Dino Writesss - Tumblr Posts

A/N: idk. I’m just simping. Hopefully u too. <3 Thinking about Yandre Mafia Man!

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Yandere Mafia Man! Who treats you like royalty. Every day you receive new clothes and gifts in the mail. That one piece of clothing you stared at the store? It’s at your house by noon. Oh, you want a car? Well why not two?

Yandere Mafia Man! Who stops at nothing to ensure you live comfortably. Each gift, every item is a reminder for others to know whom you belong to. Him.

Yandere Mafia Man! Who’s so lovesick and delusional he does whatever you’ll say in hopes of you accepting him. Giving you his complete support and obedience making you hold the leash he wears.

Yandere Mafia Man! Whose love is as intense as his criminal activities. It’s always candlelit dinners, moonlit strolls, and handwritten love letters. He watches you when you’re sleep. You’re adorable you know that?

Yandere Mafia Man! Who becomes nothing but pudding in your arms. His kisses are so sweet, like sugar, and his touch is tender. He willingly submits to you, loving the way you take control. After all you’re his and he’s yours.

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Say it ain’t so

[a/n: this is also posted on my ao3. It’s not permitted to be posted anywhere else without my permission, approval, or consent. If you see it elsewhere please notify and thank you! I also do requests.]

Alastor isn’t fond of media. 

That includes the flat screen who hasn’t shown his face on the news or any other television program. It doesn’t particularly affect him but it certainly raises his questions. He watched as the lights flickered and sparks flew from the power lines. It was a hunch. A theory even but his suspicions were most likely correct. If the missing overlord and glitchy effects were anything to go by.

Perhaps, his dear friend deserved a visit? For entertainment of course. 

But he should inform Charlie of his decision. In case things go differently. Walking down the stairs he made eye contact with the lady herself. His eyes curved to the shape of smile which pulled his lips ever so tightly.

“Charlie, my dear, I’ll be busy this evening so continue your activities.” His voice getting rather monotonous when he continued. “With everyone else. Ta Ta!”

She gives him a wave and her eyes crinkle from how genuine she is. It makes Alastor raise a brow but he gives a curt nod.

As the radio demon left the hotel he went into the streets of hell. Alastor roamed the twisted alleyways of Hell, his senses were assaulted by the sights and sounds of suffering. Pure filth and cruelty, it was perfect. Tormented souls writhed in agony, their anguished cries echoing off the decaying walls. The air was thick with the stench of despair, a humble reminder of the eternal torment that awaited those damned to this infernal realm. 

And he is one of them.

Instead of the usual blare of media screens that adorned the buildings the screens eerily silent. Not even on, Alastor noticed. The absence of the incessant drones capturing others secrets made him even more confused. But his questions were answered when the televisions on the displays lit up. The 666 news channel started playing.

Ah! Finally, Vox must’ve fixed—

But the sinners thoughts were interrupted as he saw the screen. It was Velvette not Vox. Involuntarily his smile twitched and his nails gripped his staff. Leaving the man even more confused than he was before.

Alastor doesn’t enjoy being the one in the dark, perhaps it was time to shine some light on this subject.

A wicked smile tugged at the corners of Alastor's lips as he snapped his fingers, summoning his shadows to envelop him. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he allowed the darkness to swallow him whole, transporting him to his intended destination. His yellow teeth are put into a devilish grin.

How interesting.

.˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.˚🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

Wires bent and stretched in the sinners palms. The televisions screen flashed blue before malfunctioning and his body twitched as his chest heaved up and down. Thirsty for air. His once-sharp voice module crackled with static, sending jolts of pain through his system with each attempt to speak.

”Va-a” Vox’s throat burned for relief but he was given none when a raspy cough left him. “Val? Valentino?”

He called for his business partner but he was given no feedback. Not even Velvette?

Shit he’ll overheat like this.

His fans were barely cooling his rising temperature. Vox wasn’t sure if he would be able to cool himself down. The televisions surroundings seemed to blur as his vision began to falter, the relentless heat threatening to overwhelm his systems entirely. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

“My, my! Hello old friend,” A voice laced in static broke Vox from his thoughts. “You seem to be in quite the predicament.”

An intrigued hum left the deers mouth. His crimson eyes crinkled in amusement as he stared the younger man. Vox gulped down some of his saliva. His screen buffering with pixelated black and white before showing his face again.

