#bulletproof invincable

[thirdmaulertwin]

Bulletproof's suit in s1e1??

[thethirdmaulertwin]

the guys :-)

Original image ↓

[foursthemagicknumber]

This show has a lot of funny frames

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎

Chat Noir!Reader

Summary || teenage supers weren’t uncommon to see, but you were a particularly interesting one.

A/N: ideas, ideas, ideas…. AUGH. You get ur ass invertedly adopted by the GDA, in a way. Next part is coming soon! (Reader is a teenager here.)

“Cataclysm!”

Lately there's been more and more sightings of akumas, the blackened butterflies with purple idents. On one's own, they're easy to resist. But not when the victim completely overcome with emotions, which causes a lot of problems.

mainly for one reason only: Akumatizations.

Meaning you've had to spread out your already wide area that was Paris, but as of late—you've been spotted around in Chicago as well, which rose some suspicions amongst the G.D.A, and even the civilians themselves. You were as strange one, capable of mass and pure destruction. Yet upon sighting you, you were as brave, calm and gentle as one could be for a superhero. A teenaged one at that.

Civilians had made assumptions about you, the director of the G.D.A was curious about you at most, but all in all—You didn't seem to pose a major threat, you only took care of the problem, then left as quick as you came.

You sighed as you rubbed the temple of your forehead, arching a brow as you took in the silent win. a silent smile gracing your lips. Another akuma bit the dust, and you saved the victim.

Without your partner, you weren't sure how you could've purified the akuma. Initially you had asked Plagg for help, but as usual, he was his mysterious, riddle-ridden self. That made you groan, so you had to figure out a way, study the scrolls; ask Master Fu for help and so on. It was strange to say the least, but this new extension of your hero life was nice—to an extent.

Despite it, you were a smart cat. you figured out how to purify the akuma on your own, without the ladybug yo-yo that your partner always carried around. though it took some extraneous effort, the result was worth it.

"oh my gosh." the vicim gaps, wincing as he held his head. he was confused, which was normal. stuff like this always happens after the experience, it was as if one's mind goes blank, just letting your innermost thoughts translates to your actions. fortunately you were there to help them snap out of it.

"ça va?" you ask, and the victim snaps his head back up at you in confusion. and you arch a brow, stewing in the confusion. suddenly you facepalmed your head, now immediately understanding why he was confused.

You weren't in Paris anymore, not right now. "Sorry! what I meant to say was," You began, holding out your hand to help the victim up. "Are you alright?"

"uh yeah," he mutters, shaking his head to ward off the adrenaline he was still feeling. "thanks."

You affirm the sentiment with a small nod, winking at him. "of course, it's the job of the great, charming cat noir after all." You still kept a gentle hold on him, making sure he was stable enough otherwise to stand on his own without support. the victim casts a long glance at you, and you understand why. you just wished that you didn't get so many questioning looks about your being here.

Teenage superheroes weren't abnormal, so why the hell did you keep getting weird looks towards you? all it just did is make you wish you were back in Paris, where you did your usual thing with Ladybug; then go home.

"hey uh..."

'oh here we go', you think to yourself. here comes the questions, you didn't want to stick around, seriously. but you always helped the victims, and left your partner to be answering the questions. you were used to that, but she wasn't around. so it was just you, and the victims. luckily there was no stupendous scrawling of reporters and cameras to cover this incident, not here in Chicago. it was just another day--but, were the citizens okay? they must be severely desensitized to the point that it became their normal to be watching such crimes happen.

you were concerned for the people of America.

he grimaces, and you watch as he readjusted himself on his own. your cross your arms, eyes watching him like a genuine black cat. "are you okay? you look kinda young to be doing this." he asks, and that surprises you.

you stand on the balls of your feet, tapping around the stone pavement. "I'm fine," you mutter, holding back the temptation of rolling your eyes. "you should be going back home, akumatizations can take a toll and make you feel sore." you inform, jabbing a thumb vaguely.

he eyes you wearily, but he caves. better to listen to the hero, and you were all the more glad for it.

your cat-like eyes watch him as he walks off, making sure that he was completely out of the danger zone before you finally relaxed. "good grief." you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck before you turned around, holding out your staff and extending it.

out of habit, you wait for a moment.

nobody? good.

you jump away, feeling the breeze crawl through your hair. you sighed contentedly, you held up your ring for a brief moment, watching for how many paw pads you had left.

'putain!' you curse inwardly, hopping on one foot, hand or the other. almost zoning out from your surroundings.

two pads. which meant you needed to get back to your house, and quickly. there is also the less safer possibility of having to find somewhere to hide and recharge Plagg to continue going on forward with the day, of course with the usual kicking the bad guy's ass.

you groan inwardly to yourself as you hop onto a rooftop, your ears perking each and every way as you contemplate your circumstances. on one hand, you've been fending off the akumas sent by your sworn enemy, and on the other: you had to juggle your life as a student, and a model.

frankly you were more surprised that your own forsaken and sworn enemy even manifested the energy to come after you as well, even if you were in a completely different country. you honestly gave up a mental applause for the guy, he certainly had a lot more tenacity then you thought.

and also completely deranged.

You sighed to yourself, hopping off the building rooftop with a meow. Flippantly hopping off one surface and the other as you went straight to your desired destination.

An Açaí food front, their shit was good as hell. There were very few places back in Paris that had such a thing and you wouldn’t miss out on it right now. It was too good to pass up.

This is not how you wanted the rest of your day to go. You just wanted your Açaí food bowl, but no—

"Fear me!"

you could barely make out what the perperator is saying as you take down each of them one by one.

you immediately lament every single choice in your life so far that had gotten you to this point, and quite literally, you make the thought that being six feet under the ground would be way better then what you were doing right now. your body was sore to the living heavens, and you could definitely hear Plagg screaming at you from within the ring right now.

currently, you got yourself wrapped up in a fight with a villain. well, more like a couple of them. they were dressed in scaly costumes and bore an odd white crescent shaped insignia on their chests. one was at the forefront, leading the rest of them into the fight.

you were trying your best to find them off, as you had relatively steady combat experience; and all in due part to your flexibility and agility. but they sure were relentless.

you dug your feet into the asphalt as you ground yourself, then propelled forward with a thrust. taking each and every step with a calculated precision as you knocked out the minions with a quick strike of your extended staff, controlling the length of it with ease. as you do so, you try to recall who these people are.

"you guys are the lizard league right?" you chuckle, crawling forward as you jump around the last few standing minions. and avoiding those who were running away. the leader chokes at your ignidation, his forehead bulging with an evident pulse. "thought the guardians kicked your asses a couple months ago." you grin, flashing a shiny canine as you swipe at the leader.

of course you know about the guardians of the globe, who wouldn't? most famous team of heroes in America, in all of earth actually. you heard about their lacking in effort as of late, but it seemed they truly made a comeback.

