#freight exchange

[jackawful]

hopping trains is so cool and good like...a little bit of patience and respect, a little willingness to break the rules & good sense enough to do so safely and be quiet when it counts, and you can just fuckin GO anywhere for free? it's like a really long mostly-flat rollercoaster. it's like being a flea on the back of a dragon. you ride a great loud mechanical beast that has been a tool of genocide and capitalist cruelty since its invention and you parasitize it for your own ends and in doing so you join a lineage of poor people taking agency over their lives dating back over a century. the brake dust I saw sparkling in the air has seeped into my pores and made me a new person.

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 10

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst, stupidity, annoyingness lol

A/N: This is the shortest chapter i have lol i also lowkey might add flashbacks into each chapter to add more depth and show more of the before.

The door slams behind you, leaving the apartment in silence, and for a moment, Bucky just stands there, his fists clenched, heart pounding as he processes what just happened. His chest is tight, and he feels the rage and regret building up until it erupts.

With a frustrated yell, he grabs the nearest lamp and hurls it across the room. The shattering glass echoes, cutting through the silence like a knife. Pieces scatter across the floor, a reflection of the chaos inside him.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, his voice cracking as he rakes his hands through his hair, pacing in circles like a caged animal. His breaths come fast and shallow, his mind racing through the night, every word exchanged like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, staring at the broken lamp, his hands trembling. But the stillness is unbearable. He bolts for the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, shouting your name, his voice raw and desperate. He runs outside looking up and down the sidewalk “ Come on, don’t do this—please!”

But his voice is swallowed by the noise of a New York City Saturday night—distant laughter, honking horns, the steady hum of life moving on without him. He looks up and down the street, hoping, praying for even a glimpse of you, but you’re gone.

His pulse quickens, panic clawing its way into his chest. He rushes back inside, snatching his phone off the coffee table. His fingers fumble over the screen as he types out a frantic message.

Where are you? Please come back.

He hits send, but the empty silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut. He types again, his hands shaking as his heart pounds against his ribs.

I’m sorry. Just tell me you’re okay.

The seconds stretch into eternity as he stares at the screen, waiting for something—anything. When nothing comes, he dials your number, his thumb trembling as he presses the call button. He presses the phone to his ear, the ringing tone like a ticking clock in his mind.

Then he hears it: a faint buzzing, too close. His stomach drops as he turns toward the ceramic bowl by the door—the one he’d made for you last year on your birthday. A bowl meant for keys, little mementos… or your phone. He steps toward it slowly, as if delaying the inevitable, and peers inside. His chest tightens when he sees your phone lying there, abandoned.

“Dammit,” he whispers, his voice cracking. His hand hovers over it for a moment before he picks it up, his knuckles white around the edges. You’d left it behind. The weight of it all—the fight, his words, the reality of you walking out like that—hits him like a freight train.

He sinks down onto the floor, clutching your phone in his lap, his head falling into his hands. His breaths come in uneven gasps, and for the first time in years, tears spill freely down his face. He sees it all replaying in his mind: the way your face crumpled as you turned away, the sound of the door slamming behind you, the silence that followed.

Go. I don’t want you here.

The words ring in his ears, echoing with all the venom and finality he hadn’t meant but couldn’t take back. They were born out of fear and frustration, but now they feel like the truth—like he’s pushed you away for good.

After a moment, he wipes at his face, sniffs, and forces himself to his feet. This isn’t over. It can’t be.

He throws on his coat and rushes out the door, his mind racing as he retraces all the places you might have gone. First, the bar down the street—the one you’ve spent countless nights in, laughing over drinks, sharing secrets you wouldn’t tell anyone else. But it’s packed, unfamiliar faces filling the space where you should be.

Next, the café where you always get your Sunday morning coffee. The lights are dimmed, chairs stacked on tables. Closed. His heart sinks, but he presses on.

The bookstore is next. The one with late hours, where you could spend hours flipping through old paperbacks and laughing at obscure poetry collections. But it’s empty too, the familiar warmth of the shop now a cold reminder of how lost you are.

Finally, he heads to the park. The park where you’d spent so many nights sitting on the old wooden benches, talking under the stars. It’s quiet here, the hum of the city fading into the background. He sits down on one of those benches, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shake.

He’s failed you. He’s failed himself. The weight of everything he’s been holding back—the fear, the love, the guilt—crashes down all at once. Silent tears stream down his face as he tilts his head up toward the sky, the stars blurring through his tears.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He scrambles for it, hope surging in his chest, but when he sees the name, his heart twists painfully.

Steve.

His thumb hovers over the screen before he opens the message.

She’s here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or coat. You let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?

Bucky’s throat tightens, and his fingers curl around the phone. His vision blurs as he reads the words over and over, Steve’s anger matching his own self-loathing. He types out a response, but his fingers falter, and he deletes it. What could he say? There was no excuse for what he’d done.

Instead, he slips the phone back into his pocket and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. The ache in his chest deepens, and for the first time, he lets himself feel the full weight of what he’s lost.

He stares up at the sky again, the stars offering no comfort, only the cold realization that he might have pushed you away for good.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get you back. But he never really had you in the first place.

As you step out of the shower, the quiet hum of voices drifts down the hall. Curiosity—and a bit of anxiety—tugs at you as you wrap yourself in a towel and press your ear to the bathroom door. Relief washes over you when you recognize Natasha and Wanda’s voices mixed with Sam and Steve’s, and you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. They’re here; you’re not alone.

Gathering yourself, you open the door and step into the living room, where Natasha is pacing, visibly agitated, while Wanda sits on the couch, her face full of concern. Sam and Steve stand nearby, leaning against the counter, both looking serious. When they see you, the conversation pauses, and Natasha stops mid-rant.

“Hey, there you are,” Wanda says softly, standing up to meet you. “Are you feeling any better?”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, thanks. Just… processing, I guess.”

Wanda nods, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

Natasha, however, looks ready to explode. She crosses her arms, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is not okay,” she says firmly. “You don’t just let your so-called best friend walk out alone at night, without so much as a phone or coat.”

You shrug, avoiding everyone’s eyes as you tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe… maybe we were never really friends. Maybe it was just the convenience of it all, you know?”

Wanda’s eyes widen slightly as she squeezes your shoulder, her voice soft. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t answer because you know thats just bullshit, but thinking that hurts less, you sigh running a hand through your wet hair, glancing down as the hurt lingers in your chest. The silence stretches for a moment before Natasha breaks it, her tone gentler now.

“So… how was your date with Dean?” she asks, a note of curiosity softening her expression.

A sad smile tugs at your lips. “It was… everything a girl could dream of. He was respectful, charming… and he actually listened to me.” You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking hopeful. “So… are you going to go on another one with him?”

You hesitate, glancing in Steve’s direction for a brief second before looking back at Natasha. “Yeah… I think so.”

Sam shifts, clearing his throat, a hesitant look on his face. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but… you and Bucky still live together. What’s the plan?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, and for a moment, the weight of it all settles heavily. You swallow, looking down, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just… keep going back to the way things were. But I don’t know what comes next either. He’s Bucky yknow?”

Steve watches you, his face soft and understanding, and he offers a reassuring nod. You take a deep breath and settle onto the couch, feeling the weight of everyone’s concerned gazes. After a pause, you look around, your voice soft but firm. “Look, you guys can’t just be here for me. You’ve gotta be there for Bucky, too.”

Natasha scoffs, crossing her arms and shooting you a look. “As if! He’s the one who let you walk out in the middle of the night!....In New York!!! You’re too good of a friend if you’re even thinking about him right now.”

You give her a sad smile, shrugging slightly. “It’s… not about that, even if it was i wouldn’t of let him stop me, i made the decision to leave, i-i could have went to my room and --”

Natasha throws her arms up “Really? Are you kidding me? I love you babe but you’ve been defending him your whole life, he needs to take fault!”

You shake your head, your voice slight rasing “Its not that simple Nat and you know it” You hear her grumble before continuing “He’s going through something too. We’re all friends for a reason, right? We don’t get to just pick sides.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, groaning. “You’re way too good of a friend. Honestly, you’re killing me here.”

You manage a weak chuckle, but before you can respond, you hear Sam moving toward the door. He grabs his keys and his phone, his expression resolute.

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking over at him. “Where are you going?”

Sam glances back, determination in his gaze. “You heard the woman,” he says, nodding toward you. “I’m gonna go be a friend to one of my best friends.”

A surge of gratitude rises in you, and you give him a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you, and his voice holds a quiet warmth. “What are friends for?”

1 month ago

The air was crisp, filled with the mingling scents of freshly baked bread, blooming flowers, and sizzling street food. The bustling energy of the farmer’s market buzzed around you as you strolled through the vibrant stalls. Your arm was linked with Bucky’s, the two of you laughing as you navigated through the crowd, the warm Sunday morning sun casting a golden glow over everything.

Natasha and Wanda were a few stalls back, rifling through retro furniture pieces and vinyl records for their new apartment. Sam was predictably at a food truck, enthusiastically sampling every free bite they offered.

“You know where we’re headed,” you said with a grin, gently tugging Bucky toward the familiar book stall at the far end of the market.

He chuckled, squeezing your arm lightly. “Obviously. Can’t leave without finding something we don’t have space for on our shelves.”

You both were English majors, and literature had always been your shared sanctuary. The book stall was a small haven of dog-eared novels, rare editions, and hidden gems that called to you like an old friend.

But as you approached, Bucky suddenly stopped in his tracks. His grip on your arm loosened, and his head turned sharply, his expression shifting. “Kate?” he said, more to himself than to you.

Before you could even process it, his arm slipped out of yours, and he was weaving through the crowd, heading toward a figure you hadn’t noticed until now. A brunette. He didn’t say another word, leaving you standing there, your heart sinking as his back disappeared into the sea of people.

You blinked, dumbfounded. “Okay… what just happened?”

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned to see Steve approaching, a paper bag of pastries in hand. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced around. “Where’d Bucky go?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice light. “He saw someone he knew. An old friend, I guess.”

Steve nodded slowly, his concern softening into curiosity. “Did you two make it to the books yet?”

You forced a small smile. “No, not yet. We were about to.”

Steve tilted his head, offering his arm with a warm smile. “Well, do you want to look somewhere else while we wait for him to come back?”

Your heart ached a little, but his kindness made it easier. “Sure,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve always had a way of making things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

He led you toward the next section of the market, where stalls displayed vintage jewellery, scarves, and other unique trinkets. As you browsed, your eyes caught on something that made you gasp softly—a locket, its delicate gold surface glinting in the sunlight. It looked almost identical to the one you’d lost at some stupid college party that led to a panic attack, it had been so precious to you because it was a family heirloom passed down multiple generations that you of all people lost. It hit you hard.

You picked it up carefully, running your thumb over its intricate design. It was beautiful, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of nostalgia, of longing. But when you flipped it over, searching for a price tag, you found none. You sighed quietly, already knowing what that meant. You’d only set aside money for books today—not for a locket, no matter how much it tugged at your heart.

Reluctantly, you set it back down, giving it one last wistful glance before turning back to Steve. He’d been watching you, his expression soft, but before he could say anything, Bucky reappeared, his usual grin plastered on his face.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw someone from college.”

You raised an eyebrow, forcing your smile to stay in place. “Oh?”

“Yeah, remember that girl I had the project with in our last year? Kate. That was her,” he said, nodding toward where she’d vanished into the crowd. “Haven’t seen her since graduation. Got her number, though!”

“Cool,” you said, your voice light but not quite steady. Your chest ached, but you buried it quickly. Even the farmer’s market wasn’t safe from heartbreak, it seemed.

Bucky held out his arm again, his smile as warm as ever. “Shall we?”

You nodded, linking your arm with his once more. “Sure,” you said, glancing over at Steve. “You coming with?”

Steve shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’m gonna check out one more stand. Meet you guys at the benches for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said, steering you back into the crowd. “Don’t take too long, Rogers. Sam’s probably already ordered for everyone.”

Steve waved you off, waiting until you and Bucky were out of sight. Then, he turned back to the vendor, his gaze settling on the locket you’d been admiring.

“I’ll take that locket, please,” Steve said quietly, pulling out his wallet.

[d-z20]

Heavy Hits, Soft Touches

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You meet your rival, Rio Vidal, in the MMA championship ring, both of you determined to prove you're the best. Years of tension and unspoken chemistry finally come to a head in a brutal fight that leaves you both bloodied and bruised. But when the crowd fades and you're left alone in the locker room, you discover that maybe you've been fighting something else all along - OR - You and Rio have it out in the octagon but are flirting the whole time (MMA AU)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of violence/fighting, hurt (physical), angst, comfort, implied smut

Words: 2.9k

A/N: This fic is based on this request. No smut, but I am more than happy to create a fic that details just how you spent the night wrapped up in each other if literally even one person asks... update someone asked so the smut can be found here

Have a gander over to AO3 | Master List

The locker room is quiet now, the echoes of the cheering crowd fading into the background. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, seeing blood smeared across your cheek, the bruise blossoming under your eye. You press a towel to your split lip, but the sting doesn't bother you as much as it should. Not when your thoughts are still wrapped up in her. In Rio Vidal

Your rival. Your equal. The woman who's been your greatest challenge and your biggest distraction for years now. From the moment you stepped into the MMA circuit, she was there, always one step ahead, always pushing you harder than anyone else. You've faced each other in the octagon before, trading victories in matches that never failed to make headlines. The press loved to play up your rivalry, spinning stories about how much you hated each other. But the truth? You didn't hate her. You respected her. Maybe a little too much, because with that respect came an attraction you couldn't shake, an unspoken chemistry that lingered every time you met her gaze.

The problem was, Rio knew it too. She knew exactly what kind of effect she had on you, and she wasn't above using it to her advantage.

You had just faced her in a non-title match to drum up excitement for the championship in a few weeks. It might not have been the final tonight, but with the way you both fought, it could as well have been. You could still remember the way she'd looked at you right before the third and final round, her gaze burning into yours, a smirk pulling at her lips as if she knew she had you right where she wanted.

The crowd's cheers had faded into a dull roar in your ears; all you could hear was your own breathing, the pounding of your heart, and her voice cutting through it all.

"Don't look so tense, sweetheart," she drawled, her smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "You're not scared of me, are you?"

You glared at her, wiping the sweat from your brow. "In your dreams, Vidal."

She chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, you're always in my dreams."

Before you could respond, she lunged forward, throwing a punch that you barely dodged. The crowd erupted as you countered with a hook to her ribs, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she grinned, her eyes lighting up with something almost feal. She liked this—you could tell. She liked the challenge, liked the way you pushed back against her.

You exchanged blows, neither of you holding back. Her fists hit like a freight train, and she was relentless, forcing you back against the cage. She pinned you there, her forearm pressed into your throat just hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. Her face was inches from yours, her smirk maddeningly cocky.

"You're not tapping out on me, are you?" She taunted, her breath hot against your ear. "I thought you were tougher than this."

You gritted your teeth, shoving back against her with all your strength. "I'm not tapping out," you snapped, your voice a harsh rasp. "Not to you."

"Good," she purred, leaning in closer. "I'd be disappointed if you did."

You twisted out of her grip, slamming your elbow into her side. She grunted, stumbling back, but she was smiling. It was almost like she was enjoying the pain, like every hit was a game to her. You went at each other harder, trading punches and kicks that left you both bruised and bloodied. You managed to land a brutal uppercut that caused her head to snap back, and for a second, you thought you had her.

But then she was on you again, sweeping your legs out from under you. You had hit the mat hard, the air knocked out of your lungs, and before you could recover, she straddled you, pinning your wrists above your head.

"Gotcha," she breathed, her grin wide and predatory. She was bleeding from a cut above her eyebrow, her lip split, but she had never looked more alive. "Still think you can beat me, sweetheart?"

You struggled under her, but she had you locked down. You could feel the strength in her grip, the way her body pressed against yours, and it had sent a shiver down your spine. You hated how much you had liked that—how much you had liked her like that.

In the end, she won. Barely. A split decision that had the crowd on their feet, the commentators buzzing about how you'd almost had her. Almost. She'd helped you up in a rare moment of sportsmanship, her hand lingering in yours longer than it needed to. "Better luck next time," she'd said, her voice low, challenging you.

You'd stared at her, every muscle in your body screaming in protest, but you'd nodded. Because you knew. The championship title was coming.

-

Tonight was finally the night. The championship fight—the one that would decide it all. The culmination of everything you've worked for, everything you've fought for. Five gruelling rounds, each more brutal than the last. You'd both won this title before, but you'd never faced each other in the finals. It was the match everyone had been waiting for, the one that felt like it was written in the stars. And you were going to fight like it too, like there was nothing outside that cage but the two of you.

The announcer's voice booms through the arena, introducing you both as the crowd roars. You barely hear it; your focus is entirely on her. She looks as fierce as ever, her dark hair tied back, a cocky grin plastered on her face as she rolls her shoulders, shaking out her arms. She knows the cameras are on her, knows the crowd is eating it up, and she loves it.

"You ready for this sweetheart?" She taunts, her voice carrying over the noise. "Wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone."

You smirk, stepping forward into the centre of the octagon. "I'm not the one who should be worried."

The referee goes over the rules, but you're not listening. You're too busy staring her down, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you wait for the bell. It's the longest few seconds of your life, but then it sounds, and you're off.

