Dinodaweeb - Dino - Tumblr Blog

Tagged by @shiny-jr (ty for choosing me!! BROSKI)

favorite color? greennnnn 💚 I love shrek, zoro, dinos, and jade so r u surprised? ✨😼

last song? Taking what’s not yours - tv girl!! Ik ppl call tv girl trash by my music taste would be considered “virgin” 😭 so yeah. Ex: weezer, Radiohead, defttones, megadeth etc. if u like em I like u 😊🫶

currently watching? Uhhh I just started rewatching hxh with cousin but besides that breaking bad and I’m going to watch daredevil soon. So maybe you’ll see talk about that soon.

currently craving? nothing right now. But I want breakfast so maybe potato pancakes and/or bacon burger thingy from Burger King. Sorry chat, I’m a fatass confirmed.✅

coffee or tea? ok y’all will hate me but probably coffee. BUTT I’m not a big fan of either coffee makes me shit and burns my tongue and I have history with tea 🍵 sooo orange juice gang :>

tagging: @corvinafeathers, @twolitwicksinatrenchcoat, @thelittleprincz, @hinami-abcde, @damnbigguy :3 plz do it guys!!!

​༉‧₊˚.​ get to know me better !! ♡

— 𝜗𝜚 thank u @cosmiiwrites nd @queenofmistresses for the tags, my lovies <3 i love u both

favorite color? pink!! i love pink!! you know the colour of hello kitty’s bow? pink!! my melo? pink!! my socks rn? pink!! did i mention my favourite colour is pink?

last song? someday - from the zombies soundtrack (banger)

currently reading? i finished the hurricane wars by thea guanzon a few days ago so im using this as an excuse to tell you to read it n i loved it so much but im currently starting (only a chapter in) a feather so black by lyra selene

currently watching? i don’t think i am watching anything… i last watched the zombies movies though… (im not obsessed you are)

currently craving? NOODS ugh i could demolish some noodles rn

coffee or tea? yes.

@nebulacrumbs @blooming-crimson-flower @hellsgreatestslut @lilsleepybear1029 @ustulia tag you’re it <3

(he arched much more in that honda odyssey)

Hello 👋, I hope you're doing well..

My name is Mahmoud, and I'm a 17-year-old from Gaza. The ongoing war has devastated my city, destroyed my school, and made daily life incredibly challenging.

Despite these hardships, I'm determined to continue my education and build a better future. I've been given a chance to study abroad, but I need help to cover the costs of leaving Gaza, as well as living expenses and other essentials abroad once the crossing opens.. 🙏

If you can, please consider donating or sharing, your kindness can truly make a difference, and thanks for your time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/bd3ccf0b 🔗

If you can donate to help them! Please check out their page

Lets Dine With The Fine Batman x gn!Detective!reader

summary: you’ve been invited over for dinner as a thank you from the Wayne family. Things get a little heated between you and Bruce and not in the sexy way.

You couldn’t believe you were here again.

Wayne Manor, for dinner this time. After the chaos at the gala, you’d hoped to avoid another encounter with Gotham’s elite for a good while. But when Bruce Wayne himself extended an invitation, insisting it was to thank you for your “bravery” during the robbery, it was hard to refuse without raising suspicion.

Not like you could refuse either way. It’s Bruce Wayne.

So here you were, standing awkwardly in the grand foyer once more, waiting to be led to the dining room. The suit you wore this time was slightly more comfortable, thanks to a last-minute alteration. Still, the formality of it all made your skin itch. You were a detective, not a socialite.

“Detective [Y/n],” Alfred greeted you warmly as he appeared from one of the side halls. “Mr. Wayne is expecting you. If you’d follow me, please.”

You nodded, mumbling a quick “Thank you,” before following the butler. Your eyes scanned the lavish surroundings—once again, you felt out of place among the wealth and opulence. The smell of polished wood and expensive cologne filled the air, mixing with the faint aroma of a gourmet dinner being prepared in the kitchen.

The place was large but you felt comfortable around Alfred.

As you entered the dining room, you were greeted by the sight of Bruce Wayne and his adopted sons already seated around the large, ornate table.

…

Of course dinner was with the kids.

(But it felt intimate)

Was this appropriate? To interrupt their dinner because Bruce invited you. You hoped he didn’t do this often. The atmosphere seemed warm, relaxed even, but there was an undercurrent of something more… alert. The way they watched you, as if assessing, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Detective,” Bruce said with a smile, rising from his seat to greet you. His handshake was firm, his demeanor as charming as ever. His fingers felt rough.

Not what you expected for a billionaire playboy.

“I’m glad you could join us.”

“Thanks for the invitation, Mr. Wayne,” you replied, doing your best to sound polite.

“Please, call me Bruce.”

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease as you took the seat offered to you. The boys greeted you with varying levels of enthusiasm—Dick with his usual friendliness, Tim with a polite nod and the smallest of all smiles, Damian with what was perhaps poorly hidden disgust or neutral (you couldn’t tell.) And Jason… with a mischievous grin and a slight wink. It was clear Jason was the most relaxed of the group, a stark contrast to the tense environment you had expected.

Or maybe Dick was.

Either way the boys seemed to be up to something.

Dinner began without much fanfare. The conversation was light, touching on safe topics—Gotham’s latest charitable events, the rebuilding of the areas affected by the gala attack, the state of the city in general.

