Earned Position

No Place He’d Rather Be

Pairing: Daycare Teachers!Sope 

Genre: The Fluffiest of Fluff| Domestic Vibes

Word Count: 5.3k

Prompt: Chocolate Covered Faces

Rating: G

Summary:  Yoongi gets called to help out at Jin’s daycare and the following is a small, fluffy oneshot of him realizing Hoseok’s wonderful at childcare and that he’s fallen head over heels for the man.

A/N: @apotatomashedbybts I’m so sorry it took me so long ; w ; this was changed and revised so many times but I hope the end result is still enjoyable. This was almost a Taekook easter bunny thing but i missed the window oops. Please enjoy and feedback is always welcome~

AO3 Link

Yoongi sighed as he nervously ran his hands down his pants leg. Today was his first day as a helper for a daycare owned by his close friend. He normally wasn’t much of a people person, and high-energy kids would surely take a lot out of him, but Jin, the owner and his friend, had all but begged him to help out for at least a month while he tried to find someone to fill in.

Worldwide Smiles was the product of all of Jin’s love and hard work, having invested all of his time and money to open a large daycare in Seoul that took in elementary school-aged kids. Jin had hired several close friends to take care of the kids with Namjoon and himself as the caretakers for the children from the fourth and fifth grade. Taehyung and Jimin for the first through third grades, while Jungkook and Hoseok had taken over the children in both pre-k and kindergarten.

Jungkook was going off to college, and since he had signed up for morning and afternoon classes, he wouldn’t be able to assist Hoseok anymore until he graduated.

That’s where Yoongi came in, as per Jin’s request. The older man had asked his long time friend to step in until he could find someone to permanently take up the position.

Yoongi stopped outside of the room with the sun painted on the door, lips pursed as he heard the chaos unfolding inside spilling out into the brightly colored hall. He inhaled deeply and twisted the door handle, taking a step inside.

Almost immediately, a hand shot out in front of his face and he flinched, letting out a startled scream.

Keep reading

you’re a successful hybrid writer

psychologist who takes in seven

hybrids one stormy night after finding

one of their pack stealing from your garden

or

an unsystematic catalog of

hybrid bts x f.reader imagines

r e q u e s t s : closed

⏤i n t r o

⏤m e e t i n g

how you met hybrid bts

⏤p e t t i n g

when hybrid bts crave pets 

⏤s n o w i n g

hybrid bts playing in snow for the first time 

⏤f a i n t i n g

when you’re sick/when you faint

⏤b e g r u d g i n g

when hybrid bts get jealous

⏤p a s s i n g t i m e

how you help hybrid bts find their pass times

⏤w o r k i n g

when hybrid bts find out what you for a living after you had to leave for work one day

⏤c o m f o r t i n g ⌊NEW⌉

you have a panic attack and yoongi is there to comfort you

. . .

⏤c e l e b r a t i n g

hybrid bts do their best to plan and carry out a birthday surprise for you

⏤q u a l i f y i n g

hybrid bts do their best to show you how capable they are so that they are worthy enough to be your mate

⏤n e s t i n g

bts hybrids make a nest to claim and comfort you

⏤m i x e d s i g n a l l i n g

when you give them mixed signals during that time of month 

⏤e n d a n g e r i n g

bts hybrids go out for some good old brotherly bonding while you stay home unsuspecting of upcoming danger 

⏤n o t i c i n g

you start noticing things about them and you don’t know if you should be happy or sad

⏤b l a m i n g

bts hybrids see a rare, vunlnerable side of you when you make an ametuer mistake

⏤c u d d l i n g

you make a habit of cuddling them whenever they’re scared 

missing this barrel rat right now

Have We Met Before?

Summary : America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Wife! Sorceress! Reader (she/her) (+ brief Reporter!Bucky x spider woman!reader / ravager!Bucky x Nova Corps!Reader / knight!Bucky x princess!reader)

Warnings/tags : multiverse stuff, slight cursing, Injury. Featuring America Chavez, Strange and Wong. Fluff!!!!!!!

Word count : 6.9k

Note : This was inspired by the song of the same name by Tom Rosenthal. I also just think Bucky would be super protective over the MCU’s young heroes, y’know? Like, he knows what it’s like to be young and talented in this field and would try his best to make sure none of the next generation of heroes would get taken advantage of and used like he was. Anyway, enjoy!

Earth-616...

The sun hung low over the terracotta roofs the day you first met America Chavez.

You, a teacher of shielding magic in Kamar-Taj, often sought out to train new recruits in the art of defensive spells, were meditating when she arrived.

She stood near the center of the courtyard, her jacket dusted with ash, boots scuffed and worn from a recent battle. She looked relaxed, but her eyes scanned the space with the paranoia of someone who had seen too many things go wrong too quickly. Strange had brought her in personally.

There was a spark about her—a being of chaos and confidence wrapped in a teenage body. Even the air around her seemed to him with potential. As you walked toward her, preparing the same measured welcome you gave all new students, she looked up, caught your eye, and smiled. 

“Hi!” She exclaimed, “I know you!”

You furrowed your eyebrows, puzzled. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Not this you,” she said with a smirk. “Other yous. I can travel to different realities.”

You studied her for a moment, and in that instant, your understanding of the multiverse shifted slightly—not in theory, not in abstract philosophy, but in practice. 

She was real, tangible, and standing three feet in front of you, smiling like this sort of thing happened every Tuesday.

And maybe, for her, it did.

—

You quickly became her favourite teacher.

She liked Strange, but you were more sympathetic than him, and less rigid than Wong. You were enough of a challenge to keep her attention— on good days, anyway. America had a habit of brushing off lessons she didn’t think she needed. If a spell didn’t explode or glow or bend reality sideways, she wasn’t that interested. But she also had a habit of punching holes through space and tearing through dimensions like they were paper. She could travel without a Sling Ring, which made her a magnet for trouble.

See, that kind of power doesn’t go unnoticed. That kind of power needed protection.

So you pushed her a little harder. Taught her advanced shielding techniques, the kind that could hold up against dimensional anomalies and the occasional demon. You worked patiently with her, correcting her form, teaching her to stabilise her breathing, to anchor her focus in the midst of chaos. 

She rolled her eyes more than once, but she listened. And when it mattered, she applied what she learned.

She wasn’t a quick learner, but she was talented. 

You liked her instantly.

By the end of your first month teaching her, you established a rhythm. She’d show up (sometimes late), and you’d teach her something new. 

Sometimes she challenged you, sometimes she surprised you, but always, she reminded you why you taught in Kamar-Taj in the first place.

That day, after a particularly solid session—she’d finally nailed an advanced protection spell, the Sigil of the Aegis, and managed to hold it steady under pressure. “You’ve been practicing—good. It shows,” you said with a smile. “But I gotta run. My husband’s waiting for me at home.”

America perked up immediately. “Oh! Tell Bucky I said hi!”

You blinked. “I never told you about Bucky.”

She gave a little shrug, casual as ever. “Didn’t need to. You’re with him in every universe.”

Oh?

You paused, her words lodging deeper than you ever expected. You felt a gentle warmth bloom in your chest— perhaps a sense of inevitability, of cosmic affection. You smiled, more to yourself than to her.

“Well,” you finally said, after processing her words, “That’s good to know.”

—

After the first six months, the classrooms of Kamar-Taj weren’t enough for America anymore. She craved more than theory, more than chants and sigils. She wanted something real. She wanted something to punch.

And being married to a feisty ex-assassin, you understood that hunger better than most. You understood the calling that came from knowing you were built for something bigger than the four walls of a training room. 

So… you started bringing her on missions.

At first, it was small stuff— clearing out rogue spirits in the Alps, helping Wong seal a breach in an ancient temple, handling a cursed artifact that had ended up in the hands of an unsuspecting kid in Tokyo. 

She was fearless on the field, and just reckless enough to keep you on your toes. And she loved every second of it.

Sometimes it was just the two of you. Other times, when physical force was needed, Bucky joined you.

Where you moved with grace, he moved with force. Where you cast with precision, he fought with instinct. You were opposites in many ways— but you worked like clockwork together. 

The first time the three of you teamed up, America gave Bucky one long look and smirked. “So, the Winter Soldier in this universe, huh? Doesn’t look so scary.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Give me five minutes and a reason.”

“He’s all bark until someone threatens me,” You laughed. “Then it gets messy.”

From then on, the three of you became a strange little unit. America would tease Bucky constantly—calling him grumpy, old man, or “Sergeant Sunshine” on good days. She’d stick close to you when he got too serious. You always laughed.

—

When this all started, America had two legal guardians— Wong and Strange. Recently, you and Bucky were added to the list. 

So you started inviting her to yours and Bucky’s home more, especially when Strange or Wong had pressing matters to attend to. Dinner at your apartment became a regular thing. She’d crash on the couch in an old hoodie, eating popcorn and flipping through your spellbooks like they were comic books. Bucky cooked big, hearty meals more often than not, recipes that reminded him of a time before this one. You’d float the dishes clean afterward with a flick of your hand, and America would clap.

Strange and Wong would sometimes be invited too, and they’d bicker about magical ethics. At least they’d brought dessert. One time, Wong showed up with six tubs of ice cream and didn’t explain why. No one asked.

Then came Madripoor.

A Skrull impersonated you during an ambush, but America decked her with a right hook, and she dropped like a sack of bricks.

“My sister doesn’t stand like that,” she said, shaking out her fist.

You didn’t say anything right away, but you beamed with pride. 

After that, she started calling you her big sister like it had always been the case.

Bucky didn’t argue. In fact, he was fond of it. 

He started teaching her how to throw knives, how to read people’s movements in combat, how to hit where it counted. “Just in case the magic fails.” he’d say with a shrug. 

He trained her like she mattered to him, like he’d already decided she was family.

“She reminds me of you, you know,” he said one night, after America had passed out on your favourite armchair in the living room with her mouth open, TV still on.

You were curled up beside him on the couch, your legs over his lap, a cup of tea floating in the air between you.

“She’s louder,” you replied with a smile.

He chuckled. “Yeah, but she’s got that same… fire. She knows she’s meant for more, just waiting for the world to catch up.”

You glanced at her, snoring under your old jacket, curled up like she hadn’t fought a demon with Wong twelve hours ago. “I get it. She doesn’t just want to survive. She wants to matter.”

Bucky tangled his metal arm in your hair, scratching softly at your scalp. “She does. Especially to you.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “To us.”

Bucky smiled and nodded, kissing the top of your head.

—

Then, something started… changing. Especially in lessons.

America started showing up late, later than usual—and when she did, her energy was all over the place. Spells fizzled out, sigils came out crooked, and her focus was… somewhere else entirely. 

She was still trying, still cracking jokes, but something had… shifted. 

After the third lesson in a row where she couldn’t hold a basic containment shield (even though she’d mastered it weeks ago), you finally decided to ask around.

You found Wong and Strange in the library, deep in a debate about magical interference patterns in unstable realities. They paused when you walked in, and Wong raised an eyebrow at the look on your face.

“America is distracted,” you said simply. “I’ve tried scolding her, grounding exercises, even bribing her with snacks. Nothing’s working.”

Wong gave a thoughtful nod. “Food usually does the job. That is serious.”

Strange leaned back in his chair with an annoyingly smug grin. “I think I know what it is.”

You folded your arms. “If it’s dimensional exhaustion, just say so. Don’t be cryptic.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” He smirked. “I think she’s got a crush.”

You blinked. “A what?”

Strange gestured vaguely toward the southern wing of the compound. “On that new teenage sorcerer. The cocky one from London. You know, the one who wears sunglasses indoors and thinks enchantments are a ‘vibe.’”