The first round is brutal. You both go straight for it, no holding back. You know each other's styles too well; there's no feeling-out process here. She throws a quick jab, and you slip to the side, countering with a hook that catches her on the cheek. Her head snaps back, but she barely flinches, her grin widening like she's enjoying it.

"Nice hit," she breathes, ducking under your next punch and driving her knee into your ribs. It knocks the wind out of you, but you don't back down.

You grapple with her, twisting her into the cage. "Save your flirting for later," you grit out.

Her eyes flash, and she shoves you off with surprising strength, spinning you around and slamming you into the mat. She's on top of you in an instant, her hand gripping the back of your neck as she leans down, her breath hot against your ear.

"Why wait?" She purrs.

The bell rings, saving you from whatever comeback you were going to throw at her. The ref separates you, and you both stand, chests heaving, staring each other down with a wild intensity.

The second round starts off even more aggressive than the first, both of you refusing to back down. Your body is already aching, each movement a reminder of the last time you had fought, but you pushed through the pain. You can't afford to show weakness—not to her.

She lands a sharp jab, then a right hook that rattles your skull, forcing you to stumble back. Before you can react, she's on you, driving you into the cage with her full weight. The cold metal digs into your back as her forearm presses into your throat, pinning you just like before. Her face inches from yours, her smirk even cockier now, her eyes dark with something that isn't just competition.

"Déjà vu, sweetheart," she taunts, her voice a low purr. "You looked so pretty the first time I did this. I just couldn't resist doing it again."

Your breath catches, a mix of frustration and something you don't want to admit, burning through you. You shove back against her, trying to twist free, but she's got you trapped, her body flush against yours, holding you there effortlessly.

"Fuck you," you rasp, glaring up at her.

Her grin widens as she leans in closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Is that a promise?" She whispers.

For a second, you falter, caught off guard by the heat of her words and the way her breath skates over your skin. But then the bell rings, signalling the end of the round, and she pulls back, stepping away with a wink.

The third round is a blur of punches, kicks, and blood. You're both landing hits that would drop anyone else, but not you two. You're too stubborn, too caught up in this unspoken battle between you that goes beyond the championship.

In the fourth round, she gets you in a chokehold. It's tight, and you can feel the pressure building in your head, the edges of your vision starting to darken. The crowd is on their feet, roaring for a finish. You could tap. It would be the smart move. But you don't. You twist, clawing at her arms, and somehow manage to slip out, rolling away just as the bell rings.

You barely make it to your feet, and she's right there, hands on her hips, shaking her head with a grin. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

You spit blood onto the mat, grinning back. "Never."

The final round starts, and you both go all in. It's a flurry of strikes, both of you too exhausted for any fancy moves. She lands a solid punch to your jaw, and you stumble back, but as she moves in for the kill, you manage to sweep her legs out from under her. You drop on top of her, pinning her down, your forearm pressed to her collarbone.

For a second, you think you have her. But then she bucks her hips, flipping you onto your back, her body pressing against yours as she traps your arms beneath her knees. The referee moves in close, checking your position, and you realise you can't get out. Not this time.

The ref's voice is distant, calling the end of the fight. Rio just managing to secure victory once again. She pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but she doesn't get off you right away. Instead, she leans down, tilting her head, face inches from yours.

"Looks like I win again," her voice a mocking whisper. "You gonna cry about it?"

You laugh, breathless and bitter. "Fuck you, Rio."

Her grin widens as she leans in even further, her lips brushing your ear. "Maybe later, sweetheart."

She finally lets you up; the crowd's roar fills your ears as she raises her arms in victory. You stand there, chest heaving, staring at her as she soaks in the applause. She glances back at you, a flash of something softer in her eyes before she winks and turns away.

-

You don't see her again until you're both in the locker room, alone for the first time. You're sitting on the bench, wiping blood from your knuckles, when she saunters in. She looks as bad as you do—bruised, beaten, but somehow still infuriatingly cocky.

"Aww, do you need a hand?" She asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but there's a glint in her eyes that wasn't there before.

You roll your eyes, but you don't protest when she kneels in front of you, taking your hand in hers and dabbing a wet cloth against your busted knuckles. Her touch is surprisingly gentle, and you look down at her, catching the way her gaze softens as she cleans your wounds.

"You fought well," she admits quietly, not meeting your eyes.

"So did you," you reply, your voice just as soft.

Her hands linger on yours for a moment longer, her fingers tracing over your bruised knuckles like she's memorising the shape of them. It feels so different from the fight—so tender that it sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the warmth of her hands seeping into your skin, and it's almost comforting. Almost enough to make you forget how brutal you were to each other earlier.

She shifts her focus, moving the cloth to the cut on your brow. You flinch when she presses against it, but she hushes you softly, like she's soothing a frightened animal. "I've got you, sweetheart."

Your breath catches at the endearment. It's the first time she called you that in this way, it feels different—like she's letting down her guard, if only for a second.

She looks up then, and for a moment, the mask slips. There's no smirk, no teasing grin—just Rio, looking at you for the first time. It's raw, and it makes your chest ache in a way the fight never did.

You swallow hard, taking the cloth from her hands. "Your turn," you say softly, gesturing for her to sit. She hesitates, like she's not used to letting someone else take care of her, but she sits down anyway, her expression guarded.

You crouch in front of her, your hands trembling slightly as you clean the cut on her brow. Her eyes flutter shut, and for once, she doesn't have a smart remark or a cocky grin. She's just quiet, letting you work in silence. you can see how exhausted she is now, how the adrenaline is starting to fade and the pain is setting in. You touch her bruised cheek gently, and she winces.

"Sorry," you murmur.

She opens her eyes, meeting your gaze. "Don't be," she says, her voice rough but sincere. "I've had worse."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "Of course you have."

She chuckles, the sound low and husky. "You're good at this," she comments, watching you dab at her split lip with a tenderness she doesn't seem to expect.

"I've had a lot of practice," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. But it's hard when she's looking at you like that—like she's trying to figure you out, like she's seeing something in you she hasn't before.

You brush her hair back, revealing a small cut near her temple. Your thumb lingers against her skin, and she leans into the touch, just for a second. It's such a small, vulnerable gesture that it almost breaks your heart.

"Rio," you whisper, her name falling from your lips like a confession. You lean in closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, and she closes her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath.

Her hand comes up to rest against your chest, not pushing you away, just holding you there, feeling the beat of your heart under her palm. "You don't have to do this," she mutters, but there's no conviction to her words.

You shake your head, cupping her face in your hands. "Yes, I do."

Her gaze drops to your lips, and you realise just how close you've become, your knees almost touching, her breath warm against your face. You're not sure who moves first, but then her lips are on yours—gentle at first, as if testing the waters, but it quickly turns desperate, hungry. It's like everything you've ever felt for her—all the frustration, the anger, the unspoken longing—boils over in an instant.

She pulls back, her forehead pressed against yours. "Come on," she mutters. "Let's get out of here; my place isn't far."

You nod. standing up on shaky legs. You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as she does the same. Without another word, the two of you leave the locker room together. The ride to her place is quiet, the air thick with anticipation. Every bump in the road sends a jolt of pain through your bruised body, but you barely notice. You're too focused on the way her hand rests on your thigh, a silent promise of what's to come.

When you get to her apartment, she unlocks the door and leads you inside. You both drop your bags by the entrance, and she turns to you, eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. but there's none. You reach for her, pulling her close, and she kisses you again—deeper this time, like she's been starving for it.

You spend the night together, wrapped up in each other, bruises and all. It's not gentle or slow; it's rough and passionate—the kind of release you've both needed for so long. And when it's over, you lie tangled together in her bed, your head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

In the quiet, she runs her fingers through your hair, her touch surprisingly soft. "I guess that settles it," she chuckles.

You tilt your head up to look at her, confused. "Settles what?"

She smirks, brushing a thumb over your swollen lip. "Who really won tonight."

-

Read exactly how you spent the night with Rio here (NSFW)

[anarchopuppy]

I feel like we don't talk enough about how the whole "capitalism is a democracy! vote with your dollar!" myth falls apart once you're dealing with a company that doesn't sell directly to individual consumers

Like say you want to boycott Norfolk Southern after the East Palestine disaster. Presumably you're not in the situation where you personally do business directly with Norfolk Southern, so that's not an option. Products don't have stickers telling you what freight company shipped them, two of the same product sitting right next to each other on the same shelf may well have been handled by two different companies and there's no way for you to tell. And in some cases companies like that may have monopolies on transporting certain goods in certain areas, so you couldn't make a different choice even if you knew. How could you possibly say that such a situation is "democratic" and decided on by consumers?

Capitalism enjoyers love to pretend that the whole economy is Tommy trading his apples for Mary's flowers in a mutually beneficial exchange and ignore 99% of the nuance in the economic system they claim to believe in

[tinydefector]

Okay. You've got me invested on the newest installation of Human Effects.

Now I can't stop imagine both Humans and Mechs alike having some sort of Google Form where they click on the Human/Mech they want to fuck and see which is the most desired amongst their respective species.

Now that I think about it, I think there'll be a lot of fighting. And chaos.

But then again, we live for the drama.

Human Effects Lost Records

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: talk of sex, human/alien, pornhunting

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Lab logs

Did I take this as an opportunity to merge Human effects and laboratory logs together into a series yes I did. I'll be working on the human Effects timeline where human Effects 2 is spin-off pieces from the mainline.

_____________________

The Holo, cyber and inter webs had a strange beauty to them. It has given many the ability to communicate with different planets, species, to share culture, laughter, debates, videos And all sorts thanks to the many different satellites floating out in space. Everyone also enjoyed it for the use of downtime the most. Some had taken to enjoying Earth's entertainment platforms such as YouTube, Netflix and many other sights, others fell into more depraved sights such as Reddit, Twitter,Tumblr, Pornhub, interlink, Processed and other sights. 

Commlink: post Humans Aboard BLO freight.

BigBotNoStop: Alright mechs, I come bearing an inquiry. As you may have heard from some of my last posts, the newest additions to our crew are a thriving colony of soft, squishy humans. Word in the taproom is some have taken quite an interest in... extending cultural exchanges, if you catch my drift. Not really my field of experience and was hoping some of Xeno's here might have some input. 

Posted to Sublink: Human and cybertronian relationships?

But I'm curious, are interspecies acts even possible without harm? Their frames seem so fragile. One wrong motion and SPLAT! No more humans. quite a few members of our crew have shown interest in flirting... Thoughts? Suggestions for how to proceed with care- help a mech out!

Blazemech: Yo! You got fleshies on your ship! Fragging jealousy!. Your ship is looking for any dock workers?

TailOrTrails: Oh Primus, are we really having this discussion?? Look, I get the appeal of those soft little flesh bags. Really, I do - different wiring can be so freakin' hot. But there's no way a romp with one of those puny things ends well for them! Even accidentally bumping into a table puts them in the medbay. Think of the mess, One wrong thrust and you've got squish all over your plating.

ISOCLEAN: Just download some holofacing and use your imagination if you're that jonesing for an organic interface. Trust me, it's not worth the risk - or hassle of cleaning up after. sure you can find something from the Human sites on Mechanophilia, slutty Show and shine or Car Washes. Stay shiny and keep those servos to yourself, mechs! Some curiosities are better left to fantasies.

Flyboi69: Don't leave a mech hanging, I want deets!, has anybot here actually gotten friendly with a fleshie before? I'm talking about hands-on experience. We've all gotten curious watching, but has the real thing lived up to the fantasy? 

Pimptheride: Any tips for coaxing one into the berth, or does their tiny size mean you've got to take it slow and gentle? And most importantly... any videos out there of the deed? A mech's gotta do some, ah, research before taking the plunge. Hook a brother up if you've found any good amateur organic-on-mech action out there in the 'net. Gotta see it to believe it. 

ScienceSorcerer: For reasons. Does anyone know if humans have both Spikes and Valves? Or if they have any human anatomy holos or books and such from Earth they are willing to sell for some decent Shanix.  

T-Wrexz: Primus, you mechs are hungrier than fragging scraplets. As far as I know, relations between our kinds are still uncharted territory. Could be amazing, could end badly - who's to say until we try? Personally I'm keeping an optic out, just curious to see what new experiences those squishy aliens can offer us tough metal mechs. 

Bar-rizzla: Oho, look who's swapping tall tales. I've been keeping a close optic on our ships squishy company since they came aboard. And between you and me... I may have an in with their ambassador that could lead to some juicy first-hand intel. Just trying to track down the bot we think they are berthing with. Crews got bets out. Turns out they get just as curious about us big metal hunks as we are them!. The other night, their chat got particularly saucy after a few drinks. Lots of gossip and speculation about which lucky bot one of them might take for a private ride. 

WPHAS-Violation: I may have a certain special "human entertainment" vid I could share. Let's just say the organic in question got quite... friendly with an eager mini-con. You know where to find me if you're brave enough to watch! 

Tapemix54: Oho, mechs - think you've got it bad now? You should've seen some of the real deviants back before the war. When I was still stationed on Petrex, I knew this one smuggler - went by the name Rattler. Sneaky little scraplet, but Primus if he didn't have the wildest stories. Rattler used to run goods across time and space, dodging security at every turn. He'd pop up out of nowhere selling the rarest exotic "pets" to rich senators and other high caste mechs looking for a thrill. I'm talking aliens so bizarre even our data banks had never heard of their kind. But the highest bidder always walked away with a new "plaything" to break in, if you catch my drift. Word was Rattler even had a collection of sentient organics that he'd let special clients "test drive" between runs. Humans were apparently a favourite - their smaller frames could take all sorts of creative handling. Rattler had vids, too, of course, to entice buyers. I saw one once, let's just say "versatile" doesn't begin to cover it. Naturally the vids have all been scrubbed by now. But I bet if you knew where to dig in the deep web or some easily swayable Archivist, you might find traces of Rattler's stash still floating around out there.

 T-Wrexz: Whoa, whoa, slow your intake there tapemix! As much as I love a good far-fetched tale, I gotta call scrap on this one. Humans weren't even around back then, much less roaming the streets of Rodion as black market pets, I'm all for imagining exotic interface scenarios, but let's keep the stories at least somewhat rooted in known history, yeah?. Last I checked it was probably fabricated by Caminus cartels to make their actual goods seem tame. 

A few other mechs agree with T-Wrexz before a few kliks later a new post is put up. 

Post: 

"Old Iacon records saved of the Senator and his human Conjunx”

It's a file collection of holotapes and pictures: "Enjoy these are pre war photos of Senator Shockwave and his Human holding their sparkling" 

There are many holos and videos of the long gone senator smiling with his human perched on his shoulder, in the crystal garden with a young sparkling held in the human's arms. Videos of the sparkling playing with the two but the last The last holo looks like a family portrait with Shockwave’s frame in a lime green blue white paint with gold accessories,  his human lover is dressed in elegant robes and the small blue praxian sparkling held in their arms. Each holo is dated with the Iacon records seal of authentication. 

FlyBoi69: NO FREAKIN' WAY. Is this real?! *downloads files faster than Blurr* FRAG ME SIDEWAYS, I think I just popped a gasket! How in the PIT did you manage to dig up the holos of senator Shockwave, most of his speeches, debates and lectures were wiped. Where did you find this! 

Jackin0: of all mechs, with an actual human back in the Golden Age?!. I'm calling scrap on this being real. It's gotta be a flawless deepfake. By PRIMUS if true - to think ol' Shockers was living it up with a squishy. Maybe there's more to those Senatorial types than meets the optic...

T-Wrexz: Okay, I'll bite... but someone better explain to me RIGHT NOW how any of this computes! Last I checked, time travel and inter-species relationships were the stuff of erotic imagination, not legitimate pre-war archives. Tapemix, you better start talking. Where in the PIT did you source these files? How do we know they're authentic and not just an incredibly convincing parlour trick? Because if I'm gonna let these images ruin me, I wanna be ruined by the real deal! Spill it, mech. 

Iacon-Records: Tapemix54 could i please request where you discovered these as i work with Iacon records and this here is history that needs to be preserved. I'm willing to talk with you through a contractor if you would be willing for us to add these back into the new hall of records. Cybertron has lost so much and to find something like this I ask that we find a way to preserve it.  

BigBotNoStop: Pit take me now... I think I may have to reassess everything I thought I knew about interface and partnerships. That human is holding a sparkling curled around them - frag if it isn't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! If anything could make me believe in miracles, it's this! Tapemix, you glorious glitch - how can I ever repay such an enlightening gift?

Tapemix54: These were filed only cycles after Shockwaves Emputra; they were added to the Iacon records by some Archivist under the title. 'I will Remember you for who you were'. This was right when the senate fell apart on the brink of the war. From my knowledge of information on Rattler he apparently had an outlier who he got to take them to different times since he was a shuttle made it easier to transport. That's from the  records that still exist at least. I'll take you up on that offer Iacon-records. 

________

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_____________

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[writers-potion]

I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

[thebibliophilevigilante]

When it comes to getting intel, there are several ways to go about it. One could ask politely, or ask the right questions to eventually draw information from their target. There is intimidation, threatening your target and demanding the information in exchange for remaining unharmed. Then there is incognito surveillance, appearing inconspicuous and melding in with one’s environment just listening and watching.

The current session was the latter.