But you couldn’t keep your mind off the events of that night. The way Nightwing and Red Hood had shown up out of nowhere, the strange behavior of Bruce, and the constant presence of Batman near the Waynes.

Halfway through the meal, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You decided to voice what had been on your mind.

“So,” you started, trying to sound casual as you sliced into your steak, “I noticed something the other night… at the gala.”

Four pairs of eyes, plus Bruce’s, snapped to you.

“Really? What did you notice, Detective?” Bruce asked smoothly, though you didn’t miss the slight tension in his voice.

You leaned forward slightly, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s just… does Batman often show up around you guys? I mean, Nightwing was there too, and Red Hood. It seemed like they were… protecting you. Or watching you.”

The boys exchanged glances—ones that were almost imperceptible to anyone not trained to see them. A flash of surprise in Damian’s eyes, a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like panic in Tim’s, Jason avoided eye contact, and Dick’s usually easygoing expression tightening just a bit.

Bruce was the first to recover, letting out a low chuckle. “Batman and his allies? Protecting us? That’s an interesting observation.”

“Interesting, but not far from the truth, Bruce,” you pressed, feeling a sense of urgency to convey what you’d been mulling over since that night. “Think about it—Gotham’s most notorious vigilante, plus his sidekicks, showing up at events you’re attending, then escorting you out like it’s nothing. It’s like they’re keeping tabs on you.”

“It’s creepy, no?”

“You think Batman is keeping tabs on us?” Jason asked, his tone half-amused, half-curious.

“Exactly,” you replied, nodding. “And maybe you all too. I mean, you’ve got to admit it’s strange how he always seems to be around.”

The room fell silent, the boys exchanging more significant glances this time. It was clear they were trying to hold back their reactions. Finally, Bruce broke the silence.

“Detective, Batman’s presence is part of the job,” Bruce said smoothly. “We’ve learned to live with it.”

“You’ve learned to live with it?” you repeated, your frustration rising. “He’s constantly around you. It seems like he’s all over you.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Bruce said, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Gotham needs its protectors.”

Your frustration boiled over. “Look, I care about your health and safety. I’m just trying to make sure you’re aware of the risks. I mean, what if something happens and—”

Bruce cut you off with a raised hand. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got it covered.”

“He could be a stalker.” You snapped harshly before breathing slowly.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m standing,” you shot back, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “You’re acting like it’s all just business as usual.”

“Because it is,” Bruce said, his tone firm. “I handle it. I’m used to it.”

“Jerk,” you muttered under your breath, crossing your arms.

The boys exchanged knowing looks. Dick’s lips twitched into a smile, Tim tried to stifle a chuckle, Damian’s eyes held a hint of amusement, and Jason seemed to be barely containing his laughter.

Alfred, who had been standing quietly by the side, cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best if we focus on enjoying the evening. Detective [Y/n], I assure you, Mr. Wayne is more than capable of handling his affairs.”

You shot Bruce a final frustrated glance. “Fine. But if something happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bruce’s smile widened slightly. “Understood. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

As Alfred began to clear the plates, you remembered something you’d brought with you. You reached into your jacket and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package.

“Actually, Alfred,” you began, your tone shifting as you slid the box across the table toward him, “I brought something for you.”

Alfred looked at the package with mild surprise. “For me?”

You nodded. “It’s not much, just a little something to say thank you. For everything.”

Alfred’s eyes softened as he unwrapped the box, revealing a set of finely crafted cufflinks. “This is quite exquisite” he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” you insisted, feeling slightly self-conscious under everyone’s gaze. “After all, it’s you who has served me my food, cooked it, and hosted this.”

You gave a side eye. “I assume Mr. Wayne did his part too.”

“I said, call me Bruce.”

“Hmph.”

Alfred’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as he nodded. “I’m deeply touched. Thank you.”

The mood in the room shifted, with the boys exchanging amused glances. Even Damian seemed to crack a slight smile.

God, you weren’t aware that child could make a face like that around you.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Bruce said, his tone warming as he regarded you. “Alfred doesn’t often receive gifts.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, Alfred’s last gift was Damian’s disastrous attempt at breakfast last Christmas.”

“That was one time,” Damian grumbled, glaring at Jason. “And I was eight.”

The playful banter eased the earlier tension, and the conversation turned to lighter topics. The feeling in your belly bloomed quickly, like a fire.

As the evening drew to a close, you found yourself unexpectedly enjoying the company. The Waynes were more than just a wealthy family—they were a quirky, tight-knit group, and it was oddly comforting to be included in their dynamic.

When it was time to leave, Bruce walked you to the door. You decided to speak with him.

“Mr.Way— Bruce. Apologies for uh getting a little heated back there. I’m not the most..” you rubbed your nape shyly. “Social.”

“Detective [Y/n],” he began, his voice sincere, “You are always welcomed. I understand your concern but I ask that you trust in me. but I appreciate you coming. You’ll be back sometime right? Maybe for movie or a game of pool?”

You blinked, taken aback by the admission. “It’s alright, Bruce. I get that you have your own way of doing things. Pool sounds nice.”

Bruce offered you a small, almost apologetic smile before turning to Alfred, who was still holding the box you’d given him.

The bid you farewell as you went into your taxi.