"of course we're the lizard league, but we're better then we were back then!" he spat out, throwing a punch at you, but you narrowly dodge it—sidestepping as you crouched, balling your clawed black hand into a fist, and immediately retaliate.

“That so?” You laugh, throat-punching him. He gasps as he steps back, the loss of oxygen making him panic. You throw another one directly to the gut, right in the diaphragm. He keels over to his knees.

“You really gotta pay attention man,” you grin, flashing your signature smile. “Give up yet?”

You stood over the last conscious member of the ragged Lizard League, panting, claws slick with grime and blood, the ringing of your bell drowned out by the chaos that had just died down.

Your staff trembled slightly in your grip as the leader groaned beneath your boot. His tail twitched. His tongue lolled. He wasn’t getting back up.

You crouched, ready to tie him up—or knock him out again if he tried anything stupid—when the sky split open with a sonic boom.

A blue blur shot down and slammed into the ground like a meteor.

You barely had time to react. Your ears twitched. You leapt back just in time to avoid being crushed under the sudden arrival of him.

The Immortal.

He landed like judgment itself—shoulders broad, fists clenched, piercing blue eyes scanning the scene. His presence was enough to make the air itself feel heavier.

“What the hell is going on here?” His voice boomed like thunder as his gaze swept across the destruction. His eyes locked onto you.

You straightened up, claws retracting halfway, though your tail flicked uneasily. “I had it handled,” you said flatly, nodding toward the half-conscious pile of scaly losers around you. “Was just cleaning up the trash.”

His gaze narrowed. His jaw clenched as he took a step closer. You tensed without meaning to.

“Who are you?” he asked, his tone shifting. Still rough, but there was something else behind it now. Not anger. Not suspicion.

Concern.

He stepped closer, looming over you with that towering frame. You were tall for fifteen, but next to him, you barely came up to his chest.

“Wait…” His eyes widened a little. “You’re a kid.”

Your tail curled tighter around your leg as your claws instinctively extended again. “I’m not just a kid,” you snapped. “I’m Cat Noir.”

You didn’t mean to sound defensive. But damn it, how many times were you gonna have to prove yourself?

The Immortal’s face twisted slightly—half confusion, half disbelief. He looked at the damage you’d done to the Lizard League, then back at you. Your mask didn’t hide the sharpness in your cat eyes, the way they gleamed with something more dangerous than teenage rebellion.

He stepped back, hands rising slightly. Not in surrender—but caution. Like he was handling something… fragile.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “Not like this. You’re fifteen, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You’d seen that look before—from police, from teachers, sometimes even from Ladybug when things got too real.

But then his expression shifted again. The steel in his eyes came back. “You’re strong. I’ll give you that.” He looked around. “I’ve seen grown men with ten years of experience lose to these freaks.”

You gave a dry smile, flicking your staff back onto your back. “Yeah, well… maybe they didn’t have claws.”

He almost chuckled. Almost.

Then his gaze sharpened again, and for the briefest moment, he looked haunted—like something behind his eyes was bleeding through the cracks.

“I’ve lost too many kids,” he said quietly.

You didn’t flinch, but your stomach twisted. Something in his voice… heavy. Raw.

“I won’t lose another.”

You opened your mouth to argue—of course you were going to argue—but before you could get a word out, the sky behind him rippled.

A memory flared in your mind.

A red blur.

A splatter of blood.

“Why… why!”

The Immortal’s voice—shattered and betrayed—echoed in your ears before you even realized what it was.

You blinked. The scene shifted for a second in your head. Omni-Man. The Guardians.

You shook it off.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I’m not them. And I’m not backing down.”

He stared at you long and hard. For a second, you thought he might fly off. Or yell. Or try to stop you.

Instead, he just nodded once.

But his voice was still low, still tired. “Just… don’t make me bury another one.”

And with that, he turned, boots lifting off the ground.

You stayed where you were, the wind from his flight kicking up dust around your boots.

You didn’t say anything until he was gone.

Then, to no one in particular, you muttered:

“Guess I made an impression.”

The Lizard League didn’t give you much more trouble after The Immortal flew off.

What was left of them—half-conscious, tangled in their own weapons, bleeding into the cracked concrete—you wrapped up quickly. Your claws slid back into your gloves with a metallic click, and with a flick of your wrist, your baton extended.

A few well-placed taps to their necks, just enough pressure, and they were out cold. You zipped them up with reinforced GDA-standard flex-cuffs, pulled from the belt you’d scavenged off some of their black-market gear last week. Wouldn’t hold forever, but long enough for the clean-up crew you texted on a secure burner line. You didn’t stick around to be thanked.

The skies above the city were darkening, clouds tinged orange with the setting sun as you bounded across rooftops. Your bell jingled softly with each leap, but you barely noticed it anymore. The wind kissed your face, brushing through your tousled hair and cooling the sweat beneath your suit.

You landed with a catlike thud outside your favorite little food bar downtown—Bowl Haus. Neon sign flickering. The girl at the counter knew you by now.

"Same as always?" she called, smirking behind a plexiglass shield.

"Add extra strawberries. I fought a lizard gang today," you said, tapping the counter with a clawed finger.

Five minutes later you were perched on a nearby fire escape, savoring the açaí like it was the first thing you’d tasted in days. Sweet. Cold. Your tongue darted across the spoon with practiced finesse.

Your tail swayed contentedly.

But the feeling never lasted long.

Back at your place—a temporary residence stacked high in the quiet side of the city—you pulled the blackout curtains closed and finally let the transformation drop.

Claws in.

With a shimmer of green light and a soft hum, the magic unraveled. The suit peeled away into smoke, retreating back into the ring on your finger. You let out a breath, half-relief, half-weariness.

And then came the groan.

"Ughhh… finally," drawled a tiny, smug voice. "I thought you'd never stop leaping around like a sugar-addicted squirrel on caffeine."

You rolled your eyes and plucked a piece of Camembert from the small fridge under the kitchen island. "You’re welcome, by the way," you muttered, tossing it toward the floating black cat-thing that had emerged from your ring.

Plagg caught it midair and chomped. “Mmm. Now that’s what heroism tastes like.”

"You know, normal people nap after nearly getting vaporized by a super-lizard’s acid breath," you said, stretching your arms. "But nooo, I fight monsters, eat frozen fruit bowls, and live in a penthouse with a ghost-cat who eats $70 cheese."

Plagg smirked. “Correction: a god of destruction who eats $70 cheese.”

You sank onto the couch, glancing around the empty, too-silent apartment. The place was sleek, modern, and about as cozy as a bank vault. Left to you after your father’s death—a man rich enough to own most of the city, powerful enough to keep it all hidden.

You didn’t like talking about him.

Didn’t like thinking about him.

