horrified as he felt the first time he heard that. “Why?” 

“I dunno, saves me a commute,” Kon replies with a shrug. “Also, like, it's not like I have a credit score to get my own place with. Or a legal identity. Or, you know, money. Landlords tend to want those.” 

“Hm,” Tim says. “Do you want one?” 

“Huh?” Kon wrinkles his nose in confusion. 

“Your own place,” Tim clarifies. “I really would like to thank you. I could help you get a place.” 

“Uh, thanks? But I still couldn't afford rent, even if somebody cosigned for me or whatever,” Kon says, looking puzzled. “I really don't make that much.”

“No, I mean I'd pay your rent,” Tim explains, which is in fact an insane person thing to offer somebody, admittedly, but it's not like Kon has all that reliable a grasp of normal social mores. “Or just buy you a place outright and pay your property taxes. Whichever you'd prefer.”

Kon blinks. Tilts his head. 

“So like, you're just a very extra dude, huh,” he says after a moment, his eyebrows slowly raising as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. “Like you're the guy who blows the budget on the friend group's Secret Santa out of the water every year.”

“Possibly,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish smile. Kon laughs and folds his arms on the table, looking amused. 

“You wanna buy me an apartment?” he asks. “What, just for saving your life?” 

“I really think you're undervaluing that particular achievement,” Tim says. 

“I think you're overvaluing it,” Kon replies with another laugh. “No offense, but I didn't do anything but block one lousy bullet.” 

“One lousy bullet is enough,” Tim says, and doesn't think of any bodies he's seen. Kon tilts his head again, then takes a sip of his hot chocolate. 

“Okay, fair,” he allows. “But I'm bulletproof.” 

“I'm not,” Tim says. 

“You were as long as I was touching the same floor as you,” Kon replies with a shrug, and takes another sip. “It wasn't like I did anything hard.” 

He hasn't actually said “no” to the apartment. Tim's pretty sure that's just because he thinks he's either ridiculous or just not being serious, but he's not above pressing the advantage anyway. 

“You didn't have to do anything at all, though,” he says. "And buying you a place wouldn't be all that hard for me either. Besides, you deserve a little gratitude for your efforts, don't you think?” 

"Sounds like supervillain talk, dude," Kon says, his mouth quirking in amusement around his next sip. Tim resolves to dial back on that at this point in his career. He's laying groundwork, yes, but subtlety is still the wiser course of action. 

"You say that like you've never socialized with a supervillain before," he counters dryly. 

"Well, usually ones who wear a bit less," Kon replies, lowering his mug to grin wickedly at him. Tim figures if a little more flirting might soften him up on this whole idea, well . . . 

It's not the most altruistic thing he's ever done for a plan, admittedly, but if it works, it works. 

"So you're telling me I should invest in a crop top before I try to take over the world and remake it in my own image?" he asks still more dryly as he raises an eyebrow at Kon with a little smirk, and Kon laughs and leans in a little closer again, giving him a not very subtle up-and-down with his eyes. 

"Only if you're trying to recruit me for your evil plans, pretty boy," he says, grin turning sharp. Tim feels vaguely faint, and also wants to lick the bastard's stupid perfect teeth. Jesus. "So I dunno, what are your feelings on Daisy Dukes?" 

"I'm going to be honest, I'm not actually that much of an exhibitionist so at this point we're just describing my ideal costume updates for you," Tim informs him. 

"Oh yeah?" Kon asks with another laugh even as he straightens back up to visibly preen at the suggestion. Tim is all for that, personally. Both the preening and the theoretical updates, in fact. And, a little more weirdly, just the idea of having anything whatsoever to do with what Kon might ever decide to wear. Especially whatever he might decide to wear for his costume. 

Yeah, that's probably a later thought, Tim decides. Like, a private-time kind of later thought. Specifically “behind locked doors in an empty house” private-time, actually.

"You're solar-powered, aren't you?" he says reasonably, because apparently he likes to suffer and also make himself low-key insane. "Showing a bit more skin can't hurt." 

"I wonder if Superman would buy that excuse," Kon says musingly. 

"Power Girl exists," Tim replies still more reasonably. "And Supergirl wears a miniskirt, last I checked." 

"Valid," Kon says, putting on a mock-thoughtful expression and tapping the side of his jaw. "Maybe I'll put in some cutouts and go for a lower neckline, tell the big guy he's making the rest of us look like prudes. What do you think, bikini or high-cut bottoms?"

"I don't know the difference," Tim lies, desperately trying not to overheat and die at that question and every single accompanying mental image that his useless brain has so helpfully decided to supply. "You'll have to provide examples."

"Will I now," Kon says, grinning all over again and pointedly striking a very suggestive pose in his seat. Tim valiantly struggles not to melt. "What, pretty boy, you want a fashion show?" 

"Well I did want to be a photographer when I was a kid," Tim says, although it was definitely never that kind of photography he had in mind. Kon laughs again and shifts in closer again, though, so it's worth it. Tim is mortified, but also undeniably into just . . . all of this, really, just everything about this conversation. Robin can't flirt with Superboy, but, well . . . Tim Drake still isn't Robin, now is he? 

He's probably taking advantage of the situation a little, Tim can admit to himself, but it's still just . . . nice. He's wanted to flirt with Kon for way too long, at this point. Indulging in a little bit of it isn't the worst thing he could do. 

And again, it's Kon, so it's not like it's serious or anything. The guy won't even remember this conversation tomorrow, much less anything about Tim Drake. 

. . . admittedly that'd be counterproductive to Tim's long-term goals here, but still. He's willing to take his time on this. There's a plan. It has steps. Layers. Processes. 

"I like you, man," Kon says with a wider grin, which is in absolutely no way whatsoever in the plan. "You're funny."

Tim stares blankly at him as it occurs to him, almost disbelievingly, that he might've . . . made a good impression on Kon? Somehow? 

Well, that's weird.

"I'll never get a fashion show out of you if I'm not at least funny," he says on autopilot, as someone who's been well-taught both when and how to press an advantage. Kon, yet again, grins at him, and gives him another much brighter laugh than usual. 

Actually, he kind of hasn't stopped grinning at him, has he. 

Huh. 

. . . huh. 

Tim really did not plan for this. This is just . . . not at all what the plan was. 

“Well, you definitely are funny,” Kon says, biting his lip around a warm little smile and ducking his head just enough to look at Tim from under his lashes, and Tim decides he can probably just amend the plan.

He's a Bat, isn't he? They know how to improvise when they have to.

[msmargarita]

✨🤓Johnathon/🕳️ Spot Headcanons✨

These are some headcanons I wrote for my two fics:

i'm not going to turn into a cosmic anomaly and leave you forever

and

i'm really serious this time, baby

It has !!spoilers!! for both of those fics!

It's basically an AU unless I somehow foresaw the future and guessed what happens in BTSV!

Beware the keep reading button. This is HUGE.

🤓 Johnathon HCs!

HE IS A GEMINI. Like come on. Talks a lot, nerdy, silly guy. He is a canonically silly guy! In his first fight with Miles he pretends to have hurt his nose (he doesn’t have one) to trick him. So silly! I would bet there's Capricorn somewhere in there too. And Pisces. I’ll make this man’s whole birth chart if you dare me. Just dare me. I’m insane.

Jason Schwartzman used to be in a band in the 00s. I think it would be cool if Johnathon also had some sort of interest in music. I think he would have tried to learn guitar in college but only got a few chords in before life got too chaotic and every now and then he thinks of picking it back up. 

He is also one of those guys who fanboys over old ass music, especially from the 60s and 70s. Loves Jazz, Funk and Prog Rock. Look at this man and tell me he is not a prog rock guy. He is a nerd, he might even be *shudders* a math rock guy. I also think he would have one completely random favorite artist that has nothing to do with the things listed above, like, idk Lizzo. Or Princess Nokia. He just looks like the type.

I think everyone agrees Johnathon is at least in his thirties, but I put him down as thirty-three in the end. I did that because Olivia is thirty-five tops in ITSV (according to Peter) and since he was her subordinate it makes sense that he would be just a little bit younger than her. 

“But hey! That's too young to get a PhD!” you might say, but I think Johnny is an overachiever. I think he was one of those super genius kids that got in early in college and lived for academia. A teacher's pet even.

He is a workaholic, so when he quits his job he gets really lost and doesn't know what to do with himself. He might have a new job soon doing what he loves, so you’re going to need to be on his ass so he doesn’t fall back into his old habit of overworking. 

I like to think that Miles would get an internship under Johnathon a few years in the future and they would learn a lot together. Jonathan would probably take a week to figure out he is Spider-Man and would cover for him when the boy needs to disappear. This actually sounds like a fun drabble to write about.

Johnathon may be a genius, but like he said, he is not too familiar with relationships. I think he might've had one or two in the past, but everything slowed down when he started working at Alchemax. “I’ve been told” is referring to those past relationships, in which he was probably told that he works too much and never has time to spend with his partners. He’s not been with anyone for a long time and his game consists of buying the first comic book he saw on a shelf in order to ask you out.

But that doesn't mean he is cold. Quite the opposite really, Johnathon is very touchy-feely. He hasn't been with anyone for a while and misses touching and being touched. He is most comfortable when being at least 70% curled around you. 

He smokes Dunhill Carltons (he likes to feel fancy), but less now that he isn't as stressed from work. Like he said, he used to go on walks to smoke and pass by the comic book store you work at before you guys had even met. I like to think he developed a little crush back then.

Had his tattoos done in college, so they are very faded now. He doesn’t think of redoing them because the mere thought of having to stay seated for hours in the same place feeling pain stresses him out. He was a lot more easygoing when he had them done.

He did have a superhero phase when he was a kid. He would fantasize a lot about having superpowers and flying away when the bullies showed up. Never thought about fighting back. Before becoming the Spot, he wasn't the confrontational type. The hero thing fizzled out as he grew older, but he would always dream about being stronger. Being a better version of himself in a kinda superficial, but understandable way.

He still has a bunch of action figures, he thinks they look cool. If you give him one, he won't even care if he knows the character or not, he just likes them.

Even though Johanthon says he is “good-looking”, he does add “for a scientist” in the end. I think he tries to mask his insecurities with humor, always putting himself down with a joke, always saying he’s too old, too corny, too nerdy. In the back of his head he knows the hair and the glasses are kind of a look, but he doesn’t feel handsome. You help as much as you can, but that’s an obstacle for him to overcome by himself. I think after i’m really serious this time, baby he gets better at this.

🕳️ The Spot HCs!

For clarification: the story of i’m not gonna turn into a cosmic anomaly and leave you forever stretches the plot of ATSV to a few weeks instead of a day. Just think of it like Spot taking a little longer to power up instead of a few hours.

Since he was forced to do crime to survive, I think he would've thought to himself: "Well, since I have to go rob a store anyway, might as well be that one where that cute cashier works at." 

Yes, Spot starts tracking and following you after you two meet. He uses his computer nerd powers for evil. A very unhealthy way of dealing with a crush, I think.

Spot can eat but he doesn't get any nutritional value from food. When you drink wine together or when he burns his tongue (?) from tea it's just a placebo effect. I like to think that Johnathon's mind is still inside The Spot's body, so he eats just for habit. He says he gets hungry all the time, but it's actually a deep need to consume everything around him. The little rascal.

As he powers up, Spot gets more confident in himself. He thinks the stronger he gets the further away he gets from Johnathon, his old self. Which, in the end, turns out to be true.

I think at first you don't really believe Spot is an actual supervillain which is why when you see him after the fight in Mumbattan it's such a shock. In a way, you did the same thing Miles did when he underestimated him, even if for whole different reasons. I think even though he knows you care about him, Spot knows you don't see him as a threat and that makes him want to impress you more. 

Spot knows that the reason you keep getting new jobs is because his own crazy supervillain life keeps interfering with yours, so he tries to keep it as much hidden from you as possible. He thinks what you don’t know can’t hurt you! As Johnathon, he feels guilty at first that you’re changing your whole life to go with him to New Jersey, BUT this time it was your choice! Not because of supervillain shenanigans!

He does love you (even if it was too early to know) and wants to be with you, but his head is so lost in the supervillain game, he thinks he can’t stop now. You never really realized how serious he was about “being stronger”. Which is why you never tried to stop him.

I chose I’d Rather Be With You as a theme song because I think it’s a song Johnathon/Spot would enjoy. But I also like how the lyrics match both their feelings towards you, in both fics. He wants to fly away with you once he gets all powered up, he loves your smile, etc. He does want to be your friend until the end as the Spot, but as Johanthon he is really committed to work on his bad habits in order to be with you. We gon' make it this time, baby! I cry, damnit. 

It’s also a surprisingly gender-neutral song, with no physical descriptions in it! Anyone can put themselves in the lover's place. Bootsy Collins is cool like that.

I like to think that, in the end, Spot didn't erase himself from the timeline. He just reloaded an old save. Does that make sense? Like you said, your relationship will always have happened, just in an old, non existent dimension. And since Johnathon and you still get dreams and deja vu about the whole thing (think of it as dimensional residue or whatever), you do have all the EXP of the old save. Johnathon, after going through the literal end of all existence and then forgetting about it, feels something compelling him to finally take a chance and enter the comic book store. It’s like when your body goes through something and it remembers later, even if your mind doesn't. Here's a (hopefully) comprehensive timeline:

the end.

Thank you for taking an interest in my weird AU! I would kill for you 💖

[auspicioustidings]

Are you still taking requests?? If so can you PLEASE cook up some Gaz/Farah/Alex you'd literally make my week

I also have an ask for Pacific Rim AU so please accept the dumbest little AU drabble on the planet while I am vaguely ill and unable to write anything with substance :') (honestly ask me again in a few weeks and I will do something much cuter)

Drift Compatible

Words: 700

Kyle Garrick had never thought he would be on a talk show. He had never had it on the cards that he’d have an action figure. He really had not considered he might be a sex symbol. Really the only thing in this whole situation that had been predictable was that he was drift compatible with Farah and Alex.

It had been Price that brought them in, argued that they should be allowed to try. Two people being drift compatible was rare enough, but for him to want to spend the time and money to test compatibility for a team of 3? He had turned heads with that one. Luckily the man was a war hero, one of the first Jaeger pilots, so as much as the higher ups tried to find a way to say no, they really couldn’t.

He remembered the first time he had seen a Jaeger in action. Price and Laswell had piloted the hulking machine beautifully, took down a Kaiju before it even got near enough to the coast to hurt anyone. The Teahouse Outlaw (they never did tell him where the hell that name had come from) was retired now, a museum piece. It was when he was looking at it that he had met Farah and Alex for the first time. Took him all of 47 seconds to fall madly in love with Farah. Took 52 for him to fall madly in love with Alex.

They all wound up in the pilot program together, but then it wasn’t really a coincidence. If Price decided you were a Jaeger pilot, then you were damn well going to become a Jaeger pilot. Simon and Johnny had qualified first. He had laughed at how completely covered in paint Johnny had gotten himself decorating their Jaeger with a little illustration of two goldfish in a tank. The Ghost Cleaner was a mean machine and the two of them had a rabid fan club in no time which they were very smug about.

The one country they could never top the popularity charts of was Mexico. Nobody was about to gain more popularity there than the Vaquero piloted by Ale and Rudy. Gaz couldn't really blame the people throwing flowers at them with any public appearance, the two of them were wildly handsome.

Gaz loved that the team Price had made was out there saving the world, but it had been a special kind of torture sitting on the sidelines. At that time there was no way to test for a team of 3 and with Alex and Farah already showing signs of compatibility, they wouldn't test him against either of them. But they struggled, he knew they did. 

