#actually I listen to it like every day lol

[striveattemptfail]

maybe it's a little too early (to know if this is gonna work) | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 5.2k, M

@poolverine-week: Day 6 – Sharing Clothes

Summary: Five times Wade steals wears Logan's clothes, and one time Logan wears Wade's suit. Rated for allusions to sex, but nothing explicit. Takes place some time after the movie’s events; assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. Read on Ao3

A/N: Thank you to B @broosepayne for helping out with random details + thank you to @fuckselfloveihatemyself for suggesting "impersonation" for the final scene. Shout out to the Manga Hoes server for listening to me bitch about finishing this fic lol. Un-beta'd and I apologize /o\ Title from You Look Good In My Shirt by Keith Urban—just be grateful I didn't give this fic the exact same name lmaooo

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[ Wardrobe Status: Nothing / Wearing Wade’s Clothes ]

The first morning he wakes up in Wade’s timeline—his new universe—Logan has on nothing but a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of highlighter pink Hello Kitty boxers. He desperately needs something to wear aside from what are basically undergarments because he came into this world with nothing but his X-Men suit.

Or what’s left of it anyway.

Which is why, once he finally gets up from the pull-out bed, he sees Wade trying on the jacket that the TVA gave him after they destroyed the Time Ripper. Wade is in front of the only full-size mirror in the apartment, twisting his body every which way to inspect the jacket.

Then, he catches Logan’s reflection in the mirror.

“Morning, peanut!” he greets, turning around to face him with a smile. “I’m trying this on to see how it fits on me.”

“Uh, yeah. I see that,” Logan says with brows furrowed. “Why?”

“I was thinking about grabbing you some clothes but need a reference for your size.”

“Bub, that jacket is too big even for me.”

“...okay, yeah,” Wade eventually concedes, “but it’s the only thing you own that isn’t shredded to pieces from the Time Ripper.”

Unfortunately, the moron has a point. As it is, the boxers Wade loaned him are a bit tight on his waist, and the collar of the shirt is snug on his neck, but it’s not like Logan’s in any position to complain.

“I have to swing by Target to grab supplies for Dogpool anyway,” Wade continues before making kissy faces at the dog in question. “We need to get you some treats, huh, little missy? Yeah! And then we’ll get honey badger some clothes that actually fit him!”

And, well, it’s not like Logan is keen on stepping outside of this apartment in the brightest colour he’s ever worn in his over 200-year existence. It’s also not like he even has the funds to buy himself a hotdog from the street vendor around the corner, much less purchase anything for a new wardrobe. So if Wade wants to go out and buy some clothes for him, Logan isn’t going to stop him.

He grunts his assent as he makes his way to the kitchen, muttering a gruff Fine as he starts on a cup of coffee.

Later, when Wade leaves for Target, Logan grabs the now tossed aside TVA jacket.

If he happens to take a sniff of it once Wade’s out the door (inhaling the scent of cloyingly sweet body wash, hot sauce, and something Logan is fast recognizing as Wade), it’s simply because he wants to know whether it already stinks after yesterday’s events.

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[ Wardrobe Status: One Load of Staples ]

Luckily for Logan, Peter and Dopinder volunteered to help Wade clothes shop when he went to Target. Apparently, Wade wanted to buy all sorts of brightly coloured cutesy shit—like much of his own clothing, allegedly so the two of them could match—but Peter and Dopinder manage to rein him in and grab a few staples. T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, boxers, socks, and a pair of shoes that’ll fall apart in about a month if Logan has to guess.

It’s enough for him to survive on until he can buy more clothes, and enough to produce a load of laundry once the day arrives. Luckily, the apartment has a washer-dryer combo in the unit, so he finishes the single, meagre load of clothes he owns in no time. He’s bringing them to the bedroom to put away when he finds Wade already inside, standing there in nothing but the smallest pair of tighty-whities Logan’s ever seen on a man.

“What the fuck,” is all he can say.

“Hey, honey badger!” Wade greets, normal as ever, as if he’s not exposing miles of skin and taut muscle that Logan would love to—

He messily dumps his clothes onto the bed, scowling at Wade.

“Why the fuck are you naked?” he demands.

“Oh, please, I’m hiding all the goods,” Wade brushes him off. He turns back to the heap of clothes on the hamper, presumably to find something that doesn’t smell like wet dog or weeks old nastiness.

Shit. The damn briefs aren’t even large enough to completely cover Wade’s ass, and Logan can see a hint of cheeks peeking through.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Logan rolls his eyes, hoping that his frown hides the conflict inside him.

With a smirk that can only spell trouble, Wade faces him again to thumb at the waistband of his underwear. “Would you rather I take them off?”

Logan snarls, averting his gaze to the small mound of clothes he has to put away. He angrily starts folding things, breath coming out in huffs that he hopes convey annoyance.

“Jeez, who pissed in your coffee this morning, kitty cat?” Wade complains, letting go of the waistband. “It’s not like I’m rubbing one out in front of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, bub,” Logan spits, throwing down another folded shirt.

The problem—like most things—is because of Wade.

It’s hard enough to share any amount of space with him, much less sleep in the same bed together every night, and Logan’s only a man. He might be too proud to admit it out loud (especially to a blabber mouth like Wade), but god fucking damnit somehow the fucker’s gotten under his skin. He makes Logan crave for more than innocently spooning in the early hours of the morning, want more than stolen glances when he thinks Wade isn’t looking.

It doesn’t help that Wade flirts with him constantly. People used to chastise Logan for how aggressively he pursued Jean back in the day. Now, he knows it’s nothing compared to the constant boner Wade has towards anything that speaks to him.

Logan needs to stop this train of thought—thinking about Wade’s boner is only going encourage his own.

“So, why are you naked?” he asks, probably angrier than acceptable for a conversation like this but, fuck, does Wade bring out the asshole in him.

“Technically, I’m not—”

“Fine, almost naked, you annoying prick.”

He looks up to find Wade with narrowed eyes, shooting him a dubious look that can only say, Are you serious?

“Obviooouslyyy,” he drawls out, rifling through the hamper again, “I thought I had more clothes left.”

Logan looks at the mountain Wade’s digging through. “Wait, you’re completely out of clean clothes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“I don’t know!” Wade throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ask the author!”

“I have no idea what that means,” he admits. “Anyway, why are you only in underwear?”

“What? You want me to steal some of Blind Al’s shit?” Wade pauses then, clearly mulling it over. “Actually, now that I think about it, her tracksuits would look great on me. They’d fit like baby clothes on a high schooler but it could be like a Y2K revival. Juicy Couture à la Wade. I’d smell like mothballs and old lady all day but it’d be worth it, I think!” He ends the rambling with a toothy grin.

Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response. He scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Just... put on some damn clothes, bub.”

“Fine.”

Wade—probably in an attempt to piss him the fuck off, as usual—stares at him with a piercing gaze, maintaining eye contact with Logan as he grabs a white t-shirt from the folded pile and slides it on.

Logan just glares at him, jaw clenching tight.

The worst part is that he’s not even mad that Wade’s grabbing shit that he just folded. For some fucking reason, there’s a small but very loud part of Logan deeply satisfied to see Wade in his clothes again. He hasn’t worn anything of Logan’s since trying on the TVA jacket that first day home, but seeing him in one of Logan’s tees is apparently doing something for him.

Wade spins in place, and Logan notices that the hem of the t-shirt barely covers Wade’s crotch, skims the peak of Wade’s pert ass. Once he faces Logan again, he pinches the sides of the shirt like he’s holding a skirt, dipping into a small curtsy.

“Is that better, oh, prudent majesty?” he taunts.

Logan finally snaps.

Before he’s even conscious of it, he’s striding over to where Wade is still staring at him, his expression turning confused though still playful.

“Woah, big boy, I didn’t think you’d be that pissed—”

Logan grabs his face and cuts him off with a kiss, Wade making a surprised noise against his mouth before finally kissing back. Even though Logan is leading, Wade still gives as good as gets, his tongue darting into the cavern of Logan’s mouth when he gasps for air. He’s not sure how long they suck face for, but when Logan finally pulls away, a satisfied noise rumbles through his chest at Wade’s stunned but amused face.

“Finally got you to shut up,” Logan teases, words coming out shallow and thin.

“Oh, it’ll take a lot more than that, old man,” Wade quips back, and another purr builds in Logan’s chest when he hears the gravel in Wade’s voice. Wade throws his arms over Logan’s shoulders and crashes their lips together again.

Neither of their laundry gets finished for a long while after that, both of them too caught up in seeking pleasure from each other. Most of Logan’s freshly laundered clothes lie wrinkled on the bed for hours until he remembers to put them away. Wade doesn’t even start on his own laundry until Logan tells him that Althea would definitely kick his ass if he wore her stuff.