And so you didn’t. You just exhaled, flicked on the TV with a wave of your hand, and slouched. You hadn’t planned on stopping for the night. Probably wouldn’t. You never really did.

Plagg, full and now curled into the crook of your shoulder, snored softly.

Then came the knock.

Three sharp raps. Confident. Deliberate.

You paused.

No one ever knocked here.

You stood, the air tensing around you as you approached the door. The peephole revealed a gaunt man in a black coat, hair white and shoulder-length, the left side of his face a twisted scar of flesh and synthetic mesh.

You opened the door just enough to speak. “If this is about property taxes, I pay my rent.”

“Cute,” Cecil Stedman said. His voice was gravel and tobacco. “But I’m not here for jokes.”

You leaned against the frame, eyeing him warily. “Then what are you here for? If you’re looking to lecture me about being a kid in tights, you’re the third person today.”

Cecil didn’t blink.

“I don’t care how old you are,” he said. “I care what you can do.”

That gave you pause.

“I saw the Lizard League mess. Your prints were all over it. Not bad work. Brutal, but clean. Efficient. If The Immortal hadn't gotten in the way, I might’ve been able to watch the full show.”

You crossed your arms, ring glinting under the hallway light. “You spying on me?”

“Everyone worth watching gets watched,” Cecil said. “And right now? You’re moving higher up the list.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Get to the point.”

He stepped closer, unbothered by your sharp tone. “I want to talk about the future. Your future. Earth’s, too.”

You hesitated. Not because of the offer. Because of the way he said it.

He wasn’t offering you a spotlight.

He was offering you a war.

And something in your gut told you… the real fight hadn’t even started yet.

You stared at Cecil for a beat longer, his face unreadable under the hallway light. His scar seemed to glow faintly, like a reminder that he’d been through hell and walked out with the devil’s phone number.

You stepped aside. “Come in. But wipe your shoes. This place is rented.”

He smirked slightly—just a twitch of the corner of his mouth—and entered. His boots thudded heavily against the floor. Plagg, who had been snoozing peacefully on the back of the couch, cracked open one glowing green eye.

“Company? Ugh, tell me he didn’t bring government cheese.”

You ignored Plagg and gestured toward the chair across from the couch. “Talk.”

Cecil sat down slowly, fingers laced together as he leaned forward. His gaze was heavy. Like it carried a thousand lives behind it.

“You’re sharp. Fast. A little reckless, but I’ve seen worse from people three times your age,” he began. “You’ve been cleaning up parts of the city even my own agents don’t step foot in anymore.”

You shrugged, arms crossed. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

Cecil nodded. “You’re not wrong. That’s the problem.”

He reached into his coat and tossed a sleek black tablet onto the table. It lit up instantly. The screen showed grainy footage: you—Cat Noir—taking down three Lizard League goons with surgical precision. No hesitation. No backup.

Another swipe, and it was Omni-Man’s first strike on the Guardians. Blood. Ruin.

Then another clip—Invincible struggling to hold back a tentacled alien in Kansas. It almost killed him. It had killed civilians.

Cecil’s voice was low, sharp.

“I’ve seen the world fall apart more than once. And I’ve seen what happens when we rely on people who aren’t ready. You? You’re something different.”

You looked at the footage. Then at him.

“You want me on your roster.”

“I want you ready,” he corrected. “Because it’s not just Lizard freaks and superpowered gangsters anymore. There are bigger things coming. Viltrumites. Interdimensional invasions. AI uprisings. And those are just this month’s problems.”

You exhaled slowly. “So you want to weaponize a fifteen-year-old.”

He didn’t flinch. “I want to give a fifteen-year-old the chance to choose.”

Plagg floated over, hovering behind your shoulder. “He doesn’t like giving chances. He likes giving missions. And body bags.”

You didn’t wave him off this time.

Cecil’s eyes flicked to Plagg, then back to you. “I’m not here to sugarcoat. You’re dangerous. That suit, that power—it’s not built for parades. It’s for war.”

You turned away for a second, eyes flicking to the dark window. The reflection staring back at you wasn’t just a tired teen anymore. It hadn’t been in a long time.

“…What do you want me to do?” you asked.

Cecil stood slowly, his voice low but firm. “Train with us. Not full-time. Not yet. But we bring you in, teach you how to work with a team. How to survive. When the next world-ending threat comes, you won’t be flying solo.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then: “What if I say no?”

Cecil didn’t blink.

“Then I hope I never have to send someone to collect what’s left of you.”

He started for the door, then paused. “Think it over. We’re not in a rush. But the end of the world?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“It is.”

The door shut behind him like a judge’s gavel.

Plagg floated beside you silently. For once, he didn’t joke.

You looked down at the tablet he left behind—glowing in the dark like a warning.

So. The question wasn’t whether you’d fight.

It was who you’d be fighting with.

The next morning came too fast.

You hadn't slept.

Too many questions. Too many possible futures pulling at the edges of your thoughts like claws against glass. But in the end, you tapped the tablet, typed ‘I’m in’.

two minutes later, your apartment was pinged with coordinates and a time.

Now, standing in the middle of a steel-reinforced training facility buried beneath a mountain, you were wondering if you should’ve at least eaten something beforehand.

Cecil stood on a raised control platform above the main training floor, arms folded, flanked by two silent GDA operatives in black armor.

His voice came through a hidden speaker, sharp and impersonal.

“Welcome to Day One. This is where we find out if you’re just fast and lucky, or if you’re the real deal.”

You adjusted your gloves, claws flexing out once—click-click—before retracting.

Across from you on the training mat stood three other figures. You recognized them immediately:

Brit – The old-school tank of a man with super strength and invulnerability. Moved like a freight train.

Bulletproof – Speedster with density shifting. A living missile when he wanted to be.

And Monster Girl – in her teen form, she looked like your age, but you knew better. Sweet voice. Demon fists.

Great. They’re throwing me in with the ‘no mercy’ crew.

A buzzer blared.

“Show us what you’ve got, kid,” Cecil said. “And don’t hold back. They won’t.”

The floor vibrated as Brit charged first.

He came in swinging—a full-arm punch that could crack a van in half. You ducked under the punch with catlike reflexes, your tail flipping up behind you as you vaulted backward and over his head.

"Too slow, grandpa!" you called mid-flip.

He snorted. “Fast mouth. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

Bulletproof came in next—

A blur of black and gold slamming into your side like a sledgehammer. You flew across the mat, hit the wall, and bounced off it—but twisted in the air just enough to land on all fours.

“Okay. Ow,” you muttered, half a grin forming.

You cracked your staff out—

The baton extended with a satisfying SNAP, and you jabbed it into the ground to launch yourself at Monster Girl just as she transformed mid-air into a snarling demon-beast. Her claw met yours—black on green—and the shockwave of the impact knocked the air out of the room.