“You-!$*sa…!”

”Hm?”

His fingers curled scrapping the floor with his claw marks. “What..” Vox used his hypnosis eye. “Are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the entertainment, my friend.” His eyes gazed into Vox’s. “Not for your little tricks.”

A grumble was his reply.

“So, it’s seems like you are in quite the situation. Ha ha.” 

“No shit, Alastor.”

Alastor chuckled darkly at Vox's words. "Well, well, looks like the overlord Vox is having a bit of trouble." He paced around Vox, his shadowy form casting an eerie aura in the dimly lit room. “Where’s your beloved moth?”

Vox felt himself tense.

“Who gives a shit? I-$!sdo-dn’t!!” His screen buffered.

The deer chuckled at his behavior and gave the tv screen a light tap with cane. Making the screen return to his usual face.

"Fear not, my dear friend, for I have come to offer my assistance."

Vox's screen flickered as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Help? From you? I'd fucking trust Lucifer over you.”

Alastor's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth. "Ah, but you see, Vox, you are desperate, are you not? And who better to assist you in your time of need than the one and only Radio Demon? Your rival.”

Vox hesitated, weighing his options. This was probably a one in lifetime experience. Call him a simp but to be nursed by Alastor…. The thought wasn’t repulsive. But if this was all just a stupid joke he’d fucking kill himself-or Alastor. He wasn’t sure which he actually wanted.

Despite his pride, he reluctantly accepted Alastor’s offer. "Fine," he agreed, his voice strained. "But don’t you fucking try something."

“Splendid! What a pleasant surprise.”

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned his shadows once more, manipulating them with expert precision. The screen displayed a “Danger!” sign and Vox covered himself in electricity. Static shock sending throughout his body.

“Ah, ah! Don’t move Vox,” The overlord shivering when Alastor said his name. “They don’t bite.”

 Shadows danced around Vox, cooling his overheated systems and stabilizing his malfunctioning circuits. Slowly, Vox felt the intense heat dissipate, replaced by a welcome sense of relief. He didn’t know Alastor’s shadows were able to that. In fact, he liked to believe that he knew a lot about Alastor. Because.. they’re rivals of course.

As the shadows receded, Vox's screen cleared, displaying his image without any glitches or distortions. He blinked in surprise, momentarily speechless. He… helped Vox?

"Consider it a favor, Vox," Alastor said nonchalantly, though a hint of amusement lingered in his tone. "But remember, every favor comes with a price."

Vox gritted his teeth, knowing all too well the nature of deals made with demons. "I won't forget it, Alastor," he replied through clenched jaws. "And I won't owe you anything."

Alastor chuckled ominously, his red eyes gleaming with mischief. "We'll see about that, Vox. We'll see."

The sinner got up from his bed and approached Alastor and spoke softly. “Thanks.. I guess.” Alastor’s gaze softened at his words even if Vox wasn’t aware he heard.

”Hm? Im afraid you’ll have to speak up, dear.”

”I said..” He bit his lip. “Fuck you!”

”I think, I should’ve let you fry up.”

Deadly Indifference | one-shot

Deadpool X M!Reader

tw: swearing, mentions of sew a slide thoughts (from both tbh)

Summary: Deadpool wants you to show emotion. (And bugs the crap out of you.)

You sat tied to a chair, remarkably composed despite the circumstances. It’s been your third time getting kidnapped this week and it’s only Tuesday. The man who kidnapped you must’ve died already because a man in red and black walked through the door. He mimed the motion of up and down that you felt too familiar to notice.

“Hey there, buddy,” Deadpool chimed cheerfully, pacing around you. The ropes that tied your wrists to the chair felt surprisingly loose.“You know, most people would be sweating their balls off right about now. But, you’re just chillin’. I like that.”

You glanced up at him with a mild shrug, a gesture that only seemed to fuel Deadpool’s curiosity.

He’s a chatterbox.

“I gotta admit,” Deadpool continued, leaning in close with an exaggerated whisper, his mouth touching your ear. “I’m kinda into this whole ‘I don’t give a crap if Deadpool kills me’ vibe you’ve got going on. It’s refreshing. It’s… kinda hot.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression betraying a hint of amusement. What is he even saying?

“Are we gonna do this or what?” you asked, your voice flat.