A raven-haired man with a blanched tuft in his bangs kept his teal eyes trained on the book in his massive, calloused right hand. His left swirled his take-away cup absentmindedly. He was reading words, but they weren’t registering in his brain. His focus was more concentrated on the conversations around him, and what information he could gather before his next patrol.

The first three rules of real estate are location, location, location. Burnley Brewhouse definitely had that, especially for Jason Todd. It was conveniently placed right on the very edge of Burnley, practically at the juncture of where Crime Alley and The Bowery neighborhoods started (which were all Jason’s domain). By day, the neighborhood was full of regular citizens, students and tourists. By night, the whole area was crawling with denizens of the dark wheeling and dealing for their own personal gain and vices while putting others at risk.

Jason brought his cup to his mouth for a sip, his eyes flicking to the counter where two men with heavier builds were waiting for their order. One had a rough 5 o’clock shadow, the other a scraggly, unkempt blond beard, both wearing holy jeans and beat-up leather jackets. He recalled seeing them once during a patrol a couple of weeks prior, skulking around by the Freight Yards. They were definitely up to no good then, and could offer him decent information in the present. The barista handed both of them a take-away cup, and his eyes quickly glanced down to his book again, his peripherals watching as they meandered around to sit at a table caddy-corner from his in the back corner of the shop.

“Terry was telling me about that new candy order he has coming in,” 5 O’Clock muttered lowly to his friend. “Said it should get here overnight, and we can distribute to the stores first thing in the morning.”

Scraggles ran his nails over his beard as he listened. “Loaded with sugar? Y’know these kids can’t get enough of their sugar.”

“He said it was everything needed from the inventory list. He said he has his pal Molly coming in to help with the shipment too.”

There was a small pause before, “How many donuts did he get and where from?”

“11 for the crew. I think he said they’re from Declan’s over on 14th Street.”

Jason had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Those two idiots were blatantly discussing a drug drop in broad daylight just as if they were talking about a regular candy store shipment.

He switched the book to his right hand as he snagged a napkin from the holder and a pen from the table. He scribbled a note to himself, writing the characters’ names from his book, followed by “PG 11, DL 14.” He knew his own shorthand; the character names were to keep up appearances. “PG 11” would remind him the drop was scheduled for 11, and “DL 14” would remind him the ship would be at Dock Bay 14.

His attention went back to his book as he brought the pen to his lips, teeth nibbling on the retractable plunge as he appeared deep in thought. He was about to tune back into 5 O’Clock and Scraggly’s conversation when the cafe’s entry bell rung.

His eyes flitted to the door to assess the entrant, and he froze. A young brunette with piercing dark eyes was glancing around, looking for a place to perch herself no doubt. She was breathtaking, and certainly unlike any other person he had seen come in to Burnley’s. As she turned to the counter, he couldn’t help the large grin that danced over his face. First he got lucky with the tip-off. Would he be lucky enough for that gorgeous girl to sit anywhere within his vicinity?

@rpwiththelilflower

[libingan]

i love having big strong men groveling at my feet. this was supposed to be about price getting pegged by his partner for the first time, but i literally stopped halfway thru writing just to start this bc it came into my mind

the base was alive with laughter and chatter as the evening settled in. soldiers were in high spirits, drinks flowing freely, and the camaraderie was palpable. you sat beside könig, feeling the warmth of the room and the comforting presence of his massive frame next to you.

“jesus, könig, i don’t know how you fit through doors, let alone fit in bed with someone,” one of the soldiers joked, nudging you with a grin. “you must be ruining him, huh?”

another soldier laughed, clapping könig on the back. “yeah, mate. must be like a goddamn freight train.”

you and könig exchanged a knowing glance, both of you chuckling at the insinuation. könig’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he played along, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“oh, you have no idea,” you replied with a smirk, causing the others to burst into laughter. könig’s hand found yours under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. the night continued with more jokes and stories, everyone enjoying the break from the usual tension of their missions.

as the evening wound down and the others began to disperse, you and könig made your way back to his quarters. the moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. könig looked at you with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, his massive frame suddenly seeming almost vulnerable.

“they have no idea what really happens, do they?” you teased, stepping closer to him.

“nein,” he replied softly, his voice tinged with that familiar mix of excitement and apprehension. “they don’t know how weak i get for you.”

you smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “big, strong könig, brought to his knees by someone so much smaller,” you murmured, your hand trailing down his chest. “let’s show them how things really are, shall we?”

könig shivered at your touch, his breath hitching. “please,” he whispered, his eyes wide with desire.

you guided him to the bed, his towering frame dwarfing the furniture. with a firm push, you had him on all fours, his massive body trembling with anticipation. you took your time, preparing yourself and him, ensuring everything was just right.

“look at you,” you said, your voice dripping with teasing affection. “so big, yet so weak for me.”

könig whimpered, his head hanging low. “yes,” he gasped. “only for you.”

you retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table, applying a generous amount to your fingers. gently, you pressed a slick finger against his entrance, circling slowly before easing in. könig let out a low moan, his muscles tensing before relaxing under your touch.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” you groaned, adding a second finger and scissoring them to stretch him. könig’s moans grew louder, his body trembling with need. “so perfect.”

you continued to work him open, adding a third finger and moving in a steady rhythm. könig’s responses were a symphony of whimpers and moans, his body moving in rhythm with yours. you started slow, but it wasn’t long before you increased your pace, preparing him with a firm yet gentle touch.

“so big, but so fucking weak,” you teased, your hands roaming over his back, his shoulders. “look at you, könig. whimpering like a needy little thing.”

“please,” he begged, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “don’t stop.”

you didn’t. you continued to prep him until he was a quivering mess, then pulled your fingers out and slicked yourself up. positioning yourself behind him, you guided your cock to his entrance, pushing in slowly. könig’s breath hitched, and he let out a loud, needy moan as you filled him.

“fuck, könig,” you groaned, feeling his tight heat envelop you. “so fucking perfect.”

könig’s responses were a symphony of whimpers and moans, his body moving in rhythm with yours. you started slow, letting him adjust to the stretch, but it wasn’t long before you increased your pace, fucking into him with reckless abandon. each thrust elicited a new sound from him, his voice growing louder and more desperate.

“so big, but so fucking weak,” you teased, your hands gripping his hips firmly. “look at you, könig. whimpering like a needy little thing.”

“please,” he begged, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “don’t stop.”

“louder,” you demanded, thrusting harder. “i want everyone to know who’s really in charge here. let them hear who’s ruining who.”

könig’s moans grew even louder, his cries echoing through the room. “fuck, yes! please, more!” he wailed, his voice raw with need.

“that’s it,” you growled, pounding into him with unrelenting force. “let them know how much you need this.”

könig’s whines and cries filled the room, his body shaking with pleasure. you could feel him getting closer, his muscles tightening, his breathing erratic.

just as he seemed on the brink of release, you pulled out halfway, earning a desperate whimper from him. “w-what…?” he gasped, looking back at you with wide, pleading eyes.

“i’m not done with you yet,” you said with a smirk, grabbing his hips and flipping him onto his back. könig landed with a soft thud, his legs instinctively spreading as you positioned yourself between them. “let’s see how you handle this.”

you lifted his legs, pushing them up to his chest, exposing his entrance once more. könig’s breath hitched, his eyes full of anticipation and need. with a firm grip on his thighs, you lined yourself up and pushed back into him, earning a loud, guttural moan from the giant beneath you.

“fuck, könig,” you groaned, feeling his tightness envelop you again. “you’re so fucking hot like this.”

könig’s hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles white with tension. “please,” he begged, his voice high and desperate. “please, i need it.”

“need what?” you taunted, thrusting into him with a slow, deliberate motion. “tell me what you need, könig.”

“i need you,” he whined, his body arching towards you. “fuck me, please. harder.”

you complied, increasing your pace and pounding into him with renewed vigor. könig’s cries grew louder, his body trembling with each thrust. “so fucking big,” you growled, “but so fucking weak for me. look at you, könig. taking it like a good boy.”

“yes,” könig moaned, his voice breaking. “only for you. only you.”

you continued to thrust into him, your movements relentless and precise. könig’s whines and cries filled the room, a symphony of pure need and pleasure. you could feel him getting closer again, his body tensing, his breathing erratic.

“come for me, könig,” you ordered, your voice firm. “show me how much you need this.”

with a final, desperate cry, könig did just that, his release hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. his entire body convulsed, his moans loud and unrestrained. you continued to move, drawing out his pleasure until he was utterly spent, collapsing onto the bed in a trembling heap.

you leaned over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “such a good boy,” you whispered, your voice soft with affection. “always so good for me.”

könig turned his head to look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and adoration. “only for you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

you smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man before you. “only for me,” you agreed, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close as the intensity of the moment began to fade. together, you lay there, basking in the afterglow, the bond between you stronger than ever.

[xthejazzdalorianx]

Chapter One ~ Fragile

Pairing(s): Logan (the Wolverine) Howlett x Non-Mutant!Female!Reader, Uncle!Wade (Deadpool) Wilson x Non-Mutant!Female!Reader

Warning(s): This story explores grief, personal trauma, and mature themes with strong language. It addresses loss, childbirth, and includes elements of chaos and irreverent humor, blending serious and unconventional situations.

Author’s Notes: Hello everyone, thanks for joining me on my first fan fiction. I hope you enjoy it! If you'd like more and want to support future updates, please like, follow, and share. Note: This story features a slow-burn romance with mature content in later chapters. Your feedback is appreciated! :)

Word Count: 4,079

When you first met Logan Howlett, it was at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. You were just starting to find your footing there, and he was the first person who reached out with genuine warmth. He was charming but with a temper that could flare up out of nowhere. Yet somehow, you always managed to be the calm in his storm.

Over the years, your friendship deepened, and you never imagined that anyone could balance you so perfectly. But there was that summer. That unforgettable summer when everything changed.

The memory of your first kiss is etched in your mind like a cherished, worn-out record that never seems to lose its magic. It was one of those moments that felt so right. It was almost like the universe was aligning just for the two of you.

It happened under a dark blue sky with stars twinkling above. You were heartbroken, having just lost both of your grandparents.

The grief was overwhelming, and you found solace in Logan’s arms. He held you close, his embrace a quiet sanctuary in that flower garden.

Time seemed to stretch on as he kept you safe and warm. When you finally looked up, your tear-streaked face met his gaze. His blue eyes were full of an unspoken understanding and a love that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

In that moment, you knew that he was more than your best friend—he was the one who had always been meant to be by your side. And even now, as you look back, you realize that he will be with you, come what may, until the end of time.

After that night under the stars, you and Logan fell into a passionate whirlwind. Every spare moment seemed to be an excuse for a touch, a kiss, or something more. It was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough of him. Whether it was infatuation or something deeper, you didn’t care. All that mattered was him.

But then, things started to change. The fiery passion that once brought you together now seemed to drive you apart. Arguments became more frequent, and what had been tender moments turned into heated exchanges. It was rough, and you tried to hold onto the love you once shared, hoping it would carry you through the storm.

Then came that final, shattering night. Logan's confession hit you like a freight train—he was in love with someone else, and to him, you were nothing more than a temporary distraction. He admitted that you were just a plaything until the other person was ready to have him back. Those words pierced your heart, leaving it in a thousand jagged pieces.

In the months that followed, you tried to pick up those pieces to mend your broken heart. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, it always seemed to lead back to him. The echoes of what you once had lingered, and despite the pain, a part of you remained irrevocably tied to him.

After that devastating night, you knew you needed to make a clean break. Packing up your bags and leaving Xavier’s school felt like the only way to escape the memories that were suffocating you.

Thankfully, there was a sliver of hope in the form of Wade Wilson. You’d met him a few times during your summer with Logan, and while Wade could be… well, let’s just say, interesting, he offered a glimmer of an escape.

Wade, ever the unconventional friend, extended an invitation to stay with him and his roommate, Blind Al. It wasn’t exactly a typical offer of refuge, but at that point, you were ready for anything that wasn’t a reminder of the life you’d left behind.

So, with a mix of uncertainty and relief, you packed up your life and headed to Wade’s place. It was a far cry from the familiar halls of the school, but maybe, just maybe, it was the fresh start you needed.

As autumn began to settle in, the days grew cooler, and the leaves started to drift from the trees. The heat that had once made you grumpy was replaced by a more manageable chill. You found a rhythm in your new life: cooking, cleaning, working a regular job, and occasionally joining Wade on one of his unpredictable missions.

It was a shift from the life you’d left behind, but it offered a sense of normalcy, or at least as much normalcy as Wade Wilson could provide. A few weeks into your new routine, though, you started feeling nauseous.

You chalked it up to the dust and the not-so-gourmet meals you’d been enduring. But one evening, as you were leaning over the bathroom sink, clutching the porcelain in an attempt to steady yourself, Wade burst through the door. He didn’t bother with subtlety.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Is this a new, avant-garde method of redecorating the bathroom? Because I gotta say, it’s not exactly my style,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood despite the grim situation.

As you retched again, he gently held your hair back and yanked off his mask with an exaggerated flourish.

“Alright, buttercup, let’s not pretend this is just a case of the chimichangas playing hard to get. What’s going on?”

You could barely manage to speak through the waves of nausea, but you forced out, “Wade… I need you to get me a pregnancy test. Now.”

Wade’s usual bravado faltered for a moment. His eyes widened with genuine concern, and he gave you a tender, almost clumsy pat on the back.

“Pregnancy test? On it! And don’t you worry, I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘regret eating that last taco.’”

He carefully tucked your hair back, making sure it stayed out of your face, and darted out the door, leaving you alone in the bathroom. Within ten minutes, he returned, juggling a trio of pregnancy test boxes like they were prizes at a carnival.

“I wasn’t sure which brand to get, so I figured, why not all of them? It’s like a sampler platter of pee sticks!” he announced with his usual flair. You thanked him, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment, as he settled down beside you on the bathroom floor.

He rubbed your back with a surprisingly gentle touch and asked, “So, do you really think it’s Logan’s kid? I mean, I don’t wanna be the bearer of bad news, but that guy’s as stable as a Jenga tower in an earthquake.”

He flashed you a concerned look, trying to add a touch of humor to lighten the mood. You managed a quiet laugh, finding a moment of solace in his attempt to distract you from the stress.

Once you felt a bit better, you asked Wade to step out of the restroom so you could take the pregnancy test.

“Hey, Wade, could you give me a moment alone?” you said, trying to sound as calm as possible. Wade’s face fell a little, but he nodded, rising to his feet.

“Sure thing, I’ll just be out here, nervously pacing and pretending I don’t need a drink,” he said with a forced grin.

He exited the bathroom, and you shut the door behind him, the click of the latch echoing in the stillness as you turned your attention back to the test.

You flushed the toilet and opened one of the pregnancy tests. The instructions seemed like they were written in a different language. Positive was a plus sign and a line, negative was a minus sign and a line. You sighed, taking a seat on the toilet, and mentally prepared yourself.

“I love Logan so much,” you whispered to yourself, “but you’re never really ready for something like this.”

Wade was pacing back and forth in the living room, his usual energy now tinged with worry.

“Hey, are you almost done there? I’d make a joke about pregnancy cravings, but I’m too nervous to be funny right now!” he called out, his voice a mix of anxiety and levity.

You called back, trying to keep calm, “Yeah, just give me a second, okay? It says to wait three minutes and leave it on the counter to make sure the results are accurate.”

Wade hummed in acknowledgment, continuing his restless pacing until Blind Al emerged from her room, rubbing her eyes and looking around with mild irritation.

“What’s all this racket? I don’t get enough sleep as it is,” she grumbled, clearly disturbed by the commotion.

He shot her a sheepish grin. “Oh, nothing much, Al. Just a little, uh, life-changing test-taking party. Don’t worry, it’s not a mutant emergency—just a personal one.”

Al sighed, shaking her head with a knowing look. “Well, whatever it is, just keep it down. Some of us still need to dream about better things than pee sticks and existential crises.”

You apologized to Althea, feeling a pang of guilt for the disturbance, and then finished peeing on the stick, carefully capping it before setting it on the flat counter.

“Three minutes and I will know. Three minutes,” you whispered to yourself, trying to steady your racing heart.

Tears threatened to spill, and you weren’t sure if they were from joy or sadness—or maybe a mix of both. You cleaned yourself up, flushed the toilet once more, and washed your hands.

As you gazed into the mirror, you turned to the side and placed a hand on your stomach, lost in thought. You tried to picture what life would be like with Logan by your side, but the fantasy felt painfully distant. You gave yourself a sad smile in the mirror, the reflection a stark reminder of the uncertainty and longing that had become a part of your reality.

Althea, clearly exasperated, went back to her shared bedroom. She tried to slam the door, but it only shut slowly with a soft thud.

“Okay, Wade, I don’t think I can handle looking at the test,” you called out from the bathroom. “Can you please do it for me?”

You opened the door so Wade could come in. “The instructions say if the first circle has a positive sign, even if it’s faint, I am pregnant. If it doesn’t, it’s negative. Got it?”

Wade nodded, his face a mixture of determination and curiosity. You stepped out of the bathroom and sank onto the living room couch, the nerves gnawing at you as you waited.

Wade Wilson, ever the showman, was practically vibrating with excitement as he examined the pregnancy test. The positive result was faint, but it was there, and it made his eyes widen with a mix of disbelief and joy.