You twisted mid-swipe, your staff wrapping behind her leg. A yank. A sweep. She hit the mat hard.

For about two seconds.

Then she growled and punched you halfway across the mat into a stack of reinforced sandbags.

“Okay,” you coughed. “Note to self. Don’t piss off the demon toddler.”

The rest of the fight blurred.

Your suit was scuffed, the bell at your throat dented, your claws cracked. But you’d left marks of your own. Bulletproof’s visor was scratched. Brit’s jaw was bruised. Monster Girl was panting.

The buzzer blared again.

“Enough,” Cecil said.

You stood, panting, adrenaline still thrumming through your limbs.

He came down from the platform, boots echoing.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, giving you a look. “I thought you’d fold in under a minute. You lasted ten.”

You wiped a trickle of blood from your lip and grinned through the ache. “Is that a record?”

“No,” Brit muttered. “But it ain’t nothing.”

Monster Girl, back in human form, offered you a half-nod. “You hit harder than you look, Cat Boy.”

“Cat Noir,” you corrected, groaning as you stretched your back.

Cecil stopped in front of you. “You’re raw. Undisciplined. But you’ve got instincts. And you don’t let fear slow you down.”

He handed you a sealed black file folder.

“Consider this your unofficial acceptance. Keep showing up like this, and maybe we’ll make it official.”

You took the folder, heartbeat steady now. Still sore. Still tired. But standing.

“Good,” you said. “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

Cecil gave you one last long look. “Let’s just hope you live long enough for us to be glad you didn’t.”

Then he turned and walked off into the shadows of the facility.

You looked down at the file in your hands.

Your name wasn’t printed on the cover.

Just one word: “Asset.”

You waited until the others had cleared the training floor.

Plagg had already slipped into your hood, grumbling something about bruised ribs and lactose-based compensation. The lights dimmed around you, the mechanical hum of the facility fading into the background.

You sat on a nearby bench, muscles still thrumming, and peeled the seal off the black folder with a slow, deliberate motion. The moment it opened, a faint hiss escaped—some kind of auto-unlock mechanism built into the paper itself. Fancy.

Inside?

Several sheets. No names. No titles. Just cold, clinical language.

—————————

[Subject Codename: CHAT NOIR]

Clearance Level: Tier-2 GDA Operative Candidate

Status: Provisionally active

Assigned Handler: Stedman, C.

Psychological Profile (Redacted)

Subject demonstrates high cognitive adaptability, advanced moral reasoning in contrast with destructive capacity. Recent trauma has amplified vigilante tendencies. Caution advised. Possible destabilization under stress.

Recommendation: Monitor closely. Potential asset. Potential liability.

—————————

[Suit Analysis – “Miraculous Armor”]

Composition: Unknown (non-terrestrial in origin). Appears to bond at a molecular level with the user via ring artifact.

Properties: Reactive defensive layering. Enhanced mobility. Energy dissipation field. Retractable claws possess nano-filament threading—can cut through reinforced titanium at close range.

Weaknesses: Recharge-dependent. Power source linked to non-human symbiotic entity (Code Name: PLAKK).

Notes: Attempts to isolate power source from the user have been... unsuccessful. (See: Incident Report #613.)

—————————

[Entity Profile – “PLAKK”]

Status: Unknown. Symbiotic. Possibly interdimensional. Sentient.

Risk Assessment: Extreme.

Recommendation: Do not engage directly. Containment protocols classified Level Omega.

Observation: Entity displays feline traits. High intelligence. Voracious cheese dependency. Attitude: Insufferable.

You glanced over your shoulder. “They nailed you.”

Plagg peeked out, unbothered. “Can’t argue with science.”

The final page was heavier. Thicker. It wasn’t typed—it was handwritten. Cecil’s penmanship was sharp, decisive.

‘I’ve read the reports. I’ve seen the footage.

You’re dangerous, kid. And if I’m being honest, I like that.

But make no mistake—this isn’t a team, it’s a war machine.

The GDA doesn’t build heroes. We build survivors.

And if you want to make it through what’s coming next? You better be both.’

– Cecil

You closed the folder.

The weight of it stayed in your hands, like it didn’t want to be put down.

You weren’t just playing superhero anymore.

You were on the board.

And every move from here on out? Had consequences.

Plagg floated up beside you, unusually quiet.

“…So,” he said. “Still wanna play with the big dogs?”

You stared ahead, eyes narrowing.

“No,” you said.

“I want to run the damn pack.”

Downtime hit like a silence you weren’t ready for.

After that first training session, Cecil didn’t call. No pings. No late-night encrypted texts. The file stayed locked in your desk drawer, sealed under biometric access, but it felt heavier than any mission briefing. It wasn’t rejection. It was worse.

They were watching to see what you’d do next.

The sun had dipped low, slicing gold across the city’s skyline. You sat on the edge of the rooftop outside your temporary apartment—barefoot, still in your civilian clothes, the wind tugging lightly at your hair.

Plagg was curled beside you, a cheese wheel bigger than his body slowly vanishing one smug bite at a time.

“You know,” he mumbled mid-chew, “you could’ve been a pastry chef. A magician. Even a fashion designer. You’ve got flair. But no. You pick world-saving. With these people.”

You leaned back on your hands, the ring on your finger catching the light. “Not like there’s much left for me to bake for.”

Plagg didn’t say anything to that. He never did when it came to your dad. Or what happened. Or the way you couldn’t stand the echo in your own apartment sometimes.

You looked out at the city below.

People moved like blood through veins. Fast. Purposeful. Living. You weren’t even sure what that meant for you anymore. You weren’t famous. You weren’t part of the Guardians. You were a black cat in a world full of wolves, Viltrumites, and gods.

But you were still here.

That had to count for something.

Your phone buzzed beside you. Just a text from the açaí place. A new flavor drop.

You smiled faintly.

“You ever think maybe the world doesn’t need another superweapon?” you asked.

Plagg yawned. “The world never needs one. It just keeps making them.”

“…What if I don’t want to be one?”

Plagg turned his glowing green eyes toward you. “Then don’t be.”

You looked down.

“Pretty sure it’s already too late.”

You didn’t transform. Not tonight. No patrol. No missions.

Just you, the skyline, and a black cat god chewing through Manchego like it was popcorn.

You stretched out on the roof, one arm behind your head, eyes trailing stars.

“I don’t think Cecil trusts me.”

Plagg chuckled. “Cecil doesn’t even trust himself. But he’s right about one thing.”

“What?”

“You’re dangerous.”

You turned your head to him, raising an eyebrow.

Plagg smiled, fangs barely showing.

“And you haven’t even started yet.”

[assassin-artist]

Mild obsessed with Mercy and I wanna know more about her! What would you say her relationships with other heroes is like? Namely the current Guardians roster.