You stared at him. “Huh?”

Wong groaned. “Dear gods. Leo?” 

“Yeah,” Strange said. “I caught her staring at him throw basic sparks into the air. She didn’t blink for, like, five whole minutes.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “She’s letting her shields drop because she has a crush?”

“She’s sixteen,” Wong said with a sigh. “It’s developmentally appropriate.”

“Tell that to the demon who nearly melted my eyebrows off yesterday.”

Strange raised a finger. “To be fair, you were the one who let her take point on that breach.”

You scowled. “She begged to.”

“She wanted to impress Leo,” Strange said with a shrug. “Teenagers do dumb things when they have crushes.”

Wong crossed his arms. “So did you. Still do.”

Strange narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make this about me.”

You sighed and dropped into the nearest chair. “Okay. So. Teen crush. What do I do? Forbid her from seeing him? Set your cloak on surveillance duty?”

“Or,” Wong said gently, “talk to her. Like you always do.”

You groaned dramatically, head in your hands. “I liked it better when the only thing she wanted to punch was interdimensional rifts.”

“She still does,” Wong said with a small smile. “She just also wants to punch them while looking cool in front of Leo.”

“Honestly, you should be proud,” Strange added, “She’s becoming terrifyingly normal.”

You could only chuckle, because they were right. She was growing. And real growth was never clean or controlled.

Especially not when teenage feelings got involved.

But you were still a legal guardian to her. The only female one, too. Neither lunatic wizards in front of you would know how to handle it, and as much as you loved your husband, he would not know how to handle girl talk. 

So you stood up, dusted off your robes, and said, “Fine. I’ll talk to her. But if he hurts her, I’m sending him into a mirror dimension for a week.”

Strange grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

—

You found her by the koi pond, skipping stones with the same power she usually reserved for punching demons. Her robe sleeves were pulled down over her hands.

You didn’t approach right away. You stood there for a second, arms crossed, watching the way she groaned every time a stone bounced fewer than three times.

Finally, you said, “You know your shields are garbage lately, right?”

America sighed without looking at you. “Yeah.”

You stepped beside her, picked up a pebble, and skipped it clean across the pond— six hops. 

She gave you a side-eye. “Okay, show off.”

You smiled. “You wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, but then said without looking up, “You ever like someone who’s... dumb hot but also kinda ridiculous?”

You nodded solemnly. “Bucky had an eyeliner phase.”

She turned to you, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Long story,” you shook your head, “Focus. You mean Leo?”

She winced. “You know?”

“Everyone knows. Wong’s pretending he doesn’t, but Strange tells me you stare at him like he’s a walking portal to a candy dimension.”

“I hate it,” America groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s cool and I’m… I dunno. I punch holes in space,” she sighed, “Not exactly first-date material.”

You nudged her shoulder. “You just need a plan, kid.”

She looked up, hopeful. “You’re gonna help me?”

You grinned. “What are big sisters for?”

After some (a lot) of encouragement, she found him in the spellcasting chambers and stammered out something along the lines of, “Hey, do you wanna get noodles and maybe talk about...like...not magical stuff for once?”

Leo blinked behind his ever-present sunglasses and gave her a grin that somehow tied her stomach into a knot and annoyed her all at once.

“Only if you don’t punch open a portal in the middle of dinner,” he said.

She punched his arm lightly. “No promises.”

He smiled. “It’s a date.”

—

Back in your home, America was pacing like a storm in a bottle while you tossed clothes across the guest bed, which has turned more and more into her second bedroom.

“I don’t know what to wear. I can’t look like I’m trying too hard, right?”

You held up a bright red flannel and black jeans. “There. Makes your eyes pop.”

She grabbed them, holding them up in the mirror. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Then came the shoes decision, and the hair style spell, and a tiny protective charm you discreetly stitched into her jacket pocket— just in case.

And when she was almost ready, Bucky strolled in.

He looked at the pile of clothing chaos, then at America.

“…Where are you going?”

America froze like a deer in headlights. You smiled. “She has a date, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “With who?”

America muttered under her breath, “Leo.”

Bucky stared at her. “Sunglasses Indoors Leo?”

She nodded, cheeks burning. “Yep.”

He crossed his arms, metal plating shifting with a whir. “Is he human? Does he have a criminal record? What’s his GPA? Has he ever made a pact with an ancient entity?”

You stepped between them before America combusted from secondhand embarrassment. “He’s fine, Buck. Wong already did the background check.”

Bucky looked unconvinced. “If he hurts her—”

“I’ll punch him into another reality,” America said quickly. “Relax, Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head, but he still handed her a switchblade. “Keep it in your boot. Just in case.”

“I can tear open a hole in space.”

“Still.”

—

That night, America left through a portal with flushed cheeks, perfect eyeliner (Bucky’s doing), and the world’s most awkwardly concealed switchblade in her boot.

You and Bucky watched her go, standing side by side at the window.

“She’ll be fine,” you said.

“She’s still just a kid,” he grumbled.

You leaned into him. “She’s got this.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your temple. “Still interrogating the boyfriend when I see him.”

You smiled. “Obviously.”

—

The date went well—really well. America came back that night practically floating. 

She walked into your study smiling from ear like she’d just discovered treasure in a new universe, then immediately collapsed face-first onto the couch with a dramatic groan.

“He ordered dumplings for me without asking,” she mumbled into a cushion. “Because I mentioned it one time like two days ago.”

“That’s your bar?” You raised an eyebrow. “Dumpling telepathy?”

She rolled over, eyes bright. “It’s not just that! We talked for hours. Like, real talk. He told me about how his dad was a monk and he hated it. He said I’m like— this walking, talking reminder that the multiverse is bigger than all the rules he grew up with.”

Bucky, sitting nearby cleaning a knife, glanced over. “Sounds like he talks a lot.”

America waved a hand. “Yeah, but it’s good talk.”

For the next few months, it was like a new light had switched on in her. Still reckless, still stubborn—but brighter around the edges. 

She practiced spells with more purpose (if not more focus), sometimes scribbling his name in the margins of her notes with tiny hearts, like magic school had turned into high school overnight.

And she gushed. Oh god, she gushed.

Leo said this. Leo did that. Leo levitated an entire tray of fries because he didn’t want to stop holding her hand. Leo cast a musical glamour to make her laugh. Leo kissed her in the rain and she swears it was like being in a movie.

You smiled through most of it. You’d tease her sometimes. You offered advice when she asked. And when she didn’t, you still made sure she knew you were there.

Bucky, of course, took longer to warm up. He never threatened Leo outright, but every time the boy showed up at your door, Bucky just happened to be cleaning a rifle.

“Be safe,” he’d always say as America ran out the door. “No unsupervised pocket dimension hopping.”

But then the stories… changed.

Not in tone— she was still breathless, still had rose tinted glasses on—but in content. She started mentioning how he didn’t like sparring with her anymore because he said she “came on too strong.” How he’d get quiet when she talked about going on missions.

“He says I make everything too big,” she said once, curling deeper into a blanket while your tea kettle whispered in the background. “That I treat magic like it’s a fight instead of a philosophy.”

You didn’t say anything then.

You just handed her a cup and listened.

Because it wasn’t your place to step in— not yet. Not when she was still so hopeful, still so sure she could bend the edges of her world to match his if she just tried hard enough.

But you noticed the red flags.

You noticed how, after a couple of months, her posture shrank when she talked about him. She laughed less when he was around. How her magic sparked in unpredictable, frustrating bursts when she thought no one was looking. How she said “sorry” too often. For being late, training too hard, for simply… taking up space.

Once, during a lesson, she flubbed a shield charm she could’ve done in her sleep, and when you offered to go over it again, she waved it off with a tired smile. “Leo says I overthink everything. Maybe I should just... stop trying so hard.”

That one hurt.

But still, you didn’t say anything. You just adjusted the angle of her stance, guiding her through the sigil again. 

You’d built a relationship on trust and choice, so you needed to let her figure things out for herself while still making sure she held her head up high.

Now, even Bucky’s muscles tensed every time she brought Leo up. But even he couldn’t bear to tell her the truth he were starting to see:

That sometimes people can love you and still not understand the way you’re built.

That sometimes, someone wonderful just isn’t right.

That he wasn’t bad— but he was small, and she was infinite.

So you just waited and watched.

—

One day, Strange poked his head into the training hall after a novice lesson, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself, like a man who had been asked to do brain surgery with chopsticks.

“America in Wong’s study,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “She asked for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your spellcasting hand. “Everything okay?”

“Leo… well...” Strange scratched the back of his neck. “I... tried. I made tea. I offered her a lecture on heartbreak through a metaphysical lens.”

You snorted. “You two tried to girl talk, didn’t you?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “I thought I was doing well. Wong even mentioned Beyoncé.”

“… dear god.”

“She’s waiting,” he said, already walking away.

—

Wong’s study was unusually quiet when you stepped inside. The Sorcerer Supreme himself was nowhere in sight.

America probably told him to go because he just didn’t have anything worthwhile to say to get over a boy. 

She sat curled up in one of the high-backed chairs by the fire, legs tucked beneath her, oversized robe sleeves hanging past her hands. She stared at the floor.

You didn’t say anything, but you walked in slowly, careful not to startle her, and took the chair opposite her. You waited.

Eventually, her voice came flat, like it had been sanded down. “I told Leo it’s over.”

You nodded once. “Want to tell me what happened?”

She took a deep breath. “He said I’m becoming… too much.”

There it was, the dealbreaker. 

You could almost hear it, the way she'd been turning that phrase over and over in her mind.

“He said he loves how strong I am, but he also said I have too much of a temper. That I make everything a fight. That he doesn't like being around someone who’s always ready to run headfirst into danger.”

You let her keep going.

“He said I never sit still. That I always want more. And I tried, you know? I really tried. I stopped portaling. Skipped training. Just to show him I could be… less.” She swallowed hard. “It didn’t help. He wasn’t happier. I just felt like a stranger to myself.”

“You’re never too much,” You leaned forward slightly, “He was just too little.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” She blinked, tears threatening to spill but not quite falling. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

“Would you have listened?”

She froze, before giving you a rueful shake of her head.

“I was a teenage girl once, too, y’know.” You smiled gently. “Sometimes you have to feel it for yourself. Sometimes love has to fall apart before you see it was never really whole. But I need you to know— I’m here. No matter what.”

Her fingers trembled, just slightly. “It sucks.”

“It does.”

“He was almost enough,” she whispered. “But I can’t do almost.”

You studied her, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, wide with the kind of grief that makes a person seem older than they are. 

You reached over and took her hand in both of yours, “America, your standards are already higher than most people twice your age. That’s not something to be ashamed of. That’s something to be proud of.”

She gave a choked laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You gave her hand a squeeze. “You knew it didn’t feel right, and you walked away. That takes guts.”

She sat quietly for a moment. Then, she hiccuped. “You know… there’s a reason for that.” She looked up at you now. “It’s you. You and Bucky. You’re always together.”

Your breath hitched. She hadn’t said it like a compliment. She said it like it was an undeniable truth. 

“In every version of you I’ve seen,” she continued, “you two are always in love.”

You tilted your head. She had mentioned this before, but never quite expanded on it. “What do you mean?”

America sniffled, shifting slightly in her seat. “There’s a universe where you’re Spider-Woman. Bucky’s this sarcastic, reckless reporter who keeps getting himself kidnapped. You save him from actual robot ninjas and kiss him upside down in an alley.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds dramatic.”

“Oh, it was.” She smiled faintly. “There’s another one where you’re a Nova Corps commander and he’s a Ravager. You risk everything to protect him. Your rank, your life. You betrayed your division to be with him.”