They would crawl into bed after a long day frustrated and tired. They were drifting, but it was taking so much more out of them than it should. He had felt so helpless then, only able to hold them and try provide some comfort.

The day Price had revealed their unnamed Jager now with a 3rd station Gaz could have cried. It so immediately made sense then what had been wrong. Farah and Alex were amazing together, but the 3 of them were just right somehow. The first drift was intense, he had actually cried, so had Alex. Farah had cooed at them and laughed as she scrubbed at their faces with her hands to clear the tear tracks.

She had nearly cried when they had told her they wanted to call the Jaeger Walid. She kept it together though as always, just pressing all of her emotions into kisses. 

Price dubbed them all the 141. They became wildly popular, superheroes really. They certainly had some friction with other teams out in the world, but everyone had the same goal, everyone was fighting the good fight in their own way.

The fact that the cockpit was actually a pretty exciting place to relieve some tension with his lovers after a hard mission was really a bonus.

[why-is-thinking-so-hard]

now we actually start

⚠️spoilers for mean girls obviously⚠️

it gets long again, but I swear there is actual superhero cadina au info, I actually got into the au not just how I came up with the au.

also a word of warning, when I was trying to figure non spidey au cady's backstory and powers, I made a joke about cady being bitten by a radioactive lion and my friend went crazy for it so we ran with it. I know its absolutely wild, but I think I made it actually work so bear with me.

general cady superhero non-spidey cadina au details

yes, cady was bitten by a radioactive lion so she has lion powers and shit; super strength/1000psi bite force, super agility/36 foot horizontal leap, yell real loud/roar, night vision, super senses, 46 mph top speed, claws because who doesn't love a woman with claws; these aren't really powers, but her head hair gets a lot more volume after the bite which is cool but on the downside the rest of her body hair starts getting kinda thick- its not super super thick, its just thicker than it was-, she needs more sleep, she has this need to consume a lot of raw meat and also hunt live animals

cady was bitten by the lion in Kenya before the move stateside, actually it was what prompted the move. I have this idea that the lion was some military experiment that her dad worked on and got killed while working on it(not by the lion, by one of his coworkers, im actually quite attached to the lion and the idea of the lion escaping capture and living a normal lion life). This is what prompts cady's mom to move them and cady to use her powers(once she discovers them) to help people like her father would've wanted and also get revenge on the people that killed him while she's at it.

janis and Damian find out about cady's powers because the school janitor dragged her, mouse in her mouth, to them and asked, "is she one of yours?" this is also two days after they meet so they were very close to saying no

when she starts out with the hero thing, she cuts holes in a bandana and wears some very basic clothes, but once janis finds out, she sets out to make cady a suit. janis even does research about body armor to make it protective. the suit itself is (once again, @tatsuyam , not a fursuit) more like a supersuit so its built for movement and fighting, but it has touches of janis' art and is inspired by Kenya and lions. in the way that it has ears and a tail. because her hero name is lioness. what with her powers being lion based and all. in the words of edna mode, "no capes."

Damian helps cady come up with all the snappy one liners a hero needs and also overcome anxiety that comes with saving the general populace and having to talk to them and having to act confident, he helps her come up with her persona, her act if you will

there's a rumor around the school that the person in the mascot suit is lioness but cady hates it because she refuses to go near that thing after janis told her nobody washes it and then regina told her about the time she and Shane fucked in that thing

I will get into regina once I figure out what powers she would have

[tonys-fav-bitch]

Plot Twist || Reader x Moonboys

Moon Knight AU

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: In which your boss sends you to keep an eye on a possible avengers recruit. You're tasked with following him, figuring out who he is, and if he's good enough for the team. That's it. But its never that simple.

Warnings: None (I don't think?)

Part 5

YOU WERE STOOD in the basement of the museum, staring at the large wall of inventory. You groaned at the sight and set your clipboard down, taking a step towards the products. You scanned over the plushies, t-shirts, and magnets. Your gaze stopped at bags of snacks, one being packs of gummies.

"Now what do gummies have to do with ancient Egypt?" You asked aloud as you looked over the bag, flipping it to read the back.

"That's what I said." Steven's voice sounded from behind you, startling you slightly.

You spun on your heels and met the man's gaze, smiles immediately forming on both of your lips. You chuckled at his comment and put the snack back on the shelf.

"What are you doing down here?" You questioned him.

It had been two days since your little meet up, and you couldn't help but admit that you were excited to see the man again. You knew you should be following him around, see what he's up to when no one else is around, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. But, you knew you had to do it sooner or later. Fury would be calling for any updates and you couldn't exactly tell him that he was a vegan who loved ancient Egypt and his fish named Gus.

"I need a bin of Tawerets." He mumbled and pointed at the stuffed animals behind you.

You let out a small chuckle and grabbed the bin, handing it to him. He took it from your arms and stood there for a moment, thinking of what to say.

"Would you uh, like to come over this evening? Meet Gus? Talk about. . Uh work?" He phrased it all in a question.

"I would love that." You replied with a kind smile, pulling your phone out of your pocket, handing it to the man. He looked at the device in confusion and then to you, who laughed.

"Give me your number so I can text you." You pointed out and his face lit up with realization.

He quickly typed on the device before handing it back. He picked his bin of plushies up and gave you a shy look.

"I will text you later, love." He told you before heading off, back up to the gift shop.

You found yourself happily twirling your pen between your fingers as you thought about seeing him again. You stomped your foot and balled your fists at your own actions. You lightly facepalmed yourself.

How could you be feeling this way already? Or at all for that matter? Damn him and that precious smile of his. You grabbed your clipboard with force and continued your inventory check, your mind bouncing back and forth between Steven's sweet face and your anger for yourself.

☽ ♞ ☾

You were sat on the small balcony that was connected to your bedroom, a glass of water in hand. Your mind was wondering through so many different things - your mission, your new found affection for Steven, missing Peter and the team, and how the hell this sweet innocent man was a dangerous superhero.

It made no sense. He didn't seem to have a mean bone in his body. How was he being looked into for the Avengers? Had the agency finally lost it and were grasping at straws? You had no idea. But you were hoping to get a glimpse of him tonight when you went to his place.

The shrill ring of your phone brought you back to reality. You glanced at the name on the screen and couldn't help but laugh.

'Steven with a V is calling'

You clicked the accept button and spoke into the phone.

"Well hello there Steven with a V."

"Hello love. Are you ready?" He inquired, a smile plastered on his face.

"Of course. I'll be over shortly. ." You trailed off as you heard the man bickering with someone. You furrowed your brows as you tried to listen.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh uh yea! Totally fine, was just yelling at Gus." He sheepishly responded. You tilted your head at his response, not believing him but you played along.

"Well tell Gus to fix his attitude, I'll be over soon!" You interjected.

"I will, but he never listens. See you soon!"

☽ ♞ ☾

You found yourself at the front door of Steven's apartment. Your heart was pounding slightly and your stomach fluttered in nervousness.

"Ridiculous." You huffed at yourself as you knocked on the door.

You could hear the familiar patter of Steven's feet approaching the door. Seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a casually dressed Steven. His hair was slightly disheveled and he had a shy smile on his lips.

"Hey you." You greeted him as he moved to the side, allowing you to enter.

You looked around in interest as you took in the surroundings. You made note of all the books he had piled up. You then made your way over to his fish tank. Gus was an adorable orange fish who was swimming happily around in his crystal clear water.

"He's much more adorable than I imagined." You told the man who was nervously watching you.

"Yea, he's quite the looker." He joked as he scratched at the back of his neck.

You grinned and continued to look around his small apartment, coming up to his bed. You raised your eyebrows at the sand that was scattered around it, along with a chain.

"Should I be worried, Steven?" You lightheartedly joked as you pointed to the iron object laying on the floor.

"Oh uh, no no. I have a sleeping disorder. If I fall asleep, I end up sleep walking. . It's not a kink, I swear. " He admitted.

"If you sleep?" You countered curiously, trying not to laugh at his last statement.

"Yea I uh, tend to. . uh not. It's easier than feeling the aftermath of my travels." He assured you.

"You're probably so tired." You frowned at him.

"Uh, massively. But I manage. But please come sit. I talked all about myself the other night. Tell me about you." He insisted as he gently took you by the hand, leading you to the couch.

You happily plopped down on the comfy furniture and turned to face Steven who was doing the same.

"There's not much to tell about me. How about you tell me about the museum?" You told him, bringing your knees close to your chest. You hated talking about yourself, and you didn't wanna have to lie to the poor guy about who you really were.

He nodded his head and began rambling off information that he thought you would need to know. You chatted back and forth, cracking jokes and revealing simple things about one another.

Hours began to pass and you two fell in comfort with each other. Steven told you about the many places he had woken up in when he had accidentally let sleep over take him. You told him about the places you'd seen due to your 'old job'.

That's how the next few weeks would go. One would visit the other, you would chat for hours, learning new things and gaining new memories. And as each visit went by, you couldn't deny that your heart seemed to flutter for the awkward disheveled man.

Fury continued to nag you for updates, to tell him what you learned, but you couldn't really give him much as you still hadn't initiated any surveillance. You simply couldn't bring yourself to do it. But you had to swallow your feelings. Do what you were sent to do. And you would, you just needed time.

☽ ♞ ☾

[zeroducks-2]

Pretty out of nowhere but,, What do you think about dickdami as a ship?

No worries anon, you can keep asking me about ships for that ask game, I love to blather ♥ (it's here for who's interested, if you reblog it I'll surely ask you about some ships!)

but anyway, absolutely yes

I ship it!

What made you ship it? I wouldn't be able to say exactly what it was. I think I've been lowkey shipping them since forever, then at some point I started warming up to Omegaverse AUs (in the sense that I've always loved ABO but my head had to sort of "make it work" in a DC superheroes situation), and at that point I was like YES, OMG Y E S. Especially because of Damian's clear-as-day crush on Dick.

What are your favorite things about the ship? Dami is a possessive little shit, and Grayson is his. Dick in skintight suits was surely his sexual awakening and his first crush, and I can easily see how the little demon would fixate on the idea that as soon as he's old enough, he and Dick are supposed to be together. In an ABO situation it works even better, especially when Dick is an Omega and Damian and Alpha because it validates the aforementioned mental process - "after I present me and Grayson will be together as mates". Dick meanwhile is there smiling like "he's a kid, he'll grow out of it sooner or later". No he won't :) (and also, I don't think Dick would ever be able to tell Damian no in whatever circumstance which makes it even juicier, intermingling with Dick's sense of shame and inability to resist when someone pressures him into something, which is something that Bruce took advantage of for Dick's entire life) If we're talking about a Reverse!Robins situation it also works amazingly. (I know, I know. I a lot of people hate the whole reverse!robin thing. "Damian shouldn't even be called Robin because that's a Dick Grayson thing!", "Stephanie makes no sense as Red Hood because she wouldn't care about Batman not avenging her!" LISTEN!!! I know. You are correct. However it is FUN to imagine the batkids with their ages reversed and their roles blurred, especially for shippy reasons, therefore I do not give a fuck ♥ Love you) Like imagine adult, bitter, troubled Damian finding the light of his life in this kid who lost his parents in such a gruesome way, having to teach him and guide him, be his mentor and his moral compass, in turn learning how to work his own skewed sense of justice. Imagine adult, touch-starved Damian having his heart beating so fast when this kid hugs him and falls asleep in his arms, needing comfort and giving so much warmth at the same time. Imagine stone-hearted, disillusioned Damian experiencing so much wonder at seeing this kid grow up and treat him like the most wonderful, precious human being that ever existed, even if Damian perceives himself as cold, unforgiving and unlovable. And when this special, one-in-a-million kid starts blushing every time they take their suits off, and getting clingy and jealous or anyone who buzzes around Dami, and obviously feeling for Damian something which is not just brotherly love, well. At that point what is even Damian supposed to do - Dick is his everything, and he wants to keep being Dick's everything in return.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? Probably what I just wrote, meaning that I normally prefer the ship when it's a Reverse!Robins situation (but I like it in any form anyway)

[blurglesmurfklaine]

for the ask game: i desperately need to see your spiderman davey au 🙏🙏🙏

OKAY YAY I AM ACTUALLY SO GLAD SOMEONE IS ASKING ABOUT THIS!!! I was struggling with it for a long while actually, but I basically started from scratch and asked my irl bestie for help and I like it so much better!

It involves "It's not unrequited, they're just idiots" and also "love triangle that is actually just two idiots and one of them has a secret identity" so im having a blast

“Hey boys, what’s new?” Davey lets out a sigh of relief. Then, his mouth twitches. “Jack owes me five bucks.” “She said what’s new,” Race interjects. “Kelly losing a bet ain’t news.” “Wasn’t a bet,” Davey laughs, and he can feel the tension melting off him. Right now, all he has to be is David Jacobs—high school senior and resident bookworm within his friend group. Jack throws an arm around him, so casually tactile in that way Davey only enjoys when it’s coming from him. His stomach is suddenly swooping and his face burns. He hopes no one notices. (Katherine does. As always.) “I’ll get you a new copy of The World and we’ll call it even, how about that?” High school senior, resident bookworm, and stupidly head over heels for Jack Kelly since the sixth grade. Katherine subtly raises her eyebrows at Davey, prompting him to blush even harder, if that were possible. Still, she doesn’t mention it. At least not with her words. The way she excitedly knocks her knee into Davey’s says enough. She’s always been great at having two conversations at once.  “That’s how much my dad’s charging to slander New York’s favorite superhero? You’re getting ripped off.” Davey finds himself instinctively leaning into Jack’s touch. “I like to stay informed,” he says defensively.  “You’re not being informed, you’re being brainwashed.”  “Much as I can’t stand Pulitzer, he may have a point.” While the rest of the group bursts out into protests, Davey snaps his head towards Jack, praying that he can’t feel the way his blood has just run cold beneath his touch. Back in April, Jack seemed pretty unswayed in either direction about Spider-Man. Has he spent the summer forming a stronger opinion? Katherine rolls her eyes. “Just because you work for my father doesn’t mean you have to agree with him.” “I ain’t just saying that,” Jack says seriously. “I mean, think about it. I beat on someone for ragging on Charlie and I could get sent to juvie or something. But this guy puts on a mask, does the same thing, and he’s a hero? Don’t make no sense.” “Feel like it’s a little more complex than that,” Charlie replies.  “Yeah,” Race agrees. “The guy’s got super-strength and shoots webs out of his ass or whatever.” “Wrists,” Davey corrects him, under his breath. “You have to admit, he’s got a real knack for this hero thing,” says Kath.  “He’s got a knack for slipping away from the cops. Everyone else who does that ends up in prison. Back me up here, Davey.” Davey, who has been remaining strategically silent, feels his stomach knot up as his friends turn their gazes to him. “Oh, I’d love to hear this,” Katherine says. “What do you think of our friendly neighborhood Spidey, Day?”

Davey swallows.  How the hell is he supposed to respond to that? What does Davey think of Spider-Man? He’s faced with that question every time he looks in the mirror.

[pocketramblr]

AU where Connor Kent mistakes Jon for another clone of Superman but since clones make Clark uncomfortable, the Young Justice... kinda kidnaps a child and is ready to raise him, please.

The Gang Kidnaps A Child!