A couple of doodles to go with the answer (:

I talk about the events of the show including the latest episode (3x07) so don't read if you aren't caught up!

-immortal - bad. immortal started off with warning her that he's watching her every move, similar with mark. he doesnt trust the twins because he never trusted omni-man, and his distrust was clearly justified after the events of the first season. she thinks he's an egotistical asshole who doesn't care about anyone else because of his refusal to become attached to his teammates, he thinks she's a time bomb waiting to go off just like her dad and brother. more than anything, though - she hates that he keeps comparing her to her father. her dad is one topic that she's sensitive about and can get temperamental if he's brought up. she tries to just stay away from immortal most of the time because she's confident she'd just start fights with him every other conversation.

-black samson - okay! samson, to me, has the vibes of a guy who's trying to hold the team together as best as he can. he's a charming guy who seems to care about them, and he does his best to get to know each of them. mercy isn't part of the guardians of the globe roster, but she works with them often enough that he probably considers her an honorary member or something. mercy is pretty closed off to others trying to 'take care of her' because she's trying really hard to be seen as independent and mature, so i think she shakes his concern and compassion off most of the time. not too rudely, though - she appreciates his attempts to be friendly. she just wishes he'd be friendly in a 'this person is my ally and teammate' way instead of in a 'this is a child i need to protect' kind of way.

-bulletproof - okayish. i don't think they interact much with each other at all in the beginning. but considering bulletproof is the only other flyer that she works with on a regular basis, i think just them having convos as they fly to and from missions will go a long way to building a rapport - for no other reason than because it's something only they can do. they'd be work friends i think. getting along on the job, but not really talking much off the job. i think they could be good friends off the job too, both of them like art and being a hero, but Mercy is the one who isn't interested in getting to know him further. sorry man, let's keep it all strictly professional..

-rex - close friends. she kind of had a crush on him the first time they met, and then she realized he was dating eve so she backed off immediately. and then she learned he cheated on eve and hated him with a passion for a while. similar to immortal, she thought of rex as egotistical and a complete jerk for a long while. but of course after his near-death experience, he turned his personality around and started being less of an ass, so her opinion of him changed quite a bit. the only person on the team that Mercy actually hangs out with outside of the job - they're similar in age and can talk to each other about their struggles of being abandoned by a parent (or 2 in rex's case). i think it's interesting that they gave Rae and Rex a romance in the show, because if Rex didn't have a romance, she absolutely would have been interested in him again. Well... we know how it ends, so i guess it's better for her that she never let her feelings develop too far...

-robot and monstergirl - bunking them together because Mercy always sees them together so they're basically a duo in her mind. Robot is crazy intelligent and Mercy respects it, but his penchant to talk from multiple copies of his robots kind of creeps her out and interests her at the same time. Kinda wishes she could do that too lol. Mercy feels sympathy for Monstergirl because of her curse, and the few times they do talk they get along just fine. It's just that they don't talk often. They aren't on the same team together and they never interact outside of the job, so there's just not enough there to build a relationship of any kind off of.

-duplikate - they have an okay work relationship, but they're both headstrong people with very different views on things. i think one of them might throw a jab at the other and that's all it would take to start a fight between them. they do NOT talk outside of work, and in fact, only talk during work if they have to communicate during a fight. in the headquarters? they're not really interacting at all. Mercy rolls her eyes when she learns that Kate and Immortal are getting married because "yeah of course the asshole is marrying an asshole".

-shrinking rae - not as close as Rex, but Mercy and Rae could definitely get along pretty well. maybe if we get to learn more about Rae in the show I could see them being friends outside of the job as well, but for now they're just close coworkers.

-darkwing ii - lastly, darkwing 2. crush material, but very slow buildup. she didn't go on that mission when Mark took Darkwing in for murder, she only heard about it second-hand from Mark himself, so that might be why she's way more forgiving of his issues than she is willing to be for Sinclair(she saw Sinclair's labs and victims personally). she still thinks he's unstable in the beginning and generally avoids him for a while, which he definitely notices, but i think all it would take is one comment from him talking about his remorse for what he did, and she might be willing to stay and talk it over with him. a short debate about morals turns into a longer conversation about regrets and what they would change if they could go back... about how the things they've seen and done has changed them forever. i think the two of them could be very good friends.. and maybe more (: such a shame he disappeared so fast in the show, but maybe id change the story a little bit now that Mercy is here to save the day, heh...

Edit: I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT SHAPESMITH.... He's my personal favorite hero on the guardians team, which of course means Ellie is going to like him too (: Another rare instance of Mercy allowing this coworker to hang out with her outside of the job. I think she'd be really interested in learning about his life on Mars, and in return she'd help him acclimate to life on Earth. Always bringing him little trinkets or candy from a dollar store, stuff like that lol. They would be the best of friends, I swear. He's not the best person to go to when she's looking to vent her frustrations about life and her issues, but he's always there to listen anyway, and she appreciates that.

[nastsand]

hii um yea im still alive,, am i too late to the invincible trend?? hope not... .. ,

[donavanmonarch]

Powerplex must have been in heaven during the Invincible War

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter eighteen

Synopsis: This isn’t your first rodeo anymore. You’re growing confident in your abilities, and you know what you’re capable of. Does anyone else? (The Gala Pt. 2)

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Chapter: 18/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Mild Descriptions of Blood and Wounds

Note: There are two unintentional puns in this chapter. I had a large section of this written out in my notes app for a long while, 😛Ya’ll know exactly what I'm doing here

The other man led you inside, his grip on your hand much rougher than Rex’s had been. You were a few steps away from the assigned dance area when you realized you still had Rex’s coat. “Oh, crap I should probably-” You took a step back pulling the coat off from around your shoulders. It could have been an attempt to go back, to will him to do or say something, you could come back and dance with this guy after.

“Eh, just place it on the table over there, you can give it to him after our dance, okay?”

You nod begrudgingly, obviously not about to get out of this without raising suspicions. So, you follow him onto the dance floor, he takes your hand and places his other on your hip the exact way Rex had, but his touch inspires nothing in you. This whole excursion has returned to being just another job.

“So, what do you do for work?”

“I don’t.” You say it offhandedly, repeating the same charade you had told multiple people tonight when asked the same question. “I have the privilege of not having to work.” You didn’t divulge further, more information than was necessary would come across like rehearsing from a script.

He hums, “Housewife?”

You take a shallow breath, trying to remember to stay in character. “No.”

He hums again, this time it feels almost antagonistic, his hand gripping tighter on yours. “I hear that those who have that kind of privilege have a lot of time for charity work like this. Is that true?”

“I suppose.”

“Charity is so rewarding, don’t you agree? I love to help people in any way I can. If I have time, I even take visits to the hospital, it’s good to provide companion care, is it not?” You nod distractedly, glancing out at the other dancers, as you both shift with the music. “I just wish I could go in and heal every one of them. Do you ever get that feeling?”