You hadn’t asked for these glimpses before—never wanted to pry into how the multiverse folded versions of you into different shapes. But now… now you realise how much more she actually knew you and Bucky. 

“And this one—this medieval one—where you’re a princess, and he’s your knight. He loses an eye protecting you during a siege.” Her voice cracked. “I cried in that one.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of it all settling in your soul.

“In every universe,” she said softly, “you choose each other. No matter how different the world is. Even when it doesn’t make sense. You always find your way back.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers gently along her skin. “That’s… a lot.”

“Well…” She shrugged, cheeks flushed, but didn’t look away. “You’re why I have high standards. Every time I see you, I think—that’s what love is supposed to look like. That’s why I couldn’t take ‘almost.’”

You hadn’t realised she'd been watching. That across every world she slipped through, she’d been collecting pieces of your love story like broken glass, trying to piece together something whole for herself in the process. Perhaps, it explained why she got attached to you both so quickly. 

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, your voice soft. “You just haven’t met your Bucky yet.”

“Yeah. Okay.” A tear rolled down her cheek, but she smiled through it. “That makes sense.”

You opened your arms, and she folded into them like she’d been waiting for permission. You held her close, her forehead against your shoulder, breathing finally evening out.

Because maybe that was the secret the multiverse had been trying to whisper to her all along—that some loves echo. That some hearts are meant to find each other, no matter how many versions of the world exist. No matter how far apart they start.

And maybe one day, she would find that kind of love. A love that wasn’t almost. A love that chose her back, again and again, across time and space.

But until then—she had you.

She had Strange.

She had Wong.

She had Bucky.

And for now, that was more than enough.

—

Meanwhile, on Earth 363…

You crept in through the second-story window like you always did, the faintest thwip of your web the only sound betraying your arrival. The apartment was dark, save for the soft glow from the living room

Still in your Spider-Woman suit, you moved stealthily through the hall, peeking around the corner just as Bucky stepped into view, holding a mug in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other.

“You’re late,” he said, amused and entirely unsurprised. He was still in his work clothes, the name tag from the Daily Bugle still clipped to his pocket.

You groaned and flopped dramatically over the back of the couch. “How do you know I’m here? I didn’t even make a sound.”

Bucky grinned, setting his mug down as he walked over to you. “You smell like roof tar and adrenaline.”

“…well, shit.”

He leaned down and gently tugged at your mask. “C’mere.”

You let him peel it off, your hair a messy halo from hours of swinging across rooftops. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks, then kissed you. You felt loved and warm and so very home.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“I saw you this morning.”

“Still.”

You grinned and kissed him again, slower this time, one arm snaking around his back, the other cradling the back of his neck. The cookie he had was now abandoned for good.

Eventually, you both sank onto the couch, limbs tangled and a blanket pulled over you. 

“I wonder how America Chavez is doing,” Bucky said suddenly, as if the universe had given him a sudden urge to ask, his voice muffled as he buried it in your shoulder. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

You blinked, then smiled. “Me neither… wonder where she’s gone off to.”

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling the slight thump of Bucky’s heartbeat against your ribs.

Wherever she was, you hoped she was safe.

You hoped she found good people. 

—

Meanwhile, in Universe-8990…

The engine hum of Bucky’s ravager ship was a familiar purr beneath your boots, the kind of sound that settled in your bones’ memory after enough time spent in deep space. You sat cross-legged on the floor of the weapons bay, your busted blaster disassembled on a crate in front of you, hands smeared with grease and face in frustration.

“I swear,” you muttered, yanking at a stubborn coil, “I could field-strip this thing in my sleep during basic training, and now I can’t even hold it right.”

“You’re probably just mad because it reminds you of the Nova Corps, babe,” Bucky said, waltzing over with a crooked grin and a Nanobot Welder in hand. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, but couldn’t quite stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Of course I’m not. I'm devastatingly handsome and occasionally insightful.”

He dropped to his knees beside you, his shoulder bumping yours. Without a word, he took the blaster from your hands, flipped it over, and adjusted the coil with a flick of his wrist. The click of realignment was so smooth, you almost didn’t hear it.

You gasped. “You’re kidding.”

“Ravager skills,” He winked. “We get creative out here without a billion credits in R&D.”

You rolled your eyes. He always looked and sounded so cocky, but underneath was the man who risked a death sentence by harboring a former Nova Commander like you. The man who never once asked if you regretted choosing him over the Corps.

“Thanks,” you said, gentler now.

“For fixing your weapon, or for stealing you away from a galactic space militia?”

You tilted your head. “Both.”

Bucky smiled, then leaned in slowly and kissed you. As always, the kiss was gentle. His fingers brushed under your chin, thumb ghosting over your cheekbones. 

When you pulled back, you let your forehead rest against his. 

“I wonder how America Chavez is doing,” Bucky said suddenly, as if the universe suddenly told him to say it. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Yeah... me neither.”

She had helped you once—ripped open the stars and gave you a door when you thought there wasn’t one. And now, with the Corps calling you a traitor and half the galaxy after your head, you hoped she was somewhere out there, safe and happy. 

–

Meanwhile, on Earth-223…

The castle halls had been quiet for hours, the usual echoing bustle replaced with the rustle of wind through ancient stone and the occasional hoot of an owl beyond the nursery window. You rocked gently in the gilded chair beside the cradle, your newborn swaddled in your arms, his tiny fists curled against your chest as he breathed in adorable hiccupping sighs.

The fire crackled low in the hearth. Everything felt… right.

From across the room, you heard the familiar clink of armour being put down. James stood by the wardrobe, his tunic slung over one shoulder, hair damp from a quick wash. The eyepatch over his left eye caught the firelight like polished obsidian— your knight, and now your husband.

“You’re still awake,” he said as he padded over barefoot.

“He wouldn’t settle,” you whispered, glancing down at the bundle of joy in your arms. “Too curious, I think. Like his father.”

James chuckled softly, lowering himself to one knee beside you. He reached out and ran a calloused finger down the curve of your son’s cheek— the heir to the throne. 

“He’s perfect,” he said.

“You say that every night.”

“And I’ll say it every night after this.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead. “He’s going to be strong, like his mother. Brave, too.”

You looked at James, heart swelling until it threatened to spill over. “You’re not too bad in those departments yourself, my love.”

He could only give you a tired grin. 

You reached out, brushing your fingers through the hair above his ear— careful not to disturb the scar that ran beneath his eyepatch— a souvenir from the siege. The day he nearly gave his life for you. The day he threw himself in front of you, sword drawn, as the enemy breached the gate.

“I still think about that night,” you whispered.

“I don’t,” he replied just as quietly. “I only think about this one.”

You smiled down at your child, who had finally drifted into a peaceful sleep.

James leaned his head against your knee for a moment, before sighing, as if the universe had told him to ask this question. “I wonder how America Chavez is doing,” he said, almost absently. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Your smile faltered just slightly, but fondness curled in your chest. “Me neither, my love.”

She had disappeared like a star falling sideways through the sky, always moving, always needed somewhere else. But there had been a time, not so long ago, when she stood at your side—young and fierce and loyal beyond reason. 

Wherever she was, you hoped she found a kingdom to settle in. 

—

Back in Earth-616…

You had just gotten back from Kamar-Taj. 

The buzz of a sling ring portal hummed behind you, your muscles sore from the emotional more than the physical toll. The second you stepped into your home and shut the door behind you, you let out a deep breath.

And there he was, your husband, half-reclined on the couch, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a book resting on his lap. He looked up the second he sensed you, and the lines on his forehead relaxing instantly. 

“Hey,” he said, already setting the book aside as he stood.

You let your bag drop to the floor and walked straight into his arms.

He pulled you in without a word, hugging you, metal hand pressing gently against the small of your back while the human combed into your hair. You melted into his chest, burying your face in the cotton of his Henley.

“The kid okay?” he asked after a moment, “Wong called. Told me everything.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, and nodded with a sad smile. “She will be.”

He watched you for a second, like he was trying to gauge how okay you were. Then he led you to the couch, letting you curl into his side with your legs thrown over his lap and his arm around your waist. 

“America was the one who broke it off,” you said, head resting against his shoulder.

Bucky’s arms twitched just a little. “Good.”

You blinked, tilting your head up at him. “Good?”

He gave you that wicked smirk—the one that said he was already plotting something. “Where’s this Leo kid live again? Is it the left wing of the eastern temple?”

You groaned. “Bucky—”

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he said, which was exactly what he would say before doing something. “I’m just saying. You care about her. So I care about her. That’s the rule.”

You bit back a smile. “Since when is that the rule?”

“Since I fell in love with you,” he said without missing a beat.

Even after all these years, your heart still did a stupid little backflip.

“Well…” You hesitated, tracing patterns on his vibranium arm with your fingertip. “She said we are the reason she has high standards. She’s seen us together enough times to believe that kind of love is real. That she… wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

Bucky was quiet for a beat, processing that. Then he exhaled, brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

“Huh,” he said, “I’m proud of her.”

You smiled. “Yeah?”

Bucky nodded, “Took me long enough to learn that lesson. She’s ahead of the curve.” He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. 

You kissed him then. Slowly. Sweetly. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye as he pulled you closer, if that was even physically possible.

“Have I mentioned lately,” you whispered, “how much I love you?”

“Not since this morning,” he let out a small laugh, kissing you again and smiling into it. “I was starting to worry.”

You chuckled.

One day, you’d tell him the rest of the conversation. You’d sit him down and let America tell him about all the other versions of the two of you she’d seen—the princess and the knight, the runaway and the Ravager, the dramatic spider-kiss. 

But not tonight.

Tonight belonged to just this version of you and him. The one where his hand fit perfectly in yours, and your hearts beat in sync on a worn down couch that felt like the center of the universe.

And honestly… it kind of was.

-end.

yes it’s 616 for all intents and purposes even though I am well aware it is also the designation for the main comic universe. Edit: a lovely comment pointed out that America is a lesbian and dw, I am aware and I didn’t mean to undermine her sexuality! I should’ve mentioned that I am currently working on a part 2 where America starts questioning her sexuality ft. Bi!reader that centers around setting apart aesthetic attraction vs romantic attraction 🫶

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

blog nav

writing

of royalty, pointe shoes, and country boys (MC)°

WIP, kita shinsuke x fem!reader SMAU

CRUSH culture (OS)*

2-3k words, shirabu kenjirou x fem! reader

how to tell you’re in love (OS)°%

WIP, sakusa kiyoomi x fem! reader

tags

#blues internal monologue —> thoughts n musings

#blues music rec otd —> daily music recs

#multifandom blue —> multifandom posts

#blues haikyuu musings —> over analyzing HQ

key

(OS) = oneshot

(MC) = multichapter

(HC) = headcannons

(CSF) = christmas series favorites (start dec 1st)

* = completed

° = WIP

% = unpublished

Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri, roommates!au

Masterlist

Summary: You, Lando, and Oscar are roommates. The three of you promise to take care of each other. It takes you all far too long to admit just how much you mean it. featuring dj!Lando for cece :) based on a blurb I wrote for my 1k celebration so if the first bit feels familiar that’s why! 7.4k words

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of vomiting (non graphic), illness, a breakup, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

Lando’s not expecting the phone call he gets from you. It’s late, too late, really, for him to even be awake, let alone for you to be calling. Oscar’s sitting on the couch next to him, gaming controller in hand, and when Lando swipes to answer the call, he mouths the words who is it? Lando mouths your name in reply, and Oscar’s half asleep flat expression turns into a look of concern. The three of you are roommates, but you’re gone for the night. Lando didn’t ask where you were going when you left.