As you stepped out into the cool Gotham night, your thoughts were a calm. The evening had been an unexpected experience but you were satisfied.

Now, you planned on scheduling a meeting with the vigilante himself, Batman.

a/n: if u rlly want I’ll do a part 3. Also it’s late af so sorry if it’s not like KAPOOM or smth. G’noght :3

@hyyyyde

Here is Miguel for u. 🥰🥰🥰🥰 (this for transforming me into a rat in ur story)

Can You Not?

Deadpool x Gn!Reader x Wolverine

summary: You’re supposed to be Althea’s caretaker ever since Wade hired you. Too bad for everyone because you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Well, it’s you and me, Al.” You put a hand on your waist.

“Hell no.” She responded.

“Yeah, I'm really glad Wade and Logan hired me but…” Rubbing the back of your head. “I’ve never done this kind of stuff.”

“Just don’t kill me.”

Your jaw hung low.

—

The first thing Deadpool and Wolverine noticed when they entered their home was the unmistakable sound of something large and metallic clanging against porcelain. The scene that greeted them was something neither of them had ever expected.

Deadpool, ever the optimist, rubbed his hands together with a mischievous grin. “Looks like someone’s having a bit of a rough day.”

Logan, ever the pragmatist, simply sighed and tried to make sense of the chaos. He followed Deadpool’s lead, heading towards the source of the noise. They found you stuck halfway inside the oven, with only your legs and feet visible as you frantically wiggled to get free.

It was a sight to behold.

“Uh, hey there, sugarplum. Need a hand?” Deadpool asked, struggling to suppress his laughter.

You looked up with wide, confused eyes, somehow managing a smile despite the awkward predicament. “Oh, hey! I was trying to get the… uh, cookies out, but I think they might’ve… escaped?”

Logan shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he approached and tried to pull you out. “Why on earth were you in the oven? What’s going on?”

“Well, I thought I’d give baking a shot, but then I… um, forgot the timer. And now it’s… well, sort of an oven mess.”

“Help me?” You asked sweetly.

The two shared a look and Wade rolled his sleeve up.

“Maximum effort.”

His grip on your legs was harsh and he really did try to pull you out. It sucked that your hair was stuck on a piece of the oven.

“AH— wait.”

Wade side eyed Logan. “A little help, peanut?”

Logan groaned, ripping you out from the oven.

You stumbled out with a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”

Deadpool peered inside the oven and groaned. “You’ve got a burnt lasagna in there and—are those… marshmallows?”

“Yeah, those were supposed to be for s’mores. I got a bit distracted.”

Logan’s brow furrowed as he examined the kitchen. “This place looks like a disaster zone.”

You nodded vigorously. “Oh, it’s been a bit of a day. I think I might’ve accidentally blown up the toilet earlier, too.”

Deadpool looked alarmed. “What do you mean, ‘blew up the toilet’?”

“Well, I was trying to clean it and used way too much cleaner and we ordered taco be—” You started to explain before being interrupted by a loud whoosh from the bathroom.

Logan, facepalming, grumbled, “What now?”

You shuffled over to the bathroom to reveal a very unhappy, very dirty toilet and a cloud of cleaner fumes that were just thrown in there. The scene was nothing short of disastrous. “Oops,” you mumbled.

“I think we’ve seen enough for today,” Deadpool said, trying to regain his composure. “Maybe we should help Al and then figure out how to get you out of trouble.”

You were just about to agree when the sound of wood splintering from the bedroom caught their attention. Deadpool and Logan rushed to find the bed in ruins, you sitting amid the wreckage with a distressed look on your face.

“I was just trying to fix the bed,” you explained, “but I might’ve used the wrong tools and, uh, now there’s a lot of splinters.”

“And broken bed.”

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself. “You know, it’s impressive how you manage to get into so much trouble with the simplest of tasks.”

Deadpool, ever the same, added, “You should really consider writing a memoir or something. ‘How to fuck everything, 101.”

“Probably. That’s what my mother always used to say.”

“Don’t compare me to your mother! I am your love interest in this. Call Logan your mommy instead.”

“Don’t.”

You gave a salute. “Got it, boss.”

Just as they were starting to clean up the mess, you decided to help with the repairs. You grabbed a nearby broom to sweep up the splinters, but in your enthusiasm, you tripped over a mug on the floor, sending it crashing to the ground.

“Oops!” you exclaimed, stumbling and accidentally knocking a cup of coffee into Wolverine’s lap. Now it looked like if he problems with peeing because it seemed like brown piss.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, Logan! Maybe, you can borrow my pants?”

Logan growled, and before he could react, a puff of smoke billowed from the nearby fireplace. You had unwittingly knocked a can of lighter fluid onto the logs, and now Wolverine was on fire!

He still looked hot though. Maybe even hotter since he was on fire!

“Wait, is that… oh crap!” Deadpool shouted, rushing over with a towel to smother the flames. “Not the flaming Wolverine!”

Logan rolled his eyes, trying to pat out the fire while glaring at you. “Seriously? You set me on fire, bub?”

“You’re alright now!” Deadpool said, grinning despite the chaos. “Let’s just move on to…”

Before Deadpool could finish, you tripped over the broom you’d been using, falling face-first into a potted plant. Dirt and leaves covered you as you lay there, looking completely bewildered.