You blinked a few times and then turned your gaze back to him, your brow furrowing.

“What?”

“Go ahead, turn on your earpiece so I can talk to them. This is exciting, isn’t it?” His eyes widen on ‘exciting’ and you feel your blood run cold.

“What was it you said your name was?”

“I didn’t, be a good girl and turn it on, yeah?”

You grit your teeth, it was unlikely he was alone. You needed him to reveal who his partners were before you did anything. Reaching your hand up you press down so you are transmitting.

“See? Wasn’t that easy?” He grabs your face and angles your head to talk directly in your ear.

“I have men stationed throughout the house ready to turn this into a blood bath. Get me Mune, alone, in one of the rooms, and we won’t open fire.”

You are met with silence, most likely because they aren’t sure if the man will be able to hear them conversing or not.

“You must know who I am, which means you must know I am not here alone.” You speak, trying to stop the malice from overtaking your tone.

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you must know this is futile. You’re bringing guns to a fight where your opponents are atomic bombs. In what world do you get what you want and waltz out of here?”

“I have no intentions of leaving.” His eyes glinted, and you felt a pressure placed against your abdomen, no doubt a gun of some sort. He obviously didn’t know everything about you.

“Shooting me won’t help your case.” You bite out, the orchestra still playing loudly.

“It’ll sure hurt though.” He presses it firmer against you, his other hand still leading you in the dance you almost forgot you were both partaking in. “And eventually you’ll die, and if not, I’ll have plenty of fun seeing if you can.”

“How did you get those weapons in here? There were screenings on every individual guest.”

“It’s an awfully big house, you’d be surprised how many hiding places there are.”

“So, you came in before the gala, planted the weapons, then came as guests?”

“What is this, detective hour?” He seems to be growing tired of your questions, his gaze flickering over the other people around you, flashing a fake smile.

“No, I just want the facts straight for when the police arrive.” You scowl at him.

“You seem very self-assured-” His words are cut off with a quiet gurgle, the aggravating smirk dying at his lips. You don’t move, watching coldly as his body goes ridged during his attempted statement. The revolver he had pressed against you he pulls back in a jerky movement placing it back into his waistband. His eyes moments before that were cocky and arrogant now shined with fear, confusion.

“Are you feeling okay?” You say it loudly, loud enough for a few couples nearby to look over. But your expression doesn’t reflect any of the concern that seeps through your voice, contempt is the last thing he sees before he shrivels to the ground, leaving your head feeling raw.

Several people look over in concern, and you blink before putting on your best act. “Oh! Sorry! One too many drinks!” You give an apologetic shrug with an awkward laugh. “Could any of you help me move him off the floor?” A few people come by and move him to a corner, laying him down and commenting things along the lines of ‘this isn’t some college frat party’.

You blurt out your apologies and thanks as they walk away, and then hold your hand up to your ear to make sure your earpiece is still running. “This one’s taken care of. Have you located all the gunmen yet?”

A few seconds passed.

I’ve got two taken down in the west wing.

We took down one near the bedrooms.

Bulletproof’s voice then quickly followed by Lance’s both sounded off. The music crescendos louder, causing you to hold a hand over your other ear so you can hear. “What about Rex? Where’s Rex?”

You snap your head back at a loud sound, someone dropping a chair or knocking over one of the cocktail tables, maybe? You could hardly hear it over the bellowing music.

“Does anyone have eyes on Rex?” You paced over to the backdoor to see if he was still standing there, stepping over the stone of the patio and looking out over the garden.

A lengthened silence beats by. With every second you start to feel more and more sick. Just as you open your mouth to repeat yourself another voice calls out over the comms.

Got three of those fuckers in the east wing.

You let out a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice, then rested your hands on your hips, taking a few deep breaths.

Authorities are on their way, bring all of them to the room I debriefed you in. We don’t want the guests to panic. We’re running a sweep for any explosives as we speak.

“I’m going to need some people to come to the ballroom. I can’t pull this guy out myself without drawing a lot of attention.” You head back into the designated area, whispering apologies to people who had come to stare at the man’s unconscious stature.

Sending men your way.

“Thanks.” You turn off your earpiece and finally look down at the man. “Jackass. Couldn’t have waited five more minutes to pull me into this fucking scheme?”

--

Two men had come to ‘help’ you carry away the leader. When you entered the debriefing room Zandale was standing over five men, all incapacitated in one way or another. Rex was dragging in the last man from his area, and with yours added on it made seven people total.

“Do you know who these people are?” You cross your arms over your torso, feeling far too overdressed to be standing in what felt like a crime scene.

Lance simply shrugged, after barking out a command to one of his men. “Probably someone disgruntled by any number of Dr. Mune’s works. They aren’t the first and it is very unlikely they will be the last.”

Bulletproof takes a few steps towards you, his hands resting on his hips. “Did you get the name of the leader?”

“I didn’t ask.” You shrugged, looking down at him, face relaxed from his state of unconsciousness. You could kick him.

“How did you manage to neutralize him without alerting any of the other guests?” Lance asked, reaching down to pull the man’s revolver from his waistband.

“He must have got overexcited.” You murmured, an awful answer but hopefully with the amount of excitement so far no one would think about it for long. You glanced over at Rex who had settled against the ledge of one of the desks. A pang of guilt flashed over you as you remembered his coat long forgotten, a few rooms away. The feeling was overshadowed as your eyes trailed down to his side. Red tinged the seam of his suit vest, dark towards the center and fanning out lighter around it. “What’s that?” Rex froze as if being caught with his hand in a cookie jar and then followed your line of sight to his side.

“Oh, that’s…uh that’s not mine.” He scratched the side of his face, glancing up at you with a sheepish grin.

“…Really?” You raised a brow at him, quickly closing the gap, your hands coming out to open his vest. Once you were closer you could clearly see ripping in the fabric. An entry wound. “You got shot?”

“Only a little, seriously I’m fucking fine.” He pushes your hands away, leaning back further against the desk as if to evade you.

“Goddamn it, Rex. Let me see it, you’re losing blood.”

“I’ve been through a lot worse, Joy-”

“I swear to god, if you don’t let me assess you-” Rex throws an awkward glance at the people standing behind you, they were probably watching the small commotion, but you didn’t care. He didn’t get to be a martyr right now. “Do we need to go somewhere else?” You whisper the question to him, maybe he’s embarrassed in some kind of way. He took down as many men as the others had combined together. To you, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. But you didn’t care about any of that, if he was injured, which he obviously was, it was your duty to help him.

“Joy.” He breathed out with a laugh, looking at you like you were joking, the smile fading when your expression didn’t falter.