“Hello?” He asks, waiting for your response.

There’s a sniffle, then a hiccupy gasp for air that has Lando sitting up straight in his seat. “Lan. Could you- fuck, m’sorry, just- d’you think you could pick me up?”

Lando stares widely at Oscar for a moment, heart clenching in his chest. You sound upset- more than upset, really. He stands up, already searching frantically for his keys.

“Yeah, love, of course,” he says as Oscar follows suit and stands up. “Should I bring Oscar?”

You sniffle again. “Yeah, please, just…”

“It’s okay. Send me your location, yeah? Take a deep breath, we’ll be there soon.”

You mumble something, and then you hang up on him. Lando shoves his phone in his pocket and looks up at Oscar, who’s holding the keys to his car. That works. Oscar heads for the door, while Lando makes a pit stop in the kitchen. When he meets his friend in the entryway, Oscar’s staring at him with confusion.

“She’s crying,” Lando says in explanation, holding a paper bag close to his chest.

They make it across town in record time. Oscar groans when they pull into the apartment complex you’d sent the location of.

“Isn’t this her boyfriend’s place?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Lando doesn’t get a chance to answer, because you step out of the front door, and they’re both distracted. Oscar swears under his breath, and Lando follows suit at the sight of you- you’re in a t-shirt and shorts. There’s snow on the ground. Oscar pulls his hoodie over his head just before you make it to the car door.

You climb into the backseat and collapse in on yourself. Both Lando and Oscar are turned towards you, and Lando’s sure their facial expressions are matching looks of concern. They both hand over their items without a word- Oscar’s hoodie, and Lando’s carton of ice cream and a spoon. You pull the hoodie over your head and open the ice cream.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Oscar says, voice low.

Lando nods. “Yeah. We can just sit here together until you feel up to anything else.”

You nod and chew on your lower lip, and the light from the street lamp outside catches on the tear tracks on your cheeks. “He dumped me. Can we just go home?”

Lando reaches his hand back to squeeze yours. Your fingers are ice cold. “Of course,” he says softly.

As Oscar pulls away, he and Lando exchange a look of worry and anger. They’ve never liked your boyfriend, but they hate to see you hurting, too.

“Thanks,” you add, voice small in the backseat. You hold onto Lando’s hand tightly. “I knew I could count on you guys.”

Lando squeezes your hand again. You’re quiet most of the way back, and he lets it go. Oscar’s right to not push you to talk about it. That’ll come in its own time.

Oscar drives back to your shared apartment, pulling into a parking space in the garage. He gets out before Lando and slips around to the backseat, opening the door for you. The Aussie wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

When you all get upstairs, you collapse onto the couch. Lando follows suit, not wanting to leave your side. Oscar isn’t far behind. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, something quiet that Lando doesn’t pay attention to. He just watches you for signs of distress. You stare at the tv blankly and chip away at the ice cream with your spoon, leaning on Oscar as Lando leans on you. Slowly, the three of you melt into the couch, none of you wanting to break the silence and suggest going to bed.

…..

Oscar wakes up on the couch at 3 in the morning, and when he looks around, this awful feeling hits him. It’s like someone’s reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. You’re laying there, your head on his stomach, one of your arms over his thigh. Lando’s laying nearly on top of you- together, the three of you are like a stack of toppled dominoes. There are blankets strewn over all of you. Oscar can vaguely remember Lando’s attempt to cover all three of you up as you all began to drift off.

You’re fast asleep, and when Oscar peers down at you he can still see the tear tracks on your cheeks. He’s never liked your boyfriend- ex boyfriend, now, thank god- but breakups are awful no matter what. He’s got half a mind to go over and confront the guy, because who leaves their girlfriend- ex girlfriend- to walk out of their apartment in the dead of winter in a t-shirt and shorts? Even if you had broken up, he seemingly hadn’t given you the chance to put on sweatpants and a hoodie. Or maybe you hadn’t wanted to stay long enough.

Lando shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to you. It’s only now that Oscar notices Lando’s hand linked with yours, fingers knitted together on your stomach. A pang of something flares up in him at the sight, at how right it feels to have you both right here like this. He does his best to tamp it down. He brushes his fingers against your cheek tentatively, relaxing just a bit at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.

You nudge into the touch, eyelids just barely fluttering. Oscar wonders to himself how anyone could ever let you go. The sight of you in the backseat, teary eyed in his hoodie, is burned into the back of his brain. He’d do anything to keep you from ever crying again.

When he wakes up again, it’s much later in the morning. You and Lando are both gone, and something about that makes his heart clench. But he hears noise in the kitchen- Lando, talking to someone, the sound of food sizzling on the stove. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes before trudging his way over there.

Lando’s at the stove, cooking something that smells awfully delicious and makes Oscar’s stomach growl. You’re sitting on the counter nearby the way you always do, still in Oscar’s hoodie, hands folded in your lap. You’re the first one to spot him- you smile, but it’s subdued. There’s a tinge of sadness to it. Something aching behind your eyes.

“Morning,” he finally says.

Lando turns over his shoulder with a smile. “I was just about to send her to wake you,” he says. “I made breakfast.”

Oscar nods. “Thanks. Smells really good.”

He takes his normal spot on a stool at the kitchen island. He passes by both of you on the way there, and you reach out to squeeze his upper arm. He brushes a hand over your knee and smiles at you.

You’re quiet. Usually, you’d be chatting their ears off. But Lando plates up the food and distributes it without a word from you, and it has Oscar feeling sick to his stomach. You stay sitting on the counter, and you push the food around on your plate with one hand. Lando sits next to Oscar and exchanges a look with him.

Both boys clear their plates without a word from you. You’ve only taken a few bites. Oscar clears his throat as he clears his and Lando’s plates. Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“I stand by what I said last night. We don’t have to talk,” he says. “But if you want to talk, we’re here.”

You shift and smile just a little. “Not much to talk about, really. The breakup has been coming for a long time, I think. So. It’s fine, really. Just weird, you know? We’d been dating for a year- that’s a year of my life… not wasted, but. Weird to lose someone like that so quickly.”

Both Oscar and Lando nod in understanding. You nod back. That’s that. If you don’t want to talk about it more, they won’t force you. It’s enough to know you’re safe at home, really.

…..

When Lando has his first DJ set after your break up, he begs you to come and watch. Much to his and Oscar’s surprise, you agree eagerly. They’d both thought it would be a harder fight. Lando’s been getting bigger and bigger DJ gigs- not enough to quit his day job yet, but enough to get excited about. You haven’t been to them recently, which had been a bit of a sore spot for Lando, though he’d tried not to let it on to you. So. If you want to go, he’s not going to question you on it.

On the way there, you size him up in the back of the Uber. You tug at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re too buttoned up,” you say, nose wrinkled.

Oscar laughs and nods. “Yeah, lose a button,” he adds.

He reaches over and undoes the top button of Lando’s shirt with nimble fingers, and great, now Lando’s sweating.

“Or two,” you chime in.

When you reach up and undo another button, Lando thinks the blush must be obvious on his cheeks now. It’s probably running down his neck, washing over his chest, just like the soft touch of your fingers against his skin.

“Why not three?” Oscar says, smirking.

Before he can undo the third one, Lando bats Oscar’s hand away and glares at him. Oscar’s had a shot before they left the apartment, pregaming because he hates crowds and loud places and social environments. He’s definitely a little tipsy, and because of that, he’s a bit more daring. It’s going to be the death of Lando.

By the time he’s halfway through the set, Lando’s gone and lost both of you in the crowd. He won’t lie, it makes him a bit nervous. He knows you were there one second, and then the next time he looked, you were both gone. He knows in his head Oscar won’t have let you out of his sight, but it doesn’t stop his heart from clenching. He thinks of his phone, down under the stage, itches to have it in his hand so he can text or call or find you, somehow.

When he finally climbs down and grabs his phone, it’s lit up with a bunch of notifications. He swipes past the ones from Max asking how late his set goes, past the ones from friends who stopped by, telling him how good he did. In the middle, there’s a text from Oscar.

Call when you’re done.

He calls. When Oscar answers, he gives him directions to meet the two of you in a bathroom and then promptly hangs up. Lando would be more concerned with the two of you apparently hiding out together in a bathroom if Oscar hadn’t told him about it. He doesn’t have the energy to let himself get jealous. He just heads towards the two of you. He knocks on the single bathroom door, calls out to Oscar, and it swings open.

“She had a little too much,” Oscar says.

Behind him, you’re kneeling next to the toilet, Oscar’s jacket underneath your knees. It’s such a sweet touch that it makes Lando’s heart ache- there’s just something about seeing Oscar taking care of you. But he does his best to focus and steps into the bathroom. Your hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Your skin is pale, and when you turn to look at Lando, your eyes are bloodshot. He hisses and turns to Oscar.

“I know, I know, I said I’d watch her-“ Oscar says, raising his hands defensively. “She’s good at pretending to be sober. Until she’s way too far gone, and then…”

“Lan!” you call out, high pitched and wobbly. “I love you.”

Lando widens his eyes at Oscar, who nods.

“There’s been a lot of that. About both of us. She was not happy when I pulled her out of sight of you.” Oscar sighs. “I can’t figure out if it’s just- you know, she loves her friends, or-“

Oscar trails off. Lando furrows his brows.

“Lan,” you repeat again, and he turns over his shoulder to look at you, then tries not to visibly wince. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, love,” he says, softly. “You done throwing up, you okay to move?”

You shrug, then nod. Great. Not super convincing. When he turns to Oscar, he winces. Lando drags a hand down his own face. Interrogating Oscar will have to wait- the first priority is to get the three of you out of there, hopefully without you throwing up on them. He sighs heavily and makes a plan in his head.

Lando’s not sure what god he pleased, what good karma he’s earned, but the three of you make it outside without you throwing up again. He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he and Oscar spend 5 minutes debating on whether walking or getting a ride would be better- you’re drunk and wobbly, but at least if you threw up, it’d be on the sidewalk. Oscar hates that idea, is worried about you tripping and falling on the way, about how they’ll manage to get you all the way back. You stand there and watch them argue, Oscar’s hand on your shoulder to keep you from falling over.

“Boys, stop fighting,” you say hazily. “You’re both so pretty.”

Lando’s eyes go wide at that. He stares at Oscar, who seems to make a face that says I know. Lando turns to you. You’re smiling widely up at him, blinking glassy eyes and tilting your head. You reach out and tap your fingertip against his nose, then laugh. Lando swallows tightly.

Oscar uses his distraction to flag down a cab. Lando can’t find the energy to argue anymore. They’d normally put you in the middle, but this time they sit you next to the door, just in case you do need to throw up. You spend the entire ride with your head on Lando’s shoulder, and he can tell you’re starting to get drowsy just from the way you sag against him. When they climb out of the car, Oscar puts one of your arms over his shoulder, and Lando does the same on the other side.

By the time they get you up to the apartment and into the bathroom, you’re half asleep, leaning heavily on both of them. When your hand slips against the bare skin of his chest, he swallows tightly. Oscar puts toothpaste on the toothbrush for you, and Lando helps you brush your teeth, his hand wrapped around yours gently.

Then they head for your bedroom. Lando grabs you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from your dresser. He sets them on the bed and gets ready to leave the room so you can change, and then slaps his hand over his eyes when you start to take off your dress before he even gets the chance. He hears Oscar’s hand hit his own face, too.

“We live together,” you say, and Lando can practically hear your eye roll. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Lando sighs. “It is, and you’re drunk, so.”

You laugh. “I guess. I’m dressed now.”

Lando groans when he uncovers his eyes and spots the pair of shorts still on the bed. He puts one hand over Oscar’s eyes, one back over his own, and says, “Shorts. Now.”