Deadpool stepped back, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow, straight to the point! I like it. No foreplay, just bam, let’s get this show on the road. Alright, let’s see if I can make you squeal.”

“Good luck with that,” you replied dryly.

“Okay, tough guy,” Deadpool muttered, starting to circle you with exaggerated steps. “You know, most people are all ‘Oh no, Deadpool, please don’t hurt me! I have a family!’” He gave a side eye (somehow?) through the mask. Or they’ll say ‘No, I haven’t closed my tabs and my web browser history isn’t deleted!’ But you, you’re just sitting there like you’re waiting for your Uber Eats.”

“I did order some food before I got kidnapped,” you replied. “It might be waiting outside.”

Deadpool paused, tilting his head. “What did you get?”

“Chimichangas,” you said with a faint hunger in your eyes.

Deadpool’s eyes widened behind his mask. “You’re serious?”

“Yep. Thought I’d try them out.”

Deadpool’s posture relaxed, and he leaned against the back of your chair. Putting his arm on top of your head like you’ve been childhood best friends. “You know, I like you. You’ve got style. Most people don’t appreciate a good chimichanga.”

He said, as if he wasn’t trying to kill you two minutes prior.

“Are we going somewhere with this?” you asked, your tone still indifferent. You brought this question up a second time. Was he still trying to kill you?

“Right, right, getting sidetracked,” Deadpool said, snapping back to the task at hand. “So, here’s the deal: I’m gonna try and scare the crap out of you, and you’re gonna react like a normal human being. Got it?”

“Sure,” you agreed, not sounding convinced.

“Alright!” Deadpool clapped his hands together. “Let’s start with something simple. How about… I cut off a finger?”

You held up your hand, which was still loosely tied. “You gonna untie me first, or do I do it myself?”

Deadpool rolled his eyes. “You’re really killing the vibe here, you know that?”

You shrugged again. “Look, man, it’s been a long week. Just get on with it.”

Deadpool sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. Plan B.” He suddenly leaned in close, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “We are going to start an only fans.”

You looked at him, deadpan. “Seriously? No one is going to pay for that shit.”

“Hey, people totally dig the whole “I got kidnapped by a hot anti-hero and now I’m slowly falling for them.” Deadpool retorted, pointing at the screen, hoping whoever reading this did not have a watt pad phase.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“You’re right,” Deadpool said, standing up straight and tossing the a coin aside. “You know what? You’re impossible to scare. So, I’m gonna make you wish you’d never crossed paths with me.”

Without warning, he drew one of his katanas and sliced a shallow cut across your cheek. The cold steel was sharp, precise, and for the first time, you felt a sting of pain.

The burn of cut flesh.

“Finally,” you muttered, almost relieved.

Deadpool noticed the change in your eyes—the hint of happiness, the glimmer of anticipation. He smirked under his mask, raising the blade as if to deliver the final blow.

You closed your eyes, ready to embrace the end. But then, nothing.

You opened your eyes to find Deadpool standing there, the blade poised but unmoving. He tilted his head, studying your reaction.

“Aw, were you actually looking forward to that?” Deadpool asked, his tone mockingly sweet.

Your expression darkened, and anger flared in your eyes. “You…”

Deadpool sheathed his katana, chuckling. “Gotcha. ❤︎ Think I’m going to let you die? Nah, you’re my new piss boy!”

“You are such an ass,” you snapped, genuinely pissed off now.

Deadpool laughed heartily, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Finally! A reaction! See? I knew you had it in you.”

He ruffled your disheveled hair. “Who’s a good boy?”

You glared at him, what a loser. “Actually fucking kill yourself.”

“Not today,” Deadpool said, still chuckling. He untied your ropes with a flourish. “Let’s go get those chimichangas.”

As the two of you headed out of the warehouse, you couldn’t help but shake your head at the absurdity of it all. Were you getting kidnapped again? Did it count if you voluntarily? Would Deadpool ever shut up and just kill you?

“So,” Deadpool said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “How’s your spice tolerance?”

“Depends,” you replied. “Are you paying?”

“You wish.” Deadpool chuckled.

Bitch.

a/n: Lowkey kinda cringed. But eh. Can’t wait for the deadpool and wolverine movie to come out so I can write for the two of them. (making out) feel free to request :)

Saving You Again | one-shot

Miguel O’Hara X M!Reader

Summary: You’re a scientist who’s always in the wrong situation at the wrong time. Lucky your neighborhood (grumpy) spider-man is here to save the day.