“We’ll be right back.” You turn to the group behind you before grabbing Rex’s hand and practically dragging him out of the room behind you. While searching for a nearby empty room you did not look back or speak to Rex. The initial shock of him being once again injured has worn away into irritation. Not only did he not come to you about it. But he explicitly tried to hide it from you. Not very well, but still, the intention was there.

After passing by a few rooms that you had to back out of with an apology to whatever random people were loitering in, you finally found one that was empty. High shelves lined up the walls and across columns throughout the room. Books with every color spine lining each shelf, accented by different busts and artwork. A library. It was dim, only the light coming in from outside and the light flickering under the door illuminated the area. You pushed down the urge to look around and turned to face Rex, who had been entirely silent for the short journey. He looked surprisingly calm, his expression soft, and his lips slightly parted.

“Okay, I need to see.” You dropped his hand, noting how he held on a few seconds longer. Another thing to think about later. Steady fingers come up to unbutton his vest, pushing it off over his shoulders, then moving to his dress shirt. You can feel his breath on your hands, heavy, uneven. Anxiety fills you with the prospect of him having lost more blood than you thought if he is having this labored of breathing.

Peeling away the white dress shirt you look closer at his wound, pushing your hand against his chest to angle his torso out more. The bullet had ripped through his left lumbar region, no exit wound. “Fuck.” You whispered to yourself, glancing around as if supplies would magically appear. “I don’t have any of my stuff. But- that’s fine, I could do it without, just would have made it a bit easier-”

Rex’s expression tightens as if he is just realizing your intent to heal him, even though you had expressed it earlier. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, what?” Your hand that currently rested splayed on his chest shifts, pulling a hair’s width away.

“I don’t want you to heal me.” His gaze meets you for a few beats, and you feel your defenses start to rise.

“I thought we were over this, Rex.” You bite out the words, emotion lacing your tone. “I thought you were trying to be better.” The edges of your mouth curls into an expression close to disdain.

“I am.” His brows lift in hurt as if your word’s stinging him.

“Really? Cause this is the same shit I’ve had to deal with since the beginning. Always thinking about yourself, and your- your stupid pride, ego-” You step back, placing your hands on your hips.

“I’m not always thinking about myself, this isn’t about me-!” Your name leaves his mouth at the end of the exclamation. He holds his hands out in exasperation before running them through his short hair, a groan forced from his lips as the movement tweaks his injury.

“How, Rex? How isn’t this about you?”

He pauses, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“How!”

“It’s about you! Alright?” His tone is low, in a whisper, but he still spits it out with effort.

You blink a few times, confusion flickering across your features. Your arms drop from where they were perched at your hips. “What?”

“I know! I know what it takes for you to heal people, I know about the strain, I know about the pain, all of it.” He runs a hand over his face, then continues. “I’m not having you put yourself through that for something this menial.”

Menial? He was fucking shot! “Don’t worry about me-” You start, holding an accusatory finger out at him.

“I’m going to worry about you, okay!” He practically snarls it out.

You take a step back, not out of fear, but out of habit. Any time you had ever experienced confrontation like this you had given in, backed down. You weren’t going to give in as easily this time.

“I’m not some junior varsity hero, Rex. I’m a fucking Guardian, same as you.” The statement leaves your tongue in a bitter tone.

“Fuck, I know that I know. This has nothing to do with your abilities or-” His tone softens, and he takes a step forward, looking almost apologetic.

“It’s always been about my fucking abilities with you, Rex. When has it not?” You snap before he can finish his statement, stepping forward so that you are completely back up to him, entirely in his space. “If it wasn’t about my abilities, it was about me, fundamentally! I’m either a glorified nurse or an incompetent- fucking-” You stutter, trying to piece anything together through your anger, “I don’t know, a fucking idiot I suppose!”

“I don’t think you’re-”

“If you truly respected me, as a hero, as a Guardian, as your fucking friend then this wouldn’t be a question.” You hiss it out in a hushed tone as you hear people walk by the room, then continue once they are gone. “But you don’t, and I don’t know why.” You trail off in a mutter. Both of you are right up against each other, if you tried to step forward you would be standing on his toes. “What do you want from me, Rex? What is it? ‘Cause I’m growing tired of this dance.”

“I want-” He looks away sighing heavily, then continues in a lower tone. “I want you…”

There’s a pause, you wait for him to finish his thought, irritation still bubbling under the surface.

“You want me…?” You urge him forward through his thoughts.

He looks at you, and for a moment your anger fades minutely. It is just the two of you. The man who pointed out different types of countertops in a home design magazine, voice etched with excitement. The man who volunteered to go on this mission with you, who helped you zip your dress, who danced with you in the grass. The man you were falling for. But he was also the man who spent months actively working against you. Scoffing out your name every time you were brought up by another member. He was changing, you were sure of it, you’d seen the proof. As angry as you were now, you didn’t hate him. But he obviously still held resentment towards you, no matter how small. Or this wouldn’t be a discussion.

“I want you.” He looked down at you, brow furrowed tightly.

“What, Rex, you want me to what?” Frustration oozes through your words as you look up at him.

“Fucking-” He takes a step back, running his hands over his face again. “I want you to not be in fucking pain because of me.” He sucks on his teeth, looking out past you.

You sigh heavily, shaking your head. “Fine, Rex. Do what you want. I don’t care.” You hold your hands up to metaphorically wash your hands of the situation. “You should see if Lance has anything to dress that though. Or it’s going to be a long night.” You turn and leave him standing alone in the library.

--

When you return to the debriefing room there are several new faces, all sporting officer’s uniforms. Dr. Mune was standing talking to one, while others brought stretchers for the dead and wounded. It was a miracle to you how no one from the gala had seen the commotion and started spreading the word. Mune catches sight of you and holds a hand up for you to wait for her. She continues with a quick back-and-forth to the officer, then approaches you.

“They always ruin my fun; I have to bring the event to a close in order for everything to be cleaned up for the brunch tomorrow. Apparently, Mr. Sloane made quite a mess in one of the dining rooms.” One of the dining rooms. Her tone lowers, “I liked how you dealt with Robbie. Very discrete, Merlin.”

You squinted at her, how much had Cecil really relayed to her about you? “Who was he?”

“A ghost from my past, like they always are.” She looks down through her spectacles over to where the man is being loaded onto a stretcher. “This particular one actually worked at the GDA. I’m surprised Mr. Sloane didn’t recognize him. They were in the same program.”

“Program?” You shook your head.

“Mm, Robbie was a few years ahead I suppose, one of the first trials. The chip didn’t take with him.”

You looked at her closer, your brows knitted closely together. “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

“Hm, I’m surprised you didn’t know. Have you never read Mr. Sloane’s files?”

You cringed at the memory, the general upset that had been caused when it was revealed you had. “Yes, but I only skimmed most of them, and there was quite a bit redacted. I mostly only had access to the extent of other members’ powers, or their drawbacks.”

