#is the only variant of yourself a variant of you in the past?

[tesserat]

This was gonna be a way longer post

Anyway, so I wanna hear everyone else's opinions:

Are Peter One, Peter Two and Peter Three the same person... or are they closer to brothers?

[elizabethrobertajones]

Bug type pokemon

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[eupheme]

Not to be the little gremlin obsessed with Chappell Roan BUT… reader thinking Logan is too cool to want a proper relationship with them, so when things get physical they insist things are just “casual” in order to protect themselves from getting hurt. But secretly you’re in love with each other, so honestly, neither of you want things to be casual at all… (mutual pining my beloved) please & thank you!! Love you!

ahh hi hi avo I LOVE this song, and this request, and you - I could so see this being a situation that Logan and reader find themselves in. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you like it! (I added a couple winks to the lyrics as well.) 💖 thank you so much for sending this to me!!!

casual | variant!logan howlett x f!reader

1.2k | posessive!logan, fwb(???), use of alcohol, mutual pining, references to oral sex and PiV.

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

It certainly feels like a dream, watching your worlds collide.

The heft of Logan’s palm fitting into your friends as he shakes their hand - the five of you squeezed into your usual booth in the corner of the bar.

You’d say the past couple weeks had seemed that way, as well. A late-night dose of bravery spiraling into something so raw and intense and real, that you feel like you could choke on it.

Even now, there’s heat in your cheeks as your eyes flick his way. Something stirring in your chest at the way his other arm slings across the back of the booth almost possessively.

But like all dreams, there comes a moment where you have to wake up.

Because you know it’s not.

Because you know your feelings aren’t requited. How could they be, when it’s Logan you’re talking about?

A legend.

A lone wolf.

Someone important, someone whose name carries a weight. Who saved the world, from what Wade tells you.

And you’re - you.

So even if you know what he looks like beneath that flannel, know what his mouth feels like when it presses against yours - what he sounds like, when he comes - you know that this is nothing.

It’s casual. A distraction, for both of you.

And if that’s how it has to be, then you’ll do your best to show him you’re cool with it.

You just hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon. It had been a genuine offer, your “you wanna come with?” when the hour rolled around for your weekly trivia night.

Not thinking his head would cock to the side. The look he’d give you - that arched brow, as his fingers splayed out across your bare hip. Still crowded together on your couch, sweat-dewed.

The “sure, sweetheart” that slipped out.

And now you’re introducing him as your friend - that quick history you’ve perfected - rattling off the “you know, Wade from work’s roommate” even though Wade didn’t work at the dealership anymore.

He had made enough of an impression that none of your friends had forgotten.

And you ignore the bitter jolt in your stomach, when all Logan does is hum.

You think you must have assumed right.

He doesn’t correct you.

Logan quickly solidifies himself as an asset to the team. He gets a lot of the history questions that you’ve always struggled with. A shy quirk of his lips when your friends cheer, and you get swept along with it.

His hand ending up on your thigh along the way. Squeezing, when you chime in. Almost as if forgetting - it’s easy to, when you’re having fun like this.

A low rasp in your ear, when the host takes a break.

“Lemme get you another.”

You can only nod, as he eases out - taking your glass with him.

It only takes a second, before MJ’s hand slaps down on yours.

“That’s Logan?” She hisses - leaning forward, “The one who-”

“Yes.” You cut her off, ignoring the sideways glance her boyfriend gives you.

You never should have told her about that.

Had a hard enough time climbing into your car without thinking about it, yourself - the way he had man-handled you in the passenger seat. Thighs thrown over broad shoulders.

Fingers twined in his hair, as he made you moan in the dark parking garage. Too eager to make it up to your apartment.

She frowns, the words petering out, “But I thought-”

Your teeth worry at your lower lip.

“Yeah. Me too.” You sigh.

MJ knows how much you like him.

Really like him - butterflies, and everything. How it’s been years since you felt this way - slipping from you during that rushed phone call at 6 am the morning after your first night together.

Her eyebrows raise, and it’s a look you know well.

“It’s, you know.” Your hand waves, “It’s casual. It’s-”

It’s easier, this way.