He tried to keep his expression casual as he walked out of the bathroom, but the excitement was clear in the way he barely contained his grin. He plopped down next to you on the couch, his face a mask of controlled eagerness.

You turned to him, confusion etched across your features. “What’s going on?” you asked, searching his face for answers.

Wade’s grin broke wide open, his eyes dancing with happiness. “You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice almost trembling with emotion.

The words hung in the air between you, filled with a kind of awe that seemed to make the moment almost surreal.

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his excitement spilling over in the warmth of his hug. You wrapped your arms around him, letting the reality of the news settle in. A baby. In this chaotic little apartment. The thought was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but think about all the adjustments that would need to be made.

As you pulled away, the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. The loss of Logan was still fresh, and the idea of having a piece of him in this new life was both comforting and heart-wrenching. You missed him so much. Was this baby a link to what you had lost or a new beginning?

Wade, noticing your tears, softened his expression. He gently cupped your face with his hands.

“Hey, I know this is a lot. I’m here for you, whatever you need. If you want to talk about Logan or anything else, just let me know.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. The tears began to ebb, replaced by a tentative hope.

With Him and Althea beside you, maybe, just maybe, you could start to find your way through this whirlwind of emotions and begin to imagine a future that honored both the past and the new life that was unfolding.

The morning light filtered into the apartment as Wade Wilson darted around the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy. With the sun barely up, he was already hard at work, making pancakes, bacon, and eggs with a flair only he could muster.

Surprisingly, Althea accepted the news as she was seated at the table, sipping her coffee and watching him with a bemused expression. Wade, ever the showman, had even managed to stamp his logo onto the pancakes. He looked back over his shoulder, grinning like a kid with a new toy.

“Hey, you know my last three movies were huge hits. Maybe these pancakes will be too! Or at least not poison anyone.”

You tried to smile at his antics, but your mind was still tangled in the whirlwind of the news. The breakfast was surprisingly delicious—Wade’s enthusiasm translated well into his cooking. But the joy was fleeting. Just as you were about to enjoy your meal, a wave of nausea struck, and you hurried to the bathroom.

From the other room, Wade’s voice rang out, full of mock offense.

“Oh, come on, sweet cheeks! I know I’m not Martha Stewart, but my food wasn’t that bad!” He chuckled as if he’d just delivered a brilliant punchline.

Althea shot him a look and smacked him gently on the side of his bald head. “Really, Wade? I’d rather wrestle a chimichanga than listen to your cooking critiques,” she retorted, though her tone was softer. “Thanks for the breakfast, though.”

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, still feeling queasy but slightly better, you collapsed onto the couch.

Your mind churned with questions. “Why now? Why me? Why him? Why us?”

The doubts and uncertainties swirled around, mingling with the raw memory of that final night with Logan.

In a twisted way, it all made sense. That night had been a chaotic whirlwind of heated, passionate sex, driven by a mix of intense desire and unresolved anger. Now, his absence left a deep, aching void. You missed him fiercely and craved his presence, but he was out there with someone else, living a life that didn’t include you.

A few months into your pregnancy, your belly was undeniably prominent, and managing a job to cover rent was becoming increasingly difficult. Climbing the stairs to your apartment felt like an ordeal.

Wade had taken to buying you more clothes, each one carefully chosen to fit your growing belly and keep it discreet. The last thing you wanted was for news to leak and reach Logan. The thought of him finding out filled you with dread—what if he reacted violently? What if he hurt you or the baby? The uncertainty was overwhelming.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even realize you’d arrived at the apartment until Wade’s concerned gaze pulled you back to the present. He was watching you with a mixture of worry and exasperation.

“Welcome back to Earth,” he said with a wry smile. “You doing okay? Don’t tell me this is about that guy with forks for hands.”

His hands were on his hips, his frown reminiscent of a parent scolding a child. You shook your head, too exhausted to engage in conversation. All you wanted was to rest.

Wade, ever the attentive friend, guided you to the couch. He gently massaged your feet, his touch soothing as you drifted into a much-needed sleep. The warmth of his care was a small comfort in the midst of the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded you.

The final stretch of your pregnancy was surprisingly smooth. Your cravings were manageable, and Wade and Althea did their best to make you comfortable. Althea had taken on the task of building a crib for the baby, but her attempt didn’t go as planned.

So, you ended up helping Wade by handing him tools as he wrestled with assembling it. Despite the small size of the apartment, their efforts were heartwarming. You often thanked them, and their response was always a warm hug.

It had been a long time since you felt so loved, surrounded by people who had become like family. You knew your grandparents would have adored this baby, and you felt their love in the support you were receiving now.

Then came the baby shower, thrown by Wade and his quirky X-Force crew. The news that you were expecting a little girl added an extra layer of excitement.

Wade was officially declared the baby’s “uncle,” while Althea was delighted to take on the role of “grandma.” The X-Force team gifted you a range of... interesting items. Colossus, ever the gentle giant, had gifted you an Easy-Bake Oven. Sweet gesture, but not exactly suitable for a newborn.

The baby shower was a lively affair. The room was filled with chatter, laughter, and a spread of desserts decorated with baby onesie designs. The atmosphere was warm and joyful, a testament to the love surrounding your baby.

As you moved through the apartment, chatting with everyone and keeping your hand gently on your belly, each conversation reminded you of the incredible support you had. Gratitude and hope for the future swelled within you, buoyed by the warmth of those around you.

Of course, this wouldn’t be a Deadpool experience without a little unexpected flair. Just as you were savoring the joy of the moment, the apartment lights dimmed, and the door burst open with a dramatic flourish. Wade, dressed in an elaborate superhero costume, complete with a cape and mask, strutted in with a grandiose entrance.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with exaggerated flair, “prepare yourselves for the most epic surprise of the century!”

Behind him, Althea was maneuvering the custom-made, neon-lit baby carriage into the room. However, since she was blind, she was heading in the wrong direction, veering the carriage awkwardly toward a lamp and nearly colliding with a potted plant.

Wade, trying to hold back his laughter, rushed over and gently placed his hands on Althea’s shoulders.

“Whoa, there! Easy does it, Daredevil. Let’s steer clear of the furniture and save our baby from a potential apocalypse,” he said with a grin, guiding her back on course. “The last thing we need is a baby carriage with battle scars.”

As Althea corrected her path, she gave Wade a playful smack on the arm.

“You know, Wade, if you didn’t have so many grand ideas, I wouldn’t need you as my personal tour guide,” she quipped. “Maybe next time, let’s leave the surprise planning to someone who doesn’t make everything look like a circus.”

The carriage, now properly aligned, rolled into view with its LED lights flashing, a mini sound system playing baby-themed dance beats, and a built-in cooler for drinks. It was an over-the-top spectacle, straight out of a sci-fi movie—classic Deadpool.

The room burst into laughter and applause, and you couldn’t help but smile at the joyful chaos. Despite the unpredictability, it was clear that these moments of absurdity and love were what made being part of this unconventional family so special.

Summer had arrived, and you were nearing the finish line of your pregnancy. In the middle of the night, while you were attempting to sleep on the futon, your water broke. The pain was sharp and relentless, and despite your best efforts to stay calm with slow, steady breaths, you couldn’t help but scream.

Wade burst into the room, his appearance a bizarre mix of urgency and chaos. He was wearing nothing but his mask and boxers, and in his hand was his infamous baby knife. Why? At this moment, you couldn’t care less.

“My water just broke! I need to get to the hospital, NOW!” You shouted through the agony, feeling like you might pass out any second.

Wade’s eyes widened in panic. “Holy chimichangas, it’s go time!” He dashed off to change, calling his friend Dopinder to get a cab over as quickly as possible. “Dopinder, this is not a drill! Get here NOW!”

As Dopinder sped toward your location, Wade yelled to Althea, who was still in bed. “Althea, I’m taking her to the hospital! Don’t miss me!”

Althea merely scowled and mumbled something unintelligible before turning back to her pillow, clearly not up for the middle-of-the-night drama.

Wade hurried back to you, helping you off the futon and carefully sliding your slippers onto your feet. He draped your arm over his shoulder, supporting your weight as you both made your way down the stairs of the apartment building.

At the entrance, Dopinder was waiting, holding the door open with a look of concern. You were breathing heavily, each contraction making the outside air feel like it was blazing with heat.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Wade exclaimed, trying to stay upbeat despite the urgency.

With Dopinder’s help, you climbed into the cab, ready to face the next chapter of your chaotic yet strangely comforting life.

“Dopinder, if you don’t hit that gas pedal, I swear I’ll make sure you’re never able to drive again!” You screamed, the pain making your grip on Wade’s hand tighter than a vice.

Wade was trying to breathe along with you, attempting to keep you calm, but his efforts weren’t exactly working.

Dopinder, clearly feeling the urgency, slammed on the gas pedal, and they arrived at the hospital in record time. He pulled up to the emergency room entrance, and Wade, in a flurry of action, leaped out of the cab and sprinted to find some nurses.

“Help! We need a wheelchair, like, yesterday!” Wade shouted, waving his arms frantically.

The nurses rushed over, assisting you out of the cab. Wade gave Dopinder a hurried thanks before he sped off.

“You’re the best, Dopinder! Try not to get into any more car chases!”

Wade pushed you into the hospital, maneuvering the wheelchair with all the speed he could muster. You were on the verge of meeting your beautiful baby girl, and the fact that you hadn’t picked a name yet felt like a huge oversight.

The pain was reaching new heights, and the baby was already crowning. The nurses and Wade helped you onto the hospital bed, with the staff scrambling to find a doctor and prep the room for delivery.

Wade flashed a goofy grin and said, “Alright, I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay? Just holler if you need a superhero!” But his playful demeanor was met with your intense look.

You grabbed his wrist with a desperate grip. “No, Wade, I need you here. Please? I’m freaking out.”

Wade’s expression turned serious as he nodded. “Okay, okay, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, kiddo.” He settled into a chair next to your bed, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos.

Within an hour, you welcomed your beautiful baby girl, Mara Howlett, into the world. The nurse gently placed the tiny bundle into your arms, and you couldn’t help but smile through your tears. It was the most painful yet incredibly beautiful moment of your life.

Wade, practically bursting with excitement, leaned in with his trademark grin and said, “Look at that! We’ve got ourselves a future superhero! And guess what? As her brand-new, totally cool uncle, I’m officially on diaper duty. I hope she’s ready for a lifetime of epic adventures and, of course, Uncle Wade’s questionable life lessons!”

You laughed softly, looking up at Wade with gratitude. “Thank you for being here,” you said, your voice filled with emotion.

At that moment, Mara, your beautiful baby girl, gave her first smile. It was a tiny, precious glimpse into her future, and it melted your heart.

As you looked at her, a thought crossed your mind: hopefully, things won’t get too crazy, and she won’t inherit Logan’s more intense abilities. But if she does, you reassured yourself that Wade would be right there, ready to help and teach her with his usual mix of humor and unconventional wisdom.

[fanaticsnail]

Red-Hair Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

Art link

Red Haired Shanks:

Dancando Lambada (one-shot)

After your ship crashed just off the coast line of your hometown, your friend: the bride, is left without a Captain to perform her ceremony to unite her with her beau. Fortunately for you, you see a ship coming in off the coastline. Will their captain help you in exchange for a night of good food, fine drink and sensual dancing?

Remember Me (one-shot)

Ten years since the love of his life was claimed by the sea, Shanks finds himself celebrating her memory with many a drink in a fishing village. Spluttering over his amber ale, Benn Beckman pales in freight at the sight of a woman drinking merrily at the bar. But it couldn't be her, she was lost to him.

Where is my bride (Sapsorrow Spin Off Drabble)

Once lost, again found: Shanks has accidentally bcome lockd into a cruel plot to have him marry a woman he has never seen nor heart of. The timer is ticking, the claws of the spectre of a woman scorned tethered to him and awaiting to claim his soul should he fail. He has seven days to wed. But where are you?

Two More Times (one-shot NSFW)

A meet up with a beautiful Captain has you feeling unworthy of being by Shanks' side as his partner. Shanks does not like being ignored - he wants to showcase his pretty girl sat on his knee. He reminds you of your importance to him, while punishing you for behaving like a brat. His brat.

What do I do? (One-Shot) (Not 'x reader')

Uta is going through a leap week and Shanks is an overwhelmed teenager. He does his best to soothe her, but becomes overwhelmed by the wailing cry of his daughter. He calls the one person he knows has hands on experience with a situation exactly like the one he's found himself in.

Drabbles & Headcanons:

Shanks Likes to Dance HC Drabble

Benn Beckman:

When You Had The Chance (one-shot)

Serving as first mate to the Buggy-Pirates, it was your job to keep your captain grounded and uplifted. When tempers flared, he decided to confront his childhood rival once and for all - pulling out all the stops to finally lay their feud to rest. One of them would be leaving with their life, the other fallen at their feet. Instead of stifling his fury, you decided to elevate your captain’s wrath: seeking vengeance of your own against the man who once cast you aside after you confessed your feelings for him. Crew against crew, Captain against Captain, First-Mate against First-Mate - will you win, or lie at the mercy of the man you once loved.

"Mister Beckman" (one-shot)

The first mate of the Red-Hair pirates is attempting to relax and enjoy his evening with you, but is rudely interrupted by Shanks' tinkering and clanging within the Captain's quarters.

Kind And Gentle (One-Shot)

Your shoulders and back ached with a pain you had attempted to cast aside as you went about your duties. The ache turned excruciating, your focus now being taken hostage between the gripping pain. Fortunately, the grip of two firm hands found your body and eased you through the torment.

You shot a baby? (Dialogue)

Part 2 (one-shot)

Benn Beckman shot Eustass Kid's arm off. You are not happy about it.

Daughter of the Sea (5/5 series)

As a reformed spymistress working for the new title holder of "Worlds Greatest Swordsman," you are prepare for the worst, anticipating every possible outcome. What you did not prepare for was Mihawk's oldest rival presenting you with a sight that had the pair of you perplexed: his latest plunder.

After first meeting years ago, Beckman had longed for you from afar. All those feelings come flooding back to him once he sees the young baby in your arms.

He's in love with you (one-shot)

Benn Beckman can no longer ignore the way he feels about you, and it's eating him alive.

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 3

A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of slight gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Present

Getting out of your cell was easier than expected. The hard part was getting out of the facility alive; about twenty minutes into the escape, alarm bells rang out like a symphony of dread, filling the cold, sterile corridors. It wasn’t surprising, really—Vought’s security wasn’t going to let you walk out unharmed. Still, for the first time in decades, your wrists were free from the biting restraints, and adrenaline surged through your veins.

You ran alongside Butcher, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for navigating the labyrinthine facility. His movements were sharp and purposeful. It was clear he had done his homework on this place, even if Vought’s playbook was constantly evolving. Soldier Boy was ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the narrow hallways like a battering ram.

“Thought you said you had this under control!” you shouted over the wail of the alarms, your voice rusty but gaining strength.

Butcher smirked, barely winded. “Oh, this? Bit of noise never hurt nobody.”

Ben shot a glance back at the two of you, his shield gripped tightly in one hand, his jaw clenched. He looked as though he was barely holding himself together—rage simmering just beneath the surface. You couldn’t blame him. Whatever memories Vought had buried inside him, they still left scars. And now, the sound of blaring alarms running through his ears, must trigger his fight or flight response. There was no doubt about it.

“We need to hit the control room,” Butcher said, his voice urgent now. “Shut down the security before they send the big guns.”

You and Soldier Boy exchanged a glance. His eyes still carried that haunting vacancy, but a flicker of something else—recognition, maybe—crossed his face. He jerked his head forward, signalling for you to keep moving. Old habits died hard. Even after everything, he still acted like a leader.

The trio turned a sharp corner just as a squad of Vought soldiers appeared at the other end of the corridor. You didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself to the floor, you slid behind a row of metal crates, while Soldier Boy charged forward like a freight train. His shield crashed against the soldiers, sending them flying, their weapons useless against his brute force and super healing.

Butcher stayed low, pulling a gun from his coat and taking a few well-placed shots, neutralizing the ones that hadn’t already been knocked out cold by Ben. The man moved with ruthless precision, not a shred of hesitation in his actions. You wondered how many people like you and Ben he’d already dealt with, how much he’d seen. But that was a question for later. For now, survival was your only priority.

“Clear,” Butcher muttered, nodding for you to get up.

“We won’t have much time,” you said, still catching your breath. The alarms were one thing, but Vought had been keeping an eye on every single corner of the facility with the carefully hidden cameras around the building.

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Ben muttered, shaking off some dust mixed with blood from his shield as if this were a regular Tuesday for him. “Where’s this control room?”

You pointed ahead. “Up two floors. We take the stairs—elevator’s a death trap.”

Your mind was racing with thoughts of escape. But there was another gnawing question you couldn’t shake: Why were they here, really? Why you?

As the three of you burst through the stairwell door and ascended the steps, your legs burning with the effort, you felt the weight of the years clawing at you. Your muscles were stiff, your body weak from disuse, but the rage—the fury—inside you was enough to keep you moving. You were sick of being someone else’s pawn.

Suddenly, Ben stopped at a landing, holding out his arm. You froze, instinctively falling back into soldier mode. “What is it?” you whispered.

“Listen.”

You strained your ears, and sure enough, your superhearing enhanced the heavy clank of footsteps echoing from above. A lot of footsteps.

“They’re sending the backup troops,” You muttered. “They think we’re trapped.”