You grumble something about taking them off later anyways, which has Lando melting into a puddle over the thought. He hears you shuffling around, and then you grab both of his wrists and tug them away from his and Oscar’s faces. You’re fully dressed this time, and you collapse backwards onto the bed.

“Will you guys stay till I fall asleep?” you ask, softly.

Both of them nod and sit down on the edge of the bed. You curl up in the middle, each of them on either side. Oscar lays a tentative hand on your shoulder, while Lando brushes hair from your face. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, melting into the bed.

When you do, Lando nods silently towards the door. Oscar nods in agreement, and they both slip out of the bedroom. Lando looks back to check on you as he shuts the door. You look peaceful, finally.

Oscar heads for the kitchen, and Lando follows. He reaches into the fridge and comes back with two cans of sparkling water, which Lando accepts eagerly. He’d been unaware of just how thirsty he was until that moment. He drinks half the can in one go and then looks at Oscar expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Oscar prefaces. “I’m not sure about anything. But. She couldn’t stop staring at you up on the stage, and she told me about ten times how pretty you were. And then she said it about me, too. To my face. And like, right after that she threw up, but.”

“But,” Lando repeats. “You saw something. Different than her just being a drunk mess.”

“It felt different,” Oscar says, softly. “Just. I can’t explain it.”

Lando nods. He presses his lips into a thin line. Oscar follows suit, rubbing his hand against the smooth surface of the countertop.

“What do we do?” Lando asks quietly. He feels wildly out of his depth here. “I mean. D’you think she has feelings for…”

Me? You? Lando’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be either. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach. In an ideal world, he knows what he’d like to happen here, but that’s a pipe dream. Unrealistic.

“She’s really vulnerable,” he says, before Oscar can even answer. “And like. That would really make a good roommate situation weird, right?”

Oscar laughs, but it sounds forced. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Lando says. “Okay. So. We just let it go.”

Oscar nods. There’s something in the look on his face that makes Lando think maybe there’s more to this. That they shouldn’t brush it off so easily. But it’s late, and he’s exhausted, and this topic feels so, so difficult to broach right now. So he claps Oscar on the shoulder with an open palm, and then disappears into his bedroom.

Lando’s avoidance of the subject doesn’t last long, because the next morning, before you wake up, Oscar corners him in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” Oscar says, which is never a good sentence to hear at any hour, let alone before the sun has even risen.

Realistically, he should’ve known this was coming, because Oscar never willingly wakes up this early on a weekend. It’s still dark outside. Lando can barely make out Oscar’s facial expressions in the dim light. He flicks a light switch and watches the other man wince.

“Rude,” Oscar grumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for starting off my morning with that sentence,” Lando defends. When Oscar frowns, he softens. “What’s up?”

As if he hadn’t expected to actually get to this point, Oscar shrinks in on himself. Lando leans against the counter and tilts his head. Oscar’s younger, but he’s usually the more mature one. It’s odd to see him so lost for what to say.

“Last night,” Oscar starts, chewing on his lip when he pauses. “She- I- I can’t stop thinking about…”

Lando’s gut wobbles. “About her. You like her. And you think she feels the same.”

There’s this weird jealousy in his chest. He’s jealous of both of you, he realizes, and he grips the counter behind him with his hand. He wants to be the one you like, and he wants to be the one Oscar’s into, too. He’s known it for a while, really, but this is the first time he’s had to confront it head on. And it’s - it’s a problem, probably. His best friends and his roommates. He can’t have both. Can’t have it all.

Oscar frowns and shakes his head. “No. Well. Yeah, but- it’s more than that. It’s.”

Lando tamps down the ache in his chest, plasters on a smile. “Oscar. It’s okay.”

“No,” Oscar says, dragging out the sound. “You don’t- you don’t get it.”

“You guys would make a cute couple,” Lando says quietly. “Like. Really, Osc, you’d be good together-“

“I don’t just want her,” Oscar interrupts, and Lando's heart skips a beat. “I don’t- fuck, it sounds crazy, but. I woke up that morning, after we picked her up, and you were both on the couch with me, and I just thought, yeah, this is how I want to wake up every day. And if that’s crazy then- forget I said anything, but-“

Lando clears his throat. “It’s not crazy.”

Oscar freezes, one hand halfway through his hair. “It’s not?”

Lando shakes his head and bites his lip. “No. I think I’ve been feeling the same. Just… I felt crazy, you know?”

Oscar nods. Lando can’t stop staring at him, at the red flush on his cheeks, the wide eyes. He reaches his foot out and nudges it against Oscar’s shin.

“I meant what I said last night, about her being vulnerable,” he says, and Oscar sighs heavily. “She needs friends right now. And she doesn’t need friends who are caught up in figuring out their feelings for each other and maybe her, too.”

Oscar huffs. “So we just…”

“Wait and see?” Lando asks sheepishly. “Feels shitty, I know, but our first priority is making sure she’s okay.”

Oscar nods. Lando nods back. And that’s that, for a while. And maybe for a while, it’s enough to know that Oscar feels it, too. To know he’s not alone.

…..

You know Lando well enough to know he’s not one to admit when he’s sick. You’d think he’d be the exact opposite, but he tends to try and tough it out until the very last minute. He hides it well, except when it comes to you and Oscar.

He’s getting ready for a DJ set nearly a month after the one where you’d gotten far too drunk. There’s loud music playing through the apartment as he eats dinner, dancing along to the beat. You sit on the kitchen counter in your usual spot, and Oscar stands next to you. You’re both watching Lando bounce around the room. He’s trying to convince you he’s fine without actually saying it. It’s not working.

He leaves the room for a moment, looking for his phone. Oscar looks up at you.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” He asks.

You nod and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Definitely.”

But Lando says nothing about not feeling well, so you do your hair and makeup and get into an Uber with him and Oscar to head for a club. You and Oscar exchange a glance when Lando presses his forehead to the window of the car. He’s mumbling along to the song that’s playing over the speakers. There’s sweat on his temple. You’re starting to worry.

He tumbles out of the car and into the club with you and Oscar in tow. Once the bright lights and loud music hit him, he perks up a bit. If you know him, you know it won’t last. He’s going to wear himself out during his set and then fall apart right after. He sends the two of you to the bar, tells you to put it on his tab. Oscar loops his hand in your arm to keep you close- you’re not complaining. Without saying anything to each other, you each order plain Cokes. Lando won’t question if there’s alcohol in it. You order him his go to drink- a gin & tonic, but ask the bartender to go light on the gin. You hand it off to him before he heads up for his set, and when he hesitates to kiss your cheek like he normally would, you eye him carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says, which tells you more than anything that he’s definitely not fine.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. You press the back of your hand to Lando’s forehead and sigh. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He’s burning up.

“It’s a short set,” he says, slurred but loud enough to be heard over the thud of the bass. “I’ll be fine.”

You watch as he walks away. Oscar takes your arm in his hand again, pulls you away to a nearby booth. Normally, you love watching Lando’s sets, love listening to the music he’s chosen, and watching his face light up at the crowd’s reaction. But now, as he takes his place, you just feel worried. You can tell Oscar’s worried too, just from the way he drums his fingers against the table in an unsteady pattern. Normally the two of you would find yourselves out on the dance floor, especially when Lando plays the songs he knows you both love, but you can’t find it in you tonight.

When he stumbles off stage from his set, he’s grinning ear to ear, but his eyes are half closed and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin that you know isn’t from the dj-ing. You and Oscar stand to meet him, and you brush damp curls from his forehead to check his temperature again. He feels even worse. Oscar winces as Lando sways in front of the two of you.

“Let's get you home,” you suggest, and he just nods.

When you get back to the apartment, you deposit Lando on the couch. Oscar stays with him, pulling a blanket over Lando and propping him up with pillows. You head for the bathroom first and open the medicine cabinet.

“Lan, what’s wrong?” You call out.

You hear his disoriented grumbling. Oscar translates. “He says he’s fine.”

You lean out into the living room and fix Lando with a glare. “Shut up. You need medicine. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and sinks into the couch. “Sore throat. Headache. Little bit of a cough.”

You nod and return to the surprisingly well stocked medicine cabinet. You grab the cold medicine that describes his symptoms the best and head back to the living room. Lando has the blanket wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon, and he has his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s running his hand up and down Lando’s upper arm, a look of concern on his face.

You hand Oscar the medicine. “Here. Give him a dose, will you? I’m gonna heat up some soup or something.”

“M’not a baby,” Lando mutters.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Oscar teases gently.

Though the medicine cabinet was well stocked, the kitchen is less so. None of you like grocery shopping. You manage to find a can of chicken soup in the back of a cupboard, and it’s not expired, so you heat it up quickly. You return to the living room with the soup and a large glass of water.

Lando is fully tucked into Oscar’s side now, draped messily across the other boy. You sigh at the sight, at the way Oscar runs his hand through Lando’s hair, at the content little smile on Lando’s lips. Even when he’s sick, this is enough to bring him comfort. You wonder, then, if you could be enough, too. The memories pass through your brain- the way they’ve both taken care of you after your break up. Now it’s your chance to return the favor.

You sit down on the couch on Lando’s other side. Oscar takes the bowl of soup from you carefully, and then you hold the glass of water up to Lando’s lips. He sips carefully, then pulls away with a soft sigh. His cheeks are rosy red, and he shivers. You and Oscar both wince in sympathy.

“You should’ve told us,” Oscar says, quietly. “Should’ve canceled the set.”

Lando shrugs and elbows him lightly. “Got through it, didn’t I? Can’t go around canceling sets if I’m gonna make it big, can I?”

You roll your eyes and nudge the Brit slightly. “Your health is more important than you making it big,” you chide.

He turns to look at you, gaze hazy but still amused. “Mm. You won’t be saying that when I’ve got enough money to take care of the two of you for the rest of your lives.”

“Is that your plan?” Oscar asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

Lando closes his eyes and nods. “You two can be my sugar babies,” he asserts. “Never work another day in your life.”

“Okay, Norris,” you say, biting back a laugh. “Eat your soup.”

He does as he’s told, melting back into the couch as he holds the bowl and spoon in shaky hands. Oscar keeps his hands on the bowl, too, just to be safe. To show your support, you lean against Lando’s shoulder to help prop him up. As much as you hate to see him not feeling well, you think that maybe you could get used to this.

You tuck him into his bed later that night. Oscar’s next to you, having carried him into the bedroom from the living room. Lando was pretty much dead weight, high on cold medicine and his fever and so, so out of it. You pull the covers up to his chin and smooth sweaty hair from his forehead. You cringe at the clammy feeling, and Oscar laughs.

Lando blinks up at both of you with heavy eyes. “Meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?” You ask.

He lets his eyelids fall closed. “Gonna take care of you two. The same way you take care of me. I think abou’ it all the time.”

He yawns, turns his head, and falls asleep nearly immediately after that, lips barely parted, chest rising and falling smoothly. You feel frozen for a moment. He looks so peaceful. He wants to take care of you. Your heart is pounding.

Oscar wraps his hand around your elbow and squeezes softly. “He’ll be okay.”

He thinks you’re worried. You don’t know how to tell him that Lando being sick isn’t the problem. The what’s got you all mixed up inside is the way Lando says it so easily. Never work another day in your life. I think about it all the time.

You swallow and back away from the bed, because you have the strongest urge to crawl right in next to him and drag Oscar right with you, until you’re all curled up in a pile together. You can’t do that. Oscar leads you out to the living room. You think he knows something’s up, because he doesn’t let go of you the whole time, but he doesn’t say anything either. You need to shake this feeling. You can’t think about them like this. It won’t end well.