Maybe if you keep repeating it, it won’t hurt as much when he moves on.

The look she shoots you is one of pity, just as a drink is set down in front of you.

Your teeth clicking against each other as the words are swallowed. Forcing a smile as Logan slips back in the booth next to you.

The next round starts a moment after, and it’s a welcome reprieve.

You miss the way his eyes narrow, as yours fix firmly on scorecard in front of you.

But you don’t miss the way his hands stay folded on top of the table, for the rest of the night.

You suppose he must have remembered where he was.

“You wanna come up?”

He lingers outside your apartment door, hands jammed into his pockets. That look from the bar is back - all dark, narrowed eyes.

A low sound in his throat, close to a scoff.

“That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your eyebrows raise, “Well, yeah. I mean-, that’s what we usually do, right?”

He’s spent just about every night at your apartment. His things still scattered across your room. A leather jacket slung across the chair that’s tucked against your vanity.

Logan’s lips twist at the edges, eyes dropping.

“Suppose we do.” Those hands slip from his pocket, crossing over his chest, “Back when I thought we knew what we were doing. But now…”

His head shakes. A tick in his jaw.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

Logan huffs, “The bar, baby. Is that how you really feel?”

A step closer, until he’s caging you in. Voice dropping, rough and low - near gritted out.

“Does this,” His fingers flick between your chest and his, “feel casual to you?”

Your heartbeat gallops behind your ribs.

“I thought-,” You manage, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

He’s too close, now. The dip of his head, those eyes burning in their shades of brown and gold.

“Now, why would you think that?”

You swallow, “Because you’re you, and I’m-”

“You’re?” He prompts, but you go silent.

A sigh, when your head dips.

Unable to say it out loud.

“Driving me crazy all night, you know that?” He rasps, “Giving me those looks. Calling me your friend, when we both know your mouth was around my cock this morning.”

A low rumble in his throat, “When I still taste like you.”

Your breath hitches, as his hand thumbs at your jaw, tilting it up.

“Lemme ask you again.” His mouth is close enough now to ghost against yours, “Is that how you really feel?”

Your head shakes.

“Wanna be yours.”

It’s breathed out, just as he kisses you.

His body pressing flush, as your hands twine around his neck. A palm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he deepens it.

Desire thrumming to life inside you, washing out the dregs of insecurity that you’ve been carrying this whole time. Melting them away completely with the hungry sweep of his tongue, the way he swallows your soft moan.

There’s a flash of white when he finally leans back, with the curve of his lips.

“Good.”

His hand closes around the knob. A rough twist, as his another arm wraps around your waist.

Walking you backwards, into the dark.

“Then let me show you exactly how I feel.”

thank you so much, again!! 💖

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hiii I really love the one with the harbingers where reader calls them words of endearment from their homeland, can you do one where reader cooks for them food from their homeland? pantalone's part was so cute <33

✦ You cook them their favorite home meal, based on their homeland

(Or trying to guess what food the not-yet-playable characters might like based on their region, culture, or language. ) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ It is to no one’s surprise that Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, would easily drop everything to grant your needs. Just blink and the world’s spoils are at your feet, bestowed by your beloved. Expensive clothing, jewelry, art pieces, weaponry, or lavish dishes. With his money and status, plus being a connoisseur of the ancient lores of Teyvat, The Jester can easily acquire anything you require on a silver platter. 

But this time, it was you who tried to gift him something on a silver platter.

On an unsuspecting day, Pierro returned home only to be greeted with a strong scent of baked goods. The smell wafted all around the living quarters, warm and sugary. Glancing curiously, the Jester marched to the kitchen, where he found you grumbling to yourself. You stood with your oven mittens, a tray of voluptuous Kanelbullar presented in front of him; some were cut as you tried to take an analytical bite of the cinnamon rolls.

“Trying your hands at familiar recipes, my cherished?” - The man asked with a welcoming glance while you mulled and judged the taste of your cooked goods.

“Ah, Pierro, you’re right on time. Here, try this one for me. Does it resemble traditional cinnamon rolls?”