You blinked once and then twice.

“I, uh, think I might’ve made things worse,” you said, emerging from the mess with a dirt-streaked face.

Logan sighed deeply but a small smile stayed on his face. “It’s like every time we turn around, you find a new way to cause trouble.”

Deadpool tried to stifle his laughter, though he was clearly failing. “You’re like a red flag at this point!”

“So are you though?” You spoke.

Logan snorted.

After hours of cleaning up and attempting to salvage what they could, Deadpool and Logan finally managed to get everything back in order. Blind Al, who had been observing the entire spectacle with a mix of amusement and exasperation, shook her head as she sipped her tea.

“Thanks for the help,” Al said dryly. “And for not setting the house on fire.”

You, still covered in a mixture of dirt and embarrassment, nodded. “I’ll try to be less of a disaster next time.”

Deadpool clapped you on the back. “It’s all part of the adventure. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Condoms, hopefully.”

Logan, though exhausted, managed a small smile. “Here’s hoping it’s a bit less eventful.”

“So, I come here tomorrow too?”

“No you’re fired.”

“damn.”

a/n: me writing for the both of them bc I don’t find any for this 😭🙏🙏🙏 where r the chefs cooking?

me wondering if I prefer ass or tits bc of these mfs:

pineapple is w wym??

"Came back wrong" but instead of Jason turning evil or whatever he just came back with a taste for pineapple pizza

Surprise, Bub | ᡣ𐭩

Deadpool x Gn!Reader x Wolverine

summary: You break into Deadpool’s house to confront him only to find a mysterious man who’s kind of your type.

— ᡣ𐭩

Breaking into Deadpool’s apartment was almost too easy. You’d expected more—laser tripwires, explosives, maybe a pit of rabid raccoons. Instead, there was a simple lock, easily picked, and now you were standing in his living room, clutching your gun with a mix of tension and adrenaline.

The place was as chaotic as you’d imagined: mismatched furniture, a clutter of weapons and comic books, and the faint smell of old pizza lingering in the air. You glanced around, your eyes narrowing as you prepared to confront the man who had been causing you so much grief lately.

But before you could locate your target, a deep, gravelly voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You lost, bub?”

You spun around, gun aimed and ready, but the sight that met you was… unexpected. A man stood in the doorway, arms crossed over a broad chest. He was ruggedly handsome, with wild hair and piercing eyes that seemed to cut through you. There was an air of danger around him, something primal that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Logan,” he replied, his voice carrying a low, rumbling growl. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

Before you could respond, the familiar, obnoxiously cheerful voice of Deadpool echoed through the room.

“Hey! Look who decided to drop in unannounced!” Wade exclaimed, popping up behind Logan. He looked between the two of you, a mischievous grin spreading across his masked face. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You shot Wade a glare. “I came here to settle things with you, not—”

“Not to get distracted by my handsome, hairy friend here?” Wade interrupted, waggling his eyebrows. “I mean, I don’t blame you. Logan’s a catch. But hey, we can all play nice, right?”

Logan let out a snort, his eyes never leaving yours. “You got some guts breaking into this place, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” you retorted, feeling a little braver than before. “And I came here to—”

“To kick my ass?” Deadpool interjected, bouncing over to you with an exaggerated pout. “Aw, you shouldn’t have. I’m flattered, really. You know, peanut over here tried the same thing one time.”

Before you could even begin to respond, Wade wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leaning in close. “But I gotta warn ya, if you’re gonna take me on, you gotta deal with him too.” He jerked his thumb toward Logan, who was now smirking at the both of you.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected when you broke into Deadpool’s apartment, but this was definitely not it. Confronting one was bad enough, but both of them together? The thought should have made you uneasy, but instead, there was something thrilling about it. The tension in the room was thick, charged with an energy that was both dangerous and alluring.

“What’s it gonna be, bub?” Logan asked, his voice low and challenging. “You gonna make a move, or are you just here to gawk?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked between them. You could feel Wade’s eyes on you, feel the heat radiating from Logan’s presence. This wasn’t what you’d planned, but maybe plans were overrated.

You squared your shoulders, smirking back at Logan. “Maybe I’m here for both.”

Wade let out a delighted cackle. “Oh, I like this one, Logan. Can we keep him?”

Logan just chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that, Wade.”

“Besides, you already got a pet.”

Before you knew it, the tension shifted from dangerous to something else entirely. Wade’s hands were on your shoulders, his masked face inches from yours, while Logan stepped closer, his presence towering and imposing.

The confrontation you’d come for was far from over. But as you stood there between them, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where you wanted to be.

You stared at Logan’s chest and grinned.

Definitely where you wanted to be.

“Now time to stop the one-shot or we’ll end up forcing the author to write a threesome.” Wade implied.

“Ugh.” You and Logan both groaned at his comment.

Fin.

a/n: I would apologize but im not sorry.

LIES, SPIES, AND HOT GUYS |

Gn!Detective!Reader x Batman

summary: as a detective you make sure you prioritize Bruce Wayne’s safety but he assures you he doesn’t need it, prick.

You never expected to find yourself at one of Gotham's most glamorous events—a gala at Wayne Manor. Awkward and out of place, you struggle to fit in among Gotham's elite.