But he continues wearing Logan’s shirt until his own clothes are finally clean, so Logan can’t complain at all.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Half Complete + A New Suit ]

They’re suiting up for an X-Men mission when Wade snatches the Wolverine cowl before Logan can put it on. He’s still in the middle of zipping up when he spots Wade grabbing it out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t even need to turn around to know that the dipshit’s already wearing it.

“Give it back,” he says absentmindedly, buckling in the last straps of his suit.

He turns around and shoots Wade a flat look, correct in his assumption that Wade put it on. Typical Wade, he’s wearing his Deadpool mask underneath the Wolverine cowl.

“How do I look?” Wade asks, voice lilting with anticipation.

He looks like someone threw up primary colours on his head and decided to call it a mask.

“You look like someone threw up primary colours on your head and decided to call it a mask.”

Wade gasps, clearly offended. “Rude!”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Just hand me my fuckin’ cowl, bub.”

“Mmmmm, no.”

He never makes shit easy. Logan can only sigh.

“Wade, we gotta leave for the mission brief,” Logan reminds him. They’re about to leave on time for once, and that never happens. “Gimme my goddamn cowl.”

Wade ignores him, as he often does, sauntering over to Logan with a sway in his hips, and Logan quirks a brow at him. He knows what that walk means, and suddenly heading to the X-Mansion for a mission is becoming the last thing on his mind.

Wade drapes his arms over Logan’s shoulders, and Logan automatically places his hands on Wade’s hips. Even beneath both masks, Logan can tell that Wade is waggling his non-existent eyebrows at him once they’re pressed close together. “Wanna inspect the wind resistance on these blowjob handles yourself, peanut?”

Logan snorts. “No, because I don’t wanna see my own mask sucking my dick.”

“Aww,” Wade whines, and Logan can hear the pout in his voice even if he can’t see it, “you’re no fun!”

“‘Sides,” Logan murmurs in his ear, low and sultry, as he pulls Wade closer, “I like seeing your face when we’re together, bub.”

He moves a hand from Wade’s waist to slightly lift his Deadpool mask at the collar. He then ducks his face into the curve where Wade’s neck meets shoulder, mouthing at the now exposed skin there. He smirks when he feels the catch in Wade’s throat.

“I thought we had to leave for the mission brief?” Wade mocks, but it comes out breathy and very pleased by the turn of events.

Logan hums mischievously, nipping at Wade’s neck. “Don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Cool cool cool,” Wade babbles, body pressing against Logan’s, all hot and eager. “I just—oh, fuck, honey badger—I was just thinking—”

“If yer thinking, then I ain’t doin’ this right,” he grumbles, words starting to slur together because there’s something else he’d much rather be doing with his mouth. The hand he still has on Wade’s waist travels to his crotch. Wade bucks his hips into Logan’s open palm with a husky groan, already half-hard.

“You’re doing everything so, so right,” Wade gasps, hips rutting into his grip. “It’s just—ngh—you better be the one taking off this suit, because I did not spend five whole minutes and half a thing of baby powder squeezing my ass into it just to—oh, shit!—strip it off again.”

With a final lick to his pulse point, Logan pulls away just enough to look at Wade. He smirks at the way Wade is panting, puffs of breath hitting his face in needy bursts despite the fabric covering Wade’s mouth.

“I gotta take off your clothes?” he confirms. Wade nods jerkily. “S’not a problem with me.”

And he drops to his knees, unbuckling Wade’s utility belt to do just that.

They do eventually get to the X-Mansion—just 30 minutes late, and they completely miss the briefing. Colossus looks at both of them in disappointment when he relays the abridged version of the mission objectives while they fly to their destination on the X-Jet. Frankly, Logan only half listens to the giant, completely unapologetic in his lack of focus. Being distracted is well worth it as he mulls over the events of the past hour.

Because Logan discovers that, while he might not get off on seeing his own cowl blowing him, he doesn’t mind when he’s on his knees looking up to see it thrown back in pleasure.

At least as long as Wade’s the one wearing it.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Signature Items Acquired ]

The next time they leave together, it’s to meet Vanessa and Dermot for bowling. Logan’s ready before Wade is, waiting in the living room because apparently how long it takes Wade to decide on an outfit completely depends on how he’s feeling.

Thankfully, today isn’t too awful. He’d only worn the Deadpool mask in the morning because he, quote, “felt like skewered chicken intestines,” and nearly cancelled on bowling altogether. But after an orgasm from Logan and cuddling from Mary Puppins, his mood had turned around.

All of which means that Wade is now in a mad dash pulling an outfit together. Logan knows better than to try and help him or force him to hurry up, so he’s left on the couch quietly grumbling to Mary about how he thinks Wade looks good in basically everything he wears.

He’s proven absolutely right when Wade finally steps out of the bedroom. Logan barely registers the full outfit because he’s completely focused on one item.

“How do I look?” Wade asks with a sly grin, walking over to the mirror to inspect himself. He twirls in front of his reflection while smoothing down the leather of the jacket he’s wearing.

Logan’s jacket.

He’s unable to put words together with the way his brain is currently short-circuiting. He grunts in response anyway, knowing that Wade will keep talking even if he doesn’t reply verbally.

He’s proven right yet again because Wade continues without missing a beat. “You think I should switch styles? Give yours back and get my own? Jackets aren’t really my thing though... Oh! What if I got a cape instead? It’d help for ‘no capes’ AUs to actually shed a cape, huh? Has there ever been a DP with a cape? I don’t remember seeing one when we fought the Corps.”

He hums a contemplative sound as Logan stands up from the couch, making his way over to Wade.

“Maybe I need to test trial this,” he continues to ramble, “maybe I can borrow Cable’s shawl-cape thing!”

Even Logan is surprised when he immediately interrupts Wade’s babbling with a stern: “No.”

Wade’s eyes snap to his, confused by the sudden harshness and increased volume in his tone. He makes a questioning noise and shoots Logan a displeased look.

Remembering that Wade will only ramp up how annoying he is if Logan bosses him around, he shakes his head and tries again. “I mean, just—you can, uh, keep mine.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting away to take in how the jacket fits on Wade. It’s a little loose on him, a little too broad because Logan’s chest is a bit wider than his, but it sits well on his frame nonetheless. After awkwardly patting Wade on the shoulder, Logan’s hand slides to Wade’s bicep, then down to cuff where Logan thumbs at the leather there. His fingers bump Wade’s hand and he feels electrified by the touch.

When their eyes meet again, Logan’s relieved to find Wade’s face as red as his own cheeks feel. He’s not entirely sure who leans in first but their lips meet halfway. The kiss isn’t demanding or dirty, neither of them trying to turn it into something that would lead to sex for once. It’s different from when they usually make out, just soft and lingering, and Wade gasps when Logan’s tongue gently licks at the seam of his lips.

At some point, they wrap their arms around each other, because when they finally part for air Wade’s cupping Logan’s jaw and his hands are on the small of Wade’s back.

He eventually grumbles out, “Keep it, it suits you.”

“Oh.”

It takes a moment for Wade to shake the dazed look off his face, but he recovers by flashing Logan a knowing grin. Logan rolls his eyes fondly.

Of course, the little shit did it on purpose. He should’ve known the moment Wade stepped out with that giant smile.

Afterwards, when they finally meet with Vanessa and Dermot at the bowling alley, Vanessa’s smirk and raised eyebrow are well worth it because Wade keeps the jacket on.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Full Closet ]

Logan’s been gone for almost a month because of an extended X-Men mission. Between stakeouts, recon, strategizing, and actually nabbing the bad guy, it’s the longest he’s been away since Wade and Althea’s apartment became his home.

He walks in and unceremoniously dumps his duffle bag and the rest of shit by his shoes, throwing his keys on the sidetable by the door. Despite it being well into the afternoon, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. He figures Althea is out for “bingo” (likely a coke exchange) but Wade and Mary Puppins’ lack of noise makes him suspicious.

Until he hears the snoring.

He pads over to the pull-out bed to find Wade and Mary napping together. Wade’s curled around her, snoring with his face buried in her very sparse amount of fur, and Mary’s tongue sticks out as she huffs out quiet, little snuffles of her own.

But what catches Logan’s attention is Wade wearing one of his flannels.

It’s one of the thickest he owns, made for colder weather and blistery autumn breezes, a dusty yellow and blue with snap buttons. It’s large on him—like everything else Logan owns whenever Wade wears his clothes—but this particular flannel is loose on Logan, so the fabric almost drowns Wade in a pattern of faded checks.

And like every time the moron steals his crap to wear, Logan’s stomach flips in a way he can no longer ignore.

He’s not sure if they’re exclusive or not. They fall into bed together as easily as they fight side-by-side on missions. But it’s impossible for Logan to tell if Wade is serious about half the flirtations streaming out of his mouth when the idiot’s easy affection gets directed at anyone that looks at him twice.