When the Jester took a bite, even his icy eye widened for a moment. A wave of nostalgia and warmth lanced his memories, ones he thought were long forgotten. The cinnamon rolls you baked were not the average confectionaries one could easily purchase, as the taste resembled traditional Khaenri’ahn Kanelbullar. A simple treat that all children and adults used to enjoy in their free time.  

“Well…? Oh no, don’t tell me it’s that bad?” - you awaited his response, but Pierro quickly shook his head.

“It’s rich and potent in taste, but not too sugary. Just like the ones in our Homeland… I didn’t think replicating such intricacies was possible. What did you add this time?”

Your eyes light up. Finally, some progress. “Really? I’ve been mulling over it for hours, I thought my taste pallet was going numb. I tried to find any local ingredients that might add the flavor of saffron and cardamon.”

“Like the golden Saffron…? They were a local specialty back in Khaenri’ah. Although some variants exist in Teyvat’s soil, they are not used as cooking ingredients here.” - Pierro pondered, amazed at your ability to combine other local spices to imitate the taste of the past.

As both of you mulled over how to achieve the most accurate results for these traditional Cinnamon Rolls, half of the tray was already gone.

“Although now that I think about it, my divine, I don’t think it would be an issue to send an expedition to obtain that rare spice for you. Especially if the result is such exquisite home pastry.”

✧ In this house, Il Capitano is the master chef. The man is proficient in the art of survival, thus, his skills in outdoor cooking are especially shown. From simple meat and vegetables, the Captain can come up with the best meat skewers you ever ate. Not to mention the topic of sustenance and growth is intertwined with a good diet. A man his size and capabilities puts immense care into outdoor survival and health.

But even a strong Captain deserves some spoiling for his hard work. 

After a wearying day spent honing the skills of his Fatui troops, a group of soldiers that will prepare for an upcoming expedition, Il Capitano was greeted with a surprise visit from you. You arrived right on time for their break, and as always, the Fatui soldiers couldn't help but eavesdrop on the Harbinger’s exchange with his beloved…

“I brought you your meal for today, Bife de chorizo. You need lots of protein.”

“Thank you.” - The Captain stood obediently, holding the lunchbox you brought.

“With Pico de Gallo and avocados. I also put some almonds and walnuts as a snack.”

“I understand.” 

“You are preparing for another important expedition. You must take care of your body after such intensive training, Cappy.”

“You are right, you are right.”

“And I don’t want to see anything left from the lunch boxes. Make sure to eat all of it, okay?”

“Understood!”

It sure was a sight. One would think the Harbinger was the student as he stood nodding vehemently while you scolded him. With one hand on your hip, you gave him an earful as you checked up on him, generously providing him a full-course meal neatly packed in a mealbox.

The Fatui soldiers were slightly jealous. Even they could easily tell that behind that pitch-black helmet, Il Capitano was absolutely joyous to have his beloved visit him and provide such mouthwatering nourishment. 

✧ Today, you were ready to tackle and kill Il Dottore. Why? Because that man barged into your kitchen and confidently announced himself as the culinarian for today’s dinner. A simple and kind gesture, right? You would rather starve than have The Doctor implode your kitchen again.

“Stop exaggerating as if I let your Serenitea Pot house crumble. It was just a little fire.” - Dottore defended himself, watching closely as you made him stand back from the stove. 

“I had to replace the whole walls, Zandik!”

The two of you stood in the kitchen, with the Harbinger peeking from behind your shoulders as you claimed dominion over the frying pan. The whole day, he was made watching you prepare Sumeru Kibbeh meatballs, since the last time he decided to dabble in the art of cooking, your house was put at stake.

He was a scholar, not a chef, unfortunately. But The Doctor is not ashamed to admit his impatience and lack of skill in the kitchen. Hence, he helped you as much as he could while you diligently taught him how Kibbeh is properly made. He remained silent but pleasantly subservient. The sight of your sleeves raised, hands tactfully molding the Kibbeh was oddly amiable. Especially when your face was so focused on the task, he couldn’t help but stare. 