It's been a while since I've watched yj the timeline will be even more of a mess

1- Conner is visiting Ma and Pa Kent for like, the second time ever, and Jon happens to be there. Conner was completely unaware of Jon's existence. He asks Ma who that is, and Ma says "oh that's your brother Jon, of course."

Conner, who knows how Clark feels about his clone, assumes Ma also knows how Clark feels about the clone. He doesn't even consider that she means Jon is Clark's son. She called him his brother, so he must be another clone- and there were so many others at CADMUS, so it makes sense.

2- Conner asks Ma where Jon stays. Ma, thinking about how Conner stays in a mountain hole, basically alone, purses her lips, but then moves on to say that Jon lives with Clark and Lois, though she does love when they visit, they should both do it more

Conner interprets that to mean that Clark is not happy or comfortable with Jon there, but has to, since he's too young to qualify to stay with YJ.

But that's not something that'd stop them!

3- Conner: hey M'gann can you hook up the mindlink real quick M'gann: sure Conner: hey team Kid Flash: yeah? What's this? Party in the base? Mission? Conner: There's another super clone Robin: where? Conner: about thirty feet in front of me, Smallville. He's younger. Unsure what powers. Robin: ... Aqualad: What do you suggest? Not hostile? Conner: not at all. But he's stuck living with Superman :/ probably would be happier here, but with CADMUS and the Light it can't be safe all the time. Robin: ... Aqualad: so we should consider other safe locations? Atlantis would be hospital, but I'm unsure that'd be the best for him. Kid Flash: what about our base? If you're cool with him moving in, I mean. Conner: ... I don't think I'd mind that much. Better than staying where he is. Robin: ... M'gann: great! We're in agreement. So should we tell Superman? Or Robin ask Batman? Could the Flash authorize the movement? Conner: I was thinking, just take him. Robin: GREAT IDEA UH PATROL NOW GOTTA GO M'GANN Kid Flash: isn't it like 4 pm in Gotham right now M'gann: focus, KF, we've got to get the base ready to raise a child in!

4- Robin is laughing so hard. But he's gonna encourage them to do it, and help sneak Jon in by covering the tech, cameras, zeta tubes, etc. And B is going to find this hilarious, even if he can't show it in the cowl.

5- Jon is totally happy to get an invitation to visit the YJ base with Superboy! His dad never takes him to any superhero stuff! He doesn't even notice Conner shoving their overnight bags into the base too, and extra snacks. The base is so cool, and most of the rest of the team zeta's in give him a tour, and his own guest room, and invite him for a sleepover! Conner says he texted Ma and got permission, so Jon rolls with it.

Ma did give permission. She did not mention that Clark and Lois were coming over to dinner before taking Jon home. (Just like she didn't mention Conner visiting later when Clark dropped Jon off.)

Clark gets there and is Concerned that he can't see Jon anywhere near them. Ma says he's fine, hanging out with Conner. Clark realizes he does in fact hear Jon's heartbeat in the base, but Lois stops him from flying off before dinner, since Jon must be having fun.

When Clark does finally get there, and announces he can take Jon home, Conner says the whole team is perfectly happy to let him stay. Jon is excited, and asks "can I stay, please, Dad?"

The whole team stiffens, very awkwardly. He's too young to know the difference between a son and a clone, and that hurts. Clark winces a moment after they do, but agrees, telling him to have fun, does he need anything from the farm first-

"Nope, I got all my stuff, and they gave me my own room to put it in!"

Clark realizes this was not the team throwing a surprise sleepover. This was the team trying a surprise adoption. They tried to surprise adopt his own kid!

"That's great. I'll see you tomorrow morning then!"

Then he goes off to call B, trying not to panic.

+1- B did, as Robin predicted, laugh when Robin told him about the plan and adding Jon to the zeta codes- "Superboy 2". He doesn't laugh when Clark calls him, but he's clearly amused, and smug. Now Clark has to face his opinions on his family, as B knew he would.

[missskzbiased]

The Things We Don’t Tell

Summary: You were sure your life was written and directed to fit a sketchy Rom-Com and nobody could convince you otherwise. First, your boss was too hot to be true, and burning with desire didn’t even begin to explain the tingling sensations he left on you. Second, your coworker (a.k.a. Ex-About-to-be-FWB) insisted in turning your life into a living hell, which wasn’t the exact kind of hotness you were into. And if having these two hot men around you every single day of your life wasn’t enough to prove it, maybe the threat of your slutty secret identity about to be busted would be… But you couldn’t let this happen.

WC: 7,5 K

Genre: Smut, Humor (?)

AUs: Office, Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Bang Chan  

(Not really a love triangle as Hyunjin is the Lead. However, Reader wants to Bang Chan)

Rebloggable Masterlist    //   Main Masterlist   //   Tag List

Warnings: Language, Thigh riding, Public space (Office), Exhibitionism, Possessiveness, Pet Name (Baby girl), Sir Kink  

[If I forgot anything, please let me know! I’m kinda sleepy right now]

Notes: There will be at least one more chapter but I won’t do a tag list post for now, only if someone wants it, cuz I’m too lazy to think about doing it right now. This fic is an attempt to experiment with some writing style things that I’ve been wanting to try. I don’t think it worked, tho SUHAHUSAUHSUHA But that’s life

- I’ll quite possibly change the title in the future-

                                                            ///

  You are a superhero.

    Okay! To be honest, you may be exaggerating a little bit ─ a tiny harmless little bit ─ but that was how you felt every single day of your life, alright? You had this glorious and mysterious side of yours that you hid from everyone else in the world… That mask that you couldn’t let come to the ground and would fight for dear life to protect… That side to your persona that no one was allowed to meet… The fierce, bold, and dark aspects of your soul that—

    “Y/N! I want those papers on my table!”

    “Yes, sir!” You shrieked in an embarrassing (not even slightly bold) way.

    — That you couldn’t show at your work.

    Yeah… So maybe no one actually thought of you as a superhero, but you really believed someone should start to. Was there something that different between your life and those low-budget TV shows people seem to enjoy so much? You didn’t think so.

  To be fair, sometimes you felt like someone wrote a questionable script and poorly directed your life to fit you as the leading lady of a sketchy rom-com. As if they just focused on checking out every point on a bullet list made up with rules for a successful superhero office drama that wasn’t even that good…

    … And speaking of which…

    Rule Number One: The stern (maybe kinda attractive) boss!

    If you had to define Bang Chan with a couple of adjectives, you would choose undeniably beautiful ─ extremely professional of you because the right words to describe him were fucking hot ─ and committed. Fortunately, it wasn’t an “I have someone waiting for me at home and a bunch of kids I must put to sleep” kind of commitment, which would destroy your hopes of having this man one day. Unfortunately, it was an “I’m better than the header and gonna run this company by tomorrow night” kind of commitment, which destroys your hopes of a peaceful day at work.

    Now, it’s not like you don’t want to do your job! It’s just that you didn’t sign up to be Bang Chan’s perfect little toy ─ definitely not the better words to describe it ─ and you didn’t expect to be joined by the hips ─ really? ─ with him or any of your coworkers. The thing is that Bang Chan wants to be on top ─ someone has to stop you ─ and he believes the only way to get there is to work as a team and be as perfect as one can be. In other words, Bang Chan wants absolutely everything and everyone to be neat, tight, and ready to be used ─ again… Not the better way to put your thoughts into words ─, but this just wasn’t who you were.  

    It also wasn’t the point right now.

    The point right now should be the fact that Bang Chan was striding to his office looking like he owned the whole damn place… If this was a movie, the camera would be focusing on his expensive, black leather shoes before scanning all the way up to his waist in slow motion. The scene would zoom in on his fine ass only to go a little bit up and catch the shiny, black belt wrapping around his figure. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, but you had a hell of a productive mind… You could think of a few things you shouldn’t really be thinking about right now.

    Bang Chan didn’t seem to understand he was at work either.

    He rolled his sleeve up in a sexy motion that should be illegal. It isn’t. You can tell by the way there are no cops bursting inside the building and arresting this gorgeous son of a bitch.

    The lack of any authorities to stop this atrocious moment had you lowering your gaze to your desk ─ a vain attempt to ignore the way his forearms flexed as he gestured and ordered people around. If you were a little bit less professional, you would have some ideas of how he could do it in bed. With you. But you weren’t some kind of creepy perv who would be fantasizing about riding your own boss from dusk till dawn.

    Not at all.

    “Do you need me, Sir?” His secretary asks politely.

  A question that you would love to ask him too… In a totally and strictly professional way, of course.

    Rule Number Two: The (extremely unnecessary) nemesis!

    The shiver running down your spine could mean only one thing: Hwang Hyunjin ─ your obnoxious coworker ─ was standing right behind you, just like a bloody damn ghost. There was no need to turn around. You knew he had his mocking eyes glued on Bang Chan’s figure, and you could feel the air shifting as he tilted his head in a silent sneer before leaning on your desk.

    You refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence; painfully aware that he would flash a wide grin while looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. You wouldn’t give him the taste of seeing in your face that he was right; that you were staring at your boss as if you were a starving vulture. So you did the only thing you could do in this situation: You started to work. The sheets scattered over your desk wouldn’t walk by themselves to Bang Chan’s room, right?

    And neither would you if it depended on Hyunjin.

    The attempts to swipe the papers in your direction and gather everything you needed ─ to finally get rid of Hyunjin ─ proved to be vain as his hand took root on the desk. You pursed your lips in annoyance while glancing at his prominent knuckles and slender fingers; wondering if he would be so collected if he knew you wanted to crunch them. Probably not. But he gets off so fucking much on upsetting you that he might just want to take the risk anyway.

    “What do you want, asshole?” You hissed; stopping your motions before turning around to stare blankly at him.

    The face of an angel was the most accurate way to describe the sight in front of you. Plump, pink lips molded into a sweet smile and dark brown eyes morphed into cute crescents. None of those features fit his true self, though. Underneath the angelic façade, there was a demon called Hwang Hyunjin ─ who was resting his free hand on your shoulder for no reason besides driving you crazy.

    It would be easier if he was just a pretty face, but Hyunjin had a good body too. The guy looked just like a model ─ slim, tall, and classy ─, and even though only his collarbones peeked out from down his shirt, you knew that there was much more than the eyes could see.

    Well, you never saw it, but you had felt it.

    As far as you could remember, each curve on Hyunjin’s abs was craft by God himself. The way his chest was built for you to caress would be forever craved on your mind. You might never forget how soft his lips were in contrast to his lap… How his thighs flexed just right when you pulled his hair… How reactive he was… How his moans sounded… And how he put everything to waste.

    “Oh, nothing” He shrugged. As usual, his voice was just like sweet, hot honey; still, you could wipe the poison dripping down his chin, “I was just wondering if you had enough time to do your job while fucking your boss inside your head” He clarified sarcastically, cracking you a smile.

    Sometimes you regretted not putting his mouth to good use… He really needed to learn how to shut up for a while and stop being so… Unbearable. The silence he met had him scoffing; body leaning even closer to the point his face was practically hovering over yours ─ smugness plastered all over it. You held his gaze to confront him; breathe mingling with his in a heated mix that matched the anger under your eyes.

    Was he licking his lips as he stared at yours? Oh boy… He definitely wanted to get laid. It was your time to scoff as the frown on your lips turned into a smirk; eyes twinkling mischievously as you looked into his in a silent teasing. As if sensing that he was in trouble, Hyunjin tilted his head to look even more obnoxious than he was; face coming closer to yours to defy your newfound confidence.

     “You know what? If you stared at him any longer, I think his balls might have fallen off…” He whispered in a tone loud enough for just you to hear “Unless he saw the way you were looking at him… Then I guess his dick would go straight up” He assured you with a ‘friendly’ pat on your shoulder as he finally let go of your papers and straightened his back.

    “Are you saying it from experience?” You sneered; grimacing at him.

    “Are you telling me that you want me to fuck you too?” He retorted gibingly; not even thinking twice about it.

    “No” You tilted your head, trying to stay composed, “I’m reminding you that you couldn’t even kiss me without getting a boner… Just like a teenage boy” He arched a brow at your statement; pursing his lips as he hummed in wonder “I’m surprised you never came in your pants like the pathetic thing you are” He laughed; poking his cheek with his tongue before squeezing your shoulder in a silent warning.

    “I must have been quite a sight if you can remember it so vividly” You pretended not to notice the way he sniggered, pushing away the urge to punch his face.

  Nemesis was just a classy way to call him a pain in the ass.

  Rule Number Three: The (plain and uninteresting) secret identity!

  It would be impossible to miss the moment Hyunjin’s devilish smirk morphed into a bright, friendly smile. The snarky comment on the tip of your tongue was swallowed back in a bit; grimace dissolving into a wide grin as if you weren’t about to throw your fists at him. He giggled as his arms spread open before snaking around your body to pull you into a tight hug; holding you close and rocking your body side to side as a soft huff fell from your lips.

    If you didn’t know any better, your knee would be buried between his legs.

  “Way to go, Y/N!” He chirped, loosening his grip to take a better look at your face; eyes smiling as if the both of you were the bestest of friends in the entire world, “You’re awesome! I’m so proud… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as my teammate” He pursed his lips; dimples showing as he offered you nothing but affection in his gaze.

    You did know better, though, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was standing behind your back as you opened your mouth to answer him: “There’s no one I’d rather be with!” You reassured Hyunjin in a sweet, mirthful tone; tilting your head to return the fondness in his look in an act worthy of an Oscar “We’re a team, you know? You can’t get rid of me so easily” He laughed wholeheartedly at that; ruffling your hair before leaning closer to you again, resuming the hug.

    “We’ll see about that” He whispered in your ear, making you scoff.

    “What are you gonna do? Cry to Daddy so you won’t work with me anymore?” You hissed back; breaking away from his hug with a tight grin before turning around to meet Chan’s gaze.

    The surprise plastered over your face was millimetrically calculated; just like the way you pretended to be flustered as you stared into your boss’ eyes to see the pride shining on them. You brought the papers closer to your chest in what was meant to be an innocent, coy way ─ a technique mastered over the months you worked for him ─, and Chan seemed to fall for it as he giggled in delight. The poor guy had no clue all of this was as fake as your camaraderie towards Hyunjin, and he wasn’t about to discover it anytime soon if it depended on you.

    Luckily, it did! You had taken some acting classes; just enough for your next words to be naturally convincing: “I’m so sorry, Sir! We’re just so happy that –” The words were deliberately drawled to give him enough time to interrupt you. Just like you knew he would. And it was a good thing that he did because you had no idea of how you were supposed to finish that sentence anyway.

    You were a good actress, not a professional improviser.

    “Don’t mention it” He cut you off giggly; detaching himself from the doorframe he leaned on as he watched the friendly scene taking place.

    The amount of cuteness this man could deliver in his smile wasn’t fair, and it didn’t match the sensuality a simple gesture of his overflowed with, enchanting you. You gulped down as he gave both of you a silent order to follow him into his room, wondering if the duality he had in the office was remotely similar to what he could do in bed ─ a thought that shouldn’t be having a place in your mind right now.

    Hyunjin seemed to pick up on it pretty quickly too, and as soon as Chan turned around to head to his office, he bumped his shoulder onto yours. The obnoxious action was followed by your elbow diving into his ribs; a retaliation that took you less than a second and, luckily, Chan ─ or any of your coworkers ─ didn’t seem to notice. Neither of you gave away your silent quarrel as Hyunjin closed the door behind him, smiling at you when Chan finally took his seat.