And as much as he’s loathe to admit it, Logan wants so much more than that. He wants Wade’s lingering looks to mean something other than platonic nothings. He wants the softer kisses they share to be more than a break from sex. He wants Wade to need him the way Logan needs him. Hell, he wants Wade to annoy him in ways that Wade would never bother anyone else, because at least then Logan would know that he means something different to the motherfucker, something more than a roommate he hooks up with.

He wants just Wade, all of him, full stop.

He gingerly sits on the mattress, trying not to jostle the two napping Deadpools too much with his weight, and he reaches over to gently stroke Wade’s cheek with a thumb. Feeling emboldened when Wade doesn’t stir, he leans down to press his lips onto Wade’s forehead.

“Well, g’morning to y’too, honey badger,” Wade slurs at him, voice thick with sleep.

Logan abruptly jerks away, eyes wide, and the movement is enough to jostle Mary Puppins from her slumber. She hops off to nap in her own bed after a grumpy growl, leaving Wade alone on the mattress. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat before clearing it with a cough.

“S’four in the afternoon,” Logan mumbles. Pinching his lips into a flat line, he awkwardly sits next to Wade rustling around in the sheets. His eyes catch the flannel falling open to reveal that Wade is also wearing one of his tank tops.

Logan takes a deep, stuttering breath.

Eyes still closed, Wade blindly flaps his hand around until finding purchase on Logan’s shirt. He tugs Logan back down, and Logan curls over to kiss him softly.

“Welcome home, peanut,” Wade breathes onto his lips. “Missed you.”

He touches his nose to Wade’s. “Missed ya too, bub.”

Wade’s face splits into a slow, easy grin, pulling Logan into laying down. Logan follows him without a thought, gathering Wade into his arms.

“You’re wearin’ my clothes again,” he whispers.

Wade hums, nuzzling into his chest. “S’cold, and it smells like you.”

A pleased purr escapes Logan before he has a chance to stop it, and Wade giggles at him, kissing his collarbone before falling right back to sleep.

They don’t talk about what they are after that, but it’s at that moment when Logan finally realizes that maybe, somehow, Wade feels the same way about him too.

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[ Wardrobe Status: Wearing Wade’s Clothes (Again) ]

The TVA brings them in because they need help with some lady going after Deadpool variants. It would be a fruitless endeavour since Deadpools can’t die (well, except Nicepool) if it weren’t for the fact that the fucker apparently stole a weapon that disintegrates things to oblivion.

“Shouldn’t the law of physics stop that from happening?” Wade asks, gesturing at the screen when B-15 presents the mission to them. “‘Matter can’t be created or destroyed’ or something like that?”

“That’s energy, idiot,” Logan corrects him.

Wade just shrugs. “Hey, don’t blame me for failing physics twice!”

He turns to Wade with a confused grimace. “Who else would I blame then?”

“The teachers, duh!”

“Anyway,” B-15 interrupts, hitting a button to show another slide, “this variant’s got a fascination for destroying the indestructible, but she’s going after Deadpools because she has tritanopia, or blue-yellow colour blindness. She can see shades of red the easiest, hence, sticking with Deadpools as her target.”

“That’s so stupid,” Wade says and Logan can only agree. “There are, like, dozens immortal superheroes in red and she chooses li’l ole me? Seems like the writer copping out of coming up with a better plot, I-M-O.”

“We also believe Mary was double-crossed by the Deadpool in her timeline, giving further motive to go after his variants.”

“Hmph! Now isn’t that just convenient?” He crosses his arms. “Wait, ‘Mary’?”

“Yes.” B-15 shows another slide, this one a close-up of the woman—Mary’s—face. “She’s a Typhoid Mary variant. Have either of you encountered her before?”

“Not in my world,” Logan answers.

“I admittedly did not keep up with Netflix’s Daredevil long enough to meet Bloody Mary, no,” Wade says.

B-15 presents them with further details: Typhoid Mary’s known abilities and weaknesses; how she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her colour blindness; how she managed to acquire the worst weapon available from the arms dealers she was supposed to take down; how her alter apparently took over and decided to go after invincible mutants until she finally got even with her world’s Deadpool. The TVA did try to intervene, but she ended up killing every agent that went after her before stealing one of their TemPads and consequently going on her multiversal manhunt. B-15 makes it absolutely clear how imperative it is that they do not kill Mary or destroy the weapon so the TVA can keep them both under tabs.

Then, she reveals the TVA’s plan to capture her: They want Logan to pose as a Deadpool variant in the timeline they believe she’s going to strike next. Typhoid Mary’s current M.O. doesn’t account for superstrength so he should be able to break out of anything she traps him in. Meanwhile, Wade will be in the shadows, using a tranquillizer gun to incapacitate her once she’s busy with Logan.

Logan groans internally while Wade claps his hands in delight.

“Ooh!” he practically squeals, patting Logan on the shoulder with unrestrained excitement. “Finally, it’s my turn on the other side of this trope!”

B-15 shakes her head and sends them on their way.

The suit the TVA provides him fits perfectly, and he notes Wade’s heated, lingering gaze on him once he steps out of the dressing room. Luckily, another agent gets them through a portal before Wade starts on a tirade that would no doubt be filled with inappropriate innuendoes about Logan.

The mission is executed almost laughably easy. Typhoid Mary’s telekinetic and telepathic abilities are so low-level Logan’s shocked that the others she went after were able to be taken down so quickly.

(“Plot armour, peanut,” Wade said when Logan had asked B-15 about this. “She needed to last long enough to meet us!” As usual, Logan had chosen to ignore him.)

Like the TVA discovered, she lures Deadpools by spreading rumours he can’t ignore, adding a honeypot stash filled with weapons he loves. Geared up in Wade’s suit, Logan “falls” for her trap: entering an abandoned warehouse meant to shelter an upcoming gang targeting Deadpool, but secretly only houses her. Once Logan finds the crate of weapons meant to entice Wade, Typhoid Mary wastes no time in capturing him. She points a giant ray-gun of sorts at his face after wrapping him in the warehouse’s chains with her telekinesis.

He feels the faintest compulsion to stay still, which is probably her telepathy trying to subdue him. But she’s nowhere near the level of other telepaths Logan’s encountered, like Jean or Cassandra Nova, and the compulsion is easy to ignore. The chains are slightly harder to deal with in comparison, but he’s certain he can get out of them without too much trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Wade moving into place.

During Logan’s silent assessment of the situation, Typhoid Mary apparently began monologuing. He doesn’t let her get a chance to finish though, breaking out of the bonds around his torso with sheer force and grunting at the exertion. He slices the chains around his ankles with his claws, the metal cutting like butter against the adamantium.

“What?!” she screams. “A Wolverine-Deadpool variant? How?!”

Logan doesn’t even open his mouth for a reply because Wade shoots a tranq dart in her neck. She falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Wooh! No scope oneshot K/O, baby!” he hollers, skipping over to pick up the weapon Typhoid Mary dropped. “God, I’d love to take this home with us,” he bemoans as he assesses it, “I can finally stick it to Cable and show off my own badass, futuristic gun!”

“That won’t be necessary,” B-15 announces, suddenly next to them. A group of armed TVA agents begin to file in from the portal behind her, a few of them attempting to grab the weapon from Wade while others lift Typhoid Mary away for custody.

The aftermath of the mission would be just as easy if isn’t for Wade bitching about giving up the gun. After B-15 debriefs them, she and Logan spend entirely too long demanding that Wade hand it to her.

“I’ll give it back if we can keep this suit for pookie here,” Wade eventually offers, pointing at Logan.

“What?” Logan asks. The suit’s not bad but he has no reason to wear it again once he takes it off. “Why—?”

“Deal,” B-15 immediately agrees.

Wade begrudgingly relinquishes the gun, giving it a flying kiss goodbye before taking Logan’s hand. B-15 opens a portal to their apartment and guides them through. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen!” she says, waving a hand at them. They both wave back, and the portal closes.

Logan looks down at the Deadpool suit he’s still wearing. “Why the hell did you want—mmph!”

His lips are suddenly bombarded with hot kisses, and he growls when Wade opens his mouth his tongue. He didn’t even notice that Wade took off his mask.

“God, you look so fucking good in my colours,” Wade moans, hands roaming all over Logan’s body. “Is this how you feel whenever I wear your things?” Logan makes a noise of assent, too busy mouthing at Wade’s jaw to give a proper answer. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Logan starts moving them towards the bed—Christ, he hopes Althea is gone because there’s no way he’s stopping what Wade’s started. His cock is already taking interest, and only gets harder when Logan bumps his hips into Wade’s. They tumble onto the pull-out in a feverish heat with Logan straddling Wade’s thighs.

He’s licking at Wade’s pulse when the dumbass gasps, “Oh my god, I’m gonna fuck a variant of myself.”

Used to Wade’s non-stop yammering even during sex, Logan mindlessly replies, “‘S still me, bub, I ain’t a variant of you.” Foolishly, he adds, “Besides, that’d be weird.”