The moment you stepped into Wayne Manor, you felt like a fish out of water. The grand chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the glittering gowns of Gotham's elite were a far cry from the gritty crime scenes and dimly lit precincts you were used to.

Far different. The air felt too expensive to breathe.

Why had you even agreed to this?

Oh right, the Commissioner insisted on having "a few of Gotham's finest" at the event, just in case. And with your gruff demeanor and awkward social skills, you had drawn the short straw.

Awkwardly, you stood near a large ornate column, sipping a glass of water and trying to avoid eye contact with the crowd. Despite the suit and tie—or, in their case, a somewhat ill-fitting tuxedo—they felt utterly out of place. The pants felt too tight around your rear and you got this done at the shop. How could they screw that up?

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail, searching for anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary.

Just as you were beginning to try to relax, you spotted a group of familiar faces. The Wayne kids—Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and a few others—stood near the large windows, looking far too at ease in the luxurious setting.

Summoning a bit of courage, you approached them. After all, if they were going to be stuck here, they might as well make some polite conversation.

"Grayson, Drake," You greeted with a nod, trying to sound casual but polite.

Dick smiled brightly. "Detective! Didn't expect to see you here!"

"Yeah, well… duty calls, I wasn’t exactly invited by you but..” You muttered, feeling a bit more self-conscious than you intended. Tim gave a small nod of acknowledgment, while Damian looked as uninterested as ever.

Why do you even try at this.

Before the conversation could go further, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Detective, welcome to Wayne Manor."

You turned to see Bruce Wayne approaching, his signature charming smile firmly in place. The billionaire looked every bit the part, effortlessly exuding wealth and charisma.

His looks lived up to the legend, pretty punk.

"Mr. Wayne," You greeted, doing their best to mask their awkwardness. Which probably failed. "Thanks for having me.”

"Of course. I always appreciate Gotham's finest keeping an eye on things," Bruce replied, his tone friendly yet distant. There was a glint in his eyes, something that set you on edge. Before they could respond, Bruce offered another smile, then excused himself, moving on to mingle with other guests.

You watched him go, your brows furrowing. Something about Bruce seemed… off. But before you could dwell on it, your attention snapped back to the task at hand: scanning the room for any potential threats.

As the evening wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. You kept a close eye on Bruce from across the room, noting how the billionaire seemed to glide through the crowd effortlessly, charming everyone he spoke to. But that nagging feeling in the back of your mind wouldn't go away.

And then it happened.

A loud crash echoed through the grand hall, followed by the panicked screams of guests. The doors burst open, and a group of armed robbers stormed in, weapons raised. Chaos erupted as people dove for cover, and the orchestra’s music was abruptly silenced.

"Everyone down! Now!" one of the robbers shouted, firing a warning shot into the ceiling.

Instinctively, you reached for their gun, but the crowd's panic made it impossible to get a clear shot. People were scrambling, pushing, and shouting. In the confusion, you caught sight of Bruce Wayne, who had been near the doors moments before. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Damn it!

You pushed through the crowd, your focus entirely on finding Bruce. If something happened to Gotham's golden boy on your watch, you would never forgive yourself.

Thankfully, you managed to slip away from the main hall, only to find Bruce backing into a nearby room, the door clicking shut just as you reached it. They shoved the door open and rushed inside, finding Bruce standing calmly by the window, looking far too composed for someone who was supposed to be terrified.

His fingers twitched when he heard the door open though, so maybe he was alarmed. You couldn’t blame him, it was a scary situation for anyone.

"Mr. Wayne, are you alright?" You panted, closing the door behind them and locking it.

Bruce turned to face them, an almost amused expression on his face. "I’m fine, Detective."

"Good. Stay here," You ordered, pulling out their gun and moving to stand between Bruce and the door. "I’ll handle this."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That won’t be necessary."

You frowned. "What do you mean it won’t be necessary? There are armed robbers out there! You need to stay put, or you could get hurt."

"I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Bruce said, his tone calm and almost… teasing.

The detective’s frustration flared. Here you were, trying to protect this man, and he was acting like it was no big deal. "Look, I get that you’re used to getting your way, but right now, you need to let me do my job!"

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly, the playful glint fading. "And what if I told you that I could handle this situation better than you think?"

You were about to snap back, but the words died in their throat as they realized what Bruce was implying. "You’re not seriously thinking about playing hero, are you? This is my duty.”

Marching up to him, you poked your finger repeatedly into his chest.

“I’m here to protect you, Mr. Wayne.”

Before Bruce could respond, a loud bang echoed from the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps approaching the door. With precision, you pulled Bruce by the waist and forced him behind you. You stiffened, turning their full attention to the door. "Stay behind me."

"Detective—"

"I said stay behind me!" You hissed, cutting Bruce off as you aimed your gun at the door. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins.

The door burst open, and you were ready to fire, but the figure that entered the room made them hesitate. It was Nightwing.

"Hold your fire!" Nightwing ordered, raising his hands as he stepped inside.

You lowered their weapon, exhaling a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?"

Nightwing glanced at Bruce, then back at you. A cheeky glint in his eyes. "I’m here to get him out of here.”

"Wait, you know him?" You asked, confused.

Nightwing’s lips curled into a half-smile. "You could say that."

Bruce stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Detective, but I’ll be safe with him."