Nueva York, 2099.

The towering skyscrapers and neon lights painted a vibrant picture of the future, but inside the sleek halls of Alchemax, things were as chaotic as ever.

“Not again,” Miguel muttered to himself as alarms blared through the building. He raced down the corridors, already knowing who was responsible.

You.

As he reached the lab, he found you surrounded by an enormous pile of ash and smoke, frantically trying to shut down an overloading machine.

“Move!” Miguel barked, shoving you aside with surprising gentleness before his hands flew over the controls, quickly stabilizing the system.

You looked up at him with a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Spider-man! Luckily you are bigger nerd than me.”

Miguel sighed, giving you a glare. “That’s not what matters.”

Despite his stern words, there was a softness in his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to save you from one of your own experiments. In fact, it had become a regular occurrence.

A bit too regular.

“Seriously, [Name],” Miguel continued, his tone exasperated yet affectionate. You got in trouble enough times Spider-man knew your name! (Or maybe it was on your name tag.)

“One of these days, you’re going to blow up the entire lab.”

You laughed, scratching the back of your head. “But then you wouldn’t have anything to do.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s just move you to a safer position.”

As he escorted you out of the lab, you slapped his shoulder with enthusiasm. Despite his gruff exterior, Spider-man always seemed to be there for you, protecting you from your own recklessness.

“Yo, Spidey! Next time we meet if you save me again we should go out to eat.”

The masked man stared at you, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. You thought that meant no but his reply was a tiny whisper.

“Sure.”

.—🕷️—.

The second time it happened, you were in the middle of recalibrating a plasma conduit. One wrong move sent the entire system into overdrive, and the containment field started to fail.

“Ahh! Fucking run guys!” you screamed, dodging a burst of energy.

The other scientists on your lab team dashed out of the room, exiting the building. You turned to leave but then spotted your manga comic you had been reading and didn’t finish.

You’re not wasting a good ten bucks of illustration and hot men!

A blast of power was hit in your direction but something grabbed your waist pulling backwards. You watched your manga obliterate right in front of your eyes.

Damn.

Spider-man appeared almost instantly, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to shut down the conduit before it could explode. He turned to you, a mix of frustration and relief in his eyes.

At least, you thought so. He kinda had a masked on.

“Seriously?” he huffed, his tone tired, like he just wanted to flop down on the couch on Young Sheldon or something. “How do you keep getting into these situations?”

You cracked a nervous smile. “Luck? I mean I’m a scientist, c’mon!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You need to be more careful.”

This dude seemed to sigh a lot around you.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Wanna grab an early dinner now?”

Miguel hesitated, his mask concealing his expression but not the uncertainty in his body language. After a brief pause, he nodded. “Alright, fine..but understand that you don’t need to repay me. This is my job.”

Your eyes lit up, and you couldn’t help but grin. “I know a great place that sells empanadas just a few blocks from here. And hey, can’t I just take you somewhere and call it a date?”

Spider-man chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. (But you sure it was a laugh.) “Yes, I suppose? Let’s get the carne ones though.”

The fact that you were walking next to a superhero, it felt like a fever dream. You chatted about trivial things, from your favorite manga series to the latest advancements in tech.

(Not sure, if it’s allowed to be leaked but since it’s Spider-Man it’s okay.)

When you finally reached the restaurant. Spider-Man removed his mask just enough to eat, revealing a sharp jawline and striking features. It was a rare sight, one that made you appreciate the man behind the Spider-man persona even more.

Woah. Was that fangs? ᡣ𐭩

Hot.

“Wow, you look…ho— cool!” you spoke, giving him a feral grin.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

As you both dug into your food, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Despite his gruff exterior, Miguel had a dry sense of humor that you found endearing. He told you stories of his past escapades, and you shared some of your own, albeit less heroic, adventures.

Like the time you ate cookies that had marijuana by accident and thought you were going to die.

After finishing your meal, the two of you walked back towards Alchemax, the city lights reflecting off the sleek surfaces of the buildings. There was a comfortable silence between you, a mutual understanding that didn’t require words.

“Thanks for dinner,” Miguel said, his tone softer than usual. “And seriously, try to stay out of trouble.”