“What? Why?”

With Wade groping his ass, Logan actually has to pause getting his hands under Wade’s suit to think about an answer.

He finally lands on: “It’d be like fucking your own clone.”

Wade actually stops everything he’s doing—hands no longer kneading his cheeks, mouth pulling away from him. Logan groans, knowing his brought this on himself, and dips his forehead to rest on Wade’s shoulder.

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“No, because that’s weird.”

“I’d fuck my clone.”

“Course you would.”

“T-B-H, I’m so pro-clone fucking I’d just have an orgy with all of them. Who’d be better to fuck me than me, right?”

This, by far, is one of—if not the—stupidest conversation Logan’s ever had with a person. Somehow, his dick doesn’t flag, and he’s still irrevocably fond of Wade’s random chatter. He kisses Wade before he can start on another tangent, cupping his perfect idiot’s face softly.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, but knowing the smile he’s got on, Wade isn’t going to listen to him.

Wade’s answering smirk is a challenge. “Make me, peanut.”

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

[midnight-mourning]

Better Strangers. (Unless?)

Well it took a bit more time than I expected, wonder why THAT is (side eyes the wizard that put a curse on me, currently tied up in the corner) but it's here now, so I hope you enjoy! She's long, and I had to cut some stuff because it wasn't working, but such is life

If you've never read Confused Spirit, this will make a lot less since to you lol, so I recommend reading it first (though it's not a requirement). Again, this bad boy is canon to the story, but will never be directly mentioned in it

Word count: 7500

Song rec: Tommy's Party - Peach Pit (ignore the lyrics, it's the vibes that matter here)

Also posted on Ao3 if you prefer reading that way.

Content warning: Mentions of self-depreciation, self-gaslighting, depression, bits of yelling, etc. Small bits of using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Additionally, if you've never experienced what it's like to be anxious-drunk, you're in for it. Reader discretion is advised

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

"Okay, money's on the counter, Lisa needs to do her math homework before cartoons, and if you could do some flashcard practice with Gabe that would be super great but no worries if not, okay bye!" You say in a rush before opening and closing the front door. 

You lean back against it briefly, take a deep breath, and force yourself to march over to your car. 

It's your least favorite day of the quarter, second only to your least favorite day of the semester.

Parent-Teacher Conferences.

Comparable to Report-Review day at work, or tax season. The reason it was your second least favorite was because the other Parent-Teacher Conference day usually landed on a Friday, meaning you had one more night of the week you had to go out. 

This one was just a bit more bearable in that yeah, you had work afterward, but at least you could use all of tomorrow evening to recharge. And you certainly intended to. 

The school parking lot is filled with parents coming and going, chatting with those they know. You briefly greet anyone who says hello, but keep on your way, you want this to be quick, you've only got an hour or so before your late shift.

The meeting goes about how you'd expect, Lisa's the perfect little angel at school, it's just with you that she's a complete and utter menace. You'd considered the evening to likely being end on a high note based on this, but you'd be wrong. 

Very wrong. 

It's as you're walking out that you run into what would be your catalyst. 

"Oh, funny seeing you here, dear!" Helen says as she approaches. 

Inside you're saying every swear you can think of, outwardly you smile, "Hi Helen. It's parent-teacher night, of course I'd be here."

"I know, I know, merely joking." 

You stand there, awkward, head nodding once, "Well if that's all then I'll be on my way then-"

"Well it's just, how do I put this," She tutters, shaking her head, "I can't imagine what your meeting must've been like. And I won't speculate of course, I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you, is all."

Your brows furrow briefly, but you try to remain neutral. Chill, you're chill. You can kick Helen's ass in a fight if you wanted, it's fine. 

"The meeting went well, actually. Lisa's a good kid, I only stopped by because Mrs. Isley's been wanting brag on her in person."

This doesn't deter Helen, which you'd been, actually you can never tell what to expect with her. Doesn't matter, she keeps that sad look on her face, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "Well, I wasn't sure if she was aware of the tumultuous situation with your family is all. It sounds like something that would greatly be affecting Lisa's performance. But I'm so glad to hear that's not the case."

"What, what do you mean?"

"Well, I ran into your aunt, Hannah's her name, right?" Helen tsks, "She told me all about your situation. Just awful to listen to, you know."

It occurs to you to glance over to where Helen came from, her typical group of parents she gossiped with. They're looking at you now, that same, bullshit look on their face. And you can just catch some of the things they say. 

"To think someone like that's taking care of Lisa."

"I know, could you imagine, being so cruel to your family?"

"Typical twenty something, has no regard for anyone but themself."

"It is selfish, isn't it? Their parents would be ashamed."

You freeze then, something in you shutting down. You don't know what to say, how to react, how to even, think, for a moment. 

This is possibly one of the worst case scenarios you could ever imagine. Helen knows an exceeding amount of information about you that you've done your best to hide for the sake of your siblings. Stuff that would otherwise be harmless, where you work, where Lisa goes to school, what daycare you use, etc. But could be incredibly dangerous when the wrong person find out about it. And at this point, you have no idea one way or the other if they have. 

Has Rick's family tried shit in the past? Of course. Have they ever taken it that far? Debatable. You'd done your best to keep your personal life unknown to them for a reason however. But did you really know what their limits were? You had absolutely no clue.

And that terrifies you.

And it's your fault in the first place.

"Are you alright?" Helen asks, in a tone that is so fake you swear you can taste plastic. 

You snap out of it. Not here, not now. Instead, you beam, "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

This throws her for a loop finally, "I, well I-"

"I appreciate all the concern, Helen, really, I do. But we're doing just fine," Your hand pats the one of your shoulder and she flinches back. Ironic, you know. 

You laugh, it's loud and fake as hell but it does what you need it to, "I don't know what you've been told, but let me assure you, there's a reason we're not on great terms. Didn't file that police report for nothing!"

At this, people start to turn towards you both, muttering quietly. Usually, such a thing would embarrass you. But you're channeling your rage to smother your panic. Your shame.

Hannah and the rest of Rick's family lives on the complete other side of the city. Helen would have had to go out of her way to manage to run into any one of them. And it sounds like she had. 

If you had to guess, it was probably incidental, you have no social media, they all do. All it would take is a bit of profile browsing to find the connection and if she ever came across any of them, could easily strike up a conversation. Still crazy, but slightly less crazy than other options.

"Is everything okay over here?" Looking to your side you see Mrs. Isley, glare on her face, pointed toward Helen, before sharing a concerned look briefly with you. 

You nod, "We're just fine, but I do have to get going now. Thanks for the, words of encouragement, Helen."

Her face has grown red, and can't even muster a response. Satisfied, you lean in as you pass her by, voice low, but still loud enough for the teacher behind you to overhear, "Hope you got what you wanted from that. Because next time, I won't be so nice and just say outright how the PTA president goes out of her way to find someone's toxic family members and delve into their personal life for no damn good reason."

You give her a rough pat on the back, and march out of there. Behind you, you can hear Mrs. Isley start to lay into the soccer mom who had so much free time on her hands to try and upset the 23 year old who, apparently, must be doing a better job at parenting than she was, as that what the only explanation you could come up with for her vendetta against you.

Once you make it out of the building is when you allow the facade to start to break down. You're panicked, you're freaking out. You're trying to determine if you're going to have to switch school districts now or what. You really don't want to uproot Lisa because of a mistake you made, which was believing that Helen Chase would mind her own damn business and-

Someone is calling after you. You look up from unlocking your car to see it's Mrs. Isley. 

You raise a hand as she makes it over to you, out of breath, "It's fine, Aubrey. Just the typical bs. I'm okay."

"I'm sure you are," She says, pointing back to the school and shaking her head, "But that, was unacceptable behavior on her part and I am not going to let it fly by, rest assured. She's the head of the PTA, she's well aware of the school's 'no-contact list'."

"I-"

She raises her hand now, "No. Not this time. I get it, you don't want to make waves. But this was too far, and it's not fair to you in any which way to just leave it lie. She will be reprimanded, and if anything happens because of it," She shakes her head, "Well, I'm not going to let it."

"Thanks," You manage to choke out. The stress and relief both getting to you in that moment, due in large part to her firmness on the matter. 

The teacher hugs you then, squeezing tight, "We have rules in place for this kind of stuff. And I'm sure once her husband hears wind of this he'll do his best to make sure nothing comes of it," She pulls back, hands on your cheeks, "Okay?"

You nod, hoping she can't see the tears pricking your eyes, "Okay."

Aubrey lets you go, "You're sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," You shake your head, "Just the words of someone who doesn't know how to mind their own business. I've had worse."

She nods, "Alright. Have a good night, and be safe."

You say goodbye and she walks off. You have to grip your wrist with your free hand to keep the one that's shaking steady enough to grab the door handle. 

You drive in silence to the Plex, both hands tight on the wheel. 