You opened their mouth to argue, but the calm, assured look in Bruce’s eyes stopped them. For some reason, you believed him—despite how absurd it all seemed.

But did you seriously suck that much at your job that he felt safer with masked vigilante than a GCPD officer? You felt your pride shatter.

With a bitter taste in your mouth and the slightest pout on your lips, you nodded. Giving Bruce a pat on the back.

Nightwing took Bruce by the arm, guiding him toward the door. "Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe."

You watched them go, their mind racing. None of this made sense. Why would Nightwing, of all people, be protecting Bruce Wayne? And why did Bruce seem so… unconcerned?

As the door closed behind them, You finally allowed yourself to breathe. The realization hit you like a freight train: Batman was out there, hunting these criminals, and Bruce Wayne was likely his next target.

"Idiot," You muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. "Of course, Batman would want to protect him."

Then you felt your heart sink.

“Or harm him.”

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye. Something you couldn’t quite put you're finger on.

As you exited the room, ready to join the fight outside, you couldn’t help but wonder: Just who exactly was Bruce Wayne? And why did they feel like they were in way over their head?

One thing was for sure: you were going to find out.

And when you did, you had a feeling it would change everything.

Red Hood stopped your inner monologue. “Yo, Hey, Dude— C’mon. Snap out of it.”

You blinked, your eyes reaching up.

“Now, are you going to stand there looking like a rookie, or are you going to help me with these goons?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, turning to see Red Hood leaning casually against the doorframe, his helmet tilted slightly as if amused by your daze. You cursed inwardly—first Nightwing, now Red Hood. How many of Gotham’s vigilantes were going to show up tonight?

“You’re here too?” you asked, exasperated.

“Yeah, and lucky for you. Looks like you could use the backup,”

Red Hood quipped, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Now, are we gonna take these guys down, or do you need a minute to process whatever conspiracy theories you’re cooking up?”

You shot him a glare but nodded. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Red Hood grinned beneath his helmet, drawing his guns. “Hell yeah.”

a/n: guys, asks r open :3 I wanna write more for my boysss 🫶😔 (no cursed shit plz)

Unpopular opinion: i miss the old ninjago ☹️ idk much about the new one but i LOVE the earlier seasons

to all my mutually suddenly receiving asks, I apologize. I have no other way of saying “OMG I WASNNA SAY SMTH” without being dramatic about it.

anyways time to draw old men

😭🫶 thank u queen!!! I love giving that male reader content :3

Any male reader recommendations on quotev or wattpad? I see you started one male reader fic and I am in need of more to satiate my thirst 😫😫 any fandom (even yandere) is fine 💕

LOL, I HAVE TWO MALE READER FICS AS OF NOW. Game Over! & Lovebombing:33, and 3 more to come, probably!

AHHHH MY RECOMMENDATIONS R MY LOVELY MOOTS! THEY’RE REALLY GOOD AT WRITING AND IT’S SO ENTERTAINING AND BRAINROT-WORTHY🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

PREPARE FOR A YAPPING SESSION!

@kagurasama-notes (Quotev & Wattpad), ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORSSS, her writing puts me to shame with how good it is frr, i’m telling you, her book corpse darling gave me a literal brainrot. SHE’S SO LOVELY ASWELL AS HER BOOKS, I LOVE HER & HER BOOKS SM<333 SHE’S THE ONE WHO INSPIRED ME TO WRITE MALE READER BOOKS! Every twist and turn keeps me on the edge, and I can’t help but think, “How does she even come up with this stuff” AKSKSKJXJJXS MY #1 RECOMMENDATION!🫶🏻🥹

@dilvei (both on quotev and wattpad) i’m inlove with idrisssss, dilvei’s really good at writing and her writing style is just so yummyyyy, dilvei has loads of male reader stories, and her dragon x male reader is jsttt chef’s kiss, idris literally has me on a choke-hold. Dilvei is serving a 5star meal with her books!:33🫶🏻

@dinodaweeb (quotev) THEY’RE A REALLY GOOD WRITER & THEIR BOOKS AND ONESHOTS R FIREEE, M’TOTALLY INLOVE W THEIR FIC “EAT OR BE EATEN”, THEIR WRITING IS ON TOPPPP

@airenxys / @aerusraemin his writing is saurr good and the plots and the dialogues on his fics is so good and is literally so entertaining, his writing style is really pretty & i wanna cryyyy I literally adore him and his ficsss, his fic “crimson tryst” w yandere!yoriichi HAS ME TOTALLY HOOKED. HE’S MY CO-AUTHOR ON GAME OVER:3

Airovesterism (Quotev) HIS WRITING IS SO PRETTY, AND HIS BOOK ASSASSINATE (Quotev) & Till the water turns red (Ao3) IS SO GOOD, I’M INLOVE WITH HIS MC’S🫶🏻🫶🏻 his writing style is an eye-candy

D1v1n (Quotev) HER STORIES R FIREEE, I LOVE HER WRITING STYLE, IT’S SO GORG I SWEARRRRR, I WANNA CRYYYY. I LOVE HR AND HER BOOKSSS