You nodded, giving him a playful salute. “Yes, sir. No more exploding labs.” A small grin forming on your lips. “No promises though.”

He gave you a lingering look, as if trying to gauge your sincerity, before finally nodding.

“Take care.”

Noodles | one shot

Saitama X Gn!Reader

Summary: You meet a bald hero. He always appears at the most random moments. (Not that you particularly mind)

In the bustling aisles of the local grocery store, a battle of wills erupted over a simple pack of discounted instant noodles. You and Saitama, both reaching for the last pack, locked eyes in a silent challenge that quickly escalated into a tug-of-war.

“Hey! That’s mine!” you shouted, refusing to back down.

Saitama’s expression remained calm and collected. “Sorry, but I got here first.”

“No way, I’m not letting go!” you retorted, pulling with all your might.

The pack stretched and strained between you, customers around you watching the spectacle with raised eyebrows.

“Give it up already.” Saitama urged, his deadpan tone contrasting with the intensity of the battle.

“Like hell I will!” you shot back, your determination fueled by stubbornness and hunger.

The standoff continued until, with a sudden surge of strength, Saitama yanked the pack toward him, leaving you stumbling backward.

“Damn it, Baldy!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in defeat.

He tucked the noodles under his arm casually. “Thanks.”

From that day onward, every encounter with Saitama seemed to lead to chaos.

(You figured out his hero name was Caped Baldy and cackled for a good while.)

Whether it was a giant monster rampaging through the streets or a minor inconvenience at the park, you inevitably found yourself caught in the crossfire.

Like now.

“Ahh! What the heck?!” you screamed, dodging debris from a monster’s swipe.

Saitama landed beside you, dispatching the threat with a single punch. The aftermath from his punch sent you flying. “Oops, my bad.”

“Your bad?!” you yelled, brushing dust off your clothes. “I almost died!”

He scratched his head. “You seem to attract trouble.”

“And you seem to cause it!” you retorted, frustration bubbling over.

Despite your exasperation, Saitama’s nonchalant demeanor grated on your nerves. How could someone be so laidback in the face of such absurdity?

“You know,” you started, glaring at him, “Shouldn’t you be concerned about what power does on others?”

Saitama shrugged. “Eh, it happens.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

He flashed you a small smile. “But you keep appearing.”

You scoffed, but deep down, you knew he was right. As much as Saitama’s antics drove you crazy, there was something oddly comforting about having him around. Maybe it was his unshakeable confidence or his ability to handle any situation with ease.

One day, after yet another chaotic encounter that left the local ramen shop in ruins, you and Saitama stood amidst the wreckage, staring at the destroyed bowls of ramen.

“Well, there goes lunch,” you sighed, shaking your head.

Saitama scratched his head. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you replied with a shrug. “We’ll just have to get more.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Get more?”

“Yeah, and this time, let’s settle this properly,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Let’s see who can make the better bowl of noodles.”

“Because last time, you stole mine!” You pointed an accusatory finger at him.

Saitama blinked, processing your challenge. “You’re on.”

And so, you both ventured to the supermarket, determined to prove your culinary skills. The cashiereyed you both warily as you placed your groceries, sizing up the competition.

Back at Saitama’s house, you focused intently on creating the perfect bowl of ramen. Saitama’s approach was surprisingly simple, while yours was more experimental, adding unconventional toppings and spices.

(You’re pretty sure you saw Saitama just text his friend what to do next.)

After what seemed like an eternity of slurping noodles and tasting broth, the time came to judge the results.

“So?” you asked eagerly, eyeing Saitama’s satisfied expression.

He nodded approvingly. “Not bad.”

You grinned, taking a big gulp of his creation. “Hmm, pretty good.”

Saitama glanced at your bowl, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You presented your bowl proudly, a colorful masterpiece. (A magnum opus.)

He took a bite, his expression unreadable behind the mask. After a moment, he nodded again. “Impressive.”

“Ha! I knew mine was better,” you exclaimed, pumping a fist in victory.

Saitama chuckled, a rare sound that made you smile. “Alright.”

Abruptly, the door opened. The demon cyborg walked in. His name was—?

“Oh, hey Genos.” Saitama waved lazily.

“Hello Master.” He greeted Saitama before turning towards you. You watched his arms grow in heat and the beams threatening to burn you.