Yet every time you fried the meatballs and set them aside on a pan lined with paper towels to drain, a sneaky hand would try to steal some. You’d slap his hand away.

“Nope. Hands off! Wait till dinner”

“They’ll end up being consumed anyway. I’ll just have a small tas-”

Slap!

And it continued for a long while, all the way to the end once you finished cooking. When the two of you finally sat down and began eating, Dottore would often remain silent. You were too busy relishing the dish, unaware of the Harbinger’s appreciation for your home-cooked meal. Sustenance is just a waste of time that the human body must go through to gain its energy. But it’s not the same when he is sitting with you casually, the warm afternoon sunlight wrapping the dining table, and the warm food steaming with an appetizing aroma.

For him, eating with you was different. It was simple, but it was home. 

✧ Scaramouche may huff and scoff all he wants, but when it comes to appraising your Unagi Chazuke, no master can compete with you. Perhaps because he is a puppet, but Scaramouche has a delicate pallet. He despises strong flavors and always preferred simpler dishes, to appreciate the unique flavor of a singular ingredient. He would never admit it vocally, but he would often crave your chazukes, and it was easily written on his grumbling face.

“Come on, just say it.”

The Balladeer lamented.

“Say it. My home cooking is the best, and you just want me to cook for you today.”

“...I won’t. I don’t have use in consuming any human meals.” - he mumbled in response, arms crossed. You sighed and with a wide smile, you turned away.

“Oh well. Guess you don’t want any, huh…? And here I thought I could prepare your favorite Unagi Chazuke today. But I guess it’s foolish-”

“No, Wait-!” - The Harbinger wished to bite his tongue but it was too late. He already called out to you in a moment of weakness, and your goofy grin only widened with his desperation. 

He gave up. With reluctant embarrassment, the Balladeer admitted your victory - “If you may… Can you prepare another one of your signature Chazuke? Please.”

And that’s how you two ended up by the dinner table. You couldn’t just deny him after such a heartfelt request. You prepared the unagi meat and rice diligently, showing him how to prepare green tea to add mild bitterness to the salted rice. Topping off with some dried Nori leaves, and sesame - two bows of Unagi Chazuke were ready and looking artistically grandiose.

Light and sublime, that’s what Scaramouche thought. A true definition of soul food, as he held his bowl and chopsticks close. A rare but sincere smile would always grace his features whenever he ate your cooking, but he of course would conceal it by clearing his throat.

“Hm, okay fine. Maybe your cooking is adequate after all. Especially when you don’t make it too sweet.”

You’d laugh at his reaction. At the end of the day, it was you who taught him how to cook what later would become his signature dish, even if his identity as a Harbinger was wiped away. 

✧ Being the richest man in Teyvat like Pantalone means dealing with lots of bureaucracies and business. Sometimes, after a prolonged day in the office, the sight of stacked papers becomes dreadful and negotiations with the Snezhnayan elites may go fruitless. Thus, The Regrator would often slum by his desk, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sigh in exhaustion.

Now what would the richest man in Teyvat do to relax after a bad day at work? Go to the most expensive five-star restaurant? Perhaps purchase a fancy drink that costs more than his subordinates' monthly salary? No. He would head straight back home, where he knows you are awaiting him with open arms.

A single look at him and you would know he is fatigued. Leaning up to embrace him, you plant a tender kiss on his cheek - “How about I make us a quick snack, hm? You can go and take a shower in the meantime.”

Pantalone would try to conjure up a faint smile and nod. As he winds down for the day, subconsciously he knows your home cooking is like a balm to his soul. No matter how many exquisite restaurants he tried, he’d easily sacrifice all of them for a bite-full of your culinary.

And here you are, merrily handing him his childhood favorite - Mora Meat Roujiamo. A simple meat sandwich, but a staple street food in Liyue’s culture. That’s all the Harbinger desires after a tough day at work, as he gobbles the sandwich wrapped with a paper towel.

“Made your favorites. I added some extra meat since I know you like it juicy.” - you gave Pantalone soothing pats on the back as he ate up.