You're not going to let it get to you, you're not going to let it get to you, you know she's wrong, she's always wrong, she's just an asshole and you know that you're doing your best, you're doing great! Lisa's proof of that, Gabe's proof of that. You're fighting and you're trying, you're trying, you're trying-

The doors to the Daycare shut behind you, interrupting your thoughts. 

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you look around for your beanbag, finding it absent. 

"What are you doing here?"

You turn, finding Sun cleaning up art supplies across the room. 

You shake your head, "Not in the mood for this tonight, Sun. If you didn't want me around you could've just said so."

His rays flick back and forth, "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, my beanbag?" You nod to the empty spot, not ignoring the confusion he also displays, "Not the end of the world, really, but still."

He just stares over at you. 

Then, "Bright Eyes, it's Friday."

Shit. It is Friday. You'd lost two days. Too caught up in work and stress and so on, to the point you'd hired Clara for the night and hadn't even realized. Not that it was her fault, she had no reason to question your foolishness. Your fault. Your mistake. Your fuck up. 

Like always.

"I, right, yeah."

"Now, as much as I'd be thrilled to continue to entertain you, I have a preparations to be making," He walks over and starts to guide you, not gently, towards the door, "You understand I'm sure."

You shrug him off, embarrassed, not helping your already growing negative feelings and thoughts, "Yeah, I got it. Night."

You walk out, a bit aimless now. You're frustrated, you're upset, and you really, really, are feeling a bit shitty. There's tears pricking your eyes again, and honestly, you don't know what you need right now to fix it.

"Boss? What are you doing here?"

You turn, "Pete? It's eight o' clock on a Friday, why aren't you home?"

He puts both hands on his chest, "I'm here for my best buddy Jacob's birthday. See the hat," He points to his head, where indeed, he's wearing a party hat, "Did you want to join?"

"I, you know what? Yeah. I would."

"Great! Come on," He slings an arm around your shoulder, changing your direction to the West Arcade, "Some of the gang's upstairs. Savannah was busy, and Jesse's out of town, like a loser, but you'll know most everyone I think."

"You're not going to question me anymore?" You ask. 

He shrugs, "Well no, not my business what you get up to. Unless you want it to be?"

You shake your head instantly, you didn't need to embarrass yourself by telling your coworker you let a middle-aged woman's words make you cry.

He nods, looking forward again, "Besides, you looked like you needed a distraction. For a bit anyway."

"Thanks, Petey," You sigh, "I do."

The atmosphere inside the West Arcade hits you instantly as you walk inside. 

People are chatting, dancing, drinking and making fools of themselves, what you'd typically expect from a Plex party. Or really, any party with a bunch of burnt out twenty-somethings. 

You meet up with Liv and Tyler, and are given a party hat and a drink shortly thereafter. 

You stare down at it for a moment, briefly, and check the time, you have Clara until 11:30, you can have one and sober up in time. 

You say the same thing after the second, and after the third argue that you can just, pick up your car tomorrow, grab an Uber. 

After, drink four, you take the time to sober up for just a moment, which ends up being a mistake. Because now you're alone with your thoughts, and after the night you've had, that's the worst place for you to be. 

The words said to you by a bunch of women in their 40s should not upset you like this, they're the ones choosing to pick on someone half their age. Sure, maybe they weren't wrong but that didn't, that didn't give them the right to talk like that, right? 

You weren't just thinking about yourself, right?

They wouldn't be disappointed in you for not trying to make ammends.

Right?

Fuck, you really should sober up, sober up and go home. 

"Hey, you alright?"

Liv's sitting next to you now. You give a practiced smile, "Just need a little more water. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" She waves over the bartender to get you another water and order another drink for herself.

You nod, "Positive. If I wasn't I wouldn't be here."

Lying through your teeth is somehow so much easier when you're drunk. 

You drink another water, and don't feel any better. You just feel more, aware. Aware of how you don't fit in, how you're here because Pete took pity on you, how awful of a friend, a sibling, a daughter, a partner- No, not that last one, we're not getting into that mess tonight. 

Has it really been that long since the last time you drank this much? You check the time, it's been an hour or two. You still had time. Fuck it, have another drink and try to have some fun. Something's gotta distract you from this feeling eventually, right? 

When you check the clock again and realize it's 10:40, and it'll take at least twenty for an Uber to get here, you fumble for your phone and call Clara.

"Hey, I'm uh, gonna be home a bit later, is that okay?" You ask against the loudness of the room. You should have went outside instead of going to the quietest corner you could find, but you're kind of losing your logic. 

You have to strain to hear her response, "Yeah, not an issue, I'm mid breath of the wild playthrough so time has no meaning to me."

"You've got breath of the wild? Jealous," Focus, you need to focus so you don't sound stupid, "Anyway, I'm guessing another hour or so, and if it gets too late you can stay over so you're not driving home so late."

"As long as you don't mind me gaming in the living room into the late hours of the night that's cool with me. What are you up to out of curiosity?"

You swallow, "Birthday party."

"Oh, Jacob's yeah? Savannah told me about it but since I was busy I couldn't swing by."

"Oh?" Why does that make you feel bad? Why do you feel so excluded now? That your coworker's sister got an invite and you didn't? Or did you get an invite and you forgot? Why do you care? You're not friends with Jacob. You’re not friends with these people out of work, really. Right?

"-speaking class."

You don't know what she just said, "Gotcha, gotcha. Well, I'll see you later tonight then."

"You got a ride?" You can just make out her button-mashing, followed by a sigh, "Sorry, if you've been drinking I mean."

"Yeah, I'll be good. Thanks."

After hanging up, you just stare down at your drink, then out to the dancefloor. You see everyone having such a great time, so why can't you? Why do you have to be like this? Why can't you just let yourself be happy? What does it take to make you relax and just, chill the hell out? 

You haven't relaxed in months you realize. Not after what happened that night. Ironically, at the last Plex party you attended. If anything, you think being here, doing this, has just made everything that much worse. 

You need to get out of here. You need to go somewhere else, do something else, be someone else. 

Too bad you can't make that last one happen.

You finish your drink, and after a small head rush, walk over to where your friends? coworkers? are and say your goodbyes over the music. 

"Hey, it was really good seeing you tonight!" Pete says, then nods to where Jacob's at on the dancefloor, "Jacob appreciated it for sure."

He's lying. He's just being nice because you're his boss. 

Liv gives you a quick hug, "We should hang out outside of work more often. Maybe somewhere a bit more quiet."

She doesn't mean that. She's pitying you. 

"Yeah, that'd be great!" You smile. 

Tyler raises his fist and you bump it, "See you Monday, broski. Stay safe out there."

"Can do, have a good night guys."

"See you!" And "Be safe!" are shouted out behind you.

You believe the genuity of that. You may know that they hate you, but they're nice people. 

Your feet walk you in the direction you don't want to be heading. Split between this impulse decision and just going home. But you can't make yourself go home, you can't go home, home just remind you of everything, and everything you're not-

The Daycare doors feel heavier than usual, which makes sense considering how much you've had tonight. Inside, you find it's, pretty much the same as usual, you don't know what all the fuss was over on Sun's part. 

Speaking of, where is he? 

You shuffle in, taking note of the small plastic tea cups and saucers sitting on a table that's been moved to the center of the space. Along with... snacks? Right, Chica's supposed to be here. Seems she hasn't shown up just yet.

You're trying to remind yourself why you came here as opposed to calling for a ride, when you hear the doors open again. 

"Oh. You're back."

You turn, Sun is holding a tray with a teapot, and there is indeed, steam coming out of it. Now you know. 

"Did you want something or are you just here to bother me?" He swiftly walks past you, setting the pot and tray down with pointed showmanship.

Something about his tone sets you off. Not unusual. But because you're not sober, you speak your mind in a way you otherwise wouldn’t. Unfortunately unusual. 

"You know, starting to wonder that myself."

"Really now?" He speaks with a bored enthusiasm that grates on you.

"Yeah, really. You know, I don't sleep at night because of you," You shake your head, "My dreams are just, filled, with nothing but that night. Over and over again, it plays in my head. And you see, the worst part is that it's not even the idea of seeing him in that stupid machine. You know what keeps me up? You. And what you did to me," You take a deep breath, looking back to him, "And what I did to you." 

Sun's rays tick a few times. 

Then, "You're intoxicated."

"Yeah, no shit, glad you finally got up to speed."

"I'm just rather surprised you'd be interested in taking such risks again considering what happened to you last time."

You scoff, "Don't even try to pull that, I wasn't wasted, I had a concussion."

"I was referring to being at the Plex so late alone, Starshine," His gaze narrows, "But rest assured, you're increasing my concern the more you speak."