“Well, my dear Merlin. Mr. Sloane only has his abilities because of my work. I designed the neural chip that gives him his…well, I suppose you could say his spark.” She flutters her hands in an over-the-top gesture.

“He wasn’t born with them?” You knew that there were heroes around who only had powers because of genetic modification, but you hadn’t thought it was very common.

She paused to look at you, taking off her spectacles. “To be truly born with naturally occurring powers is very rare. In all my years I could count on one hand the number I know of that were flukes.”

“I guess I would understand why so many people would want to gain them artificially.” You nod, the sound of the door opening causing you to look back. Rex had finally decided to enter, not looking at you and making a B-line to Lance. Hopefully to ask for medical attention, or at least a medipack.

“I don’t.” She states bluntly. “Just because a curse has its ups, doesn’t change that at the end of the day, it is still just a curse.”

“If that’s how you view it, why did you work to bring it about?” Your brows raise a centimeter, analyzing her reaction.

“Sometimes it takes a few decades to truly see the effect of your work.” Her tone was tired, her attention was shifted to where Rex was standing talking to Lance.

“Would you go back and undo it all?”

She sighs gently. “I have no way of knowing the outcome would be better if I did that, so no. But I wish I could go back and tell myself how it ends.”

You nodded quietly, watching as the last body was removed from the room. Smears of blood streaked across the center of the floor where some of them had been dragged slightly into the pile. With each day that passed, you understood her more and more.

--

With all the bodies gone, and the explosive sweep coming back clear it was time to nudge the guests towards leaving. Dr. Mune gave a tasteful speech about having the class to know when the host wants you to leave but doesn’t want to say it. She reminded them all that they were expected at brunch the morning after, telling them all to board at a hotel she owned down the road. How rich was this lady? She had gone around inviting select people to stay with her in her guest rooms, weaving her way through the crowd somehow faster than you could keep up with. When you had the chance, you gathered up Rex’s coat you had left at a table close to the dance floor.

You saw him after about an hour, he was wearing a new shirt. Lance must have helped him patch his side up because there was no visible wound through the white linen. Irritating was the main emotion that coursed through you at the sight of him, but it quickly gave way to worry. He had survived perfectly his entire life without you worrying about him, but you couldn’t help it. You gave a shit about Rex Splode- or Rex Sloane as you had come to find out tonight.

Somewhere internally, the you from a month ago groaned heavily.

“Shall I have Gareth show you all to your room?” Mune’s voice poked through your thought process.

“Hm?” You wrenched your gaze from the back of Rex’s head, to give her a quizzical look.

“You three will be staying here, yes?”

“Oh, I figured we would just stay at a hotel or something.”

“The only hotel for miles is mine, and it is completely booked.” She shakes her hands at you like it’s no big deal. “I have plenty of space-” She looked over at one of the groups she had just invited to stay as well. “Well, I have space.” She corrects.

“Oh, then sure?”

“Good, Gareth has already brought your things upstairs to the room.”

“Our things?”

“Cecil sent you all outfits for the brunch tomorrow. You never know if there will be a second wave.”

“No, I mean our things, as in all to the same room?”

“There’s only so much space darling, even in a house like this.” She waves down a couple that is about to escape without her talking to them and marches over, shouting greetings.

Oh boy.

Gareth seemed to materialize out of thin air next to you. “Shall I show you to your room?”

You ran a hand over your face with a sigh, already mentally preparing for the argument that was about to happen the moment you all reached the room. Maybe it was set up for three people, and you were dreading nothing.

--

Gareth rounded the three of you up, Bulletproof made several comments about being ready to knock out for the night, which went without response. All three of you were feeling the exhaustion without needing to mention it aloud.

At the top of two different sets of stairs, you all found yourself in a long hall, each set of doors looking identical. The only things serving as landmarks were the different portraits on the wall. The one next to your door portrayed a medieval knight on horseback appearing to be leaving for battle. A woman with golden hair was tying a red fabric around his arm. Mune was nothing if not consistent at least.

Gareth opened the door for the three of you, holding his hand out so you could go inside. After stepping in you looked back to see Bulletproof and Rex loitering outside the door.

“Well, see you in the morning.” Bulletproof waves awkwardly. Rex doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You are all staying in this room tonight, Mr. Randolph.” Gareth states humorlessly, still holding the door open.

Both of them seem to cock their heads to the side in unison, glancing inside as if expecting to see a row of beds. They both only furrowed their brows tighter after seeing the large bed dead center and two couches placed in various different positions in the expanse of the room.

“Oh, hell no.” Zandale steps in to look at the room closer, his gaze flittering over it once again, and landing on his luggage set next to a red upholstered couch. “Seriously?”

Gareth doesn’t respond, just continues holding his hand out until Rex begrudgingly steps in.

You take in the room fully for yourself, sighing once again before speaking. “I guess I’ll take the other couch?”

Author's note: God can these two get along for more than two seconds I’m going to blow my brains out (I did this to myself) Extra points if you know exactly what painting I was describing

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101 @0ut0fsweets @sugaramped @spidernuggets @sweet-cuddlebug @ohmysoultakemysoul @lapisbwub @velovicy @liquideyes request to be tagged for new parts!

Chapter Nineteen

[tickitytak]

Shapesmith I want you in the way that I would want a stray cat with worms

[winterjackal]

WEED!

[xmensmmrs]

Misery is season 3 episode 7 of invincible but at least it gave us more fanfic! You're heroes to me, Variant Marks

[gebo4482]

Invincible - S3 E7 #9

[foursthemagicknumber]

Uhhhhh yeah

[mandareeboo]

The composition of this shot is so fucking funny. Mark yelling at the ship to go faster bc he's used to flying fast. Rudy, fresh off of mind control, chiding him that it doesn't go faster, actually. Black Samson trying to peer over the chair. Monster Girl squished into the back. Eve and Bulletproof looking carsick. Shapesmith looking the most solemn he ever has. Immortal can't even fit into frame.

The fact that the one driving is the one with the body of an eighth grader.

[dasinclair]

i think rex realized something about himself in this moment

[gatorbites-imagines]

you guys should send me invincible requests *blinks cutely*

ive only finished season 1 but im already watching season 2, so feel free to send requests about the characters.

i have also only read like the first 13 issues of the comics, so most if not all my knowledge is based on the show and the wiki.

Note that my fave is def Mark at this point, but many of the characters have grown on me, especially Darkwing 1 and 2, Immortal, Rex, etc. ill even write about the flaxans at this point, cuz why the flaxan leader kindaaaa.... also a big fan of the evil versions of invincible.

Ive already had a few ideas, like a reader thats kinda based around mysterio from marvel. Or maybe the reader being green ghost, or even some viltrumite reader stuff.

and yes, of course i write smut too 🔥