“I’ll make us some popcorn, yeah?” Oscar suggests. “We can watch Bake Off.”

You nod as you make your way over to the couch. You try to tell yourself you should keep your distance, should sit far away from him. But when he sits down and pulls you into his chest, you can’t help but sigh happily.

“When we inevitably catch whatever he has,” you say, “we’re gonna need more chicken noodle soup.”

…..

Oscar comes home from work one day a few weeks later, and finds the two of you in the living room- a pretty normal occurrence lately. You’re laid out on the couch, your ankles in Lando’s lap. You smile up at him happily, and he laughs. He’s glad to see you, honestly, both of you. He’s had a rough day. This is exactly what he needed to come home to.

“Comfy?” He asks.

You nod eagerly. “We saved some pizza for you. It’s in the kitchen.”

He snorts. “Gee. Thanks. Couldn’t wait till I got home?”

You pout up at him. “I was hungry.”

Lando nods in agreement. “She was being whiny, Osc, had to feed her.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, leaning over to ruffle your hair. You press into the touch, like a cat. “And then I’ll have dinner.”

“Ooh, take a shower beer,” you suggest.

Lando laughs. “I was gonna say the exact same thing.”

Without even thinking, Oscar leans over the couch and kisses both of your foreheads. “Geniuses, the both of you.”

Neither you or Lando seem to question it, or the blush on his cheeks, so he doesn’t even try to explain.

By the time he finishes showering, and finishes his shower beer, a bit of the stress has melted away. He sighs heavily when he steps out, towel dries his hair, and pulls on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. He eats a slice of pizza, cold, in the kitchen.

When he makes it back to the living room, you’re curled up in Lando’s arms, halfway in his lap. He grumbles, not even realizing he’s making the noise until you look up at him. You throw one arm out wide, beckoning him close. Lando looks up with a happy, soft smile and pats the open space on his chest. And really, Oscar’s had a shit day, and the spot between Lando’s jaw and chest looks quite cozy, and if he’s being invited, then-

He collapses into the two of you, slips his arm around you and presses the side of his face to Lando’s chest. Oscar takes a deep breath, smells Lando’s cologne and your perfume, the intoxicating mix of both of you, and closes his eyes. He feels someone’s finger drag down the slope of his nose, and another hand brushes his hair from his forehead.

“Bad day?” You ask.

He’s exhausted, and everything is a bit hazy feeling. Syrupy and slow. He could fall asleep like this, probably. You sound a million miles away, and also like you’re tucked away in his chest, like he’d like for you to always be. Close and protected.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Really bad day.”

A thumb brushes over his cheek. There’s a hand in his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He lets out a fluttering sigh.

“Poor baby,” you say. He thinks the hand on his face is yours, the hand in his hair, Lando’s. “We just gotta wait for Lan to make it big, yeah? ‘nd then me and you can be his sugar babies, let him pay for everything. Just like he promised.”

Oscar laughs and rubs his cheek against Lando’s chest in some sort of nod. He can feel Lando laughing, too, high pitched and breathless. His hand squeezes at your hip, where it landed when he sat down.

“I’d take such good care of the two of you,” Lando says, quietly.

Oscar knows how much truth the words hold, and suddenly his stomach aches with want. Because Lando already takes care of both of you and him any way he can, and Oscar does it for you and Lando, too, and they both wish they could do it even more so. Could kiss away your tears, could hold your hand when you cross the street. He wants it. So does Lando.

“You already do,” you say, even quieter.

Oscar feels Lando’s breath hitch in his chest. He opens one eye and finds your eyes closed, your hand pressed to his cheek. Lando’s hand, banded around Oscar’s back, squeezes softly. Oscar holds his breath.

You shrug, like you know they’re watching without even opening your eyes.

“You both do,” you add. “Picked me up when I called, checked on me ever since…” you sigh and bury your face deeper into Lando’s chest. Oscar reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand tentatively. “Couldn’t ask for more.”

Even on the worst of days, Oscar thinks that maybe you’re right. He couldn’t ask for more. He’s got everything right here.

…..

A few nights later, Lando wakes up to the creak of the door, and his eyes fly open. He turns to look and finds you standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Love?” Lando asks, quietly. It’s the dead of night. “You alright?”

You shrug and sigh. “Can we cuddle?”

He blinks and nods, wonder fleetingly if he should go and get Oscar, because this feels unfair, but- then you step backwards, walking away. You must want to go to your bed, must feel more comfortable there. Lando slips out of his bed, takes his phone with him, and follows after you. His confusion grows when you don’t stop at the door to your bedroom. You walk right past and head for Oscar’s room. You open the door, and Lando looks past you to the warm glow of the lamp Oscar always forgets to turn off, to his sleeping form.

“You’re easier to wake up,” you say, softly.

Lando blinks wildly as you trudge your way over to the bed. “Love?”

“Want cuddles,” you state as you climb into the bed next to Oscar, who’s snoring softly. “From both of you. Come on.”

And, well. You should probably all talk about this, really. But you’re already tucking yourself under the blankets, and Oscar looks cute, and Lando’s so, so tired, and he wants cuddles, too, so. He sighs and makes his way over to the bed. You grin and roll towards Oscar, who finally shifts awake at the motion.

“Hi?” He says, confused, sleep coating his voice.

You don’t bother to explain, just slip an arm around him and curl close. Lando sits down on the edge of the bed and makes eye contact with Oscar, who seems frozen between confusion and happiness.

“She wanted cuddles,” Lando explains. “From both of us. I’m easier to wake up, apparently.”

Oscar shrugs and nods. He rolls towards you and throws his arm over your middle. His fingers motion towards Lando, who breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, they’ve talked, but there was always a chance Oscar changed his mind, or that this would be weird. But, if he’s offering…

Lando crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh when he lays down next to you, and he can’t fight the smile that crosses his lips. He slips his arm around you, his skin brushing against Oscar’s, too. Oscar presses a kiss to your forehead. Lando bites back a flare of jealousy, and he’s not even sure which one of you he’s jealous of. Then Oscar brushes his fingertips against his bicep, a soft, gentle touch that reminds him he’s part of this, too. Lando kisses the back of your neck and closes his eyes, already sleepy again.

…..

When Oscar wakes up the next morning, you and Lando are still in his bed. He breathes a sigh of relief at that, having been worried one of you would wake up and panic and leave. He watches the two of you for a few moments before he lets his eyes slip closed again. The weight of your head on his chest is comforting, and the soft rise and fall of Lando’s ribs under his hand is even more so. It’s rare that he’s awake before either of you unless he has to be up early.

He opens one eye again, just to look, just to take it in. Lando’s head is pressed against your shoulder, the top of his forehead and his mass of curly hair just visible to Oscar. He could get used to this. He’d like to wake up like this all the time, the three of you all wrapped up together. And maybe that’s wishful thinking, but for at least one morning, he gets to have it.

If he wasn’t so worried he’d wake you up and spoil the moment, he’d trace the lines of your face with his fingertips and draw patterns on your shoulders. He’d do it to Lando, too- shove his tank top up until he could touch the bare skin of his ribs, run his fingers over the bumps. But he wants this to last as long as possible, so he just lays there and stares.

Eventually, you start to stir, and with you, so does Lando. It’s strange, the way it makes Oscar’s heart clench in his chest. He wants so badly for both of you to just stay right here, with him. If he could hold you both in his arms like this forever he would.

When you open your eyes, you smile softly at him. Lando shifts behind you and opens one eye, and the same soft smile slips across his lips. You press yourself farther into Oscar, and reach a hand behind you to pull Lando close.

“My boys,” you say, quietly. “My favorite boys.”

And. That’s when it hits Oscar, like a punch to the chest. There’s something in the way you say it, something about the look on your face. He just knows. He knows because he sees it in himself, in Lando. He doesn’t need to talk about it right this second, doesn’t need to ask. He just knows you feel it too. So he leans up and over, hears the way Lando’s holding his breath. He moves his hand and presses his lips to your cheek, to your warm, soft skin. Then he does the same to Lando. You smile even wider. Lando, not one to be left out, does the same to you, then Oscar, leaving his skin burning. You follow suit, and your lips are warm against Oscar’s jaw. He thinks maybe he’s in heaven.

The three of you fall back asleep in a tighter pile, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. There’ll be time to talk later. For now, it’s enough to just know.

…..

A month later, you’re in the front of the crowd at Lando’s DJ set, watching with wide, bright eyes. He has three buttons undone, the work of you and Oscar during the car ride over to the club. He’s grinning down at you as someone hands him a shot, and then he tosses it back with a grimace. You wonder if he sees the stars in his eyes as you look up at him.

Oscar’s behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He has a drink in his other hand- your drink, taken from your own grip when you started moving your hands to the music. His nose is pressed behind your ear, and when he speaks, his breath tickles against your skin and makes you shiver.

“Y’know, he said he’d take care of us,” Oscar says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but just barely. “But all I can think of right now are all the ways I wanna take care of him.”

You laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s the unbuttoned shirt,” you tell him, gesturing at your other boyfriend. “S’like kryptonite.”

Never mind the fact that the shirt’s only unbuttoned because of the two of you. Oscar laughs and squeezes his arm around your middle. Lando tilts his head at the two of you, like he knows exactly what you’re up to.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees. “But that’s less buttons for us to deal with later.”

You nod in agreement. “Good point.”

When Lando’s shirt is laying on the floor later, next to Oscar’s shirt and your dress, and you’re all slumped together on the bed in a pile, you remember what Oscar said earlier and laugh. Neither of them bother to ask what you’re laughing about. They just kiss your cheeks and join in with laughter of their own.

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1 (if your blog is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!)

EVERYBODY SHUT UP NEW JEFF WARD BTS DROPPED

Evil pope so laaame, I love him

𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡 𝗔𝗗𝗗𝗔𝗠𝗦 𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. jason todd x addams!male reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. headcanon, typical addams behavior (disturbing thoughts and things, homicides, dark humor, using lethal weapons for fun, etc.), strong language, reader’s a badass vigilante, jason being a simp, dark romance (?), mention of homophobia, mention of torture and death, weapons, the addams family being wholesome, lots of pet names, gothic!reader

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖉𝖊. red as jason, purple as you.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. i was thinking of fics to write for jason and came up with this... hail, addams! also sais are like your main weapon here.

FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

Jason’s first meet with you was... amusing to say the least. It’s not much to consider eventful by, but to jason, it’s probably the most and first thing that will stuck with him until his second final breath.

You see, he was just casually walking through the streets of gotham in civilian clothes since he only got out of his apartment to buy some light breakfast, so he certainly did not expect to hear shouts and noises of harrassment coming from the alleyway early in the morning. They were spitting such nasty words that Jason grew the urge to investigate, finding at least five men surrounding you, who wasn’t even acknowledging their presence nor the things they said.

You were reading a book — which he was sure titled ‘how to kill a serial killer’ — with your back leaned on the concrete wall and completely ignoring their existence. Jason swears he saw a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ sentence above your head. However, knowing what the men are doing is harrassment and absolutely something that shouldn’t be turned a blind eye to, he decides to intervene and began walking towards the commotion.

Until one of the men abruptly grabbed the book you were reading to get your attention and also to make fun of you, or it.

Jason didn’t even realize what was happening when you quickly grabbed the man’s arm that took your book and twisted it into an odd angle, but he only took a second to process after hearing the man scream, accompanied by horrified noises from his friends.

You just casually caught the book that fell from his hand that you twisted before it could hit the ground, as if nothing happened.

“Touch my book again and I’ll kill you.”

You broke the man’s arm.