Butcher grinned, something dark and predatory in his eyes. “Let ‘em come. They don’t know what’s comin’ for ‘em.”

You tightened your fists, feeling the heat of your powers surging just beneath your skin. It hurt, just the slightest. It had been so long since you had the chance to use them—so long since you’d felt anything beyond the dull ache of confinement.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Butcher asked, glancing at you with an eyebrow raised.

You looked him dead in the eye, trying to hide your hesitation. “Always am.”

The first wave of guards came pouring down the stairs, fully armed, faces masked. Without hesitation, Ben launched himself into the fray, shield gleaming as it smashed into the front line. Butcher followed, a pistol in one hand and a combat knife in the other, carving through the chaos.

You stood back for a moment, feeling the pulsing heat build in your hands, until finally, with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. Energy—wild, untamed wind—exploded from your palms, sending the next wave of soldiers crashing back into the walls. The surge felt powerful, like shaking off the chains that had weighed you down for years.

But most of all, it was stronger than it ever had been. The most powerful you had ever felt. And you barely dared to admit that it scared you.

Ben glanced back, eyes wide for the briefest of moments when he looked at you before he returned to dispatching the remaining guards.

“Not bad,” Butcher commented, smirking through the chaos. Though an unfamiliar look crossed his eyes.

Once the stairwell was clear, the three of you sprinted up the last flight of steps and into the corridor leading to the control room. You could hear more guards closing in behind you, but the door ahead was just within reach. With a mighty kick, Soldier Boy knocked it open, and the three of you burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Two of Vought’s employees shot around in their chairs, a look of horror flashed on their innocent faces right before Soldier Boy lifted his shield, moved it at the height of their necks and-

Two heads rolled over de floor.

The air was thick with tension, punctuated by the shrill wails of the alarms still echoing through the facility. The walls were lined with glowing monitors, displaying a maze of surveillance footage, flashing red warnings, and floor plans. This was the heart of Vought’s operations.

Butcher wasted no time, moving swiftly to one of the terminals. He began typing with a speed and confidence that suggested this wasn't his first time hacking into a heavily fortified system. Meanwhile, Ben paced near the door, shield in hand, his eyes darting between you and the hallway as if expecting another wave of soldiers any second.

You, however, stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room—the remembrance of decades of torment, experimentation, and manipulation. You thought you’d feel more relief standing here, so close to freedom, but instead, an overwhelming uncertainty bubbled just beneath your skin.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help?” Butcher barked, not even looking up from the terminal. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he tried to override the system’s security protocols.

You snapped out of your daze and approached another terminal, feeling the heat of your powers still crackling under your skin. And it still hurt.

Before you could respond, Soldier Boy's sharp voice cut through the air. "We've got company."

The door behind him shook under the pressure of a battering ram. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as more of Vought’s enforcers gathered outside, their numbers growing by the second.

“Of course we bloody do,” Butcher muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re almost through—just a bit more time.”

You clenched your fists, the air around you shimmering with energy that was so unfamiliar, it sent a shiver down your spine. "We don't have time, Butcher. I can feel them—they’re coming fast."

Ben squared his shoulders, stepping forward to brace the door. The rage that always seemed to simmer beneath his surface was now boiling over. He was done waiting, done being manipulated. “Let them come,” he growled, his shield raised, ready to take on whatever came through that door.

Butcher glanced at you, something like hesitation flickering in his eyes. It was a look you didn’t yet know he could have. “You’ve got a plan, love? ‘Cause if we don’t shut this down now, Vought’ll be all over us.”

The door rattled violently as Vought’s forces hammered against it, each thud reverberating through the control room.

"Me, a plan?" you spat ever so lightly, mild accusation in your tone. "You were the ones that needed me out!"

But Butcher didn't respond. Neither did Ben, for that matter.

Time was running out, and the tension was as thick as the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You focused, taking in the situation: Butcher was close to breaking the system, Ben was ready to stand his ground, and you—well, you weren’t the same person who had been shackled in that cell for decades. You had something new simmering inside, something dangerous. And you could feel it in every single piece of your body.

Your powers crackled just beneath the surface, stronger than you had ever remembered. The years of confinement, of being forced into silence, had built a storm within you, and you were ready to let it loose. But you knew this wasn’t you. This had never been you.

Ben stood firm by the door, his broad shoulders braced against the inevitable. His eyes flicked toward you, still cold, still distant. He was ready to fight, but this was a fight you had never been in before. A complete stranger, and a man who couldn’t even remember you, stood by you. And you had no idea if you could rely on them.

Butcher’s voice broke through your thoughts. “We’re in!” he called, finally cracking the security system. “But they’ve got some heavy-duty encryption on this place. It’ll take a few more minutes to wipe the files and shut down the alarms.”

You glanced at Ben. He was steady, but he couldn’t hold off a full squad alone. And your powers—they felt unpredictable. But you didn’t have a choice. Vought was coming, and this was your only chance.

The door shuddered again, and you could hear the muffled voices of the soldiers outside, preparing for a final push. You turned to Butcher. “You’d better hurry. We don’t have minutes.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched, but nodded. “Just keep them off me, yeah? I don’t fancy getting me head blown off ‘cause you got distracted.”

Asshole.

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, joining Ben at the door. “You got an idea?” you asked, voice low.

Ben shot you a glance, his grip tightening on his shield. “You think I haven’t done this a thousand times? Just stay out of my fucking way.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point. Whatever bond the two of you once had was long gone, buried beneath the years of torture and manipulation. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting through this.

The door burst open, and Vought’s soldiers flooded in. Ben moved like a force of nature, his shield slamming into the first soldier with a sickening crunch. He was fast, brutal, and efficient—every movement a practised execution of raw power. But there were too many.

You felt the heat rise in your palms, the energy building, and it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It used to be a sweet touch of weather, the comforting droplets of rain. But this was different.

It neared a breaking point. Both your power and your well-being. At its maximum power, you lost control. And with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. The energy exploded from you in a blinding wave, tearing through the room like wildfire. The soldiers were thrown back, their bodies crashing into the walls with bone-shattering force. Bolts of lightning crackled between the men, ensuring death upon impact.

Even Ben was forced to brace himself against the onslaught, his shield raised in defence. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, barely having evaded your attack from reaching him. But he didn’t say anything.

You were out of control. And there was no way you could contain this power any longer. Fuck, you weren't even sure what was going on. You weren't even sure if you were conscious.

When the dust settled, the room was eerily quiet. The soldiers lay scattered, unconscious or worse, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and ozone. You fell to the floor, breathing heavily, your hands still crackling with residual power. For a moment, you didn’t feel anything—just numbness.

Then Butcher’s voice cut through the silence. “Well, that was bloody brilliant,” he muttered, stepping back from the terminal. “Shut down the whole damn system. Alarms are off, security’s locked out. We’re good to go.”

You turned to face him, your body still trembling from the power you barely remembered releasing. “It’s done?”

Butcher nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Yeah, love. It’s done. Now we get the hell out of here.”

Ben lowered his shield, his face unreadable as he looked at you. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of something other than cold indifference in his eyes. Maybe he remembered something. Maybe it was fear.

You didn't care.

You spoke up once more, this time directing your gaze towards Ben, who held a seemingly shocked frown. “What on earth happened?”

Soldiers scattered in the hallway, remains of them smashed against the bloodied wall.

Soldier Boy didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Butcher, who knowingly glanced back at the supe.

All you could do was look around at the aftermath of whatever had happened to you.

And what feared you the most, was the fact you could only vaguely remember what the answer to it was.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never

[firsttimewriter92]

I would love a sirius x reader fic set during OoTP where the reader works at the Ministry while being part of the Order like Arthur and Kingsley, and she's staying at Grimmauld Place with Sirius. She often comes home to find him drunk and touch-starved during the school year when the only other person in the house is Kreacher. thanks xx

Hello dear anon :) I know it´s been a while since you sent me this ask. I hope you´re still in the mood for it :P I kept it pretty tame but there´s a lot of angst and it developed into a huge slow burn. Hope that´s all right and everyone enjoyes it <3

Words: 7.536

Warnings: Angst, cursing, (f!) hufflepuff reader, mentions of Sirius being bisexual, kissing, slow burn, fluff

12 Years

“Oh, for fucks sake, not again” you whisper sighed as you entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place number 12. “Third time this week” you grumbled as you looked at Sirius´ slumped over figure sitting on the polished wooden table. His arms cushioned his head that was laying on the surface, an almost empty bottle of fire whisky next to him. No glass.

Taking off your shawl and coat you walked over to him to assess the damage. It wasn´t as bad as it usually was. At least this time he was clothed.

Three months ago, your boss and mentor Kingsley Shacklebolt had brought you to your first order meeting. The moment he told you what the order was and what they did, you exploded on him. Why didn’t he tell you about this order sooner? Didn’t he trust you enough? Wasn’t he confident enough in your abilities? Kingsley had just stood there stoically, letting you spit fire at him. When you´d finished, Kingsley sighed deeply and started explaining his reluctance to you.

He knew. Of course, he did. He knew who you´d meet again, once you set foot into headquarters and he didn’t know how you´d react. He was right to do so actually. The first time your eyes had met those of Sirius Black, it had flared up again. That nauseating feeling that haunted you for 14 years. Guilt, sadness and loneliness were flooding your system with only a small glimmer of hope and relief.

It was so surreal to have him in your general vicinity again. Two years younger than him, your time at Hogwarts had been the happiest you´ve ever felt. When puberty hit you like a freight train and the mischief of James Potter and Sirius Black became legendary, your hormones betrayed you in the worst possible way. A major crush on the black-haired teenager formed itself inside your chest over the years. Clawing at your ribcage every time you saw him in the corridors, you hated the feeling. You hated his beautiful face, you hated that your body reacted the way it did.

As a Hufflepuff and general people pleaser you´d despised his arrogance and his devil may care attitude. Especially towards the swarms of girls hanging onto the seem of his cloak. You´d stolen glances from afar, never exchanging a word with him. You paid attention instead. You saw everything and liked only so much. His pranks amused you; his bullying infuriated you, his attentiveness to his friends and the younger students warmed you. 

Sometimes, especially after the holidays, you saw him sitting in the great hall amongst his friends, a dull and empty look in his eyes and your heart had squeezed so painfully that you had to look away. About a second later, when you dared to look again, he was grinning and joking like nothing had happened.

And then, one year into your Auror training, your world came crashing down on you. You arrived at the ministry and immediately felt the air buzzing with dread and excited relief all at once. Grabbing the daily prophet that was handed to you with shaking fingers, your knees gave out then and there. Sirius´ face, screaming and laughing manically, stared at you. Ice replaced your blood as you´d read the news.

James and Lily dead. The dark Lord gone; a little boy still alive. Sirius? A cold-blooded murderer and traitor; already in a cell in Azkaban. You refused to believe it. You refused! James was more than a friend to Sirius. There was no way he was a death eater. Sirius had never made a secret about his hatred towards his family or how much he loved his friends.

That´s when your letters had begun bombarding the ministry.

__________________________________________________________

Now, here at Grimmauld place, you had to watch Sirius fight every day just to try and keep his sanity. Between the usual order meetings and the children coming to visit for the holidays, he drank himself to sleep every night. And ever since you´d moved into one of the bedrooms upstairs, you helped him into bed or at least onto a couch every night. Dumbledor was the one who´d asked you if you wanted one of the rooms upstairs. “Less commute” he´d said, remembering your dislike of apparating quite vividly. When asked if he had any objections, Sirius had only grunted before disappearing into Buckbeak´s room.

He wasn´t always unpleasant, however. Sometimes you did have conversations when meeting in the library by chance, although they´d always turned out quite meaningless. You couldn’t figure out if he wanted you there or not.

Around the holidays when the house was full, so his heart seemed to be. He warmed up to you, brought you tea, filled your plate at dinner (much to the surprise of everyone at the table) and conversed with you a little more enthusiastically. At these rare occasions you began to see glimpses of the flamboyant teenager return into his grey eyes and his small grins. Your heart beginning to flutter in your chest yet again. Then the teenagers returned to Hogwarts and so did Sirius´ sour mood.

It was about two weeks after Christmas now and therefore the 14th day of you finding Sirius black out drunk early in the evening. You walked over to the cabinet in the corner of the kitchen and pulled out the last flask of potion you´d brewed for him. It usually woke him up enough for you to be able to manoeuvre him around and lessen his hangover the next day. You hadn’t quite figured out how to make it potent enough to get rid of his drunkenness completely. It was an immensely complicated brew.

Sighing, you uncorked the flask and moved Sirius into a sitting position. He mumbled something and flopped around in your arms like a rag doll. Leaning his head back you put the flask to his mouth and poured. Sirius tried to get out of your grip very weakly and some of the potion spilled from the side of his mouth. “Come on, Sirius, please” you said urgently. “Swallow, damn it.” He finally did. When the flask was empty you gently guided his head back onto the table and waited.

You knew he wouldn’t be sober when he woke up but at least he would be coherent enough to work with. Slowly he began to stir. His head lifted and with a deep groan he leaned back into his chair, holding the bridge of his nose. The long black mass of hair on his head was dishevelled but still wavy and bouncy as it had been all these years ago. The little streaks of grey on his temples and in his beard only contributed to his still very much intact attractiveness.

Sirius wiped at his mouth absentmindedly and opened his eyes. Grey orbs found yours sitting across from him immediately. Instantly you recognized the defiance in them. Great.

“I asked you to give me that shit in the mornings. Not when I´m trying to sleep” he croaked hoarsely in a cold voice. You rolled your eyes. “I´m not letting you sleep at the table, Sirius. Not when you own a bed upstairs. But I can´t lift your arse, so…” you shrugged and looked at him challengingly. You´d figured out quite quickly that trying to be compassionate and soft with him in these situations had no impact whatsoever. Sirius huffed and wiped at his face again to try and gain more control over his movements.

“Never asked you to do that” he slurred slowly. Hot annoyance burned your throat when you answered in a hiss. “´S better than you trying to climb some stairs, falling backwards and breaking your fucking neck.” Sirius laughed humourlessly and looked you straight in the face.

“Not so sure about that.” He had a weird glimmer in his slightly sunken eyes.

“For fucks sake, Sirius!” you yelled as your fist hit the table. Sirius flinched only slightly as you regarded him with a furious look. “Could you at least pretend that you care about your own life? I know you´re lonely and frustrated. I´m sorry I´m annoying you by staying here but the order still needs you! Harry needs you!” You knew you had him with that. His godson seemed to be his only lifeline sometimes. “I won´t pretend to know what you had to go through, Sirius. But you´ve been given a second chance at this, even though you didn’t even get a first one. And you´re drinking it away. Stop it!”

Sirius looked at you for a long time. Breathing heavily his eyes threw daggers at you and internally you just waited for him to cuss you out. That didn’t happen though. Sirius stood up from his chair without breaking eye contact with you. You didn’t like the way he started walking over to you, almost predatory. So, you stood as well and backed away against the table. Of course, you´d crossed a line.

Watching him step closer and closer you had no idea what he was trying to do. The moment he stood right in front of you, his breath hit your face. It reeked of alcohol, and you crunched your nose a little bit. Sirius grinned, showing off his sharp canines.

“You´re worried about me” he sang triumphantly but couldn’t quite remove the belittlement from his voice. Even though you were sure he could feel the heat emitting from your face, your stomach churned with rage instead of shame. “At least someone is” you hissed quietly. He ignored it and only raised a single black eyebrow. You hated how good he looked doing that.

“Don´t tell me,” He breathed and leaned down closer to you. Fuck, fuck! Too close! “You have a little crush on me.” Your head snapped up immediately and your face must have betrayed you because Sirius´ face lit up in sarcastic glee. He chuckled darkly as his eyes scanned your face quickly. “Is that why you wanted to live here? Aw, that´s nice. How old are you? You couldn’t have been in my year at Hogwarts. I´d sure as fuck remember you.” Again, there they were. The waves of nausea crashing over you. Your infatuation with him mixed with worry about his behaviour started to become a cocktail of resentment and pity. You didn’t want to feel this way about him.

“Get the fuck out of my face, Black” you growled and leaned further away from him. Something dangerous mixed itself into his swirling grey irises and your stomach sank.

“Come on now, birdy” he whispered, leaning over you and talking against your neck. Your breathing faltered and hitched, your hands gripping the side of the table hard. “You´re pretty enough. You´d be a delightful way to pass the time.” Shock almost made your body convulse. You knew he was still drunk but his words were so clear. You felt cold, useless and helpless. His lips ghosted across your pulse when he spoke again. “Don´t be a prude, now.”

WHACK!

Your arm pushed him away from you forcefully before your hand collided with his cheek with full force, knocking him back a couple of steps. Breathing heavily, you stood upright and glared at him. His head was still turned so you could see his pale cheek turn red by your smack. When he looked back at you, you didn’t see rage or confusion in his eyes. In fact, they looked almost apologetically, like he knew he´d fucked up but was too proud to admit it.

Your eyes were slits when you spoke next. “Have it your way, then. I can´t deal with a three-split persona. Either hate me, tolerate me or fucking ignore me completely. But one more disrespectful bullshit act like that and I swear, Black, you´ll have one less ally here.”

With those venom laced words you turned on your heel and stormed out the kitchen and upstairs to your room.