     “It’s good to see that you guys have such chemistry” He confessed, and you had to suppress a scoff when you looked into his eyes. He had no idea… The chemistry between you two was enough to make you want to blow each other, “You know what I always say, right?” He boasted on a sing-song; much more at ease than he seemed to be earlier.

    You weren’t about to put that on the line, though.

    “You can’t have teamwork if you don’t have a team!” You warbled in unison.

    “That’s the spirit!” Chan gurgled, heading to his desk in a visibly good mood.

    What was going on? He wouldn’t be so happy just because you and Hyunjin were being friendly… Were you missing something? He didn’t seem in such a peaceful state of mind when he came in… It had to be something that happened after that. Perhaps he got some good news from his secretary? Or maybe… You narrowed your eyes as you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s hands fidgeting in front of him; his foot tapping the ground rapidly but quietly before moving slightly to step on your toe.

     Or maybe Hyunjin had something to do with it…

    “As I said in the email, Sir, I happened to hear some stuff around and… KQ managed to get an exclusive with Han Jisung” The sentence sounded just like a normal introduction to a report, but you knew it wasn’t. Hyunjin’s eyes darted to meet yours, glinting with anxiety and despair. He was informing you of what was going on, not Chan, “And as we all know, Jisung is a rising producer star, which is bound to raise their sales and might get in the way of ours…” He continued, swallowing dryly and widening his eyes ever so slightly.

    He was definitely trying to warn you of something.

    “Yes, I read the e-mail, Hyunjin” Chan agreed sternly; smile disappearing as his fingers intertwined to serve as a support for his chin. He looked classy and incredibly sexy, but your mind couldn’t afford to focus on it right now. You had to figure out what the hell Hyunjin suggested to Chan before blowing everything up, “You also said that Y/N might have the solution for this…” Oh, so that was it, you thought when Chan arched his brow; eyes connecting to yours.

    And now what?

    “So?” He encouraged you, detaching his chin from his hands so he could rest them on his desk “I’m waiting” He smiled gently; a closed-mouth smile that was supposed to calm your nerves, even though you could see how tumultuous his gaze was right now.

    It was practically a silent threat.

    In a normal situation, the predatory way he was looking at you ─ resembling a wolf when you were nothing but a sheep under his radar ─ would get you… Thinking.

    Your job wouldn’t be at stake in a normal situation, though.

    The pressure on your toes increased; the subtle way Hyunjin found to snap you out of your mind, despite your silence hanging in there for just a few seconds. It was obvious that he was freaking out just as much as you were, and you couldn’t help but blame him for this. Couldn’t he have told you about it earlier? What the hell was going on inside his mind?! Instead of taunting you about wanting to fuck Bang Chan, he should have warned you about that shit!

    That’s not the time for this, Y/N.

    The muscles on your face tensed as you tried to not give away everything going through your mind; lips twisting in a tight smile as you looked at Hyunjin: “Yeah, he was right” You answered calmly, even though your stomach was settled on becoming an Olympic athlete right now, “As I was telling him before coming here, Sir, I have someone in mind…” The relief washed over Hyunjin’s face; a genuine smile adorning his features as he withheld a sigh, “I happen to know I.N, and I think I can get us an exclusive” You confessed, shifting your gaze from Hyunjin to Chan.

    “The writer?” He blurted out, astonishment plastered all over his face.

    “Yeah… They’re a friend of mine…” You trailed off, embarrassed to say it out loud “They’re in the top trending now since their novel will become a drama and…” You cleared your throat, lowering your head to avoid his gaze. There was just so much of acting you could handle for a day, “I mean- It’s… Adult stuff, right? But they never—”

    “I know! That’s perfect!” He beamed, getting up from his chair to walk your way “They’ve never been seen! Nobody knows anything about them, Y/N” He laughed ─ he genuinely laughed ─ while clasping his hands together “Han Jisung is good, but I.N is better! This is hot news… FrontPage… How come you never told me about that?” He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder “Rest assured that when I get my promotion, I’m gonna have you right here in this room” He promised you in such a serious tone that a shiver ran down your spine.

    Rule Number Four: The (kinda horny) true self!

    There was not a single soul in the office as you made your way down the hall; eyes focused on the mesmerizing view outside. The sky was colored in purple shades, so deep that you would have mistaken them for black if it weren’t for the dazzling, sleepless city and its dozens of skyscrapers lighting everything up. Not even the full moon would be able to compete with such a beautiful brilliance, but it wouldn’t be necessary either as your gaze was abruptly torn away from the night.

    The darkness surrounding you didn’t allow your brain to connect the dots immediately, and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened when you bumped into something. The surface was much softer than a wall, yet firm enough to have you wincing for the impact; eyes snapping to meet the unlucky bastard that stayed until so late. The moonlight kissed his skin just enough for you to recognize the sharp features of your boss; clenched jaw revealing popping veins that distracted you for a fraction of a second.

     Your eyes trailed the path from his jaw to his neck, and you couldn’t help but wonder how it tasted like; if you could savor it like the sins you wanted to commit with him. The closeness didn’t work in your favor, and the hint of his scent intoxicated your senses as you connected your gazes. Something must have given you off ─ maybe your hesitation, maybe the lust glinting in your eyes ─ because the next second, Cristopher had his hand placed on your lower back.

   The warm sensation grew to a burning feeling as his eyes darkened while diving into yours; his stern, cold gaze contrasting to the feeling of his touch and sending a shiver down your spine. Could he have noticed the way your legs trembled as his grip tightened around you? The look on his face was indecipherable, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel too exposed and vulnerable to keep looking for an answer, so you averted your eyes away from him.

    “Weren’t you supposed to come as soon as you got his answer?” The way his voice made its way to your senses had the embarrassment washing over you. The huskiness in his tone made you gulp down ─ throat dry from thirsting over him ─ and the calmness in his sentence alarmed you as it didn’t match the disapproval in his eyes “It’s so late that there is no one else here anymore” He added nonchalantly; mixed signals getting you confused to what he meant by it.

    Was it just a way to scold you or was it an invitation?

    “I’m sorry, Sir” Despite not having anyone around, you whispered the words as if you could be caught at any moment now, “It took me longer than expected, but we—”

    “We?” His eyes were sharp enough to cut you off but the real reason why you couldn’t manage to finish your thoughts was the way he pulled your body impossibly closer to his “Were you with him this whole time?” He hissed right into your ear, letting his hot breath fan over your cold, sensitive skin in a silent threat.

    “Working” You corrected, even though he didn’t say anything.

    “Working” He hummed in agreement; hand going to tuck your hair behind your ear “As in how we work late at night?” He sneered, manhandling you to press your back against the cold surface of the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the place “Or is it as in how he wants to work you on his desk?” He scoffed; soft huff almost as degrading as the way he held your cheeks with one hand and guided your eyes to his.

    “Neither” You guaranteed breathlessly; voice quivering in excitement.

    “Are you going to pretend that you didn’t notice his looks?” He narrowed his eyes at you; his knee making its way to the gap between yours before slowly rising to your thighs, “That you don’t know how much he wants to fuck you?” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “You better not, ‘cause I know you love it” He warned as he kicked your legs apart.

    “He could never fuck me as you do” There was such seriousness in your tone that it had him chuckling, and he nodded in approval before burying his nose in your neck, “I-I’m yours only, Sir… I know my place” You promised quietly, trying not to give away how aroused his jealousy made you feel.

    “Yeah…” His raspy laughter tickled your skin, and you muffled a whine as he grazed his teeth over your neck teasingly “But you like being reminded of it, don’t you?” He taunted, taking in your scent in a way that made you feel too small and helpless. He groaned as soon as you let a whimper fall from your lips, and you couldn’t help but struggle to stay still while knowing what was about to come, “Do I have to spell it for you, baby girl?” He snickered before sucking on the tender spot of your skin that he knew too well at this point.

    “N-No” Somewhere inside your head, you acknowledged that your reaction was insanely humiliating. He just needed a couple of words spoken in a sultry tone and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence. That was the power he had on you. And you loved it. “Only yours” The rushed tone made him smirk against your neck, stopping his path of kisses for a second to look into your eyes “Sir” You panted; returning his gaze with just as much intensity as he had on his.

    “Claim your place” His order was so tantalizing that you didn’t even blink before you finally let your knees give away, losing the support of your legs to earn the support of his thigh, “That’s right… You do remember your place” Somehow, this sounded like the best praise he could ever offer you, even under his amused tone, “But you have been such a bad girl lately…” He pouted as he caressed your cheek; hand stopping to grab your chin gently “And I don’t like bad girls… You know that, right?” He let his thumb reach for your lower lip, fiercely staring at it before grazing his finger on your teeth.

    Your answer was as silent as his request; tongue welcoming his thumb before you sucked on his digit. He hummed in appreciation, pushing it inside your mouth as you looked at him with big doe eyes to show a coyness that wasn’t really there within you. The action was followed by a swirl around the tip of his finger; as if to leave in his mouth the taste of what he was missing and prompt him to give you what you really wanted: Him.

    If he picked up on your plans, he showed it by giving like for like.

   He didn’t say a word as he pressed his thigh against your heat; leaning closer to let his breath fan over your neck once more. He stood like that for what could have been seconds, maybe minutes, but nonetheless time enough for his warmth to creep into your senses. He was like a poison to you; the intoxicating presence clouding your better judgment and destroying any will you had to have him losing control. You didn’t even mind the way he scoffed as you started to grind his leg; brows twisting to shout out a needy plea for release.

    “That’s a good girl” He approved, catching your earlobe between his teeth. The moan that fell from your lips was muffled by his finger and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, “I don’t hear you, baby girl” He complained, moving on to your jaw with a path of open-mouthed kisses that weren’t enough to distract you from his other hand “There’s no one here… Be loud for me” He allured you as his hand found its way under your shirt.

      The temptation was great… Scream his name as he fucked you senseless in the office... No risk of being caught… Just you, and him, and your dirty little secret…

    Your thoughts were all around the place, and you had no hopes of grasping them back as his cold hand brushed your side, contrasting to the warmth under your clothes. The way he touched you made shivers run down your spine; his slow, delicate motion enhancing your senses to every single second of his caresses. You held your breath when his finger finally managed to reach its destination; grazing over your nipple to have you succumbing to his wishes.

    You fought it as you could, but you were never much of a fighter.

    It was too easy for him to have you under his control, and he knew it. You could tell it by the way he chuckled as soon as you gave away how lost you were at this point. The moan that left your lips came all the way up from your chest, sounding crystal clear in the room as you let your mouth fall agape. Sucking on his finger and following his orders were the last concern you would have for this moment. The only thing worthy of your attention right now was the fact that you couldn’t get as much friction as you needed, and you had to do something about it.

    So you grind on his leg for dear life.

    “You’re so needy” The mockery didn’t have much effect on your mind anymore, so you just kept sliding up and down his thigh as if that was the only thing that could keep you going “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” He huffed in disbelief; thumb leaving your mouth so he could cup your face “That’s all you can understand, right?” He taunted, pinching your nipple to get your attention again, “Are you still there, baby girl?” He leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

      “F-Fuck me” Was the only answer he would get.

      “Manners” He warned; licking the sweet spot next to your jaw.

      “Fuck me, Sir” You corrected yourself; wrapping your arms around his shoulders to look for some support as you practically bounced on his leg, “Please, fuck me, Sir” You repeated, forehead resting on the crook of his neck as you clawed his back, trying to bring him as close as possible to you.

      “Louder” He demanded, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know that he was grinning, “Louder…” He instructed in a tone so low that you could barely hear him over the rustling sounds of fabric against fabric. Your breath hitched as his hand gently caressed your hair; moving some strands away from your face to take a better look at you. However, he didn’t get to see your teary eyes, “Come on, baby… Look at me” He asked in a tantalizing tone, alluring you to try and meet his gaze.

    There wasn’t much you could see through your hooded eyes; vision too blurry for you to grasp what was going on inside his mind. You could tell he enjoyed it, though. He always did. That moment when he could pinpoint you had given up on your control, that you weren’t yourself anymore and would be willing to do whatever he asked… He lived for it, for that rebellious flame of self-control extinguishing from your eyes.

     For who you become when lust overcomes you.        

    The grip on his hair wasn’t unexpected, and Cristopher offered you a small, wicked smile before you connected your lips. The kiss was messy and hurried; tongues exploring every corner they could find while your hands were occupied on getting rid of your clothes. Neither of you cared about anything else but feeling each other’s bodies as you ripped your shirts. The cold breeze hitting your bare skin wasn’t enough to cool down the heat consuming you, but it was enough to have you squirming and whining.

      “Beautiful” Was the only thing he said before pushing your back against the glass and adjusting his grip to take your nipple between his teeth. The groan that escaped your lips was almost animalistic, prompting him to answer with a grunt of his own as he sucked on your skin. The vibrations ran from your flesh to your core, enticing another moan that seemed to fall into deaf ears, “Louder, baby… I want him to hear you…” He pleaded, letting go of your breast just to grope it and give you a kitten lick on the next second “To know who made you like this…” He added before sucking on it again.

    Perhaps it was the fact that he thrust on you, just to tease your senses and make you thirstier. Perhaps it was the fact you had to support yourself on just one leg as he pushed his hips against yours and you tried to seek for your balance by involving his leg with yours. Perhaps it was his hand sliding to meet your clothed core; finger pressing against your clit to add a delicious, needed stimulus for your orgasm.

    Perhaps it was the words that slipped through his lips.

    “W-What did you say?” You panted; hips faltering as you tried to keep riding him, but steading their pace as his finger circled your clit to goad you “M-Mhm… S-Sir” You cried; hand burying in his hair to pull it and translate the utter bliss waving down your body. The string of mewls and urgent pleas spilled from you like a chant, getting him more eager than before, “P-Please” You whined, even though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

      “Hold it” He ordered; straightening his back to look right into your eyes, but failing as yours rolled back to your head. His hand made its way to squeeze your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with a soft shake to catch your attention “Look at me” It sounded like a warning; stern enough for you to try your best to focus on him, “You’ll only cum when he walks right through that door… Do you understand?” He searched for any signs of stubbornness in your eyes, but his smile showed he didn’t found any.

    “W-Who?” You managed to ask; body trembling as you tried to hold every single string inside your mind in place, even though each one of them was ready to snap and unravel the crashing pleasure that was building up.

    “Why does it matter?” He scoffed, quickening his pace as the unmistakable ring of the elevator sounded on the room “You love being seen, don’t you?” He chuckled, watching as your body shook violently and your knees started to give away to the sensations running down your body.

      “Y-Yes, Sir” You could bet your voice echoed inside the building, and Christopher seemed to agree with you as he grinned in approval.

    “So look at your guest, baby… And scream my name” He instructed, pushing your face to the side. The doors opened slowly, revealing the lights inside the small cubicle right in front of your eyes “Let him know who you belong to” He whispered in your ear; hand pushing your underwear aside so his finger could come in contact with your core.

    The mysterious figure detached from the corners of the metallic walls to finally reveal himself. You met his eyes for a half of a second; enough time for you to recognize the one who worked with you every single day of your life. For the past few years. Someone who would be your partner for years to come, and who would witness and engrave your face in your most vulnerable moment.

    You came hard; probably the most overwhelming orgasm you had ever had in your life. It was impossible to hold back your voice, and you couldn’t help but howl his name; legs shaking and body collapsing into your boss’ arms. You squirmed and whimpered as you tried to recompose yourself; letting him help you ride you out of your orgasm and occupying yourself by staring into your coworker’s shocked eyes.

    “Thank you, Sir…” You breathed out, gripping his arms for dear life while the shame sank into your soul.