"Concern for what? Because we both know it isn't for me. And that's fine, shouldn't expect, don't deserve it. Even if I-" You stop yourself, you're not out of it enough for that, "I'll just give it to you straight; you have no reason to be concerned. For my siblings? They don't need me, Clara sees more of them than I do and she does a hell of a lot better job. My work? Someone else would fill the gap when I'm gone, my team's more than competent without me. My friends? They've got each other, or, or partners. And our little investigation? You," You slow down for a moment, "Well, I'm sure with that charming personality of yours you could trick another sorry sucker into helping you with ease."

You throw up your hands, laughing, "So, no need for concern here, Sunny. If something happens to me no one will notice!" Your face feels wet, "No one's going to fucking care. So, you can take your concern and shove it."

You bring a hand up to your face, confirming that you are crying, "Fuck, exactly what I needed to top off the night."

You sniff once, and then turn around, you seemed to get everything you'd wanted to say out of your system, maybe you can go home and be happy now. Or something. 

"Why did you come here tonight?"

You pause, then laugh quietly, hand coming up to run through your hair, "Hell if I know."

A hand is set on your shoulder, one that makes you spin around. The motion slightly jogs you.

Sun's gaze is down at you, rays spinning once or twice but otherwise motionless. 

"Stop that. I don't like being analyzed," You mutter, averting your eyes. 

His other hand comes up to guide your focus back to him, "You're in no condition to go anywhere. Not right now."

You manage a half-hearted chuckle, "Give me some credit, Sun. I'm calling an uber as soon as I'm out of here."

You think if he could frown he would, instead, his eyes narrow and grip tightens just a tad, "Not wise. Not if you're alone. I suppose there's other options. Hold still. And don't look down."

"What are you-hey hey hey, what are you doing?" You argue, anger flaring momentarily as he takes hold of you, your feet coming out from under you as he lifts you into his arms. 

Before you know it, you're up in the air, having to squeeze your eyes shut so you don't get dizzy from the change. You feel Sun land on solid ground again several seconds later.

"You say a word about anything and I'm putting you in the theater instead," A brief pause, "Or on a naptime mat down below."

You open your eye, "Wha-Oh."

"I mean it. Not. A. Word."

You put your hands up, "Okay, okay."

He didn't say anything about making private observations to yourself. 

The Attendant's room is somehow exactly what you expected and not at all. Your first thought is organized. Your second thought is empty. 

Clean also comes to mind, there's not a speck of dust in sight. You take note of the different standout features. An old, Hollywood style dresser with matching mirror and lights, string lights hang from the ceiling among the rafters. There's a set of cubbies containing spare toys, and some seemingly ongoing craft projects. 

You spy your bean bag in a corner with a few others. There's also a large pile of blankets and stuffed animals, almost like a bed. Lying nearby you see a charging port. 

The most interesting thing to you, however, is the green tube in the left wall, leading obviously to somewhere, you just don't know where exactly. 

You don't get to find out, Sun sets you down on the blanket pile, and if you weren't so hypervigilant you'd sink right in, exhaustion is starting to hit you after the combination of drinking, yelling, and crying. 

You hear a click and realize he's left the room. It's the perfect opportunity to snoop, but the desire for rest outweighs this urge. Besides, it's rude. And you're not that rude.

You feel like all you did was blink and he's back again. You rub your face and pat it a few times to try and wake up, glancing over to the bot.

"I've already taken the liberties of informing your babysitter that you will be home after several hours of sleep. And agreed upon compensation." Sun answers your look of concerned confusion by raising his hand with your phone, "You dropped it when I picked you up, she had asked about your well-being. You can check to confirm I did nothing else if that eases you."

The fact you can't recall that happening proves it's probably for the best he did that.

"God she's going to hate me," You groan, rubbing your face with both hands. 

Sun sets your phone down beside you, and sits down in front of you, glass of water in one hand, "She does not. Drink."

You eye the glass with suspicion.

"Are you seriously debating whether I've tampered with it?"

"Should I not?"

A scoff, "It's a glass of water, I've done nothing to it."

"Sound like something someone who did something to it would say," You muse.

Another scoff, and he leans down, rays clicking, "If I was going to do something, Bright Eyes, it would have already been done. And need I remind you, I can't cause harm even if I wanted to."

"Fine," You huff, taking the cup and muttering as you sip, "I'm surprised they let you have glass."

No answer. You look over, eyebrows raised. 

Then it clicks, "Ah. Contraband. Noted," You finish the glass and wipe your mouth, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

No words for a bit, your head hurts, but this helps. That might be a good thing to bring up, you're not a fan of this kind of silence.

"Why did you help me? Or I guess, why are you actively, helping me?"

Sun shrugs, hands clasped in his lap. You expected a snarked out comment that you're strangely not receiving.

Then, "I'll get you another glass. You should rest in the meantime." He stands up, and in your current state the action panics you. 

"Wait," You reach out, grabbing his arm, "Don't go. I'm, I don't want to be alone. Please." God, you sound pathetic.

You also realize what it is you're doing, and to whom, and you let go, "I, shit, sorry. Just, yeah just go get the water. I'll be fine."

You pull your knees up to your chest, controlling your breathing. You didn't need to start crying again. You're fine, you know you'll be fine.

A soft jingling sound interrupts your thoughts, and looking up you see Sun unwrapping one of the ribbons from his forearm, then his wrist. Once he's finished, the ribbon and bells piled in one hand, he holds it out to you. 

You furrow your brow, but take the offering. 

"It's the best way I can think of to assure you I'll be back. I'd look rather silly if I went around like this, right?" He waves both hands up by his face. 

You sniff, "Yeah."

"And if you're truly, concerned, just ring, and I'll be here," He stands straight again, taking the glass, "I'll just be a moment."

"Ok."

He leaves the room, and you're alone.

Having nothing better to do, you lean back against the numerous pillows and stuffed animals behind you, hands clasping and resting on your chest. 

You take note that the ceiling has a few glow in the dark stickers you recognize from the Daycare proper. Someone must've snatched the extras when they had the chance. The thought makes you laugh softly. 

It also occurs to you then that Moon is additionally assisting in this, mess, you've created, given that the theater is probably dark, and you don't believe that door leads anywhere else. 

You close your eyes, shame welling up in you. This is pathetic on your part. Truly and utterly. You're an adult, and you can't take care of yourself after a night of drinking? You can't manage to drink responsibly, avoid the typical stereotype and make a fool out of yourself saying shit you shouldn't? God, you're so-

You're being gently jostled awake, "You can't sleep like that, friend. You'll regret it." More quietly, "And he won't shut up about it, for that matter."

You open your eyes, they feel a tad heavy from the short nap you got. Your senses perk up however, when you smell something greasy yet heavenly. Pizza, currently in Sun's hand, soon to be in your stomach if you have anything to do with it.

"Thought you were just getting water," You say, as if you're not two seconds away from devouring that pizza whole. 

He scoffs lightly, setting the pizza in front of you and handing you the water, "I had a feeling if I told you what I was doing it would only make things worse."

"You'd be right," You take a brief drink of water, then open the pizza box and grab a slice. It's divine. And you don't say that lightly when it came to Fazbear pizza. 

You groan mid-bite, leaning back against the plushes behind you, "God, I wish you could taste how good this is right now. Like," You take another bite, "So frickin' good."

You're too focused on eating to overhear Sun laughing quietly at your antics. You managed to scoff down three slices before he takes it away from you. 

He places it over on the dresser, "You'll get sick. And preferably, I'd rather not be cleaning up vomit at 1 am, if it's all the same to you."

"Just one more! Come on," You whine, then pause, eyebrows shooting up, "Oh I am not sober, that's for sure."

You realize Sun's staring at you, and your face heats up.

"Don't look at me like that, it just makes it worse," Your hands come up and cover your face.

At that Sun laughs. And maybe you're a bit out of it, but it doesn't sound mocking, or pretentious. It's genuine. 

You feel a compulsion to right your wrongs from earlier, or at the very least, try to.

"I'm, I'm sorry for what I said. You didn't deserve that."

"I don't accept." Sun states. 

You cringe, and nod, "Fair."

He chuckles, "I don't accept, because it wasn't directed at me. You may have said those words at me, but I think we both know their true target."

You think for a moment, nodding solemnly, "Helen."

"Who? I-" He shakes his head, "Starlight, I meant yourself."

"Oh. That makes a bit more sense." You decide to give him a bit more context to save some trouble, "She runs the PTA. My third worst enemy, behind you, and Grab Ass. You got a Katie Chase in that little directory of yours?"

"Yes? But-oh. That one." 

Your brows raise for a moment, "Wow, I've never heard you speak with that much disdain before."

"We all have limits, friend," His tone shifts, like he's about to boil over with rage, "We all have limits..."

You yawn, and his attention shifts. He motions for you to take off your shoes and the likes, and you get the hint. You lay back into the bed-you're pretty sure there's a mattress buried under here somewhere, feels like it-letting loose another yawn.