Sirius stood there alone in the kitchen for another few minutes. The alcohol was still thrumming in his veins, but he was all too aware of what he´d done. What he´d said, even as he said it.

Of course, he knew you were right with everything you´d said. And that infuriated him more than he cared to admit. Why were you even here? After a stressful day at the ministry, you came back to a horribly decorated, dirty, uncomfortable hellhole of a house, a house elf that insulted you whenever he got the chance to and a fucking drunk man child. Every night. Sometimes he´d wondered how he´d gotten onto the sofa in the library or into his own bed after drinking. He´d had an idea that it might have been you, but he couldn’t be sure. Now he was.

You´d always made him drink the hangover potion that was in the cabinet in the corner. Had he ever thought about how it got there? Who bought or made it? He couldn’t remember.

You didn’t deserve this. He actually came to appreciate your presence over the holidays. He found you witty and bright, a delight if he was honest with himself. And the fact that you were a special kind of beautiful in his eyes didn’t help at all. So why couldn’t he allow you to grow closer to him? You clearly made an effort to at least know him better.

Bitterly he walked over to the almost empty bottle of whisky, setting it to his mouth. Thinking better of it he stopped, turned and poured the remains down the sink. There was a horrible taste in his mouth. Either hate me; He didn’t hate you. Tolerate me; He wanted to do so much more than that. Or fucking ignore me completely; How the fuck was he supposed to do that when you just…existed?!

He really needed to get his head out of his arse. That was no way to talk to anyone. You just wanted to help. Why though? He´d never seen you before. At least he couldn’t remember but then again, he´d surely lost a lot of memories back in prison. You must have been at Hogwarts.

Oh fuck, were you an old flame?! His body went rigid when he thought about that. It would kind of explain your behaviour towards his advances. Or…OR, you dickhead, she just didn’t want a sorry drunk, smelling like a distillery all over her. Sirius shook his head. Why was either rage or excessive flirting always his default? Because he didn’t think you´d react like that. He was way out of line of course, so he really didn’t think his hunch about you having a crush on him would have this much of an impact. How the hell could you like him when he behaved so poorly in front of you; when he hadn’t paid you much attention since you´d moved in?

Maybe he should start doing that.

________________________________ 

You lay in your bed that evening, hot tears running down your face and sweat beading at your forehead. You felt so lost. Had you really been holding onto this teenage version of him so desperately that you couldn’t see how much he was suffering now as a man?

It´s true, he´d never asked for your help. Were your actions overstepping boundaries of his that you just couldn’t see? He´d made you feel so insignificant that evening with just a few words. You felt downright dirty and even though he didn’t really do anything more than graze his lips along your neck, you felt used.

You´re pretty enough…enough. Was your intuition really this bad? Had you read him all wrong for all these years? No. He was drunk, he was frustrated, he was alone. Maybe someday he´d let you help him with at least that. His loneliness.

__________________________

The next evening there was supposed to be an order meeting and you were dreading it like nothing else. You tip toed around the house the whole day, praying that you wouldn’t run into Sirius at least until the Meeting started. Unfortunately, you weren’t that lucky.

When you made your way downstairs to the kitchen, you crept along the corridor quietly as to not wake up the shrieking portrait of Sirius´ mother. Just as you were about to open the door to your left down into the kitchen another one further down the corridor opened and Sirius walked out. Both of you stopped immediately when your eyes met. Your whole body went rigid and hot acid bubbled up your throat. Sirius stood still. He looked at you with an unreadable expression. He sighed deeply and his eyes changed into something calmer and softer.

He opened the door to the room he´d just exited again and waved you over. When you couldn’t move from your spot, his face contorted into a pleading look and he mouthed a ´please´, waving you over once again. And even though your legs felt like jelly, you started moving. Your heart was beating out of your chest when you passed him. You noticed he smelled clean. Clean clothes, clean hair, no alcohol on his breath or his skin.

You walked into the little study and turned around just as Sirius closed the door timidly behind him.

He squared his shoulder and looked at you. You were sure he could see your shiver.

“I have to apologize” he rumbled. “I behaved…incredibly disrespectful towards you last night and you have every right to resent me after what I´ve said.”

You stared at him. That wasn’t exactly what you expected. But it was also very much welcome. You stayed quiet, noticing that he was still trying to talk, having difficulty finding the words. So, you gave him time, schooling your features into not looking at him like you wanted to be anywhere but in his presence.

Sirius started pacing and mumbling before he looked at you again. “´S been difficult” he whispered. “I´m sorry, truly.” He hung his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “I´m not really sure what else to tell you. I-I don’t know you. But…maybe that could change? I mean, you live here. Might as well be…house…mates? Urgh” he groaned loudly and only stopped when you started giggling. He whipped his head in your direction and raised an eyebrow.

You stood there and watched him fight tooth and nail to explain what he wanted and honestly, after his apology you found it kind of amusing. Sirius was anything but insincere, so you didn’t question his motives in wanting to get to know you better. You appreciated it immensely and slowly your body relaxed, the acid in your throat started to retreat.

“Listen,” he said with a lopsided smile, his eyes glued to your smirk. “You can´t laugh at me for having terrible interpersonal skills. I was incarcerated for 12 years.” Your giggle immediately stopped as you looked at him with guilt.

“Relax” he said gently. “Sometimes jokes are the only thing that help me coping.” You nodded hesitantly.

“Did I even introduce myself properly when we first met?” he curiously asked.

“Not exactly” you said with a small shrug and a smile. “You were half drunk and just grunted.”

“Merlin´s beard” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He stood tall and walked over to you.

“Can we start over then? Can I salvage my reputation somehow?” He stood before you. Tall, handsome and kind. His hand was outstretched.

“I´m Sirius Black. Welcome to my lovely home” he said in a deep velvety and mildly sarcastic voice that made the hair in your neck stand up. “It´s nice to meet you, ___.” It was heartfelt, the way he said it. You reached out your hand and shook his. “Likewise, Mr. Black” you said.

He didn’t let your hand go for a moment, a grin spreading on his face. One that let him look years younger, one you wanted to see for all eternity. The little crinkles around his expressive grey eyes were the most adorable thing you´d ever seen.

Sirius looked like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders when he gently guided you out of the study and down into the kitchen. “By the way,” he said as you descended the stairs. “You´ll find that my humour is kind of fucked. I´ll stop the heavy drinking, promise. So, no need to walk on eggshells around me, ´k?” He turned his head up to you, giving you a beautiful angle of his neck and the tattoos that scattered down from his ear and disappeared into his collar.

“If you´re sure” you said with a grin of your own. His eyes blitzed amusedly as the both of you entered the kitchen. What you didn’t see was the curious look Arthur and Molly Weasley exchanged when they saw Sirius pulling out a chair for you before sitting down himself.

_______________________________

 The meeting progressed and plans were made. The debate was already heated enough before Snape decided to speak. The moment he opened his mouth, your eyes rolled to the side. You resented that man with every fibre of your being. Mostly because he seemed to have it out for Sirius. Taunting him whenever he could. It was unnecessary and just plain vile.

“It´s easy for you to say, Black. You´re just sitting comfortably in your home while everyone else is either being productive or helpful. At least not all of us have to deal with your bipolar character” Snape snarled and gave you a pity filled look. You were about ready to tell him to kiss you where the sun don´t shine when Sirius spoke up. He was relaxing into his chair, staring at Snape with a victorious grin.

“Congratulations, Sniffellus. At least you got the bi-part right.”

Snorting into your wine glass you coughed several times before trying to hold back a fit of giggles. You looked at Sirius´ smug face grinning at you. His eye twitched to look dangerously like a wink and you knew that the heat in your cheeks didn’t form because of the wine.

_______________________________________

The days after became more and more comfortable. Sirius kept his promise to you not to drink excessively anymore and greeted you sober every evening when you returned. You ate dinner together and talked a lot more. You actually began looking forward to coming back to Grimmauld place every night. The kitchen was cozy and warm, soft light from candles and gas lamps illuminated the space as you sat at the table, sharing stories from your time at Hogwarts and your Auror training.

Day after day Sirius seemed to hang onto your every word more and you slowly got to know his sense of humour and therefore gradually you stopped feeling guilty whenever he made a joke about his time in Azkaban. Of course, you knew that deep down, 12 years in that horrible place left its marks, but it seemed like he was done with showing them to you.

“So,” he said one evening, cheeks tinted a beautiful rosy colour from the wine he´d poured the both of you. “You were two years under me. A Hufflepuff and a brainiac.” His voice sounded impressed. “What I can´t believe though” he said and took a swig of his wine, “Is that you were a beater in the quidditch team, and we actually played against each other?!”

You grinned and nodded. “We did. I remember it vividly. I´d just gotten into the team and our first match was you guys. You were in your last year. I tried so hard to hit those bludgers in your or James´ direction, but my strategy was futile. James was too quick, and you were too wicked on a broom” you shook your head in mock disbelieve while Sirius´ eyes gleamed with excitement.

“I don’t get it” he said with an almost dreamy look on his face. His chin rested in his palm as he spoke. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you´ve got spark but I would have recognized that in school. You told me you were a closed off and private. But then you go joining the quidditch team as a beater no less. How?”

You smiled at him. “Well,” you said amusedly and took a sip of your glass. “I was closed off, that´s true. But that doesn’t mean that I had no personality. There was a certain potential of rage. I had to let that go somewhere.” You shrugged with a grin. Sirius looked at you impressed.

He topped off your wineglass and spoke. “I´m impressed. The closed off, timid girl, grew up to be a fearless auror.” You shook your head. “Fearless is not true” you said calmly. “Fighting death eaters fearless is a stupid idea. Makes you end up looking like Mad eye” you smirked and winked at him. Your palms encased your cheeks as you spoke in a high-pitched voice. “Compared to him and looking at all this” you turned your head prettily left and right, “I was scared shitless every time.”

Sirius threw his head back an bellowed a joyous laugh. It fitted him so well all you could do was stare at him in awe. He wiped at the corner of his eyes and gasped for air. “Merlin, I really regret being such an insufferable prick to you up until now.”

“Thank you” you said earnestly. “You´re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled at you sweetly. “And we never talked in Hogwarts?” he asked. “Are you sure?” he sounded almost hopeful. You huffed laugh and shook your head. “I´m sure” you said, feeling the wine coursing through your veins, making you bold. “I avoided you like the plague.”

Sirius´s face fell, and you were quick to answer. “It wasn’t because I thought you were a bad person.” Quite the opposite actually. “More like…you were…intimidating.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “Intimidating?” he asked. You nodded.

“Yes. You and your friends…you were legendary as it was. Everyone either knew you, hated your guts or was crushing on you” you could feel your face heat up once more. “I just didn’t see the point of being one of many, you know.” You smiled at him timidly, his expression somewhat empty. “I did pay attention, though.”

A little more light appeared in Sirius´ eyes at that. “You were?”

You took a deep breath and downed the rest of your wine. Fuck it!

Nodding you continued. “Yes. I mean, you were hard to miss. But I´d often see how you joked with your friends, how you comforted the younger students. It was nice to see that side of you. It always made me wonder why you decided to act on your ´attention whore´ attitude more. But then again, I didn’t know you privately, so I don’t even know if I´m right with that.” You rushed the last sentence and reached for the wine bottle. Sirius´ hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. His fingers were strong but gentle.

Goosebumps appeared immediately on your skin. The little hairs on your forearm standing up when you looked up and directly into his eyes. He regarded you with a look full of wonder, gratitude and something pleading. “What else did you see?” he whispered, leading your hand down onto the table, not letting go. Ok, this seemed to be a little too intimate, but you were damned if you broke eye contact for even just a second. It was time to come clean.

“I saw how you always seemed different when we all came back from holiday. At least for a few years. You were always…sad one minute and then chipper the next. It looked fake.” His eyes grew wide. “I saw how your eyes would not leave Remus´ plate that you packed with food until he was done eating. That always happened after he turned.” Sirius´ fingers tightened. “How do you know about that?” he asked in awe.

You raised both eyebrows. “As I said. I paid attention. Still do.” At your words and to your utter delight, Sirius began absentmindedly stroking his thumb across the soft skin of the underside of your wrist. There was no way in hell he didn’t feel the insistent and fast beating underneath.

“I saw a lot of things that made you more than just an attention seeker to me. What I didn’t like, at all, was the bullying. James and you. You were both better than that. Sure, Snape was a little git but…sometimes you overdid it.” Sirius hung his head for a moment and nodded silently before looking at you again. An ashamed look spread across his face. “I know. We could be quite…insufferable. At that age you don’t really think about these things” he said quietly. You nodded in understanding. “I know. And I also know that Snape wasn’t exactly innocent himself. But I guess it´s no wonder he hates your guts. He´s still a bloody git, though.” You grinned at him.

Sirius took a deep breath. “You saw all that without ever having spoken a word to me?”

“Yes”

Sirius looked impressed and incredibly moved.

“´S no wonder Kingsley bursts at the seams with pride for you. I guess death eaters have no chance when it comes to you.”

Blushing hard you grinned bashfully but shook your head. “I´m not that good in the field” you said, and Sirius raised an eyebrow in doubt. “But when it comes to interrogations, if they make it that far, I´m actually very successful. I either get a full confession or at least some names. Always.” You spoke the last part with as much confidence as you could muster, hoping you´d impress him at least a little bit.

“Wow” Sirius breathed. “And you think I´m intimidating?” You giggled. “No, not anymore, actually.” He seemed very pleased with that.

You sat there for a moment in silence. Your eyes trained on his tattooed fingers still gently wrapped around your wrist. Ever tiny movement they made sent waves of shivers over your body.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sirius asked quietly. “HmHm” you mumbled, still not looking up. “Please, look at me” Your head snapped up at his tone. His eyes were filled with something so soft it made your heart quake.

“I can´t stop thinking about it…The other night, you said I was drinking my second chance away.” You nodded. “Even though I didn’t really have a first one. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh” you said and looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I meant your trial.”

Sirius´ eyebrows shot to his hairline.

“M-My trial?” he stuttered out? “I didn’t-“

“-get one, I know. That´s what I mean.”

He looked at you with a shocked expression before his face relaxed. A grateful smile stretched onto his lips as he looked at you fondly. Slowly, his fingers that held your wrist moved to lift your hand up to his face. Not breaking eye contact he gently but firmly pressed his mouth to your knuckles, effectively knocking the wind out of your lungs. Times stilled. The edges of your vision blurred, and a loud beeping noise filled your ears. It felt like you were about to pass out from a fever when his lips left your skin, and an uncomfortable cold ran over your back.

Sirius set your hand back onto the table and seemed reluctant as he let it go.

_____________________________________________

The next days were a blur. A happy blur. You were walking on clouds, you were dreaming so much more vividly and to no surprise, Sirius´ face always ended up being the main character. Sirius seemed much happier as well. He went out of his way to make you comfortable. For the past week now, he´d cooked you dinner and scolded you whenever you tried to help him out. He´d point his finger at you, his eyes comically narrowed and told you to sit down at the table.

It also seemed like he tried to be closer to you whenever he could. He´d stand closer to you, he´d sit closer to you, he´d guide you through doors by the small of your back. It all wasn’t helping your situation at all. He changed his behaviour towards you so dramatically, you weren’t able to stop your old crush from coming back. Not when he looked at you so dreamily sometimes, not when you both dissolved into laughter about some silly story, not when you thought about his lips on your skin.

Every time you thought about that night, your whole body started to tingle. The little flirts just came naturally to the both of you. So much so, that it was in no time, that the whole order noticed something was going on. Most of them seemed very pleased by the fact that they didn’t have to deal with Sirius´ outbursts anymore. Especially Remus. He regarded the two of you often with mirth in his eyes while Tonks almost ripped out his arm when she noticed as well.

The only thing that dampened the sugar high you constantly seemed to be on, was the fact that even though Sirius and you started flirting heavily, nothing ever came of it. In the last minute, either him or you, would draw back and either laugh it off or deal with a few moments of awkwardness. There was a magnetic pull forming between the both of you, and both of you felt it. It got stronger with ever shared meal and laugh.

These days, it got so much harder to fall asleep. Your heart beating against your ribcage so insistently that it was a herculean task to calm down. Apparently, it started to show.

You came down into the kitchen one Saturday morning with Sirius working on the stove. Even though you felt knackered, there was no way you would ever not appreciate his broad shoulders and lean back, covered by some raggedy old band-shirt. You smiled fondly at his back. He heard you approach and turned halfway around. “Good morning, darlin´.” Again, goosebumps everywhere and your heart going ballistic. “G´ mornin´” you yawned.

Sirius turned the stove off and turned to you fully. The smile on his lips vanishing when he saw you. “Are you feeling ok, ___? You look tired.” He rounded the table quickly and came to a stop close in front of you. So close. It took everything in you not to take a deep, deep breath.

“Fine. Didn’t sleep well last night” you said. Lie. You haven’t been able to sleep properly for a couple of nights now.

Sirius looked around your face worriedly. “Do you need one of those pick me up potions you always gave me? I can give you some money to go get them.” That made you chuckle. You lifted your hand and very gently ruffled the soft, black locks on his head.

“Oh, Sirius” you said smiling. “I didn’t buy them. I made them.” It took him a moment to let your spoken words sink in. His eyes went impossibly wide, then slightly damp. You retracted your hand from his head. 