    Rule Number Five: The (grateful and satisfied) fans!

    And… Post.

    Oh, well… You did it. Again. There was something about displaying your deepest fantasies for anyone to see that was kinda thrilling to you. Your heart raced inside your chest just like a drum ─ well, if a goddamn drummer decided to do a solo but was too offbeat, to begin with ─ and you couldn’t help but stare blankly at the page without a clue of what to do now. It was out there… Why didn’t anyone say anything yet? Was it that bad? Should you delete it?

    Well… People have to read it before commenting, you know?

    Yeah, right… You just posted it.

    Chill.

    You licked your lips before biting them; feeling the rush that was posting about your boss online when no one else knew about it. If you were being honest, the best part of this wasn’t having the chance to live your fantasies throughout your writing. No. The best part was knowing that only you knew the true identity of Christopher… Or what you really wanted to do to him while he walked down the hallway. The best part was that no one would ever figure out that you were the author of the bestselling novel of the moment… That this steamy romance between boss and employee was nothing but your rawest desire.

     Who would think that the boring, shy girl from the office would be a smut writer? Who would think that you would have a horny, interesting secret identity? No one else but you.

      And this was priceless.

     Or maybe… It was priceless.

    As far as you knew, every single thing you cherished about being a secretive horny bitch could go down the drain tomorrow. It would be all fine if it was just a… Well, actually everything would suck. How would you look at Chan’s face if he knew you were writing about having sex with your boss while he was your boss? What would you do if they decided to fire you because of it? What would you do with your life from now on?!

     Don’t panic, Y/N.

    You had everything under control… Tomorrow morning you would be going to Jeongin’s house and interview him as if he were you. No one would ever suspect you after that. You would save your ass, Hyunjin’s ass, and Chan’s ass. And that was it. The perfect plan. Nothing to worry about. Just trust Jeongin to follow your script and make sure everything would go as planned.

    Flawless. Totally safe. Perfect.

    That’s right…

    You just need to take a deep breath and rela—

    The sudden sound caught you off guard; eyes focusing on the screen once again so you could understand what was going on. All of your worries vanished away as soon as you saw the notification on the top of it; announcing that you had just got a message from a fan.

     Finally!    

    The weasel icon was so familiar that you chuckled while opening the message; a smile plastering over your face as you let your eyes wander around the words. There was nothing more fulfilling to your writer ass than seeing the way Weasel always had something to say about your story. Sometimes, he’d give you some feedback on your style. Other times, he’d freak out about how much he wanted to “try those things out”, as he usually said. There were also times when he’d just get excited over the characters and their conflicts, which always got you laughing.

    It was fun to talk to Weasel.

    He was just as mysterious as you… There was no name to his face, and also no face to his icon, but both of you were friends anyway. He had been keeping up with your stuff from such an early stage that it felt natural to have him around and getting his feedback. It was so comfortable, that you didn’t even mind when he slid in your DMs, embarrassed to let anyone else know that your smut made him… Feel things. There was no need to elaborate on what he did about those feelings or those things. But it was kinda hot to know he enjoyed himself throughout your fantasies.

      His fantasies.

    Well… For the number of times that you used them to write your stories, it was some sort of shared fantasies by now. As a matter of fact, you never intended to make Christopher a jealous character but Weasel made the idea seem too hot for you to ignore. Sometimes, he’d open up about that girl from his work that he really liked and how jealous he was of the guy she liked and then… Well, it felt… Interesting.

    The thought of being desirable to the point a guy would want to claim you as his like this? Not that Weasel did it. He actually just mentioned that he hoped she was into this as a kink. You couldn’t help but picture the way he would touch her in such a greedy way… The possessiveness blinding him for a second… The grip tightening… The mean words and the humiliation… Oh, the sweet humiliation that would crush you as he whispered how much you would cum for him… How he was the only one who could make you like that… How he would ask you to say his name… To tell him that you were his…

    You could drink holy water and still be shaking just by picturing it.

    “That was such a good chapter… I didn’t expect you to use her friend like that. I thought it was a given that she’d end up with Chris” You read out loud, chuckling when he reached for your DMs to talk to you “Will we get a threesome or something, miss? 😏” He joked on the next line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at this “I’m waiting for it”

    “You’re just a horny bitch, aren’t you?” You typed, smirking as you stared at his messages “No spoilers for you, though, baby boy… You’ll have to wait like everybody else” Teasing him was always funny, and he never failed to amuse you.

      “I’m not the one writing porn online” He pointed out, and before he could write anything else you shot him.

    “Yeah but you’re the one getting off to it” You retorted, getting a whole set of gasping and shocked emotes that had you laughing.

    “I have no words to express how offended I am” You chortled, shaking your head in disbelief.

     “Alright, Drama Llama” Why was it so fun to mock him? You wished you could actually meet him offline and banter like this in real life “To fill your horny ass, I might write a dom!reader next time… I was thinking about torturing the 2nd lead a bit”

    “First of all… I don’t think I want my ass filled, thank you for offering tho” Why was he like this? “And I was just joking” You frowned at that, confused by what he meant “Don’t you think that a threesome doesn’t go along with the characters? Her friend likes her a lot and Christopher is just a kinky son of a bitch… I thought he’d just show him that she was his and be an ass as usual”

    “What do you have against Chris, dude?” You rolled your eyes, although he wouldn’t be able to see it, “He’s way better than her friend! At least, he does something about her”

    “I have the 2nd male lead syndrome! You know that!” You chortled, very aware of this, “And isn’t that the perfect opportunity for him to do something about it?! I mean… I don’t want to be nosey but having a threesome is way out of character for them” He pointed out, and you had to admit he was right.

    “No, you’re not nosey…” You sighed; shoulders dropping for a second “It’s just that I’m upset about something that happened at work today and you know that projecting my problems on those characters is my thing” You pursed your lips, staring at the keyboard for a few seconds before deciding to continue “Besides, I’m about to spend an entire day with a guy that kinda inspired the 2nd lead and… I don’t really want to think about a sex scene with him, you know?” You confessed.

    “But thinking about torturing and having a threesome with him is easy” He mocked you.

      “That’s because that threesome would never happen” You sent it before you could think about what you had just written.

    “Ooohhhh!” Holy shit… The amount of emotes he had just dumped on that chat couldn’t be a good sign, “So having sex with this guy is something you want?! And that could happen?! ” Great, now you would have a Drama Llama-Weasel trying to get some juicy gossip about your inexistent sex life… WORSE! Your sex life with your nemesis! “Why don’t you go for it? I’m sure he’s into you if he’s anything like his character” Poor thing… He had no idea.

    “Shut up, it’s not like that” You brushed it off.

    “If you say so” You could almost hear him snickering, even though you didn’t know how his voice sounded like “I’ll just have you regretting this for the rest of the night” You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief. He was unbearable! “I have work early tomorrow but I’m gonna come back with questions, Miss… Wait for me”

    “What I meant is that it’d be easier to happen than having a threesome, not that I want it to happen, moron” You defended yourself but he didn’t even get to read it as he logged off right away.

      Great… He would never let you live it down.

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[amethystarachnid]

Hi! Its me again I had another found family troupe in mind if your up for it! I wanted to ask before the Christmas prompts started.

So this time I was thinking Deadpool x Teen!Male!Reader where reader is on top of a building, how he got there is up to you, but he's abt to make a bad decision (if ykw I mean) when dead pool finds him and starts to talk, and basically they end up making a deal, if wade can make the reader see how good life is then he won't do it, but if he fails the reader can go back, and basically its is a bunch of fun stupid shit for the rest and the reader becomes apart of the little odd family created in dead pool 3 (including logan) and decides to stick around. So heavy angst that's solved in a nice fluff, and if your not comfortable with the first part you can change the angst to a different scenario you totally can, and the how and why is up to you.

Readers personality is a sarcastic, cold teen, but he's caring and weird around ppl he's close to, he hides his emotions to keep himself safe

If you can do this I would be so so grateful, if not its totally understandable, I love your work sm its hard not to request things, keep up the amazing writing! Have a good day/night!

OPERATION MAKE YOU NOT HATE THE UNIVERSE

⤷ WADE WILSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Wade Wilson x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, angst, tiny bit of fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): This story deals with sensitive themes, including mental health struggles and suicide

ᯓ★ I'm happy that you like my works and don't worry, you can make as may requests as you want, I'm so happy when people make requests! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The city sprawls below, twinkling and vast, but strangely quiet from this height. You sit on the edge of a skyscraper, your legs dangling into the nothingness, with only the hum of distant cars and neon lights bleeding through the foggy air.

You take a deep breath, the cold biting into your lungs. It makes sense, somehow, for this place to be the last thing you’d see. Who knows how long you’ve been sitting here, trying to drum up the courage or the anger or whatever it’s going to take to finally just let go. But the emptiness is louder than any fear. The world feels like it’s swallowed you whole, and this—you dangling on the edge—feels like the only time you’ve ever been able to look it in the face.

“You know, most people pick roller coasters or a fifth of tequila if they wanna feel a thrill.”

You flinch. Not from surprise—well, okay, a little from surprise—but more from sheer irritation. This is the moment someone decides to intrude? You glance over your shoulder and see him. He’s wearing red and black, looking like a deranged SWAT team dropout, leaning casually against the roof access door, arms crossed like he’s watching a really boring episode of a soap opera.

“And here I thought I had the whole roof to myself,” you say dryly, hiding your unease. “Guess we’re all just having a rooftop party.”

“Lucky for you, kiddo, I’m the life of the party. Deadpool, at your service,” he says with a bow. “But hey, what’s a young guy like you doing up here all alone? Besides reenacting all the worst Lifetime movies?”

You snort, because it’s exactly that bad. “Oh, just figured I’d enjoy the view,” you reply, deadpan. “And maybe gravity. Seems like a good combo.”

“Right, right, makes sense,” he nods, as if he’s in on some cosmic joke only you get. He crouches down, edging a little closer. “Let me guess. Someone pissed you off, the world sucks, you hate your life, blah blah blah, and now you’re about to end it all. Am I close?”

You don’t answer, just roll your eyes and stare back out at the city. But something in the fact that he said it—that he got it so easily—makes you feel strange. Seen.

“Oh, man, nailed it!” Deadpool cheers, like this is some sort of accomplishment. “See, I’m like a therapist, but with 90% more leather and 100% more explosions. And, I make house calls. You’re welcome.”

“Yeah? Where’s the PhD?” You give him a sidelong look, unimpressed. “Bet it’s in the mail.”

He gasps theatrically. “Excuse me, my online course was very thorough, thank you. You’re looking at a fully certified therapist-slash-savior-slash-pizza connoisseur.” He steps even closer, as if he’s trying to get a read on you. “So, what’s it gonna take for you to, I dunno…step back from the edge, champ?”

The question catches you off guard, but you school your expression back into that empty, unreadable mask. “Nothing,” you say. “Don’t need saving.”

“Aw, sure you do. Everybody does,” Deadpool replies, with a smile that’s a little too wide. He’s still in that crouch, head tilted like he’s studying a lab rat. “C’mon, take me up on my deal.”

“I didn’t agree to any deal,” you mutter.

“Well, that’s about to change, Mr. Antisocial.” Deadpool leans in, his voice a dramatic whisper. “I’ll make you a bet. If I can’t show you something worth sticking around for, something that doesn’t totally suck, you win. But if I can—and oh, I will—then you gotta promise not to do anything stupid up here. No ‘jumping’ and no ‘leaping gracefully off into the night’—not on my watch. Deal?”

You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. But then, you’re not sure this guy even knows what serious means. A smirk slips onto your face, mostly from disbelief. “And if you fail, I get to come back here and do what I want.”

Deadpool slaps his hands together, eyes lighting up like he’s just scored a jackpot. “Deal! Signed, sealed, and delivered. What’s your name, by the way? So I know what to call you when I start ‘Operation Make You Not Hate the Universe.’”

“None of your business.”

“Oh, that’s not gonna work,” he replies breezily. “I’ll call you...” He pauses dramatically, finger tapping his chin. “Shadow Kid. Because of your gloomy vibes. Or Edgy McBroodface. Either one works for me.”

You sigh, exasperated. “Fine. It’s Y/n. Happy?”

He claps his hands like a kid on Christmas. “Delighted! Well, Y/n, pack your bags because you’re about to take the Deadpool Tour de Joy. First stop: that little bakery down the street that makes these empanadas that are just to die for—pun very intended.”

As ridiculous as he sounds, something inside you—against all odds—doesn’t completely hate this idea. Maybe he’s right, maybe he’s wrong, but at least he’s distracting you. And it’s better than the silence. So you sigh, push yourself back from the edge, and follow him, if only because he’s made it impossible not to.

“Don’t get too excited,” you warn, hiding a hint of curiosity beneath a mask of sarcasm. “I don’t like pastries.”

“Don’t worry, kid, you will,” he grins, guiding you off the ledge. “Deadpool guarantees it. Or I’ll give you a full refund. You know, after we make sure you don’t end up sidewalk art.”

It’s midnight, and you’re trailing behind a lunatic in red and black spandex as he skips down the street like he’s leading a parade of one. You almost regret stepping away from the edge of that building. Almost. Because, despite everything, Deadpool’s got your attention, even if it’s just so you can see where this trainwreck of a night is headed.

“Now, Y/n,” he says, spinning around to face you while walking backward, “it’s time I introduce you to my squad. My inner circle. The people who either love me or have given up trying to kill me. I figured, what better way to kick off Operation: Don’t Be A Self-Destructive Edgelord than some quality time with family?”

“Your ‘family’?” You raise an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Oh, yes. They’re the most dysfunctional group of weirdos you’ll ever meet, which, in our line of work, is high praise.” He turns back around, leading you down a couple of twisting alleyways until you’re standing in front of a building that looks like it was abandoned about a hundred years ago.

“Home, sweet home!” Wade announces proudly, shoving the door open. “Well, it’s not really mine, but Al’s not much of a decorator anyway.”

You’re about to ask who “Al” is when you spot her: a short, older woman with oversized sunglasses, leaning against a sofa, flipping through a Braille magazine. She doesn’t even look up when she addresses Deadpool.

“You brought home another stray, Wade? You’d think you were trying to start an orphanage for misfits,” she mutters.

“This one’s special, Al. Meet Y/n,” Wade says, guiding you inside. “Y/n, this is the one and only Blind Al. She’s my friend, roommate, therapist, probation officer, and part-time parole board.”

Al snorts. “You think I’d live with Wade if I had any other options?”

You almost smirk. “So you’re telling me he’s like this all the time?”

Al nods, and you catch the tiniest hint of a smile on her face. “Constantly. And unfortunately, you’ll get used to it.”

“Come on, Al, don’t ruin the surprise! I’m a blast to be around,” Wade says, slapping you on the back with a little too much enthusiasm. “Anyway, I promised Y/n the Deadpool Experience™, which includes only the finest influences and biggest badasses on the market.”

“Speaking of badasses…” Wade nudges you, gesturing to the kitchen doorway, where a tall, grizzled man in flannel and jeans leans against the frame, arms crossed. His eyes are hard, the kind that say he’s seen more than his fair share of horror, but he’s giving you a look that’s somewhere between curiosity and caution.

“Logan, meet Y/n,” Wade says, pushing you forward. “Y/n, meet Wolverine, aka Logan Howlett, aka the surliest Canadian this side of the Rockies. Logan, Y/n here’s having a tough time deciding if life’s worth sticking around for, so I figured you could help me convince him otherwise. Since you’re all about that whole ‘living through endless suffering’ thing.”