“Shall I remove the garbage, Master Saitama?”

“Genos um—“

“Don’t you fucking shoot!”

I am once again asking for genos x reader. Will I receive🤔

ofc pookie 😩💗🫶 anything for you. But here is the price for not being specific teehee!! Hope he wasn’t too odd :>

STAY WITH ME | One-Shot

Slight?Yandere!Genos x Gn!Reader

Summary: You get hurt, Genos goes apeshit. (Yippee!)

The night was cool and quiet, oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold. You were out for a walk, enjoying the calmness of the evening, when you heard the distant sounds of a battle. Your heart sank; you knew Genos was out on patrol, and the thought of him in danger always filled you with dread.

Foolishly, you ran head first following the sound.

You quickened your pace, your curiosity getting the better of you. You hoped to catch a glimpse of him in action, but as you rounded the corner, the scene that greeted you was far more terrifying than you could have imagined.

A massive, grotesque monster towered over the street, its eyes glowing with malice. Genos was there, his body already showing signs of damage as he fought with relentless determination. Half of his was peeled off from what was probably and you watched his eyes widened when you got his gaze. You watched in horror as the monster’s attention shifted from Genos to you.

“Get back!” Genos shouted, but it was too late. The monster lunged towards you, its massive claws aiming to strike.

Before you could react, you felt a sharp pain as the claws raked across your side, sending you sprawling to the ground. Blood seeped through your clothes, and a searing pain radiated from the wound. Your muscles contracted and it hurt to breathe.

Crimson liquid spilled from your side. You tried to move, but your body refused to cooperate.

“No!” Genos’s voice was raw and the intensity of his voice was shocking. In an instant, he was by your side, his eyes wide with panic as he assessed your injury. “Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please, stay with me.”

You tried to speak, to reassure him, but the pain was too overwhelming. Your vision blurred, and darkness threatened to overtake you.

Your eyes started to shut.

Genos’s expression shifted from desperation to a silent rage. His animosity was leaking through his figure, his golden eyes dim with ire. He turned towards the monster, his body lighting up with energy. “You’ll pay for this,” he grunted, his voice filled with deadly promise.

The fight that followed was a blur of light and sound. Genos unleashed his full power, his attacks fueled by emotion. Didn’t matter if his limbs tore off or he was losing his energy by the second. It hurt you. The monster stood no chance as he tore it apart, his strikes defined and developed. The ground shook with the force of his fury, and within moments, the creature lay defeated, its body reduced to smoldering rubble.

With the threat eliminated, Genos rushed back to your side, his face covered with blood and grime. “Hang on,” he whispered, his hands trembling as he carefully lifted you. “I’ll get you to safety.”

You felt the warmth of his embrace, the steady hum of his heart as he carried you. The pain was still there, but his presence was a comforting despite the situation.

Genos moved with a delicacy you admired. His speed bringing you to the nearest medical facility. The doctors sprang into action, and you were whisked away, leaving Genos to pace anxiously in the waiting room. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as he waited for news, his mind racing with a thousand what-ifs and fears.

Finally, a doctor emerged, and Genos rushed to meet them. “How is—” he began, but the doctor held up a hand to calm him.

“They’re stable,” the doctor said. “We’ve managed to stop the bleeding and treat the wound. They’ll need time to recover, but they’re going to be okay.”

The relief that washed over Genos was palpable. He sagged against the wall, his eyes closing briefly as he let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

When he was finally allowed to see you, he approached your bedside cautiously, his usually confident demeanor replaced with hesitation. You opened your eyes, offering him a weak smile. “Hey,” you whispered.

Genos sank into the chair beside you, taking your hand in his. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I should have protected you.”

His head hung low in shame.

“You did,” you replied, squeezing his hand gently. “You saved me.”

He shook his head, his eyes filled with regret. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. I allowed you to get hurt.. what kind of hero does that?”

You reached up to touch his face, your fingers brushing against the cool metal. “I’m here, Genos. Thanks to you.”

He held your hand to his cheek, closing his eyes. “I’m yours.”

“And you’re mine.” You grinned.

“I swear I’ll never let anything happen to you again.”

“I know,” you said softly. “Just… stay with me.”

“I will,” he promised, his voice a vow.

“Always.♡”

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].”

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 .”

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)

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.

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?

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