“You’re a lifesaver, honey. You would not believe how frustrating work has been today,”

Pantalone would rant and confide in you about his work. He would rather do that than delve into the nostalgic feeling that Mora Meat sandwiches gave him. It was indeed his childhood favorite. Yet it also reminded him how in the distant past, when food or money was scarce, starvation and desperation were his only companions as a lowly child. Thus, on better days when he acquired some change just to purchase simple Mora Meat - these sandwiches felt like a king’s feast.

Such an unadorned dish, but one that brought warmth and sustenance to a starved child, telling him that everything would be okay. Today, this starved child is the richest man in Snezhnayan. Nevertheless, he still relished these sandwiches from your hands like divine wealth, telling himself once more that everything would be okay. 

✧ Tartaglia was bedbound for some while, bandaged heavily after a massive battle he faced during one of his missions. The young Harbinger would never tell his family where his scars hail from, except for you and his father maybe. But after an earful of scolding, you took care of your reckless boyfriend and sighed.

“You made me worried, you know. I don’t want to see you move a muscle around the house these days, are we clear? You must recover first.”

“Y-yes, captain.” - Childe chuckled humorously, suppressing the soreness his cuts provided around his body. “It’s just… there is only one remedy that could save a fallen soldier like me.”

“Hm? What is it? Do you need something, Ajax?” 

“Please, dear… come closer.” - he said with a pained expression. 

You did so he could whisper to you what he wanted. Your concern was only heightened, oblivious that his dramatic words were playing you - “The secret to my healing… is…”

“Yes?” - you leaned even closer.

“... Some yummy food.”

You blinked at him, and Tartaglia immediately gained a comically “passed out” expression on his face, as if your cooking were his last death wish. You let him plop to the pillow and gritted your teeth - “Why you little-...! Ugh, you’re lucky I am worried about you. You just want me to pamper you.”

“Oh, come on, is that such an unrealistic request? You told me not to move a muscle and I would receive your scolding no matter what. Please, sweetheart, just anything you would like - cook it and I would happily gobble it up!”

You crossed your arms. You hate to admit it, but his puppy eyes were working effectively and if his appetite was returning, that means he is on a good path of recovery anyway.

“Fine… I’ll make something nutritious and easy for your stomach.”

Tartaglia's eyes lightened up in an instant. He was a simple man - if you cooked him something, he would drop on his knees for you instantly. That day, you pondered whether you’d make him some Piroshki or Borscht, but he needed something light. His health was your priority, after all. Even though Childe fancied himself a master at concealing his painful whinces, you are no fool. You always notice them.

Thus, your beloved was presented with Ukha fish soup. A warm bowl with fresh herbs, imported calla lily, and nutritious fish.

“Easy now, I know you like Calla Lily Seafood Soup, since you often had it in Liyue… So I decided to go with the local version of it. Now make sure to eat all of it, or you won’t feel better.”

Like an obedient child, Ajax felt pampered and delighted. Lunch by the bed? His sweetheart feeding him? The injuries were worth it as he happily ate the Ukha fish soup.

“If getting injured makes me taste food more worthy than the gods themselves, maybe I should get wounded more often, haha- Ow!”

Your response was another fistful nudge to his shoulder.  

Kanelbullar - in Swedish, Cinnamon Rolls Bife de chorizo - in Spanish, Argentinian beef cut Pico de Gallo - in Spanish, Mexican salsa/dip Kibbeh - in Arabic, bulgur parcel stuffed with minced meat filling (in Genshin, they just called it meatballs lol) Chazuke - in Japanese, green tea poured over a rice meal (Scara's signature dish)  Mora Meat - had to look this one up, apparently Genshin is referencing RouJiaMo (肉夹馍) meaning “meat in a bun". Ukha fish soup - in Russian, also known as fisherman’s soup. Childe’s signature Calla Lily Seafood Soup is probably a variation made with Gēng found in Chinese cuisine. But there is a Slavic variation that reminded me of his signature dish. 

[covid-safer-hotties]

To My Unmasked Friend in the Fifth Year of COVID - By: Anna Holmes - Published Aug 17, 2024

I’m going to be honest with you, because I love you, and you deserve nothing but honesty. I’m going to try really hard not to be angry while I do it, but it’s probably going to slip out every now and again. But I need you to hear me out, all right?