Logan looks you over, clearly unimpressed with Wade’s choice of words. “You tell this kid what he was getting into by sticking with you?” he grumbles, giving Wade a side-eye.

“Why spoil the fun?” Wade chirps. “Besides, I figured I’d ease him into the nightmare that is my lifestyle by introducing him to you first. It’s all part of my master plan.”

You scoff. “Not exactly a plan so far.”

Logan grunts, shooting Wade a look. “Kid, if you’re here, you better be ready to put up with more crap than you signed up for. And if you don’t, well, don’t expect us to sugarcoat it.”

“Gee, thanks, Logan. Great pep talk,” Wade says, clapping his hands together. “You’re practically the Canadian Dr. Phil.”

“Whatever,” Logan mutters, giving you a short nod of acknowledgment. “Stay out of trouble, kid.”

“Thanks,” you reply dryly. “I’ll make a note of it.”

Wade flashes a grin. “All right, now that we’ve got the somber stuff out of the way, it’s time to meet my real pride and joy. Follow me, Y/n.” He leads you down a narrow hallway, barely glancing back as he goes. “And here, in the third and definitely not cleanest room on the left, is the Mini Wolverine herself, Laura Kinney!”

You peer around the doorframe, and sure enough, there’s a young girl, no older than you, sharpening a knife with an intensity that could probably slice through steel. She looks up, one eyebrow raised as she sizes you up.

“So…another of Wade’s recruits?” she asks, her tone half-sarcastic but half-genuine, like she’s as surprised as anyone to find herself among this crowd.

“Not exactly,” you reply. “Apparently, I’m part of some…life-affirming experiment?”

Laura smirks. “Good luck. Most people just end up scarred. Or worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, mini-me,” Wade says, swooping in to ruffle her hair, which she swats at with the speed of a ninja. “Y/n, Laura here is what we call a ‘clone’—same rage issues, same claws, same immunity to hugs as Mr. Broodmaster in the kitchen. Laura, Y/n here is testing out the Wade Wilson School of Life Choices.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Well, better you than me. Good luck.”

“Look at that, Y/n! She’s already rooting for you,” Wade says, pulling you back out of the room before you can reply.

“Sure,” you mutter. “I feel like I’m one big science project.”

“Nah, science projects are boring,” Wade says cheerfully. “And last, but certainly not least, the crown jewel of this ridiculous ensemble is… Peter!”

You frown, confused, as Wade leads you to the living room, where a man with glasses and a receding hairline is lounging on the couch, a sandwich in one hand and a soda in the other. He looks up and waves at you with a sheepish smile.

“Hey there. I’m Peter,” he says. “No code name, no special abilities, just…Peter.”

You raise an eyebrow at Wade. “How does he fit in?”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Wade says matter-of-factly. “He’s just a genuinely good guy. The one, non-superpowered person who got tangled up in my dumpster fire of a life and didn’t immediately bail. I figured he’d be a nice balance to all the violent murderers in the room. Plus, he makes a mean ham and cheese sandwich.”

Peter shrugs, giving you a friendly smile. “Sometimes, it’s good to have at least one guy who knows what life’s like for the average person. And I figure, if Wade can make it, maybe there’s hope for all of us, right?”

You nod slowly, unsure what to make of all this but also, maybe for the first time in a long time, feeling something close to warmth. These people are rough around the edges, sure, but there’s an understanding in the way they look at you—like they know what it’s like to have the world chew you up and spit you out.

“Well, Y/n,” Wade says, clapping his hands together, “you’ve met the gang. Now, how about that empanada?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine,” you mutter. “One empanada. But if it sucks, this deal’s off.”

Wade grins. “Deal! And hey, if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even get a side of wisdom and life lessons from our merry band of misfits. Consider this step one on the path to…not hating everything.”

He leads the way, Peter and Al in tow, while Logan and Laura hang back a bit. And as you walk down the dimly lit street, surrounded by this unlikely crew, you realize maybe—just maybe—Wade might actually have a point.

The morning sun drips through the dirty windows of Blind Al’s apartment, casting a pale yellow glow over the chaotic mess of takeout boxes, weapon cases, and torn-up furniture. You’re sprawled on an old, threadbare armchair, an empanada wrapper stuck to your shirt from last night’s “Deadpool Tour de Joy.” You’d made it through an entire night with Wade and his crew of insane, sarcastic maniacs—and, against all odds, it wasn’t completely awful. In fact, you’d felt something almost like…belonging.

But now it’s the next day, and you’ve already told yourself a hundred times that you should probably just slip out, go back to what you were doing, forget all of this ever happened. You’re starting to push yourself up when Wade barges into the room, wearing his costume but missing the mask, eyes bleary, and looking like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Ah! Sleeping beauty rises!” Wade yells, startling you. “Figured you’d skipped out by now, but no! Y/n, my little suicidal protégé, how’s life on the wild side?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s early. Can you not yell?”

“Oh, no-no-no, kid, this is normal volume,” Wade replies with a grin. “Wait ‘til Logan shows up and starts shouting at me. Speaking of which…”

Right on cue, Logan comes around the corner, his expression twisted in irritation. “Wade, it’s nine in the damn morning, why are you already so loud?”

“Why are you such a ray of sunshine?” Wade replies cheerfully, barely dodging Logan’s hand as he tries to grab him.

“Because you’re annoying,” Logan growls, rolling his eyes and making for the coffee pot. But Wade is already blocking him, a mug in one hand, smirking.

“What if I told you there was no coffee left? Would you kill me?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, as if daring him to repeat it. Without a word, he pops out his claws, a metallic snikt slicing through the silence.

“Oh, I’m shaking!” Wade sneers, clearly egging him on.

“Deadpool, just get out of my way.” Logan tries to push past, but Wade laughs, making some obnoxious buzzing noise that apparently does the trick, because Logan grits his teeth and stabs him, right through the side.

You jump, stunned, watching as Logan’s claws slip back out, leaving Wade clutching his side. Blood pours out of the wound, and you’re about to call out when you realize that Wade’s grinning.

“Oh, there it is,” Wade says, inspecting the hole in his side, barely even phased. “You got me good, Wolvie. Was hoping you’d go for the chest, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“What the hell?” You can’t help but gape at him. “You’re bleeding, and you’re laughing?”

Wade winks, dropping his hand and letting you see that the wound is…healing. Muscles and tissue knit themselves back together, as if he hadn’t been stabbed at all. “Oh, yeah! Y/n, I forgot to mention one of my best features: I’m unkillable! Like an annoying houseplant that refuses to die. Cool, right?”

You blink, still trying to process. “So…no matter what happens to you, you just…keep coming back?”

“Yup! Think of it like this,” Wade says, throwing an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the sticky blood on his suit. “I am the miracle of human resilience, cranked up to eleven. Plus, I give Logan a stress outlet every morning. Win-win, really.”

“Wouldn’t call it a win,” Logan mutters, pouring his coffee. “If anything, you’re my worst nightmare.”

Wade smirks, turning to you. “Logan here’s my best friend. Don’t let him fool you.”

Logan takes a long, deliberate sip of his coffee, glaring over the rim. “One more word, Wade, and I’ll make it two stabs.”

“Oh, two stabs?” Wade clutches his chest dramatically. “Why, Mr. Howlett, you really know how to flatter a guy.”

“Honestly,” you mutter, looking at them, “this is the weirdest friendship I’ve ever seen.”

Logan glances over at you, grumbling, “It’s not a friendship. It’s a…complicated arrangement.”

Wade beams, throwing an arm around Logan’s shoulder, which Logan promptly shrugs off. “Call it whatever you want, sweetie.”

As they bicker, Laura enters the room, unfazed by the chaos. She gives you a nod of acknowledgment before grabbing a seat at the table, watching the two men as if this is just another morning.

“Y/n, how’s Wade treating you?” she asks, a smirk forming on her face.

You can���t help the sarcasm in your voice. “Oh, it’s just been fantastic. Nothing like witnessing multiple acts of violence before breakfast.”

She grins. “Get used to it. That’s pretty much every day around here.”

“Hey, I call it ‘combat therapy,’” Wade retorts, tossing her a wink. “You know, bonding time for the soul. Plus, Logan secretly loves it.”

You’re still processing all of this when Peter comes in, looking almost suspiciously normal, like a PTA dad in a nightmare of superheroes and chaos. He gives you a friendly wave, balancing a bag of bagels and a coffee tray.

“Morning, everyone!” Peter says, the only cheerful voice in the room. “Brought bagels for you all. Thought maybe today we could take it easy and just…you know, be normal for a while?”

Wade gasps. “Normal? Peter, buddy, you’re really asking a lot of me.”

“Don’t mind him, Peter,” you mutter, taking a bagel. “I think I’m the only sane one here.”

Peter gives you a sympathetic look. “I figured as much. Good luck with this crew, Y/n. If you ever need a sane friend, I’m your guy.”

Laura scoffs. “He doesn’t want ‘sane’ friends. If he did, he’d have run by now.”

You can’t argue with that. In fact, the thought does cross your mind—why didn’t you leave? But before you can dwell on it too long, Wade claps his hands.

“Today’s adventure awaits!” he announces, eyes alight with his usual chaotic energy. “We’ll start with breakfast and then…well, I’m not sure yet, but it’ll be something awesome.”

The group groans as Wade grabs his mask and heads for the door, beckoning for you to follow. Logan sighs, Laura grabs her knives, and Peter just looks resigned. But they all follow, like it’s a ritual they’re somehow tied to, and after a moment, you find yourself tagging along too.

The day is filled with antics. You lose track of the times Wade gets hurt, only to heal right in front of your eyes. Logan mutters that he’d be better off without Wade, only to punch him in the shoulder five minutes later with a hidden grin. Laura challenges Wade to a knife fight, and Peter just sighs, trying to keep everyone in line. And for the first time in…who knows how long, you’re laughing. Really laughing.

It’s almost night by the time you head back, the sky darkening as the city lights flicker on. You’re about to part ways and make your way home, but somehow, your feet keep taking you back to Al’s apartment. You know you don’t belong here, not really, but when you reach the door, there’s that same warmth—a strange pull you can’t ignore.

Wade notices you hesitate by the door and grins. “Aw, he’s back! See, I told you I’d be your favorite person in no time.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” you mutter, but you don’t turn to leave. Logan, Laura, Peter, and Al all glance at you, each with a look of welcome that they probably wouldn’t admit to feeling. It’s an odd sight, this bunch of misfits, but in some way, you realize that maybe they’re not as much of a mess as they seem. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve found something here that doesn’t completely suck.

“All right, all right, enough with the mushy stuff!” Wade says, breaking the silence. “Y/n, welcome back to Dysfunctional Central. We’re going to make you regret every second.”

You roll your eyes but smirk, stepping back inside and letting the door click shut behind you. Because this time, you don’t mind sticking around.

As night settles in over Blind Al’s apartment, the usual chaos of the group fades. Laura’s busy sharpening a blade on the couch, Logan’s nursing a beer in the corner, Peter is cleaning up the disaster of takeout containers from earlier, and Al is sitting near the window, her face turned toward the cool night breeze drifting in. Wade, in his typical way, is chattering aimlessly about everything and nothing at all, flipping between mocking TV commercials and talking up his latest “brilliant” idea for a reality show. And, as usual, you’re mostly tuning him out, feeling a mix of exhaustion and…something else. Something that’s starting to feel suspiciously like relief.

Wade breaks off suddenly, his head cocked as he glances over at you with a curious look. “So, Y/n,” he begins, his voice dropping a few notches in volume—a rarity. “How’s our little…adventure going? You feelin’ the spark of life yet? The whole, ‘maybe being alive doesn’t completely suck’ kinda thing?”

You shrug, fidgeting with the edge of your jacket. “I mean, it’s…been okay. You guys are insane, obviously, but it’s not the worst.”

Wade grins. “Insane and proud, baby. It’s kind of our brand. But don’t think I haven’t noticed your little act.” He leans in, dropping his voice even lower. “You’re good at the sarcasm, the deadpan thing. But I can see the cracks, kid. What’s under there?”

You freeze, not sure how to answer. Part of you wants to laugh it off, throw a sarcastic line his way, but something about the way Wade’s looking at you, uncharacteristically sincere, throws you off guard.

“Why’re you asking?” you mutter, looking away.

He shrugs, casual but not unkind. “Because, believe it or not, I give a damn. And because if I’m gonna help you out of whatever pit you’ve fallen into, I need to know where to start. So…give me the lowdown. What’s so bad it made you wanna bail on this whole rodeo?”

You swallow, throat tight. The last thing you want is to spill everything, to lay out every messy thought and feeling. But the words are there, just behind your teeth, begging to be let out after you’ve kept them buried for so long.

“It’s…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “It’s not one thing, okay? It’s like…everything.”

Wade’s eyes don’t leave yours, an unspoken encouragement in his gaze.

You take a breath, still unsure, but the dam is cracking, and suddenly the words are pouring out before you can stop them. “I don’t know, Wade. I just—I feel like I don’t fit. Anywhere. I’ve tried, I really have, but no matter what I do, it’s like I’m some kind of outsider. The kid who’s always…wrong. Like I don’t belong in my own life. And the more I tried to fit in, the harder it got.”

Wade nods, not interrupting, just letting you talk.

“School was a nightmare,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “People either ignored me or treated me like I was invisible. Even my own family doesn’t seem to get me. I just…there’s no place for me. No one who actually cares, and it’s been that way for so long that I can’t remember a time it wasn’t. And I know you’re supposed to push through or whatever, but I just got so tired, Wade. Tired of always feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. Tired of being…me.”

You shake your head, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Everywhere I look, it’s like people have these lives, friends, family, things that give them a reason to wake up. But me? I don’t have anything, not really. So I started wondering…if I just disappeared, would anyone even notice? Would anyone care?”

Wade is quiet, watching you with an expression you can’t quite place. It’s not pity—thankfully, you don’t think you could stand that—but something softer, gentler.

“That’s why I went up there last night,” you admit, surprised by the honesty in your own voice. “Because I couldn’t stand the emptiness anymore. I thought maybe if I just…ended it, at least it would stop hurting, you know?”

There’s silence in the room now, even the usual background noise faded to nothing. You can feel the weight of your own words, a relief but also a vulnerability that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.

After a moment, Wade shifts, sitting down next to you. “Hey, kid,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I know that feeling. I know it all too well.”

You glance at him, surprised. “You? You seem like you’ve got everything figured out.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, kid. I may be the king of talking big, but I’ve been where you are. Hell, I’ve been to worse places. You think I’m here just ‘cause life handed me everything I wanted? Nope. I got scars, inside and out, that’d make your head spin. And you know what? That ‘don’t belong’ feeling? I had that too.”

Wade pauses, running a hand over his mask, which he’s bunched up in his hands. “I used to think…if I could just disappear, maybe that would be the best thing for everyone. And that was before I became…this.” He gestures to his scarred skin, his voice low but steady. “When you look like this, people either turn away or look at you like you’re some kind of monster. It was…lonely. Really, really lonely.”

You swallow, something in his words hitting close to home. “So what changed?”

Wade smiles, a bit of his usual spark returning. “Well, I guess I just got stubborn. Figured if the world didn’t want me, then I’d make my own place. Found people—well, like the circus act you met last night. Turns out, sometimes family’s not about blood. It’s about…finding people who see the worst parts of you and stick around anyway.”

“Not everyone has that,” you murmur, glancing at the floor.