Sun takes one of the blankets and tosses out over you, it falls slowly down on top of you. Then, he bends down and presses his smile to your forehead, pulling back after a moment and patting your head.

"What was that for?"

His rays spin, eyes widening a fraction. Seems he's just now realizing what he did, "An unfortunate matter of programming. One I'm hoping you'll forget by morning."

You scoff, smile on your lips, "That's not how being drunk works, you know. Only if you've drank a lot."

That seems to relax him.

"So explain it to me then," He sits at the end of the blanket pile, "I'm curious."

You sit up slightly to make eye contact with him, "Really? All the stuff you could learn about and that's what piques your interest?"

He nods.

You stare at him a moment, then lay back down, "I mean, alright. Do my best here."

You explain. Sun asks you a question every now and then. You just, talk. You talk to each other for, awhile it feels like. You talk until your throat starts to get sore. You, you haven't spoken with someone like this in a long time. Long enough you can't remember when the last time you did was. 

You start to get tired and Sun notices immediately. He mutters a brief goodnight to you, and the lights are shut off soon thereafter.

You roll over to your side to watch Moon appear. 

"Thank you. Both of you," You say, as he walks back over to you, "You didn't have to do all this, it's, appreciated."

He nods, "You are welcome."

A sudden realization hits you as sleep begins to take over. 

"My stuff..." You mutter, "I, left my stuff back in the West Arcade, if it's not stolen already."

Moon stands, "I'll retrieve it for you. Will you be alright?"

You sleepily raise your hand, bells jingling in your grasp, "Got these. And I'm a bit more sober now. I'll be okay."

Moon nods, "Then I'll return shortly."

"I might be asleep by then," You yawn, "So I'll preemptively say thank you, and goodnight."

"Goodnight, Diana. Sweet Dreams."

You huff lightly, "What, no goodnight kiss?"

It takes you all of 0.5 seconds to realize what you just said.

"Oh goddammit-"

Moon leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead, his tone cheeky as he pulls away again, "Is that satisfactory, your highness?"

Your face is hot with embarrassment but you refuse to lose. 

"'Twas," You turn over and away so he can't see your wide-eyed 'holy shit' stare, "But I'll have you know that I'm not that demanding when I drink. This was a one-time thing. Won't happen again."

"Of course not."

You snuggle further under the blanket, mumbling, "It won't. I mean it. It was a stupid mistake. One that's going to haunt me for a while."

Quiet. You feel him sit down beside you, "Everyone makes mistakes, Icarus. It's how we learn from them that matters."

"Trust me, I know."

A hand on your shoulder presses down and makes you lay back on your back. You stare up into red eyes, narrowed with concern down at you. The gaze makes you uncomfortable. You try to brush it off.

"I don't need a pity party, Moon. I gave myself enough of one earlier."

He tilts his head, "It's funny how you always assume care to be pity. I wonder why that is?"

You're about to say it, and play it off as a joke, but he beats you to the punch. 

"Well, it's not fair to speculate. So I'll just tell you, you don't have to suspicious of such with me. Or either of us for that matter," His focus goes back on you, "We mean what we say."

You raise a brow questioningly.

"For the most part, I should say."

You chuckle, "Yeah, I know."

"Your friends mean what they say too, you know. They care about you. As does your family. It's obvious to anyone that sees it. You just simply need to allow yourself to." He pokes your forehead. 

You sigh, looking up to the ceiling briefly, "Oh, that's a lot harder than it sounds, Moon-man."

"I never suggested otherwise. I merely intended to remind you."

"I've been reminded," You smile slightly, "And I'll do my best to continue to do so."

"You'll have assistance." You can't tell if that's a tease, a threat, or a promise. You'll just be on the safe side and assume all three. 

You smirk, "Goodnight, Moon. For real this time."

"Goodnight, Andromeda. For real." He rises from the bed, giving a quick two-finger salute.

You snicker, shake your head, and close your eyes. 

A few moments later you hear the jingle of bells fade out into the Daycare itself.

Your hand clutches the bells and ribbon in your hand a tad tighter, and you feel yourself start to drift off into sleep.

You find yourself awake some time, you're guessing, much later. Your head isn't nearly as heavy, and you feel as if you slept for at least a decent amount of time. 

Groggily, you fumble for your phone, finding that it's been about three hours since you fell asleep. 

You become keenly aware of someone staring at you, and scanning the room find Moon staring down at you from the rafters. 

Normally, this would be an alarming sight at 4 in the morning, for you and your half-asleep mind, it arouses mild surprise. 

"Why are you awake?" He asks. 

You sit up, fumbling for the glass beside you, "I become very awake in the hours after drinking," You gulp down the glass, "For a very short period of time. I'll probably start feeling tired again in a few minutes."

You wipe your mouth and look up to the Attendant, "Why were you watching me?"

Moon shrugs, "Bored."

"Yeah right," You scoff, "Not with the amount of shit you get into on the regular. What's your real reason, sport?"

"Sport?" He asks.

You wave your hand, "It's a combination of sleepiness and leftover drunkenness, just ignore it and save me some embarrassment."

"Noted."

"You didn't answer the question. Don't think I didn't notice," Your arm moves jankily as you point your finger at him. 

His faceplate spins, "We simply wanted to ensure you were alright."

"We? That's a shocker. I'm surprised he isn't having a hissy fit about you making such an implication."

There's a bout of binary before Moon answers with a sigh, "He is now."

You giggle, "Sorry."

Quiet for a few moments.

"Your belongings are located beside you," Moon points to where your bag sits on the floor not too far from the bed, "They appeared to be in order, though I can't say for certain."

Your eyes widen for a moment before you nod your head slowly, "Oh yeah, forgot about that. Thanks."

Moon nods.

"Sorry if I um, ruined your evening plans."

The Naptime Attendant chuckles, "Plans? What is it that you think we get up to, Pandora?"

"You know what I mean, I know you don't just sit and stare at the wall for hours until open," You shrug, "You explore, fuck around with your mechanics, which I don't approve of still," You send him a scolding glare, then continue, "Sun has gossip night with Chica, seems to be a bit crafty as well."

Moon whistles, or plays the sound, at least, "Impressive."

"Yeah, yeah," You wave him off, yawning.

"Seems you've expended your remaining energy."

You settle back into bed, "Getting there."

"Anything I can do to help?" He asks, shifting position to hang upside down from the beam, feet hooked over the other side. 

You scoff lightly, "You, aiding those in desperate need of rest? I don't buy it."

"It's my specialty." He insists, and you both quietly laugh.

"Want me back to bed that bad, huh?" You ask, hands clasping on your chest while you stare up at him, thinking.

"Have any good bedtime stories?"

His faceplate spins, "More than you'd imagine."

"Pick one for me then, and I think that'll do the trick," You nod once, affirmingly.

"Very well."

He starts, voice smooth, soft. Really, perfect for storytelling if you're being honest. It helps your mind to settle again, and well before the end, you're asleep again.

Waking up the next morning, you find yourself face to, back? with a yellow animatronic. 

Sitting up, you see Sun is slouched beside the bed, facing away from you. Examining him more closely you see there's a charging cord plug into the back of his head. 

Curiously, you reach out to poke him. 

"I'd appreciate the ability to recharge in peace, friend."

You jump back, cursing under your breath. 

Then, you huff, "There's no way you could tell what I was going to do."

"No, but a bot can have his suspicions," He turns to look back at you, "And plenty of mine have been right about you."

"'Plenty of mine have been right about you.'" You mock quietly. 

"How are you feeling?"

You sigh, shrugging, "Fine. Maybe a little hungover. I'll live, if you were worried."

"I wasn't," He retorts as you snicker, "But good to know."

You nod to the charging cable, "Thought the two of you switching kept you from using that too often."

At this, Sun flusters. Taking a moment to articulate himself.

"Typically. However, Moon felt-" A bit of binary, before doubling down, "Moon felt it would be unfair to have the lights on in any manner of speaking while you slept. So they remained off throughout the night."

You muse on the words for a minute, nodding thoughtfully. Inside, part of you is overjoyed, and the other is a mixture of shocked and maybe touched? You're not going to think on it further. Point is, Sun gave up his hours-willingly or unwillingly-to give you the chance to sleep. 

"Well, it's appreciated," You reach up and flick his forehead, narrowly dodging around him to grab your phone as he shoos you away. 

He grumbles a response you don't catch. 

Checking the time, it's around 8 am. Looking at your messages, Sun told Clara you'd be home by 10. Yikes. Good to know how little faith he had in you. Well, best not waste it. 

You stretch, giving a final yawn, "This place have a breakfast special? Feel like I swear I've heard about it at least once."

"It does, but I'll inform you it's not one that's served in bed."

"Relax. I can take care of myself just fine now," You throw off the blanket and stand up, "I'll be back. Hold down the fort in the meantime, yeah?"

Sun sputters, a "What?" As you pat him briefly on the back and march out of the room, on the prowl for food to satisfy your hunger. 