ANYWAYSS, THAT’S ALL SJKSKSJS, i don’t rlly read that much so i don’t have much of recommendations since yk, i rarely read and sometimes get lazy in the middle of reading and just drop it😭😭 BUT YEAH, THAT’S ALL:3 i was gonna recommend my pookies but they’re on ao3😭😭 buttt, if you want ‘em ao3 writers that write for male readers, hereee! @terrorbladewho, (the original author of lovebombing) @keegan, & Oracledust.

please do not hit children. It makes them think this is regular behavior and tolerable. I’ve had people say “if your parents don’t hit you then they don’t love you.” Why? Because the parent told them that.

it is not excusable. I’m sure if the parent (who hits their kid) saw their child grow up and hit their own kids they’d be heartbroken not knowing that they instilled that mentality into the child.

it is cruel to hit children.

it is not "misguided". it is not "sometimes necessary." it is not "the best they could do with the information they had."

it is cruel to hit children.

even if they did "turn out fine" (which they don't.)

it is cruel to hit children.

to hit a child as "discipline" is to inflict pain on a human being who is much smaller than you, cannot defend themself, and is dependent on you for their survival, simply for the act of displeasing you and not following your orders. most people would find this morally horrifying if it was done to an animal.

it is cruel to hit children.

it teaches nothing except that pleasing you is more important than their well-being, and that violence against less powerful people is an acceptable response to things not going your way.

it is cruel to hit children.

amazing work broski I was jaw dropped :3

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story

warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc

you want to die.

you always do.

staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.

"you? i should give my money to you?"

"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"

"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."

that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.

"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—

"stop right there!"

damn it.

you think too soon.

a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.

"excuse me, madam? to where are you headed?"

gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"

"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.

"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

you do know. you wish you wouldn't.

"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."

"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."

"are you sure—"

"completely."

please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.

"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."

"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."

"of course."

you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.

that is the summary of your life.

taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.

the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.

that's exactly what happens.

your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.

leaving you in your own pile of misery.

it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.

gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.

the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.

tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.

even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.

"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"

your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."

"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."

"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."

an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.

"excuse me?"

you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent,  and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.

zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"

"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.

"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.

the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...

well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"

jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."

that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."

you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. im that's what makes you so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.

tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy

"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.

"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."

"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.

your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"

"let's be friends!"

"no."

"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.

"no."

"too bad! you're my friend now."

"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."

his face brightens at your fake words like he was just given the the world.

tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfull and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"

"Really now?"

"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"

... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.

"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."

this doesn't mean you hate him less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."

what the hell are you doing?

the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?

nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track.

"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."

there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how amny times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.

"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."

"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"

"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"

you just met him... you just accepted being his friend... you weren't the most social person. you never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤

ding!

your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who had sent you a message. you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.

mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.

a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family looked out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever is in sight at you.

telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.

after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."

"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.

honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate was still fucking with you, wasn't it?

you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.

"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.

you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."

"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"

your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."

you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?

"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."

and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.

ewwww

this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series

um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it

ao3 editor 🗣️🗣️

plz reblog for science

my mother asked if the reason why Wolverine drank so much was to promote Ryan’s gin. (Even though he never drank it lmao) and I told her no but couldn’t help but imagine and make a shitty ass ad.

yeah sorry.

Sooo what r we feeling?

@gayfraggle just watched it. That car scene was everything. Truly rough hot sex as its finest.

guys did wolverine and Deadpool make out??? I need to know.

Chimmy those Changas | One Shot

Deadpool x M!Reader (can be a continuation of deadly indifference)

The two of you found a nearby food truck, the enticing aroma of freshly cooked food wafting through the air. You stood in line, Deadpool tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hurry up, people! I’ve got a captive here,” he called out, earning confused looks from the other customers.

Finally, it was your turn. You both ordered chimichangas and found a nearby bench to sit on while you waited for your food.

Deadpool unwrapped his chimichanga with reverence. He eyed as if it was the Holy Virgin herself. He took a big bite and sighed in contentment. Or maybe he just horny for the food.

“Nothing like a good chimichanga to make a shitty day better.”

You took a bite of yours, the flavors exploding in your mouth. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Deadpool exclaimed, bits of food flying from his mouth. “These are the best chimichangas in the city! Show some respect.”

Before you could respond, there was a loud bang, and the food truck exploded in a ball of fire. You and Deadpool were thrown from the bench, landing hard on the pavement.

“What the hell?” you muttered, trying to catch your breath.

Deadpool jumped to his feet, scanning the area. “Looks like someone’s trying to kill you again. And I don’t like it.”

From the smoke and debris, a group of heavily armed mercenaries emerged, their weapons trained on you and Deadpool.

“Great,” you sighed, picking up your chimichanga and taking another bite. “I just wanted to eat in peace.”

Deadpool drew his katanas, a manic grin on his face. “Guess it’s showtime. Stay close, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes but continued munching on your chimichanga, barely paying attention to the chaos unfolding around you.

Deadpool launched into action, dodging bullets and slicing through the mercenaries with efficiency. Making their bodies squirt blood all over your shoes.

You sat back down on the bench, taking another bite of your chimichanga. Despite the explosions and gunfire, you couldn’t help but appreciate the flavors. “Not bad at all,” you mumbled to yourself.

It kinda sucked that the truck exploded but it is what it is.

One of the mercenaries approached you, weapon raised. You glanced up briefly, sighed, and went back to your food. Deadpool, noticing the danger, threw a knife with pinpoint accuracy, taking the mercenary down before he could get a shot off.