“True,” Wade admits, his gaze softening. “But kid, here’s the thing: you’re still here. And now, you’ve got us—like it or not.” He gives you a wry smile. “You don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore. I get it, I really do, but there’s no shame in letting someone else help pick up the pieces. Maybe you just haven’t found your people yet…but you’ve got me, and the squad. We’re not perfect, but we don’t go down without a fight.”

You look at him, a strange warmth spreading through your chest despite the heaviness of the moment. For the first time, you feel like maybe someone actually understands. Maybe, just maybe, you’re not completely alone.

“Thanks,” you say, the word barely loud enough to hear. “For…listening.”

Wade grins, reaching out and patting your shoulder, a bit rough but oddly comforting. “Anytime, kid. I’m annoying, sure, but you won’t find anyone more loyal.” He gives you a wink. “Besides, I told you—I’m not letting you off the hook that easy.”

You chuckle, feeling a little lighter despite everything. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Nope. It’s a gift and a curse.” Wade stands, offering a hand to help you up. “Now, you and me? We’re gonna keep going until you see just how much life’s got to offer. I mean, look at me—scarred, hated, stabbed on a daily basis—and somehow, I’m still here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re a walking disaster.”

“Guilty as charged,” Wade says with a laugh. “But hey, you stick around with us long enough, maybe we’ll rub off on you. Logan can teach you how to growl menacingly, and Laura can teach you how to stab with precision. Peter’s got the dad jokes covered. It’s a real all-inclusive experience.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a spark of hope. It’s small, fragile, but it’s there. Maybe life’s not all bright and shiny, and maybe you’ve got a long way to go, but with Wade and this dysfunctional crew, maybe there’s a chance you can start over. At the very least, you’re not alone.

“Alright,” you say, meeting Wade’s gaze with newfound determination. “I’ll give this a shot.”

Wade’s grin stretches wide, genuine. “That’s the spirit, Y/n! I knew you had it in you.” He throws an arm around your shoulder, squeezing a little too tight. “And hey, if it ever gets too tough, just remember—you’ve got us.”

You nod, letting yourself lean into the odd but reassuring presence of Wade by your side. For the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s a path forward, one you don’t have to walk alone.

And with this crazy group, maybe that path won’t be as empty as the one you were on before.

if you liked the story don't forget to like, reblog and leave a comment if you want!

[chemicalpink]

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader

Words: 4.7k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff if you squint really hard, childhood friends to lovers AU

Warnings: unprotected sex, bathroom sex, infidelity, JK is a heartthrob that is bad at feelings, YN realises she’s been in love with JK all along.

A/N: this is me trying to write longer fics, I liked how this one came out yayyy. This goes out to the @thebtswritersclub​ monthly prompt _____ to lovers, in this case it’s childhood friends to lovers. I just- I really liked how it came out, I’m so excited to know what you guys think of it.

Summary: Falling in love is such a curious thing in life, Jungkook would know best, after pinning over you for years on end, only to have his best friend take away his opportunity, or does he?

The sun was shining brightly over the park as you made your way down the slide, hot skin scorching at the contact with the yellow plastic, although you couldn’t bring yourself to care as much as your mother would, meeting Sungho at the end of it, who was covering his eyes as best as his arms would allow him to do, summer was almost coming to an end and you two had decided to spend every single second of it together, much to both of your mothers’ dismay who had long decided to take turns to tire both of you out by the neighbourhood park, nothing too exciting, if it weren’t for your young imaginative minds combined, which turned you into the closest a six year old could get to being a menace.

As you smiled brightly at your friend, you couldn’t help but turn your head towards an almost inaudible whimper coming from the shaded side of the park, finding a kid around your age plopped down by the tree, desperately drying his eyes with the back of his hand, small sobs coming out of his lips as three other kids, which you knew to be a little older than you and quite disrespectful at that, kept laughing at the boy, so really, what else were you supposed to do if not come in to save the day. “Come on Y/N they’ll make fun of us too” Sungho said as he tried to tug you away, only to have you stand your ground firmly

“If they make fun of me, I won’t cry” you crossed your arms stubbornly over your chest

“Y/N let’s just go”

“You go, Sungho” Sungho was always the type of kid that your mother kept reminding you to be more like, always righteous, never picking fights like you were known to do, but you really couldn’t stand watching the mysterious kid crying by himself while no one else did anything in the slightest. So you stood between him and the three kids that were still making fun of him, head high, fists up by your sides in a superhero pose “You shouldn’t make fun of others”

“Why don’t we make fun of both of you then, Y/N?”

“At least I can put my shirt shirt when I’m dressing myself, Areum” the girl looked down for half a second before staring you down, full of rage before huffing and turning around in true mean girl fashion.

You turn back to find a pair of bambi eyes staring at you, sobs silenced, although his chest still showed him trying to fully catch his breath. You extend your hand for him to take it so that he could stand up “I’m Y/N what’s your name?”

“I’m Jungkook” you were quick to grab his arm and pull him to where Sungho had watched the whole scene with Areum, now staring at the way you dragged the slightly shorter boy towards him

“Well Jungkook, this is Sungho and I just decided that all of us three are going to be best friends forever” the small boy smiled at that, bunny teeth showing in the process, eyes sparkly with wonder and pure appreciation, contrasting the look on Sungho’s face.

“Y/N I think you need to have girl friends to have these sleepovers with, Jungkook and I are boys” Sungho says as soon as you pass him the mirror and he is left staring at his reflection with a ton of glitter eyeshadow on his face, you turn to look at Jungkook, who is currently sprawled out playing with his nintendo, a set of pigtails adoring his head along with the hottest pink lipstick you could find

“I don’t mind it” he stuffed his mouth with chips as he continued to play on his console, not sparing any of you a look, although you smiled at him fondly, grateful to have him play along whenever Sungho didn’t feel like it, which seemed to be more and more as all of you grew older.

“Well I’m going to take this off” he said as he ran into the bathroom to wash his face. Good luck trying to get rid of glitter.

You huffed out a sigh at how boring it was getting if Sungho didn’t like to play your games, along with Jungkook being stuck inside his own little world. “This is so boriiiing”

“It was your idea Y/N”

“Yeah but you guys are no fun”

Jungkook pauses his game to turn to look at you “We can watch a movie if you’d like”

If someone were to tell 6 year old you that twelve years later, the kid that used to make fun of you would turn into your best friend, you would have probably laughed in their face, although as years went by, Areum had finally gotten better in terms of personality, up to the point where she had a full on talk with you before you decided to give it a try, even more so as she now took it as her job to protect you in high school, seeing as she was a year older than you.

“Jungkook has changed” the brunette said while taking a seat next to you inside the cozy smoothie shop, crumpling up her receipt inside her bag distractedly as you just stared at her, not knowing what had prompted her to talk about your best friend, Jungkook wasn’t exactly what one would consider popular, especially amongst the higher grades, especially not given the bickering grudge he held against Areum after all those years.

“What do you mean?”

“Just- seems like before summer he was this scrawny little thing, deer eyes, soft smiles” you looked at her intently, Jungkook had gone on vacation with his family for weeks as soon as finals were over, leaving with the promise of hanging out for the few days before school started again, similar to how you were now hanging out with Areum, her having arrived back a few hours before Jungkook “Now- well”

There were a million thoughts running inside your mind, some seemingly more plausible than others, tow hich yopu found yourself asking “Areum, did you fuck Jungkook?”

“I mean- we were both staying at the same hotel Y/N” Areum sipped on heir smoothie as a way to act coy about it, wide eyes turned the other way at the prospect of having said out loud that her latest conquest was none other than little Jungkook, the guy she had always made fun of for one or another reason

“Oh god you slept with Jungkookie” and you really tried to picture her, accepted into college, beautiful Areum, long lean legs, model faced Areum, flirt queen that always seemed to go for older guys Areum, paired up with sweet Jungkookie, sure, your best friend was cute, handsome even, there was no denying it, he was just not- Areum level handsome, Areum liked going out to party, let men shower her in drinks while Jungkook absolutely loved staying home battling Sungho in the newest video game that was around “I-I have no words”

“Y/N- Y/N don’t judge until you’ve tapped it” your friend seemed to space out for a second, as if looking back at her time with Jungkook, dreamily. “The guy got buff”

And sure he did, not only did Jungkook was now full of muscle, he also apparently had renewed his wardrobe, bought a motorcycle and apparently had even grown a few centimeters taller, or at least that much was said by Sungho as you three met up for lunch the day before classes started again, trying to catch up as you did every year when the three of you didn’t get a chance to hang out much.

“So are we getting that newly released game Kook?” Sungho mentioned in what appeared to be the background, your eyes completely fixated on whomever the man sitting in front of you was, definitely not your best friend Jungkook.

“Nah dude, I sold all my consoles and games to buy my bike” your eyes widened at the confession, probably mirroring the uttermost shocked look that Sunho was also sporting. Jeon Jungkook selling his videogames was definitely a sign of the apocalypse. You were about to make a comment before you heard a very familiar voice behind you, making you turn your head towards it.

“Jungkookie, you wanted me to come over?” her eyes had that sparkle in them which you have come to recognise as her being infatuated by someone, even if she didn’t really talked about it openly, you turned towards Jungkook in disbelief

“Yeah, Areum, lose my number”

You consciously close your mouth at the exchange as Areum backed away from the table muttering an ‘oh..okay’ as Jungkook smiled daily at her, your eyes lock in surprise with Sungho’s, both of you silently agreeing that this Jungkook was certainly a new side neither of you could yet guess whether or not you would continue to be able to befriend, although the history between the three of you spoke volumes.

And just like that, enough to get whiplash from it, Jungkook’s lazy uninterested eyes were replaced by the squinty smile you had learned to adore over the years, bunny teeth showing as his laugh resonated in the restaurant “Oh god you guys should have seen your faces!”

Your eyes travelled along the expanse of the space you three were in, looking at Sungho for a clue to pick up about what was happening, coming up empty handed as he spoke first “Dude I almost had a heart attack, I thought you had sold your games!”

“Oh no that I did” Jungkook took a sip out of his drink calmly

You tried not to show how nothing made sense in your mind “And that thing with...Areum?”

He placed his cup down, looking at you with wide eyes humming softly “Yeah that was a thing too, she’s been texting me non stop after we hooked up. I’m just glad I’m back with you guys”

So Jungkook had changed, that much was true, just not as much as he let people believe. Sure enough, the guy was now pure muscle, rode a bike everywhere, and made it his lifeplan to conquer as many girls as his schedule allowed him too; he also made a few other friends outside of your friends' circle, enough for rumours to go around about him being involved in shady business, or him hooking up with somebody’s mum. Either way, if you were to turn a blind eye to his social persona, Jungkook was still your and Sungho’s little Jungkookie, bambi wide eyes that teared up whenever it was movie night and you picked some chick flick, bunny teeth and loud giggles as he played a prank on Sungho, even though you could tell his heart just wasn’t in it as it was before.

“I’m gonna ask Y/N out” Sungho has asked Jungkook to meet him outside of campus on the first weeks of college as all three of you decided to attend together, uninterested on whatever it was that he was about to tell him, but trying to keep up his fractured friendship with the man (and you) he had shown up, even so a little fashionably late to make his point clear.

“And you’re telling me this because..”

“I don’t want to make it awkward, Jeon” Jungkook scoffs before rolling his eyes at Sungho “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you little boy crush on her for years”

“What I think you haven’t noticed is that I don’t do feelings” Jungkook retorts as he approaches him “And although I find Y/N to be quite fuckable if you ask me, I appreciate her enough not to put her in a weird place like you’re about to do, asshole”

Once weeks rolled around, things kept on being as the were after that fateful summer where Jungkook completely reinvented himself, even as semesters came and went, Jungkook grew a bit more separate from both Sungho and yourself, although it became a little harder to discern whether it was because of Jungkook or due to the fact that Sungho and you had started dating during the first semester of college. Sungho had no real answer to give you when asked about it, saying that outside of the scheduled movie night you three kept on sharing, he barely even texted Jungkook on his own.

“I heard your girl is getting married” his friend said as he handed him an opened beer, taking his place back against his bike in the middle of the night after some race they had gone to near the outskirts of Seoul.

Jungkook took a swing out of the bottle, squinting at the questionable choice in alcohol “I don’t have a girl Jihoon”

“Oh? Then what’s Y/N?'' he felt the blood draining from his face, heart heavy, breath hitching inside his throat as soon as your name left his lips. Of fucking course Sungho would try to marry you before you graduated. That bastard.

It was quite funny really, Jungkook knew from the very start, back when all three of you had 6 years old and you had saved him from a set of mean kids in the park, that Sungho was never fond of him, or rather, of the relationship you had developed with him, sure, the two men had bonded over a few shared interests as they grew up, but the only thing that kept them together was you. Sometimes Jungkook guesses it could have been him instead of Sungho, asking you out, sharing nights together, even being about to get married. But those thoughts were only wishful thinking, he had long ago decided that you deserved so much more than what he could give you, what with his eternal fear and inability to give himself up to others. So he had let you go, never thinking about the possibility of Sungho taking a place he wasn't worthy of either.

"Good for her"

It wasn't long after learning that you were engaged, that the invitation arrived to his apartment, just a few days after graduation. It wasn't really a surprise anymore, even back when he first heard the news, it wasn't that surprising, he guessed it was the years of knowing both you and Sungho, learning your patterns, that he had somehow seen it coming. It didn't make it any less hard to wish you weren't about to walk down the aisle to a man that wasn't him though. But he kept repeating to himself to stop being selfish, he had lost his chance, not that he ever had one to begin with, but as long as you were happy, he would be too.

And you really did seem happy, so he was willing to just ignore the way that his chest seemed to constrict every time your eyes locked on his from across the room as the rehearsal dinner, you were sporting a gorgeous emerald dress, the same colour as when you two first met eighteen years back, his mind spinning with impossible scenarios as each minute that passed really just turned out to be a minute closer to watch you walk down the aisle to another man, one that was supposed to be his best friend at that.

“Bride’s or groom’s” A sweet female voice called him as he sipped on his fifth? sixth? champagne flute, finding a woman staring at him with what he has come to recognise as lust.

“Eh.. you could say both”

A glimpse of recognition could be seen in her eyes before she spoke again “You must be Jungkook then, the overseeked bachelor”

“In the flesh” He smirked at her as she took a hold of his hand, guiding him upstairs to where you and your soon to be husband had booked bridesmaids and groomsmen alike for the night. Not that the blonde had anything to do with how utterly horrible he was feeling about the whole wedding situation but perhaps fucking his frustrations out would help just a little.

Jeon Jungkook was never the one to stick around until morning, that much was true, and although he might be known for a varying of unspeakable things, nothing could have prepared him for what he had to witness at ungodly hours.

He picked up the rest of his clothing after half dressing himself, not even sparing a second glance at the woman that was laying on her bed peacefully, careful not to make more sounds than the inherently necessary, his curiosity is peaked as he hears faintly moaning and skin slapping skin coming from the room next door, seeing the door barely open, and against his better judgement he peeks inside only to feel his heart pounding against his chest, blood rushing inside his ears as he can’t seem to look away from the image presented to him. Sungho, your soon to be husband, the one that he used to consider his best friend for years on end, the oh so righteous Sungho, ever morally correct Sungho, bending your other so-called best friend and maid of honour, Areum, over the comforter as he fucked into her. A few hours before he got married to you. After everything that he had put him through, making him believe that it was in your best interest top let you go, that he should have handed you over to him, that he was the best option out of the two of you to build a life with.