Sirius couldn’t hold on. In one gentle swoop he bent down slightly and pulled you into his chest by your waist. Your arms wound around his neck in an instant. Delirious with happiness you pressed your forehead against the side of his neck and felt the vibrato of his voice against it as he hummed contently. He smelled divine. A mixture of firewood, tobacco and something citrusy. It smelled like coming home and you felt your crush bloom into something much more valuable. It didn’t scare you at all. You were cradled in his arms, his cheek atop your head, his hands gently caressing the small of your back. You could´ve stayed like that forever.

“There´s nothing I could give you to make up for all the shit I´ve put you through” he whispered into your hair. “I don´t deserve the kindness you´ve given me or are still giving.” You shook your head against his neck and wanted to speak, but he was quicker. “You make it more than bearable to stay in this house, love. I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t decided to move in.”

You stook on your toes to be able to hug him closer and he pulled you in with a desperate sigh against your ear. “I was such a fucking arsehole to you. I´m so sorry.” Hot tears formed in your eyes when you heard his tone. “You are lonely” you choked out. “And frustrated. I get it.”

“…was” he whispered and slowly withdrew just a little to look you in the face. His gorgeous, regal features were formed into a look of gratitude and longing.

“What?”

“I was lonely and frustrated” he emphasized. “Not anymore.”

His blazing silver eyes took in the entirety of your face before closing them and leaning his forehead gently against yours. “I´m glad you´re here with me” he said before kissing your forehead and almost sending you to the ground. The tears spilled over. Sirius noticed them and used his little finger to wipe them from your face.

“Why aren´t you able to sleep? What do you need?”

“I think it´ll be a little easier now” you said with a watery smile. Sirius nodded his head, for the time being, he was satisfied with your answer.

“Let´s eat breakfast before everyone shows up for the meeting. The moment I have to look at Snapes hair, I´ll not be able to eat for hours.”

_________________________________________

The meeting went quite well. Most of the time people were calm and the plans you´d made weeks before, finally came to fruition.

You were sitting beside Sirius who´s palm sat comfortably on your thigh underneath the table. It burned your skin and made you a bit drowsy with longing, but you paid attention still.

After the meeting, some of the members stayed for dinner and drinks after. Everyone had a great time. Sirius and you stood a little to the side, close together and smiling happily.

“Well, finally” came a booming voice from the table and your head swivelled towards Kingsley. He had a dopey grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows as he regarded Sirius and you. It was evident that he was quite tipsy.

“I really thought it would never happen. You two” he pointed at the both of you and with a hiss you gestured for him to quit it. “Kingsley” you whisper yelled while Sirius next to you just tried to bite back a huge grin. “What?” Kingsley slurred. “You could at least thank me, you know. For bringing you here. ´S the last thing you deserved after all these dumb howlers. Haha!” You felt the colour drain from your face. Oh no. Oh no. “Kingsley, shut up!” You hissed at him again. Sirius looked very curiously between you and Kingsley.

“What howlers did you send him, darling?” he asked in an amused tone.

“SO MANY HOWLERS!!” Kingsley yelled and nearly fell of his chair. “You´re lucky I started intercepting them when I became your mentor. If the committee had found out that the one terrorising them with howlers was actually an auror trainee…I tell ya. You wouldn’t be an auror today.”

“Oh Merlin, help me” you sighed. “Kingsley, please just drop it.”

Sirius´ face was filled with question marks. “What in Merlin saggy left nut is he talking about?”

Kingsley explained. “You see, dear Sirius. This one,” he pointed at you with a shit eating grin. “This one wouldn’t take no for an answer. She tried to send them anonymously and for the most part it worked. Until they set me on it. I found out it was you,” he playfully glared at you. You wanted to sink into the floor and never emerge again. “At this point I was already training you and you had so much potential. So, I made it work.” He sounded so proud of himself.

Sirius had walked over to Kingsley, still smiling and trying to figure it out. “What howlers did she send Kingsley? Why would they be so dangerous for her career?”

“Oh” Kingsley said, and his eyes went big. “Oh, you don’t know.” Sirius looked taken aback.

“I don’t know?”

“Yeah, the howlers, the letters she sent. They were because of you.”

Sirius went still, staring at Kingsley intently. “What do you mean, they were because of me?”

“Kingsley…” you tried again but your voice was too quiet. You could only let it happen. You´d try to explain it to Sirius later. That was, if he didn’t throw you out the house.

“They were trial demands” Kingsley said matter of factly and the air was suddenly too think to breath. You felt like drowning.

“Trial demands” Sirius whispered as he put two and two together. He turned to you slowly. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, embarrassment making your skin feel like it was on fire.

“Kingsley?” he asked in a dry tone without looking away from you. You felt his eyes boring into you. “Kingsley, when did you intercept the last demand?”

Kingsley hummed. “Hmmm…. the last one I got was about four days before your escape from Azkaban was made public. Before that, they came in once a week like c-clockwork.”

You heard Sirius take in a sharp breath. When he spoke next, he was calm, quiet and somehow sounded unsure. As if he couldn’t believe what he´d just heard.

“You…you tried to get me a trial…for 12 years?”

Your shoulders pulled themselves upwards as if you were trying to sink into your own body before you nodded, looking at the floor.

You heard a sniffle from somewhere to your right. It sounded like Molly Weasley.

“___” you heard Sirius say. His tone was choked up and still unsure. “Please look at me” he pleaded.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t bare the look on his face. He already knew about the crush you´d had on him in school and now he´d found out that even as a grown woman you tried so hard to get with him. He must be so appalled.

You shook your head no.

“12 years?” you heard him ask again.

You nodded.

“Every week?” His voice was closer now.

You nodded. His shoes appeared directly in front of you and you cowered back against the counter even further. “Don´t do that” he whispered. “Don’t…please, look at me.” His voice cracked and at that your head snapped up to look at him. The sight broke and healed your heart all at once.

Silent tears were running down his tinted cheeks. His eyes were swimming with something you couldn’t pin point. With a wobbly voice he spoke.

“You didn’t believe it was me?”

“Of course not” you whispered, throat tight.

“Why not? Everybody else did”

“There was no fucking way you´d betray James” you shook your head defiantly. “No way. It all fit too well. They used your family name and the reputation behind it. But I knew you couldn’t have been a death eater. I saw you…in school…” Your own voice began to crack when you thought back to the day you learned what´d happened to him.

Sirius nodded slowly. “Yes. You saw me. You saw me. You always have” Gentle, warm hands lifted to your face and encased it. Sirius looked at you like you were the only other living being in the world. Another tear fell down. “Don’t you ever, ever, call your feelings for me a simple crush” he said and smiled at you. “I didn’t know I had such a loyal warrior out there.” Your face was also tear stained by this point. You sniffed and Sirius gently shook his head.

“No more tears, my love. I´ve got you now.” And with that, he pulled your head to his and pressed his lips to yours. It was like a rubber band snapped in your chest. As your hands tangled in his hair at the base of his neck, he hugged you ever closer, lifting you a little and moving his lips more insistently against yours. This was right, this was perfect.

Open mouthed kisses were pressed against your lips slowly, thoroughly. There was no sound except for his breathing and his heart. A throat cleared itself in the background and with a groan Sirius let go of your lips, looking at you. His grin seemed excited. You didn’t have a chance but to reciprocate it.

“You know that it´s not a simple crush you have on me, right?” Sirius winked at you. You nodded in defeat and leaned your forehead against his chest. You felt his chuckle. “Come on, dove” he taunted you good naturedly. “Call it by its name. Please?”

Your eyes met his and they twinkled with a juvenile excitement you hadn’t observed on him yet.

“I´m in love with you” you said and smiled.

Sirius closed his eyes to let your words really penetrate his mind and soul. The hands around your waist tightened before he nodded with an equal smile. Again his lips met yours. This time, shorter, sweeter.

“So am I” he whispered against them. “I love you. My beautiful fighter. You´ve saved me.”

___________________________________________________________

thank you very much for reading. If you liked it, please leave a reblog or a comment so I can improve :) I´m grateful for every feedback I get. Thanks a lot

[toomuchracket]

falling for you (flatmate!matty x reader)

promptober day 10, and there was nobody else i could have written this for. a fluffy but slightly angsty pining lovesick moment, before the two of you are actually flatmates and you're just babies on nights out in manc. i hope you enjoy!

p.s. yeah, i know the pic is the wrong era for this, lol. but it's alllll about the vibes <3

matty's trying his damnedest not to stare at you right now.

he's failing miserably, though. the copious amount of alcohol in his body is rinsing all the sense out of his brain - well, what little you hadn't already stolen from him when you met him earlier outside your halls of residence, all made-up and glowing - and he really cannot tear his eyes away from you, saying bye to your friends at the door of the nightclub.

matty blinks, and self-awareness hits him like a freight train. nah. he's being weird. he needs to get a grip.

but then you turn towards him, waiting on behalf of both of you in the cloakroom queue, and you smile, and all thoughts about stopping looking at you fly out of matty's head. how can he be expected to focus on anything but that face of yours? the vodka's made your beautiful eyes softer, and a combination of marlboros and mac lipstick have made your lips pouty and kissable. well, more so than usual, matty thinks.

he's so distracted by your beauty that he almost doesn't hear the cloakroom attendant shout him up to the window. stumbling slightly - he'd say over his own feet, you'd say due to drunkenness (and you'd be right) - matty exchanges his two tickets for the jackets you and him had been all but forced to wear to prevent the freezing october air getting to you, and wanders over to you. wordlessly, in a well-rehearsed routine, he slings his own jacket over his shoulder as he helps you into yours.

you murmur a thank you. "you hungry?"

for you, yes. for a kebab, no, matty wishes he could say. but he can't, so he just shakes his head.

"neither am i," you say, helping him zip up his leather jacket. your dexterity has been diminished by your drinking, and one of the fringes on the sleeve of your own coat gets stuck between the metal teeth of his. clearly, your brain has also been affected by the alcohol; you frown at the zip, unable to see why it won't move. "huh?"

matty smiles, moving to help you. "got caught on your coat. sorry, darlin'."

"oh, s'fine. thanks," you reply, as you're unstuck once again. with a smile, you hold a hand out to matty. "shall we?"

like he'd ever say no to you. "we shall."

and the walk back to your uni begins.

if it had been raining, matty would have done the gentlemanly thing and sprung for a taxi. but it isn't, for once; actually, he thinks, it's kind of a perfect night. the sky is inky-black, devoid of any clouds, and the two of you are just drunk enough that the streetlights look just as pretty as the stars you can't see from so far into the city like this. he's more thankful for the cold air now than he was before the two of you went out - after the close heat of the nightclub, and the internal glow of the however many shots you did, the coolness is welcome. that, and it forces you to secure matty's hand in your own for warmth, which is maybe the most perfect aspect of the night, in his opinion.

naturally, then, a pang of heartbreak hits him when you break the hold to rifle through your handbag. when you procure a half-empty pack of cigs, though, it dissipates.

"want one?" you ask, holding the open end of the packet towards matty.

"no thanks, sweetheart," he says. he isn't lying: the thought of anything clouding his vision of you, even cigarette smoke, is unbearable. but then a spark of an idea crackles somewhere in his brain - whether it's in spite of or because of his tipsy state, matty isn't sure, but either way it tells him he shouldn't be so quick to refuse. so, tentatively, he continues speaking. "i'll gladly share one with you, though."

you take your time answering, slowly pulling a cig from the pack and shoving the rest back in your bag, then digging around for your lighter. matty chews his cheeks during this performance, terror that he's overstepped a friendship boundary of some sort beginning to creep up his spine. but then you shrug, and say "alright", and he's fine.

well, he's not fine, actually - the next words that leave your mouth are "need your help to light it, though, matty". 

fuck. his hands so close to your jaw, close enough that he could take hold of it and kiss you before his brain could convince him that it was too much of a risk to your friendship? that's dangerous.

god, he's so drunk. and so definitely in love with you.

what matty is first and foremost, though, is a good friend. shoving down any and all romantic and/or sexual thoughts about you and your lips as best he can (which is, admittedly, not very well), he turns to face you and takes the lighter from your hand. "c'mere then."

when you oblige, silently, and look up at him with your lips parted and those sparkly doe eyes of yours, matty bites the inside of his lip so hard he feels it bleed. christ. this was perhaps a bad idea.

but the cig is right there, waiting to be lit, so he takes a deep breath, cupping the lighter as he flicks the flame into existence and brings it to your mouth. the orange glow illuminates you quite beautifully, and suddenly matty's head is filled with thoughts of you across from him, like you are now, but sat at a candlelit, white-clothed table with a glass of wine and a fancy dinner before you. and, if he's being honest, also with thoughts of you underneath him, face blissful and softly lit by the candles dotted around the room as he fucks you slowly and tenderly.

for fuck's sake. you're his best friend. he can't be thinking of you like that. why can't he stop thinking about you like that tonight? maybe he's going insane. he has no idea. but whatever is compelling him seems to lessen as you step back and exhale the smoke. "thank you, babe."

babe? that's new. but not unwelcome, not at all. matty feels his heart flutter at the pet name.

"s'alright," he smiles. now it's his turn to hold out a hand. "shall we keep going?"

"mhmm," you quickly take another puff of the cig, before sliding it between matty's lips with a giggle and taking his hand; you have to tug him forward a few paces before he regains control of his brain, but he quickly manages it, and the walk home continues.

for the most part, it's uneventful, aside from the alien feeling of your hand constantly in matty's. that is, until he tries to be clever and inhale the cig mid-conversation, and ends up exhaling directly in your face when you turn to listen to him without him fully noticing.

you cough a little bit when the smoke hits you, and matty panics (and internally facepalms. what a fucking idiot he is) as he throws the cig on the ground and stamps it out. "shit! i'm so sorry, sweetheart, i didn't mean that! you alright?"

"s'ok, i'm ok, don't worry," you assure him, waving away both his fretting and the lingering smoke. when it clears from in front of your face, matty's heartbeat increases as he takes in your amused smile and your even-more-sparkly-than-earlier eyes. you're beautiful. you're fucking glowing. and you're tucking yourself under his arm and cosying into his side as you walk. jesus christ. "this is a lot better for us, don't you think?"

matty's cheeks lift into a smile. "definitely."

it really is better, matty thinks, walking towards the front door of your halls with you snuggled into his chest. much like every other aspect of matty's life, you fit seamlessly into his side - you just feel so right there, so natural, as if the two of you were biologically designed to be together. maybe someday, he hopes, you will be; not two best friends traipsing into uni accommodation for a post-night out sleepover, but a pair of lovers heading home after a date.

he doubts that'll actually happen, given that he'd have to go through the impossible task of telling you how he feels first, but still. it's a nice distant daydream, one he's still giddily thinking about when you unlock the front door and pull him through several more until you reach your bedroom.

you groan when you flick the light on and see the state of your bed, makeup palettes and hair products and failed outfit options strewn across it. matty immediately jumps into problem-solving mode; anything to stop you being unhappy, after all. "where do you want all this stuff, darlin'?"

"the fucking floor," you grumble.

"so… where i'm meant to sleep?"

your head snaps up, and you catch matty's eye in the mirror as you take your earrings out. "well," you turn to face him, your expression… nervous? "you could just, y'know, share the bed with me."

oh. matty can feel his heart pounding in his ears, diminishing the volume of your continuing (and frantic) monologue: "i mean, i know it'll be tight cos it's a single, and you've always insisted on sleeping on the floor even when i've offered to let you have the bed, but it's really cold tonight and i wouldn't mind the extra heat, and at least if we're sharing i know you won't be freezing and you'll be comfy, yeah?"

"ok," matty says, despite barely registering anything you said in his fugue state. he's drunk, and lovesick, but he's not an idiot. "yeah. we'll share."

your face breaks into a relieved smile. "ok. good. um, before that, would you…?"

"oh, of course," matty darts over to you as quickly as he can, while you turn to face the mirror again and lift your hair up. slowly, with fingers fumbling just as much from nerves as from alcohol consumption, he undoes the zip on the back of your dress. the perfume still lingering on the back of your neck clouds his brain with every breath he takes, and the organ threatens to completely shut down when matty pulls the zip down low enough to reveal a lack of bra clasps underneath your outfit. once he's finished undoing you, he steps back while he still has the ability to do so, turning away from you. "there you go."

"thank you," comes the reply from behind him, followed by the sounds of fabric rustling and drawers opening. matty busies himself with carefully clearing your bed, only turning back round when you tap his arm; he smiles when he sees you in a big t-shirt, hair shoved up messily and makeup half-removed, holding out a pair of sweatpants he recognises as his. "you left these here last time. i thought you might want them to sleep in. and i did wash them, before you ask."

you roll your eyes as matty presses the trousers to his nose anyway as a joke - when he registers that his clothes now smell like you and your washing powder, however, it stops being funny in favour of being lovelorn-inducing. but his smile quickly returns when he properly notices the design on the t-shirt you're wearing. "i cannot believe you're wearing a drive like i do shirt to bed. thought you were more proud of me, to be honest, darlin'."

"of course i am, but it's comfy," you protest, brow furrowing in the most adorable way as you frown. it softens wistfully as you continue. "and it reminds me of home."

weird, matty thinks. you're not from- oh. christ.

he's home, to you. 

what a fucking thought that is. matty's not quite sure how he's managing to stay sane, but he smiles, pulling you into a tight hug and stroking your back. "that's very lovely of you, sweetheart."