You fucking broke his arm just because he took your book.

And you didn’t care as you went to inspect if there were any scratches or dust on it. The others were now terrified because if you don’t hesitate to break someone’s arm for the sole and only reason of touching your book, then you sure as hell won’t hesitate doing more than that if they mess with you further. So, with one bark of “what?” coming from you immediately had them running away in fear, tail tucked between their legs.

Needless to say Jason was utterly amused, and didn’t waste a time to approach and check up on you even though he clearly saw the entire thing.

“Your book must be a treasure made of gold if you’re willing to hospitalize someone because of it.”

“All books are treasure no matter the genre, mr. stranger.”

“I’m Jason Todd.”

“(Y/n) Addams. Pleasure to meet you, beau.”

You and Jason started spending your time together almost every day since then; watching movies, eating at casual places, taking long night walks, going to mall, drinking coffees at the coffee shop he found around the city, just doing anything you two can.

Through those times spent with you, Jason found out you were oddly interested in various types of weapons, whether it be any kinds of knives, blades, guns, baseball bats, brass knuckles, swords, sais, and everything else. It actually surprised him, because you were well-mannered, collected and as graceful as a swan who didn’t look like you’d be into anything as vicious as weapons.

He viewed you more as a find-beauty-in-everything type of person and certainly not the quiet-but-dangerous type. Though, Jason didn’t mind as he could share his knowledge and interest in weapons with you without having to worry about seeming like a crazy obsessed person. He’s never been able to do that with anyone, so finding this out had him joyous and somewhat giddy.

You even knew about weapons that he didn’t know existed, and this is Jason Todd we’re talking about, but let’s just move on lol

After the entire incident, Jason brought you to his apartment — which already happened like, more than tenth times already — to show you his collectibles of weapons that were hidden in his room. You guessed that’s why you two never went there.

“Well, this is certainly entertaining. Your collections are beautiful, Jason. I’m not aware why you have to hide it from everyone else to see.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll freak out and think of me like a psycho or something. I also didn’t show you ‘cause I didn’t want you to be stranged out.”

“All of humanity are strange and psychopaths in their own ways, beau. If there were such thing as normal, we wouldn’t be humans. You should be prideful of what you have, nevermind those who judges, pretending to be god.”

Jason smiles. You have mesmerizing ways to utter what’s in your mind, always speaking so confidently and gracefully yet casually. You present yourself in such elegant, exquisite, classy manners that no rich people could. It’s exactly what he enjoys about you.

You had also found out that, despite his bad boy energy and sort of reputation, Jason likes reading books, and they’re not even the genres that bad boys would take a glance at. It explains the shelf piled with books, some new and some old that almost seemed like he’s had them since he was a teen.

He also liked to read poetry, which you were ecstatic at, prompting you to lead him towards the library you always visit to read a book together. You both wordlessly agreed to do this on a regular basis whenever you meet up and want a quiet time among yourselves, knowing neither of you has to hold back your passion and love for books just to please the other.

Having similar tastes and interests immediately connected you and Jason, becoming somewhat inseparable whenever you’re together, allowing you to understand each other without words being uttered or exchanged. Jason was easily comfortable with you due to your maturity and the ability to understand things most people don’t, as you were with him.

The differences were clearly there — Jason was snarky, short-tempered, easy to anger, sort of flirtatious, and held extreme rage against all humanity, while you were more calm, collected, immensely patient, courteous, thoughtful, and almost the epitome of peace. But they’re the things that made you fit so perfectly well together like a puzzle rather than being hateful of each other.

It’s as if you’re what’s keeping him to the ground as he is of you.

Not like Jason knew, but when you’re an Addams, having dark, twisted sense of humor and being homicidal is pretty much inevitable. It isn’t a big surprise that you were one.

He often hears you muttering the most disturbing matters or thoughts, and at first he was concerned for your well-being and looked for signs that may have caused you to be... deranged, but as time passes by with no signs, he figured it’s just the way you are. Jason found it rather amusing anyway. Now, he’s just entertained whenever you utter them and would sometimes join you in on dark humor.

Getting to the family matters... You and Jason talked a lot about them — specifically yours only — and you told him about your unbelievably and deeply in love parents, adorable but deadly siblings, uncle Fester and the entire thing that happened, cousins, traditions, ancestors, and other more.

“—And my great-uncle Imar, he was buried alive. I remember being thrilled when mother and father first told me about him. Being buried alive is such a wonderful experience, my sister Wednesday has been digging a grave ever since I’ve mentioned it to her.”

“Oh, yeah? Being buried alive is cool and all, but I’m more of a great-aunt Calpurnia fan. Nobody can be as brave as her to dance naked in the town square and enslave the minister.”

“You have such great taste, Jason.”

“I know, (Y/n).”

He absolutely loves your ancestors and family.

When it comes to his, though... Jason was hesitant to tell you about them, specially Bruce, but also because of his secret identity slash alter ego as Red Hood. Telling you about his family means he would have to reveal all the secrets as well, including his death and resurrection, and that’s not something he’s ready to do just yet. You didn’t deserve to know all the horror he’s been through, knowing you and your compassion. He doesn’t want you to carry the burden of knowing his sufferings. But he also didn’t want you to think he doesn’t trust you by not telling his side of family.

However, all you ever did was look at him with soft eyes when you sensed his discomfort and reluctance, gently placing a comforting hand on his shoulder to squeeze it reassuringly.

“Never speak of something you are not ready yet to reveal, beau. It’s okay. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Never had he met someone so understanding it made his heart swell. And as he stares into your beautiful (e/c) eyes, he couldn’t help but realize he’s utterly, deeply, in love with you.

Well, shit. That took a fucking turn.

What is he supposed to do now? You’ve been best friends for two years already, he doesn’t want to fucking ruin it with his feelings. And you’re not even the one to do romance, even if you witness your parents doing it everyday. It was just not in your vocabulary.

Jesus, Todd. Get yourself together.

And he fucking didn’t.

Jason didn’t get a hold of himself, so it ended up in him avoiding you without meaning to. He wasn’t ignoring you, but neither did he pay attention to you either. He stopped spending time with you frequently, making excuses that he has something important to do, putting on his Red Hood helmet and patrolling every day just to avoid your presence. The amount of time you spent together lessened and lessened, but you always updated or sent him messages to keep in check.

Until his phone abruptly stopped receiving notifications.

He knew it would happen one day, that you will get tired of him and realize he wasn’t worth your effort or time, but it happened quicker and earlier than Jason had expected, so he can’t help but feel his heart break as his throat burned. It’s his fault for neglecting you, but still, it hurt.

Five days passed since you stopped messaging him and Jason found himself still checking his phone just in case, only to drop it on his bed with a sigh when it doesn’t bring up a notification. He would go on patrol more frequently than he used to for distraction, just wanting to get you out of his mind, but it was causing him to be rough and reckless unconsciously— something that even his family noticed.

So, it was inevitable that he’d slip up and make a mistake on one of his missions.

Bruce was reluctant on sending him to this mission as it involved the Joker and Jason was practically in an unstable condition from how easily he snapped at people, but if he didn’t, another heated argument would have sparked between them again and he was already getting tired of that. However, when the Joker manages to taunt Jason and push his buttons enough to have him start fighting recklessly, Bruce knew he shouldn’t have assigned it to his second oldest son.

His recklessness and easy-to-anger attitude got himself a stab and bullet wound, quite deep ones that prevented him from moving any further. Joker was standing in front of him with a gun in hand and knife in the other, looking down on him just like he used to before. Just as Jason braced himself for the gun shot to fire, a sai suddenly came into view and stabbed Joker on his hand, making him drop the gun and yell out in pain.

Jason looked at where the sai came flying from and saw an unfamiliar yet somehow familiar figure with a mask calmly strotting towards him, one hand twirling a sai, presumably the pair of the one that was thrown. Pulling the weapon roughly out of the manic-laughing Joker’s hand, he yelled in pain before getting his gut kneed by the person, knocking the air out of his lungs. While Joker was busy coughing and wheezing, the person quickly takes out a smoke bomb and threw it on the ground to activate, black smoke filling the place.

Without being given the time to process, Jason was immediately pulled by the person to flee from the scene while the Killer Prince of Clown is distracted, confusion rising in his mind why this unknown person was helping him. However, all his questions were answered when the person took off their mask after settling him on a rooftop.

You didn’t hesitate to show him your face despite still being dressed in that vigilante suit of yours in all your glory. Even though you should be mad at him for ditching and eventually ghosting you, deep concern laced your expression as you examine his whole body, anger or resentment nowhere to be seen. You were just... completely you.

And then, it clicked in his mind — you already knew about him being Red Hood. He isn’t sure when or how long, it just clicked in his mind because of how oddly calm you were at the situation by hand. He also realizes you’ve been following him and had figured beforehand that there’s a chance he’d mess up, due to the fully stacked first aid kit laying on the side of the rooftop you brought him.

Silence filled the air as you began to treat his wounds, an excruciatingly painful process in which you had to gauge the bullet out of his skin that had him groaning and yelling in pain. After the bullet was gone, you immediately went onto cleaning the blood off and the wound, along with the one caused by knife, before wrapping almost exaggerated amount of bandages around his body.

Jason can’t stop staring at you the entire time you were treating him, his helmet resting on his side. (because it made him trouble breathing, totally not because he was planning something)

“You had me worry so much there, Jason. Why were you fighting that way? I was aware you can be reckless at times, but this is—”

He cut you off by pressing his lips on yours. Heart beating rapidly against his chest, worry clouded his mind at the possible rejection, but it quickly vanished when he felt you kissing back as gently and carefully as possible not to hurt his busted lip.

“I must say I was quite furious at you even though I practically saved your life, but this dissolves it.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

“Take me out on a date and I might give you forgiveness.”

That’s how you two ended up together, with Jason taking you on a peaceful and romantic date at a restaurant that matched your dark goth aesthetic.

Speaking of dark goth aesthetic, Jason absolutely adores your fashion sense. It’s a classic old-fashioned goth style that fit your body perfectly well, sometimes you’d also wear modern type, though he saw it only about four times. Silver and black rings can be seen adorning your fingers — nails painted black — all the time, along with bracelets wrapped around your wrists and gothic necklace on your neck. He found out they were given to you by your parents, who were quick to notice your interest in jewelries.

Once, Jason gave you a gothic style necklace with a letter ‘J’ pendant on your birthday and you’ve been wearing it ever since, replacing the one that you had. You never took it off, viewing the necklace as practically a proof that you belong to him as much as he belongs to you (it was a pair with his having the first initial of your name as pendant), and it actually became one of your treasure that no one aside from Jason is allowed to touch.

We all know what will happen if anyone tries to LMAO

Nothing really changed between you two after finally getting together, being both best friends and soulmates at the same time. The only thing changed was that he didn’t patrol alone now; he had you by his side always watching his back. Jason also found himself not worrying about your safety as much as he did before, as he knew you can handle any criminals from how badass, ass-kicking, well-trained vigilante you are.

Though, since you got together, the all black clothing and aesthetic of yours seems to mix with one certain color; red. He finds it in most random things — your bookmark, one of your accessories, one of your long sleeved button-up shirts, one of your weapons; it’s just anywhere in your belongings even though black still covered the majority of them.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yes, mon amour?”

“Why do I see red in some of your things? I mean, I ain’t complaining but you don’t like bright colors.”

“So you haven’t noticed. Red is your colour, darling. I would always have it with me. Besides, it isn’t as bright as pastels and mix in well with black. Also reminds me of our blood, but that’s just the minority of my reasons.”

Jason’s heart swelled with love and pride. He didn’t stop kissing and hugging you the entire day.