Jungkook sees red and doesn’t quite remember anything other than Areum running out of the room as he punches Sungho in the face, receiving some punches back.

“You absolutely disgust me”

The bastard has the guts to laugh at him “You know, Jeon” he goes to inspect his face in the mirror “If you burst Y/N’s bubble, you’ll forever be remembered as the stupid little boy that was jealous enough on her wedding day to ruin her life”

Jungkook clenches his fists by his side before deciding to turn his heels and leave the room, vision still blurry in anger, breathing ragged, a small trickle of blood making its way down from his eyebrow as he almost automatically walked himself to the other side of the hostel where he knew you must have been resting, taking a few too many second to decide to knock on the door.

“Jungkook? What are you- oh god” sleep seems to leave you as soon as your eyes lock on his beat up face, him smiling at you in a futile attempt to have you not worry that much about his well being, but of course you were already searching for a first aid kit as he took a seat on your bed “Jungkookie, what happened?”

And perhaps he didn’t think it through that much, but he couldn’t let you walk yourself into a marriage blinded by the persona Sungho had always made you believe he was. “Y/N” he took your hands in his, stopping you from rubbing any more antiseptic into his cut “You’ll hear,a nd probably have already heard, too much shit about me”

His eyes beg you to stare at him intently, and although the whole scenario had you giggling out of nervousness, it soon died down “Kook, what are you talking about?”

“Y/N- Sungho is not the man he’s made us think he is” your eyes scan his face for any more clues on what he’s saying a syou feel a beeping sound closing in on your ears, overwhelmed by the situation “And he’ll probably say this is me just being a jealous asshole after being in love with you for more than half of my living years but-”

You stare at him in horror as your hands remove themselves from his hold as if he was burning, standing up from where you were seated next to him, feeling your whole world being crushed down a few hours before what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life “No” you take a step back as you hold your chest, feeling hot tears welling up in your eyes “Jungkook please don’t do this shit to me”

“Y/N just- don’t marry Sungho” somehow he had willed his voice to remain calm

Your head shook fervently at him, as if somehow the action would make him retreat his words “Sungho loves me, Jungkook”

His eyes were ice cold at your words “He loves you enough to fuck Areum a few hours before making you his wife”

He really didn’t mean the bite on his words as he said them, this had nothing to do with you and everything to do with that asshole you called finacé, so he could completely understand when through your tears, chest heavy with rage and head spinning you asked “Please leave”

And he did.

Everything seemed like a fever dream. The words that Jungkook had said, the implication that it had. And really, if it weren’t for the fact that Jungkook was gone from the whole ordeal, you could have sworn your life that it was nothing other than a nightmare, Areum was as bubbly as ever, helping you get ready. Sungho’s good morning text still found its way into your inbox. Jungkook had not only accused you fiancé of cheating, but had said he had always been in love with you, no further proof to his words, so you decided to go as planned, yet you found yourself hyper aware of every move Sungho made, especially when they involved Areum.

You stood in your pristine white dress in front of a couple dozens of guests as traditional words were spoken, your mind a thousand miles away as you kept on looking towards the door, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they would open up, Jungkook would show up and stop you from making what could potentially be the worst mistake of your life.

"If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace." your eyes trail to the soor, yearning to hear Jungkook’s voice amidst the otherwise silent chapel, but it never came.

“Hey, Y/N come dance with us,” one of your bridesmaids say as the night progresses after dinner, some loud beat taking over the venue at the reception, making everyone stand up to dance, including your now-husband as you find yourself sulking sitting on your designated table.

“I’m fine, you go” you try to flash her the biggest smile you can as she goes, leaving you once again with your thoughts. Thoughts that mainly involved Jungkook, figuring that after all these years, life had managed to finally separate you, heart yearning to have him close to you, the more you became aware of your current life path, the more you realised what a humongous mistake you had made. You had always thought that marrying Sungho would give you a sense of utter happiness, of fulfillment, whether what Jungkook said was true or not, as you watched your husband having the time of his life without you. If he were Jungkook, he would be seated right by your side.

Jeon Jungkook, as deviated as he appeared to be to everyone, as much as he slept around, he had demonstrated to be the most loyal human being by your side up until the last second of your friendship, unlike Sungho, he had always been interested in what you wanted to do, had always let your voice be heard, had helped you through rough times when Sungho was nowhere to be seen, perhaps you had chosen the wrong best friend to fall in love with a few years ago, the wrong man in your life to marry. It had been Jungkook all along. It could have been Jungkook all along.

Your eyes fixate on the way that Sungho whispers something on Areum’s ear and you feel your blood boil, more out of self-pity and annoyance at letting such a man manipulate you rather than jealousy as you stand up to make your way to the bathroom, in hopes of freshening up before coming up with a plan to fix this mistake.

You sigh as you hold yourself up by the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror, pondering just how deep you’ll have to dig to come out of the mess when you hear an all too familiar deep chuckle behind you “So you realised”

You turn your back to the mirror to face Jungkook “That Sungho was an asshole or that I’m in love with you?”

His eyes turn into those deeply surprised deer shape you remember from when he was younger for a split second before they’re filled with something else between lust and deep appreciation as he backs you up further against the sink, a tattooed hand coming up to your chin “Does that mean I get to kiss you with no regrets now?”

“Would you kiss a married woman, Jungkook?” you ask playfully, matching the brattiness in his tone

“Only the ones whose husbands are assholes” and so his lips capture yours in a sweet quick kiss that has you wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning in once again, escalating from a very much due kiss filled with words that are unable to be said, into a fiery pit in the low of your stomach at the prospect of kissing Jungkook while still being in your wedding dress, just a few hours married and kissing another man.

Jungkook’s hands have abandoned their place on your figure in favour of trying to undo the little buttons on the back of your dress, breaking the kiss to complain “God just how many buttons does this dress have?”

Soon enough your dress lays forgotten on the floor, matching lingerie covering your body as Jungkook has most of your body up against the mirror, panties aside in favour of having him fingering you, arms almost failing to keep you upright as he mouths at your skin, moans escaping your lips regularly as he pumps and curls his fingers inside you, lewd noises taking reverbating on the small bathroom’s walls, a faint trail of bass coming in from the party “God you’re so perfect Y/N” he grunted as you heard his zipper coming down before feeling the tip of his cock teasing your entrance, his hand coming up to grip your hair making you face the mirror, makeup completely wrecked, the sight almost unrecognisable to you, a slight burning but pleasurable sensation on your scalp “I bet that bastard Sungho wouldn’t be able to wreck you like this” without further notice entering you from behind, your walls clenching against him as you felt him slowly but firmly making his way in and out of you at a building rapidly pace, a moan slipping past your lips and Jungkook shushing you in exchange as he increases his speed and you bit your lip to forbid any noises from coming out, afraid of being heard even when you knew it would be almost impossible to do so over the loud party noises, this bathroom being so far away from it.

Jungkook had placed your right leg up the sink, hitting an even deeper spot that had you building your orgasm at an incredible speed, throwing your head back in pleasure, feeling him completely inside you as heat pooled in your lower belly.

“K-Kook I’m gonna-ah! I’m gonna cum” a few flicks on your clit with his expert fingers as he helped you keep yourself upright did the trick as Jungkook made sure to somehow thrust even deeper, a loud moan scaping you as he spilled his warm seed inside you, quickly adjusting back his boxers and trousers as one of his fingers collected some cum that was dripping down your thigh to push it back in, letting go of you to hold yourself up against the sink, pulling your panties back in place.

“Think that counts as a wedding gift?” he turns to leave the bathroom, leaving you heaving to haphazardly step inside your dress as you trail behind him, finding him resting against a wall, his bike roaring a few meters away as he smiles your way knowingly as he puts on his helmet, throwing another one your way "So.. all ready to leave that asshole of a husband now or should I wait another 15 years?"

[beyondspaceandstars]

Late Night Confessional

Relationship: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Warnings: N/A Summary: (slight) Neighbors!AU - After you come back from yet another bad date, some fluffy romantic confessionals occur between you and your neighbor. (Based off the prompt: Person A: “What would you say if I told you I was in love with you?” Person B: “That you have terrible tastes.”) A/N: Surprise, happy pride month - I write wlw, too, because I am, in fact, consider myself to be sapphic (or wlw or however you’d condier it ) :) p.s. this is an older piece of writing but i still enjoy it and wanna write more of this nature

Masterlist

"Shit," you muttered as your heel got caught in a crack in the sidewalk. Furiously, you pried off the obnoxious heels and decided trucking back home barefoot was the best option. If that was what was going to get rid of any other annoyances tonight, then so be it. You were absolutely over it.

Everything had started out fine — which was what got you — but shit turned south once he opened his mouth. He was a date you had met on one of those dating apps. You couldn’t remember which one since they’ve all just started blending together from the obsessive swiping and small talk.

With him, though, it didn’t seem so bad at first. You two texted for a few weeks and seemed to really vibe with one another. Even when you first sat down at the bar, you thought for a second this could work well.  

Then he started to get handsy — drunk and handsy. In your experience, it was never a good combination and you kicked yourself for not seeing how it was going to go once he started throwing back drinks. It happened very quickly and right there in the bar. It made you want to pull your hair out.

You felt you had been so blind. What man strung a girl on for almost a month just to be hunting down a quick lay? This man — and he might as well have just admitted it to you. He liked the chase. He liked the resistance with you, he admitted when his hand began to wander. You had been a hard one to "reel in" and at that comment, you pushed him off the stool and marched out of the bar.

It didn’t make sense, but what could you do about it anymore? All that was left was to march back to your apartment, pour a hefty glass of wine, and indulge in a long bubble bath. Maybe relationships weren’t your thing, maybe love needed to take a back seat, you contemplated.

You let out a sigh of relief once you made it to your apartment building. You were suddenly overly thankful you had set up the date at a bar close to you.

After punching in the entry code, you made your way up the stairs still barefoot. Concentrated on not stepping on any trash or scraps, you didn’t see someone at the top of the landing. Unexpectedly, you collided, both of you fumbling backwards a bit. You heard a basket hit the ground as your shoes landed on the stairs with an unpleasant bang.

"Jesus, I’m so-," you began, fumbling for your shoes, as your eyes registered the person you ran into. It was was your neighbor and, arguably, best friend Natasha. She looked a bit exhausted herself. Her hair was in shambles and she wore pajamas — not something you quite always saw her in. She was usually much more together during the day so this get-up always made you chuckle. "Sorry, Nat, seriously didn’t see you there."

She smiled back, collecting her laundry back into the bin, "You end up going blind tonight, hon?"

You shook your head, playfully rolling your eyes. Scoffing, you said, "That’d be the cherry on top tonight."

Natasha looked back at you with a frown. She took in your appearance — knee-length flowy dress, pantyhose, jean jacket, and barefoot with heels dangling in your hand.

"Date went sour?" She asked, a hint of actual wonder in her voice. That was what you loved about her. Not only was she a good (quiet) neighbor, she was also a… friend. Yeah, a friend. She didn’t make your heart jump or stomach do backflips with the looks she’d shoot you. She certainly didn’t make you blush when she actually took interest in your problems or interests. It was just friendly.

You nodded, "He buttered me up for almost a month just to try to get me in bed. Scores points for dedication, I guess."

Natasha picked up her laundry and motioned for you to follow her. You made your way, shoulder-to-shoulder, suppressing any other thoughts, to her apartment. Unlocking it, you followed her to her living room where you could finally sit and relax your feet. Natasha stood by the side table, folding the laundry.

"Did he at least buy your drinks?" Natasha asked.

You laughed, "Nope."

She rolled her eyes as she threw a folded t-shirt on the coffee table.

"Was there any conversation?"

"At first," you shrugged. "It turned unbearable pretty fast. He was such a great guy in text messages, though, that’s what I cannot get over."

She finished up folding the basic stuff like t-shirts and jeans and abandoned the rest to come sit next to you on the couch. It was such a sudden movement your heart nearly jumped.

"Well," Natasha began, getting situated on the couch. She sat criss-cross with her back to the other couch arm, facing you. You shifted in your seat to copy her stance. "Men can be super weird — hell, anyone can be super weird — but, at least you tried it. You seem very persistent when it comes to dating."

You felt yourself blushing as Natasha gave you her world-famous knowing smirk. She knew you too well. She’d seen you after nearly every date that went down the drain. She sat through the rants and wine nights offering something to you and each time, feelings kept building. But it could never — could it?

You started playing with your fingers and averted your gaze to the leather couch, praying she didn’t pick up any signs even though that was impossible. The woman was trained. She was one hell of a superhero — not to even mention her lengthy past — she knew what you were doing, but didn’t give any notions of it.

"Yeah, well, it may be time I give it up for a bit,"

The words even just leaving your mouth stung. You didn’t want to give it up — you just wanted something that appeared forbidden. No woman you went out with and certainly no man you ever encountered could compare to the red-head staring at you.

"Well," Natasha sighed, her gaze averting to her kitchen. "What would you say if I told you I was in love with you?"

Time froze. Your focus on the couch got more intense. Your heart dropped a hundred floors. You didn’t even know if you could properly move. She didn’t say that — did she? Are you just imagining what you wanted to hear? It was a joke, right? It was a joke. Just a nice little fib, two besties playing around, you decided.

Composing yourself the best you could, with a shaky voice you tried to casually respond, "That you have terrible taste."

You thew in a chuckle at the end, trying to show you knew it was a joke and that you could play along — but Natasha’s look didn’t match that. Her gaze came back to you, jaw slightly dropped. She readjusted herself to sit up straight, taking a much more serious position.

"Y/N, I’m serious," she said, carefully, enunciating every letter it felt like. Her eyes were so strong, it pulled you almost. Her tone was one with her — serious and never shifting.

She… she had. She had done that and it wasn’t a stupid prank or something. Someone actually good and caring in this world was taking an interest in you. Fuck, she loved you and you loved her… but you hadn’t said it yet. Oh shit, you hadn’t said a substantial word yet. Natasha was starting to get uncomfortable with the stunned silence but just as she was about to ask you to leave, your brain found your voice.

"I love you," you blurted out with all the force you could muster. Gosh, you hadn’t even admitted that to yourself but it was true. It felt good to say, good to accept. Of course you loved her. She’d stay up with you gossiping or discussing another crappy man from Tinder. You two had regular Sunday brunches at the pancake house down the street neither of you dared to miss. She’d indulge in your interests, watching the twinkle in your eyes while you’d be there ready to set out for whatever new adventure she wanted to take. Heck, she even managed to drag you camping — you hated camping but you loved her and that was all that mattered. You spent so much time hunting the web for your soulmate when really she just lived across the hall.

"You- you mean that?" Natasha’s voice was suddenly so soft. You had never heard her like this. She seemed… nervous. Soft and nervous. She was just as unsure as you were and that was understandable.

"Yeah," You chuckled, a smile playing at your lips. "I do mean it. I love you. I- I think I have for a while."

Natasha spent a second looking for any hints of lying before quickly placing her lips on yours. The movement came at you so fast, you both nearly fell off the couch, but once your brain registered, your lips moved like they belonged. She gripped your waist as the passion in the kiss drove up. Your arms found their way around her neck, your hands playing with strings of her hair.

She broke away for a second and whispered, very much out of breath, "I love you. I’ve always loved you."

You chuckled and whispered it right back. The passion matched the kiss and you pulled her down, sinking into the couch, hands wandering recklessly.

[lady-literature]

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them. 

And they all live happily ever after the end.

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

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