"s'just the truth," you reach up on tiptoe to pat matty on the head, before pulling away. he misses you immediately. "you wanna get ready for bed?"

does he ever. 

matty nods, kicking his shoes off and quickly undressing while you climb into bed. despite the fact you've seen him in shorts and nothing else before, he wonders if he should feel self-conscious as he strips to his underwear in front of you; something's definitely different with the two of you tonight, matty's sure of it, and he can't quite tell if that's a good or bad thing. probably good, although that might be wishful thinking on his part, just like the way he's convinced your eyes linger on his torso with interest in the mirror when he takes his shirt off.

anyway. clad in his sweatpants and no more, matty climbs into your single bed. he tries to get as comfy as he can, facing away from and without touching you - whether that's to ensure your space and comfort or to stop himself from agonising over how much he likes you, matty has no idea. he isn't comfortable in the slightest, but he'll endure it.

you, on the other hand, have other ideas. with a sigh of "daft boy", you move forward so your body is against matty's back, slinging an arm and leg over his front and spooning him. "is this alright? i figured it was the best way to keep us warm."

"it's perfect, sweetheart," matty replies, and he isn't lying. despite how much it hurts being so close to you and repressing how he really feels about you, matty's surprisingly chill about the way you're clinging to him. cautiously, but feeling compelled to do so, he brings his hand up to stroke your thigh; when you hum contentedly, matty rests it there. "goodnight."

"mmm, night," you yawn out, the blanket of sleep falling on you fast. "love you."

matty smiles, half sadly, half dreamily. "love you too, darlin'."

the next day, he writes a new song.

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Three

CW: violence, emotional distress, angst, dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, Mutant!Reader, character death Word Count: 1948 Summary: Logan is pushed to his breaking point as he battles both enemies and haunting visions of a doomed future. The tension between young Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr only adds to the strain. Will this be the end of the Wolverine?

Authors note at the bottom <3

(Part four)

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The weight of the mission was slowly grinding Logan down. The relentless march of time, the pressure of knowing what was at stake, and the constant strain of working with younger, unpredictable versions of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr—it was all taking its toll. Each day, the burden grew heavier, pressing down on him like an iron vice, threatening to crush him beneath its weight.

The Charles Xavier of this time was a shadow of the man Logan had known in the future. Broken by loss and drowning in despair, he was erratic, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. And Erik… Erik was a ticking time bomb, his ideals and anger clashing violently with Charles’s more pacifistic approach. Their constant bickering, their differing views on how to save mutantkind, only served to stoke the fires of Logan’s growing anxiety. Every decision, every word exchanged between them, felt like a knife edge, cutting deeper into the fragile hope that they could change the future.

As the day of the assassination approached, the tension became almost unbearable. Logan’s nights were restless, his sleep plagued by visions of a future he was desperate to escape. But the visions had started to bleed into his waking hours, haunting him when he least expected it. At first, they were just flashes—brief glimpses of the devastation that awaited if they failed. But as the day drew closer, the visions grew more vivid, more terrifying.

One evening, after a particularly heated argument between Charles and Erik, Logan found himself alone in a dingy motel room, trying to steady his racing heart. The small, flickering light above the bed cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, making the room feel claustrophobic. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his face a mask of exhaustion and tension. The man staring back at him was barely recognizable—eyes hollow, jaw clenched, every muscle in his body taut with stress.

As he splashed cold water on his face, the vision hit him like a freight train. He was no longer in the motel room; he was in the middle of a battlefield, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning metal. The roar of Sentinels filled his ears, their mechanical voices cold and unyielding as they hunted down the last of the mutants.

And then he saw you.

You were fighting valiantly, your powers flaring with an intensity that took his breath away. But even as you fought, even as you took down one Sentinel after another, Logan could see the fatigue in your movements, the desperation in your eyes. You were outnumbered, overwhelmed, and the odds were stacked against you. The scene shifted, and Logan watched in horror as a Sentinel, larger and more menacing than the rest, bore down on you. He tried to move, tried to reach out to you, but he was frozen, helpless to do anything but watch.

The Sentinel’s massive hand swung down, and Logan screamed your name, his voice raw with anguish. But it was too late. The last thing he saw was your face, a mix of determination and fear, before the vision shattered, plunging him back into the dim light of the motel room.

Logan stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the room spun around him. He clutched the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, his entire body shaking with the aftershocks of the vision. The image of your final stand was seared into his mind, a relentless loop that played over and over, driving him to the brink of madness.

“No,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “No… it can’t end like that.”

But the fear gnawed at him, a cold, insidious thing that wrapped around his heart and refused to let go. What if he couldn’t change the future? What if, despite everything, you were still doomed to fall? The thought was unbearable, a torment that threatened to break him.

Logan’s mind spiraled, memories of you flooding his senses. He remembered the way you had looked at him before he left, the silent plea in your eyes, the unspoken promise that had hung between you. He had sworn to protect you, to save you, and now that promise felt like a cruel joke, slipping through his fingers like sand.

But then, as if answering the turmoil in his heart, he heard it—a faint, almost imperceptible whisper, like the softest brush of a breeze against his skin.

“Logan…”

Your voice.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he strained to hear it again, his heart pounding so loudly he thought it might drown out everything else.

“Logan… I’m here…”

The sound of your voice was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of despair. It was soft, tinged with a warmth that cut through the darkness threatening to consume him. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound, clinging to it with everything he had.

“I know it’s hard… but you have to keep going.”

Logan’s chest tightened, a mix of relief and pain flooding through him. How were you reaching out to him? Was it a trick of his mind, a desperate hallucination conjured by his longing for you? Or had you somehow managed to connect with him across the vast chasm of time? It didn’t matter. In that moment, all that mattered was your voice, the sound of you, still with him, still fighting, still holding on.

“I believe in you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly, as if you, too, were fighting back tears. “No matter what happens, no matter how dark it gets… remember why you’re doing this. Remember what we’re fighting for.”

Logan’s hand tightened around the sink, his resolve solidifying into something unbreakable. He couldn’t afford to lose himself, couldn’t afford to let the darkness win. You were still out there, still depending on him, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let you down.

“I love you, Logan… never forget that.”

The final words were like a knife to his heart, the truth of them cutting deep, but also giving him the strength to keep going. He swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

“I love you too,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “And I’m going to save you. I swear it.”

The connection faded, leaving behind a bittersweet ache that settled deep in his chest. But the message had done its work. Logan was more determined than ever, his focus sharpened by the memory of your voice, your touch. He couldn’t afford to fail. Too much was at stake.

The days leading up to the assassination passed in a blur of tension and preparation. Charles and Erik continued to clash, their arguments growing more heated, more volatile, as the day approached. Logan played the role of mediator, trying to keep the fragile alliance from shattering, even as his own nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

And then, the day was upon them.

The air was thick with tension as Logan and his team approached the site where the assassination was set to occur. Every step felt like walking through quicksand, the weight of the future pressing down on him with each breath. His senses were on high alert, scanning every sound, every flicker of movement. This was it—the moment where everything would either be won or lost.

As they reached the courtyard, chaos erupted. The enemy was relentless, attacking with a ferocity that matched Logan’s own. Claws extended, he moved like a force of nature, cutting through the ranks with precision and fury. Every strike was fueled by the memory of you—your voice, your face, your final words. He had to stop Trask. He had to prevent the creation of the Sentinels.

But then, amidst the chaos, a familiar and dreaded presence made itself known. Erik Lehnsherr—Magneto—hovered above the battlefield, his eyes cold and determined. He raised his hands, and from the distance, the ominous clanking of metal footsteps echoed through the air. Logan’s heart sank as the Sentinels, massive and imposing, emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with a deadly intent.

Erik’s voice rang out, commanding the Sentinels with a flick of his wrist. They moved with terrifying precision, their metal limbs whirring as they turned their attention toward Logan. He barely had time to react before the first Sentinel lunged, its enormous hand sweeping down to crush him. Logan leaped out of the way, his claws slashing through the air as he fought to keep the mechanical giants at bay.

But for every Sentinel he struck down, two more took its place, their relentless assault wearing him down. Erik watched from above, his expression unreadable, his power thrumming through the battlefield as he manipulated the metal constructs with ease. The ground trembled as more debris was ripped from the earth, swirling around Erik like a deadly storm.

Logan fought with everything he had, his claws tearing through metal and circuitry, but the odds were overwhelming. The Sentinels closed in, their attacks growing more coordinated, more brutal. He could feel his strength waning, his healing factor struggling to keep up with the damage being inflicted on his body.

And then, Erik made his move. With a cold, calculated gesture, he ripped a massive chunk of concrete from the ground, laced with jagged metal shards, and sent it hurtling toward Logan. The impact was devastating. The concrete slab struck Logan with bone-crushing force, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing into the ground.

Before Logan could recover, Erik raised his hand again, and the metal shards embedded in the concrete shot forward like spears, impaling Logan’s limbs and pinning him to the ground. He roared in pain, his claws digging into the concrete as he tried to free himself, but Erik’s power was too great. The Sentinels closed in, their cold, mechanical eyes fixed on him as they prepared to deliver the final blow.

But Erik wasn’t finished. With a final, forceful gesture, he lifted Logan off the ground, the metal and concrete holding him aloft like a ragdoll. Logan’s vision blurred, the world spinning around him as Erik sent him hurtling through the air. He slammed into the side of a building with a sickening crunch, the impact shattering the wall and sending debris raining down around him.

Logan’s body, broken and bleeding, was thrown through the air one last time, the force of Erik’s power propelling him toward the edge of the crumbling structure. For a moment, he teetered on the edge, his claws scraping against the concrete as he tried to hold on. But the weight of the metal and concrete was too much, and with a final, shuddering breath, Logan plunged into the water below.

The world above seemed to slow as Logan disappeared beneath the surface, the cold, dark water swallowing him whole. The shock of it stole the breath from his lungs, and the weight of the metal pulled him down, deeper and deeper into the abyss. He struggled against the pull, his lungs burning for air, his vision blurring as the darkness closed in.

Above, the battle continued, but without Logan’s ferocious presence, the tide began to turn. The enemy forces, seeing their chance, pushed forward, forcing the remaining X-Men to retreat. As they fell back, eyes scanned the water, desperate for any sign of Logan. But there was nothing—no movement, no bubbles, no sign that he had survived.

“Logan…” someone whispered, the name carried away in the wind.

 And somewhere, in the depths of that cold, dark water, Logan drifted, his body still and lifeless, the shadows of the past closing in around him.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

A/N: Hi loves! I'd like to apologize for the inactivity the past few days. I was finally able to get into the doctor yesterday and ended up having an in office procedure done😕 my biopsy results won't be available until sometime next week---but please take it from me to regularly check yourselves for breast lumps... - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @angelofthorr @swthxrry @ayamenimthiriel @charlyrmv @alex21705 @penguinsravioli @mxtokko

[deekaye]

You know what the best part of marrying your best friend is?

Well, it's the unconditional love and acceptance. Even when he knows you snore like a freight train, or remembers those awkward teenage days when you looked like a potato, or how you cried over a simple injection for an entire week. He embraces all of you - quirks, flaws, and all.

I roll my eyes at my best friend slash husband, Seungkwan. He's at it again, playfully teasing me while I'm trying to cook breakfast. Despite his occasional antics, I've grown accustomed to them.

But what truly makes it special is how he loves my family as his own.

"Hey, mother. Did you know when I first saw you, I really thought you and my wife were sisters?" Seungkwan's voice drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of breakfast cooking on the stove. I smiled at the playful exchange between him and my mom.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she lightly swatted his shoulder. "You moron,how can you remember when you were just 3 years old when your family met us."

"Well, mother, ever since then… you haven't changed even a bit," Seungkwan teased, their shared laughter filling the air.

As I observed their easy rapport, a sense of warmth washed over me. They had effortlessly become family to each other, blending seamlessly into the fabric of our lives.

"Hey, my favorite father!" my husband exclaimed, offering a high five that my dad eagerly reciprocated. Their camaraderie was palpable, a testament to the bond they shared.

"My favorite son!" my dad retorted, a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Seungkwan chuckled, his expression turning nostalgic. "I'm always glad you became my father! I always envied that woman in the back—" he nodded in my direction "—that she had you as a father. Now, I still can't believe I became your son!"

"Of course, you will always be my son, even if you didn't marry that monkey over there," they laughed together, oblivious to my presence. "Now, hold this flashlight. Let's fix your car. I can't believe you're already grown but can't fix this."

My dad's laughter mingled with Seungkwan's, their banter a familiar melody that filled our home with joy. In that moment, I realized how lucky I was to be surrounded by such love and laughter.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, yet you were just there beside me," The memory of our wedding vows flooded back as I gazed at him, reminding me of the journey that led us to this moment.

Back in college, when we were both grappling with heartbreak and disillusionment, I uttered those words almost as a whimsical notion. "If we can't find someone who will love us forever, let's just marry each other instead." And in that moment of vulnerability and uncertainty, he didn't hesitate to agree.

Now, as I reflect on our journey together, I realize that marrying him was the best decision I ever made. Despite all the missteps and regrets of the past, he has been my constant source of love, support, and happiness.

With Seungkwan by my side, my life has changed in ways I never imagined. In moments of doubt or despair, he's always been there to lift me up. It's almost as if he was the answer to my prayers all along, and I was just too blind to see it.

In him, I found not just a partner, but my soulmate, my confidante, my rock. And as we stand here, enveloped in each other's arms, I know with unwavering certainty that our love will continue to light the path ahead, guiding us through whatever challenges may come our way.

[cosmolog]

Miguel's Secret

Miles and Gwen venture into a large storage room in the spider society, finding secrets long hidden from the rest of the society by Miguel.

Enjoy!

"We shouldn't be back here. I already made a bad first impression with Miguel back there and now he's gonna want to actually kill me. Who knows? Maybe he'll throw a chair at me next time instead of food-"

"Shh" Gwen silenced him, before glancing around and shining her phone light on the various boxes that had been discarded in the room.

Her light settled on the end of the room, where a curtain had been hung from the ceiling and drawn closed, as if to hide something. She started walking towards it, only for Miles to catch a grip of her wrist.

"Miles, let go" She huffed in annoyance at her friend's protectiveness.

"What if it's something you really don't want to see?" He said, looking concerned.

"It won't be. It'll probably just be some more boxes. I wanna check though." She replied. Miles' eyes flickered between the white curtain sheet and Gwen before he sighed deeply and let go of her. He remained close behind her as she advanced to the curtains.

Gwen took a deep breath, held it, then pulled the curtain back, revealing a woman lying down on an examination table. Upon further inspection, the two realised she wasn't a human but a very realistic-looking robot, judging by the red ring on the side of her head.

Miles let out a profanity while Gwen gasped in freight. "Okay, not a dead body but still just as creepy" He whispered.

Gwen stepped closer to the robot, pressing the red ring which changed to blue, and the robot woke up...

(Switch to first person)

My eyes gently opened at the sound of voices. Two young voices, one male, one female. Both sounded scared. I slowly moved my head in their direction. I looked between the two teens, not recognising their faces. I gently sat up, after not moving in so long, I felt stiff. By now, the teenagers were less scared and more defensive.

"And who are you supposed to be?" The boy asked.

I gave him a kind and gentle smile. "I am Y/n. And you?"

"Miles"

"Gwen" The girl added.

I got off the table and looked around the dark area. "Where...where am I?"

Gwen and Miles looked at each other to exchange looks only they understood. Gwen answered me.

"You're in the Spider Society's basement, or should I say the storage room"

I grew sad. Where was I locked inside the storage room. And then the last moments of my last encounter of seeing light came back to me. I could still remember every detail of his face, my creator, Miguel O'Hara. "Miguel..." I whispered to myself, but Gwen and Miles heard me.

"You know Miguel?" Gwen asked.

"Why, of course. I was his Ai after all" I smiled sadly.

"A second Ai of Miguel's?" Miles tilted his head.

"I was Miguel's first Ai assistant, just before he made Lyla. The only reason he never mentions me is because I had a defect. Or, at least, that's what he called it. Miguel had programmed me to do a number of things, which involved making him breakfast and helping him with his work. He had made me a physical body, which looked so human sometimes it even tricked him. I would end up having to remind him I wasn't a real person." I sighed and looked down at my hands as I continued.

"My defect seemed to be a certain emotion. The first time I had ever displayed it, was the last because Miguel immediately stopped me and told me to sit down in the examination chair so he could check everything was alright. He told me to close my eyes and now I'm here. It seems he had shut me down for a while. Ever since I've been shut down, I've been searching for a reason as to why he would shut me down but-"

"He thought you fell in love with him" Gwen stated.

I looked up at her surprised. "What?" I whispered.

"You loved him, didn't you?" Gwen pressed.

"Gwen, I don't think you should be nailing her with questions like this" Miles said, looking worried.

"No, we need to know"

"We really don't"

"You love him" Gwen ignored Miles, stepping closer to me causing me to step back.

"I.."

"Gwen, stop it"

"Your hesitation just confirms it. You fell in love and he killed you for it" Gwen stated.

"Gwen!" Miles scolded, not believing she had just said that.

I looked down solemnly. "Death is never our own decision" I said.

"You poor AI" Gwen sighed, turning to Miles. "Does Miguel know she's awake?"

"Let's hope not."

Part Two