Once you find it, you sneak your way back into the Daycare. The Plex is still pretty much abandoned at this point in the morning, but you don't want to have to explain yourself if you don't have to. 

Walking in, you plop down on the bed beside Sun and dig into your breakfast sandwich. Either you're much more hungover than you thought, or this is delicious. Potentially, both. 

"Sorry you missed out on your shit talking session," You say between bites, "As a fellow disgruntled employee I know how important those can be."

Sun scoffs.

You turn to look at him, "And thanks for taking care of me. It's appreciated."

This appears to surprise him, rays ticking to one side, "You're welcome."

"You're not the worst person I've ever met, you know," You take another bite, "Up there, but you have your good qualities."

"That means the world coming from you," He says, hand on his chest and voice syrupy sweet.

You nod, "I know."

He huffs, it turns into a laugh after a moment.

"You're not the worst person I've met, either," His gaze meets yours, "Not as much as you believe yourself to be."

You pause, surprised. Then, you swallow, coughing, "T-thanks."

He turns away again. You continue to eat. 

A thought crosses your mind. 

"You know, if you were really worried about the light, you could've just closed the curtains."

Sun freezes. Then, he sighs, heavily. Hand coming up to run down his face before falling into his lap. 

"Yes. I suppose that would have, been an option."

You burst out laughing, which only grows as the two attendants seem to argue back and forth with each other. 

As you bask in the moment, you find yourself thinking back. 

Yeah, you weren't perfect, but you cared. A lot. And you think that says a lot. Means a lot.

To someone, at least.

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

Well, you can probably see now why this bad boy was scrapped as a chapter. Believe me I had the full intentions of saving it, but I'll admit once I saw an out by using it as a one-shot I jumped on it lol 

I don't know if it's everything that I wanted, but I think I hit the main points I'd originally set out to. 

To those who wanted affection with the CS boys, you got it! Just maybe not how you were expecting :) Ah, who am I kidding, you knew it was going to come at the price of angst

Sorry that I went awol for a bit, the antibiotics DID knock me on my ass and it was, rough, to put it plainly and I'm still going to have to get a scan lmao

idk man, I just want to be better already, I gotta propose (MY THESIS, I MEAN MY THESIS, I AM SINGLE) in a few weeks I don't have time for this >_< (she says, as if this hasn't been a 3 month saga)

Gahhh, anyway, hope you enjoyed! Have no idea how I'll feel from one day so you may or may not see me but know I'll be writing in the meantime (and enjoying it i promise, it's my hobby afterall) thanks for reading!

Tag list (hope I did this right, if you did not want tagged simply let me know and I'll remove you!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @eternal-soup (IT WON'T LET ME @ YOU I'M SORRY)

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse

If you want to be added to the tag list, or check out my other stuff, see this post here for more information, bye!

[onewordshy]

Happy 120th birthday to Fats Waller!

The Supremes perform a tribute to Fats Waller on the Ed Sullivan Show

First of all, obsessed with these outfits, but second of all I love this performance. It’s always a pleasure to hear a Fats Waller song done well and the Supremes kill it, especially on “Ain’t Misbehavin’.”

Diana is a star of course but my eyes always go to Mary, she’s serving face every second she’s on camera.

[lunar-years]

it's unfortunate that twitter is the most convenient place to find TL news and latest pictures because wow the fandom over there is really a cesspool. I so need them to learn it's not actually funny to make fun of the cast for losing and then TAG the creators in said petty comments all over SHIPS. if you hate the show so deeply to be cheering in joy over its award show demise and echoing the commentary of the people who have always thought ted lasso was trash, just because you think it's appropriate ~revenge~ for a bad season like uhhh. maybe it's time to take a step back and leave the fandom because you clearly aren't enjoying yourself. and then the audacity to get on there every day demanding a season 4?? like what about the way they tweet at them do they think is enticing these creators to want to make more?

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[hella1975]

hi hella do you have thoughts on the tiktokification of ethel cain (given her leaving social medias) anyway sorry if you dont i just love the way you think xx

i think a very simplified explanation of what tiktok does to music and why it fundamentally always Grates on me is that people on tiktok cannot just listen to a song. it's no longer enough to enjoy a song or an artist. you're not a 'true fan' if you just simply listen to the music and find any level of enjoyment from it. you have to instead know every single lyric, and every meaning of that lyric, and then when that isn't enough because the masses are now also doing that, you then need to know what the artist's thought process was for the lyrics, where they were when they wrote it, exactly what they mean by it. interpretation is no longer allowed because the 'true fans' correct you with what the artist said in a niche interview from 2019 and 'if you really liked the song you would know that'. it doesnt matter what the song means to YOU because it now needs to be consumed in the Exact Way Tiktok Says It Should Be. and then of course it all becomes narrower and narrower and all the while the fans are TEARING the artists apart in an attempt to be the one individual listening to them most often and most correctly and with the most thorough understanding, and the artist is just. some guy. like literally just a person behind a screen reading every stupid as fuck thing and seeing the same stupid as fuck comments over and over and over again and it's like yeah. that would drive me fucking insane too actually

[non-un-topo]

Talking to my sister can be one of the most aggravating experiences

[mainfaggot]

I hope i die ..

[alagaisia]

I’m reminded of that post about how goths and people who wear only lots of pink are actually the same because “wearing only one color” is a specific choice in opposition to just looking Normal

I’m flying to a friend’s wedding today, and I recently acquired from my neighborhood free page a very pretty vintage suitcase in like a brocade upholstery texture in all of my good colors, so of course I needed a coordinated airport outfit à la Midge Maisel. You guys don’t know me, but I usually dress very put together, in what my sister calls Outfits, with a capital O to distinguish it from just wearing clothes. And since getting a full time job I’ve been slowly adding to my collection of vintage and 50’s-vibes clothes, because I just really like that aesthetic (my bridesmaid dress for the wedding is a vintage tea dress I got from Etsy. The fabric is in great condition but I had to reinforce pretty much every seam with my sewing machine, because the structural integrity of the original thread was breaking down, so that was an interesting learning experience).

All of which is to say that I Dressed Up for the airport in a vintage-y outfit that coordinates perfectly with some of the colors of my suitcase, and my hair is curled, and I have a vintage leather purse that my grandma gave me that matches her watch that I’m wearing and the shoes she bought me last summer at the same vintage store that my skirt came from, and a teenage-ish girl with whatever you call the 2023 teenage equivalent of emo/punk vibes, like the dark maroon mullet and not a lot of makeup and dark comfy clothes but like, very on purpose, told me I look cool when I walked past on the way to security

And like, she Gets It! We have different fashion goals but I think we put a similar degree of intention into the way we look compared to just wearing regular clothes. Which is cool! It’s validating. Not that I really need validation, but it’s always nice to get compliments, of course. And the way I dress is really not terribly distinctive most of the time, other than being Outfits and a little dressier than maybe the norm is, like I think most people who see me one time in passing would see that I look Nice but not necessarily see it as a cultivated Look. But punk mullet girl gets it.

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

my toxic trait is wanting to call ed nygma the f slur

[yandereshingeki]

also wanna say thank you to those being patient with me and my slow ass self with writing… I’m trying to write as much as I can but it’s hard to find the motivation with work weighing me down so much （；＿；）+ the holiday seasons been so busy for me… but im hoping stuff will cool down after and it’ll get better. I’m also actively looking for another job that I hope will be less physically draining so that I’ll feel better lol

[cruelsister-moved2]

i like refrain from commenting on this but its getting to a point where i see it daily so listen i cant think of a nice way to say this sorry 😭 but if this is you then with all love now is probably not the moment in your life to start going by a hebrew name and changing ur icon to a magen david on a pride flag and starting a blog called journeying-to-hashem. and i say this with love for you like i think people are too worried to say something in case theyre gatekeeping but the fact is this type of thing is going to seriously negatively impact any future experience you do have - or on the other equally valid hand make it very difficult for you to realise that this may not be the right step for you at this point in time.

if you genuinely feel that every rabbi you meet is "super bigoted and weird" then (without judging you bc idk you and maybe you are just surrounded by dozens of homophobic rabbis and there's nothing antisemitic at all behind this statement) it could be that... joining the community they represent is not right for you, even if only at this point in time in your current location, and your tumblr experience is giving you the warped impression that its all nonbinary people in trad-egal minyans which is not going to be the case in almost any irl community so you will feel let down by all of them which unfair to both yourself and them (i.e my first point)

[guinevereslancelot]

how do i stop feeling like i'm in trouble all the time fr. sitting here on my lunch break like everyone's gonna be soooo mad when u get back...from lunch...which you are allowed to have.....(?)

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[dont-find-me-dude]

i wanna get drunk and stop overthinking

[mosspapi]

Also. If im in the top 0.05% of fob listeners just from my Spotify listening. I fear what the actual number would be