“Jerk,” you said around a mouthful of food, not looking up.

“No problem, sugarplum,” Deadpool called back, his voice cheerful as he disarmed another attacker. He cackled at your disgust for the pet name. “Enjoying your chimichanga?”

“It’s good,” you replied. “Though I can feel the spice crawling up my ass crack.”

Deadpool laughed, slicing through two more mercenaries. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Are your testicles tingling?”

As the fight continued, you found yourself almost enjoying the absurdity of the situation. Despite the chaos around you, you felt strangely calm. Maybe it was the good food or Deadpool’s relentless banter, but for the first time in a while, you weren’t complaining.

A mercenary lunged at you, and Deadpool quickly intervened, dispatching the attacker with a swift move. He then plopped down next to you, breathing heavily but grinning, his mask showing his lower face.

“You know, for someone who’s sucidal as fuck you have been having multiple opportunities in the past… ten minutes.”

You shrugged, taking another bite. “I’ve decided.” Your eyes locking with his.

“I want you to kill me.”

Deadpool chuckled, leaning back on the bench. “Rightttt.” He quickly took a bite of your lunch making you scrunch your face.

“Good luck with that.”

“For real” you admitted. “You’re a dick.”

Deadpool nodded sagely. “A wise man once told me. ‘You are what you eat’.”

You rolled your eyes. “How inspirational.”

As the last of the mercenaries were dealt with, Deadpool stood up, offering you a hand. “Alright, pal, let’s get out of here before more show up.”

You took his hand, finishing the last of your chimichanga. “Lead the way, piss boy.”

“Piss boy?”

“It’s your pet name .”

guys did wolverine and Deadpool make out??? I need to know.

thoughts on saitama with an airhead lover?

um fucking awesome 🗣️🗣️🚨 omg I need more opm content!! Forgive me if this was not what u wanted 🗣️☝️ but I love comedy

PERMANENT IMPRESSIONS | Saitama x Gn!Airhead!Reader

Saitama stretched lazily on the couch, flipping through channels with a disinterested expression. His usual routine of hero work and mundane errands had left him feeling particularly bored today. Just as he was about to settle on a nature documentary, the front door swung open, and his lover, You bounded in with an exuberant grin.

“Saitama! Guess what I did today!” You exclaimed, bouncing on your toes.

Saitama raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for whatever unpredictable adventure you had embarked on this time. “What did you do?”

You rolled up your sleeve to reveal a fresh tattoo of a mosquito on your forearm. Saitama’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the detailed design.

“A mosquito?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yeah! I got it to spite you,” You said proudly. “Remember that one mosquito you couldn’t kill? Well, now you have to look at it every day!”

Saitama sighed deeply, shaking his head. “You really went and got a tattoo of a mosquito just for that?”

“Absolutely,” they replied, beaming. “Isn’t it hilarious?”

Saitama rubbed his temples. “You do realize tattoos are permanent, right?”

You shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, but it’s funny. Plus, it’s just one little tattoo.”

The next day, Saitama came home to find you with yet another new tattoo. This time, it was an intricate design of a robot on their upper arm.

“Let me guess,” Saitama said, dropping his grocery bags on the counter. “You got that because you think Genos is cool?”

“Exactly!” You said, eyes sparkling with excitement. “He’s so awesome with all his gadgets and stuff. I wanted to honor that.”

Saitama sighed, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You know you don’t need to get tattoos to show admiration, right?”

“But it looks so cool!” you protested, flexing your arm to show off the robot.

Days later, Saitama was unsurprised but still slightly dismayed when you revealed yet another new addition. This time, it was a large cross on your back.

“Why a cross?” Saitama asked, genuinely curious.

“It looks badass, doesn’t it?” you said, twirling to give him a full view. “I saw this design in a magazine and thought it would make me look tough.”

Saitama nodded slowly. “I guess it does look pretty cool. But are you sure you’re not going overboard with these tattoos?”

“No way!” You replied confidently. “I’m just getting started.”

A week later, Saitama walked into the living room to find you looking unusually sheepish.

“Saitama,” they began hesitantly, “I… might have made a mistake this time.”

Saitama raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What happened?”

With a deep breath, you rolled up their sleeve to reveal a small, crude tattoo of a penis on your arm.

Saitama stared at it for a moment before bursting into laughter. “What in the world were you thinking?”

“I didn’t notice it when the artist was showing me the design,” you admitted, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I thought it was just a random doodle.”

Saitama wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “You really need to start paying more attention before getting these done.”

“I know, I know,” they groaned. “I’m going to get it covered up as soon as possible.”

Saitama’s laughter died down, and he placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “You know, despite all the crazy things you do, I still love you.”

You looked up at him, their embarrassment fading. “Really?”

“Really,” Saitama confirmed with a smile. “But seriously, no more impulse tattoos.”

They nodded earnestly. “Okay, okay, lesson learned. No more impulse tattoos.”

“Yup.”

“But, what about an egg on my butt for a tattoo?”

“[Name].”

me awakening the beast (geek) in me bc I remembered he existed:

wahhh time to rewatch movies, catch up on lore, binge shows, play with legos, and draw him (yay!!) and read fanfics!! :3

Hey law, I love you! :)