RED AND BLACK AESTHETIC BOYFRIENDS. People always stare at you two because wow, there’s a badass, awesome, classy-looking goth and a hot guy radiating off bad boy energy walking around the streets of Gotham with intertwined hands and matching sunglasses, how could they not stare?

It’s obvious you’re boyfriends and some people gives you that nasty, disgusting looks upon seeing your intertwined hands which alone screams homophobia. You and Jason deal with it by rubbing it in their faces, being lovey-dovey and romantic, doing unnecessary amount of touching, calling each other every pet names you could come up with, and showing lots of PDA until they stop being such stupid assholes.

Though, most people you came across were genuine sweethearts and kind-hearted, who only ever smiled or stared with a soft look when they see you two, probably happy and relieved that a gay couple is getting comfortable to walk around together. Some of them would even approach just to give you and Jason compliments, like how good you look together, how awesome your outfit is, how you two are literally the coolest couple they have ever seen. Jason was glad they approached solely for the purpose of complimenting your relationship and not to spit nasty slurs, because the least he wants when you two have a date is to get in a fight and could possibly be arrested for public disturbance and physical assault.

Growing up watching your parents’s romance blossom all your life definitely shaped your love language into that of theirs, wherein you would praise Jason in such poetic ways, whisper love thoughts in his ear, and touch him with gentle hands like how your parents does. You treat him like a treasure, like he’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen, and Jason finds himself loving it more than he thought he would.

Meanwhile, Jason’s love language is physical (or any kind for that matter) affection and quality time. You find it adorable because he can’t keep his hands to himself and always either holding your hand or touching you despite being the ‘big bad wolf’ as he views himself to be. For a man with such rage and resentment towards the world, he’s the biggest softy when it comes to you and would throw everything away if he gets to be with you everyday 24/7.

You definitely exchanged some weapons at least once or more. There’s no way in hell you didn’t.

And you also definitely gave each other newly bought weapons on your anniversary as a gift, Jason’s being guns and yours being sais.

There’s a newly added shelf in Jason’s apartment for you to place your things there so you don’t have to bring them every time you come over. The shelf is, of course, painted black and actually shaped like a coffin to further show gothicness. Pictures of you together mostly decorated your shelf in black frames, along with a bunch of skulls and ancient crystal ball that your mother gave you. There’s also black roses and few of your favorite books; Frankstein by Mary Shelley, a book of Edgar Allan Poe’s classic stories, and We have always lived in the castle by Shirley Jackson.

Also, at one point, Jason was convinced his boyfriend’s a witch because when he got badly injured one day, you took out some mysterious ingredients stored in potion bottles and mixed them in to create what seemed like an antidote before rubbing it gently on his wounds, and they magically healed like three days later. He wouldn’t stop pestering you about it for a whole month, oddly excited of the possibility that you might be a witch since your ancestors had a history of witchcrafts.

“I was just taught by my grandmother how to create antidotes on emergencies, chéri. It’s nothing serious.”

“But you could be a witch!”

“Being a witch is more than just making antidotes, my dear Jason.”

“But you could still be a witch, I stand my point.”

Your grandmother also may or may not have taught you how to hex and curse people as well as how to use tarot cards, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Telling you about his fall-out and rekindle with Bruce, his torture and death and resurrection, as well as what he went through as a child took Jason two years in the relationship and four years since he met you. It didn’t bother you at all, knowing the trauma he endured isn’t easy to talk about, letting him play with your hands for comfort. He also told you about the criminals he killed and the thirst of vengeance and blood whenever Joker’s mentioned.

You stayed silent the whole time that worried Jason; you usually uttered comforting words whenever you noticed him troubled. But now, you were just silent even after he finished his story that had him think it might’ve been too much to take in. However, when he looked at you fearfully, his eyes immediately widened upon witnessing the utmost rage and murderous look on your face.

His boyfriend, who is almost impossible to anger or lose control of emotions, was fucking shaking with rage. Your self-control was impressive; you wanted so fucking bad to brutally torture and kill Joker, but knowing Jason needs you, pushed down the dark desire and pulled him into a tight embrace instead. You whispered words of comfort and encouragement and reassurance to him, yet your voice betrayed you as it was low, and dark, and just didn’t have the usual calm tone you had.

The next day, it was announced on Gotham City news that the Joker was sent to Arkham Asylum by an unknown vigilante, severely and brutally beaten by crowbar with all his nails pulled out and obvious signs of mild yet intense torture.

“Hey, baby? Take a look at this.”

“Well, well... What a wonderful news. I believe he should’ve been killed, though. The nails, broken bones and cut off tongue aren’t enough for him.”

“...They never said he got his tongue cut off, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

He smirked and kissed you hard, absolutely proud of what you did.

Meeting your family was an extraordinary experience for Jason. Your parents, Gomez and Morticia, easily accepted and welcomed him into the family, thrilled that their son finally had someone to love. They’re always accepting, as you had told Jason. He got to see their romance that you often talked about and can’t help but notice you inherited both of their romantic side that he oh so loves.

Your siblings, Wednesday and Pugsley, were adorable to say the least even though Wednesday was quite terrifying for a girl. She actually likes Jason and initiated a conversation that she never did before with others, even referring to him as ‘big brother’ at the end of the day that had Jason grinning from ear to ear. He knew Wednesday didn’t like people and was basically an anti-social, homicidal maniac, so seeing her grow attached to him felt like he saved the whole world and was given a blessing. Pugsley, on the other hand, was totally amazed by him and threw him like, thirty questions about Red Hood. Apparently, Jason’s his favorite vigilante.

Watching you and your family interact was amusing as you were all funny without even trying, specially that time when you, Jason and your parents were having casual conversations in the dining table and Wednesday came walking past the four of you with mace in hand. Morticia had stopped talking to ask her “Is that for your brother?” and when Wednesday nodded, she extended her hands to you with palms up as you pulled a large axe from the set of woods on the ceiling and handed it to your mother, Morticia giving it to Wednesday with a “That’s better” said.

It happened so casually that Jason didn’t think much of it until he realized what just occurred and had to keep himself from laughing. Your family’s so cool and awesome he was thankful to be considered as one, already loving every single member.

He now had a new family and can’t wait to introduce you to his, nevermind the hesitance due to his annoying brothers.

Overall, you two are just utterly and madly in love despite your disturbing, homicidal mindset and his... well, Jason Todd attitude, and would do literally anything to ensure each other’s safety. You would kill for each other, even destroy the world, and nothing will be able to ruin what you have. Everyone’s practically jealous of your bond that they know they’ll never have with anyone.

One thing’s for sure — soulmates for life!!

© ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

soft shiratorizawa sleepover

Shiratorizawa x Reader - Sleepover Headcanons

request: “Hi can I request having a sleepover with Shiratorizawa?”

a/n: classic Gracie move, here. ultra fluffed up, on a Friday evening. please enjoy some soft, sleepover moments with our faves, Ushijima, Tendou, Semi, Goshiki, Shirabu, Reon, and Yamagata. 

warnings: none!

wc: 930

—

you’ve been unofficially managing/supervising the Shiratorizawa team over the past couple months

but with their strict schedule and the fact that you joined them a bit late into their volleyball season, it’s been hard to actually get to know them

luckily, you and Tendou hit it off instantly, his curiosity gravitating toward the novelty of having a team manager

after expressing your wish to get to know the team better, the idea for a sleepover popped up in a playful convo between you and Tendou

i mean, you were definitely joking about it, but apparently Tendou had already presented the idea to Ushijima

and Ushi was totally chill with it??

he felt like you would manage the team better if you could see how everyone functioned outside of a high-pressure game

also i’m almost entirely positive that half of this team has never had a real sleepover

like, sure, they’ve spent the night together while away for practices games and tournaments, but they’ve never had one for the purpose of “hanging out” with each other

the team is surprised to hear that you’ll be joining them, but they’re genuinely excited to learn about you

lmao they might even be sort of intimidated esp since most of them are fr socially awkward

so be ready to actually get to know these boys, bc they’re all weird af

ps everyone will be invading Goshiki’s home for this wild, overnight endeavor

you arrive slightly late, but you’re welcomed with sounds of howling laughter and vibrant discussions that seem to be spiraling into loud arguments

Semi has Shirabu in some kind of headlock, wrestling him to the floor for being too pretentious

Tendou is already in his sleeping bag, but he’s not actually lying down… he’s hopping around in it

and Ushijima looks like he’s supervising the entire team, while still holding a glint of humor behind his gaze, enjoying the goofiness of his teammates outside of a gym for once

when they spot you at the doorway, your pillows and items in hand, everyone goes silent

and then Tendou rushes toward you, crashing headfirst into your body after losing balance in his absurdly heavy sleeping bag

you’re pretty much stuck under him, so Reon and Ushi have to lift Tendou off of you before Semi can give you a hand up

you thank Semi and turn to Tendou with a playful scowl on your face, his own cat-like grin is spreading the width of his cheeks

before he can react, you’ve smashed a pillow right into his head, leaving him slightly dizzy as he throws his pillow toward you… but it misses

…landing straight into Ushijima’s gorgeously sculpted face

everyone is too shocked by this to realize that Ushi has already picked up a pillow and aimed it at poor Goshiki

the power in Ushi’s pillow throw literally knocks him off his feet

yikes

don’t get me wrong, Ushijima doesn’t really get the concept of a “pillow fight,” but he’s willing to try anything at least once to understand it

this starts a full-send pillow war:

It’s you, Semi, Goshiki, and Yamagata VS Tendou, Ushijima, Shirabu, and Reon

and lemme tell you, IT IS BRUTAL.

you learn quickly about their inner team rivalries and the team’s extensively colorful language

this ends with lots of sweat, several bruises, and countless bursts of excited laughter

but when the game and adrenaline highs wear off, you’re all left lying on the floor

they all recover pretty quickly, but most of the 3rd years realize just how worn out you are from the amount of effort you just exerted

Semi flicks you in the side of your head and asks you some personal questions, but really the whole group is listening in, 

“Y/n, why’d you choose to help our team out? I’m sure you have a lot going on outside of all of this.”

you’re taken aback, having to process your answer… because truthfully friends weren’t easy to come by these days

you’d been searching for an opportunity to find community and be apart of something… and this management position seemed to be an open door to it

“You’d be surprised by my social life, Semi.” you say through a laugh, but it doesn’t sound funny

you’re amazed by the understanding faces surrounding you, some nodding, other just staring without judgment

because they could all relate

LITERALLY this short convo turns into a really sweet discussion about fears and problems, with some venting mixed in

It’s mostly you, Goshiki, Tendou, and Semi speaking, but in the end, everyone shares a little piece of their life with the group

which is all so weird for everyone on the team, but somehow your presence was the perfect set up for a Group Therapy Sleepover Session™ 

by the end of the night, you’re the one advising and listening to them, which is such a cozy turn of events

like, your heart is full & they’re actively being invested in by your sweet self

several of them (Ushijima, Semi, and Goshiki) fall asleep to the soothing sound of your voice

you just make them so comfortable

and as much as they should be the ones protecting you, you’re the one making them feel safe and put together

honestly, while i’d like to think that Shiratorizawa is always so cool and calm, i think they need hugs and softness too

sure, they’re tough and they get all of that intensity and energy out on the court 

but now that the team knows they have an outlet to get things off their chest and out into the airspace, they don’t want to lose it

and that’s when the bi-monthly, non-volleyball related Shiratorizawa sleepovers become mandatory

it’s pretty much the ultimate mental health booster and it gets wilder every time

so, you indeed get to know the boys well <3

—-

tags: @yams046, @cherryonigiri

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)