By now, we’ve talked about my reality. My personal struggle with long COVID, the isolation I live in, why I am so angry all the time.

But let’s talk about you. You just went to a big convention overseas. You got on a plane, got a little gussied up, talked shop with some insiders, geeked out over awards and merch, ate, drank, were merry, left with your social cup and your heart full.

You’re a good person. We wouldn’t be friends otherwise! You’d never dream of tripping a person with a red and white cane, using the r-word, excluding a disabled person from an event because of something they can’t help.

You might even acknowledge that the COVID response from governments and organizations has been ableist and inadequate.

But you didn’t wear a mask.

For whatever reason — you wanted to show off your makeup, it makes you itchy, you believed the messaging that COVID is endemic (what does that actually mean?), you just don’t think about it anymore — you made a choice that actively excludes people like me from participating not only in an event like a convention, but society at large. And yes, it is a choice. Every time you step out into the world without a mask on your face, you have made a decision that your very good reason, whatever it is, supersedes the right of disabled and at-risk people to exist safely in your orbit.

Well, hold on, you say. It’s not any one individual’s fault, it’s the inadequate public health messaging. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?

And I have. In the past, I have talked about how it is unconscionable that health authorities have thrown their hands up and rescinded guidance that would have saved hundreds of thousands of lives and prolonged a pandemic that, to hear them tell it, has been bested. It hasn’t. Worst of all, the financial motivation that we all know is driving this premature victory lap isn’t even being fulfilled. Long COVID and other post-COVID complications are costing the global economy one trillion a year. Meanwhile, article after article handwrings about nobody wanting to work anymore, about the sagging college application scene, about declines in military enlistment, and the strain on our healthcare systems.

All of this is very much the fault of our leaders, who have decided the political ramifications of “normalcy” are more important than the health and lives of the 400 million people living with long COVID across the globe, the immunocompromised folks who are increasingly being shut out of every conceivable public space, and the disabled community which has been screaming into the wind about our marginalization since before the virus even hit US soil.

But I want to be very clear. You are helping them do this.

The reality is that we have been living in this deeply flawed landscape of “personal choice”, and you’ve made yours. You’ve opted not to look into how densely clustered cases are. You’ve stopped listening to your friends who have informed themselves. You’ve given yourself permission to put COVID on the back burner. You’ve earned it, right? Four and a half years of trauma?

COVID doesn’t care if you’re tired of being scared or careful or considerate. COVID is not something you can personally overcome by being smart or virtuous or brave. It is a virus which only seeks to infect and replicate, and it is getting very good at those things. While you’ve looked away, my community has been scrambling to avoid variants that skirt immunity and don’t show up on rapid tests until day five-seven. The constant battle has changed since you were last in it. It’s not sufficient anymore to get your shots and test before a big event. You could well be asymptomatic and infectious, or have symptoms and convinced yourself it can’t be COVID because that second line hasn’t popped up.

You have come to the conclusion sometime between 2022 and now that you just have to decide what level of risk you’re comfortable with and live with it. The problem with that is scale. It’s you and everybody else doing that, and a lot of people have decided they are comfortable with a high level of risk. Despite what you’ve been told, you’re not just making that decision for yourself. You are making it for every person you come in contact with.

Think back to the early tense days of 2020. We were told to select a “bubble.” Those people would be our social lifelines, and through those, we could control our exposure.

My bubble is quite small. It includes my husband, my sister, and two friends I see relatively frequently.

My husband goes to work via the bus, and to the grocery store. Every person he comes in contact with there has the potential to infect him, and then he has the potential to pass it along to me. He mitigates this by wearing a well-fitted respirator at all times.

My sister goes to work at a busy public place. She masks when public facing and takes it off in the back office. She goes to restaurants, bars, concerts, hangs out with friends and her own partner unmasked. About 75% of her interactions have the heightened potential to infect her, which she might then bring into my house when she visits me.

My friends do not mask anywhere except my house when asked. They attend concerts, shows, cons, bars.

Obviously, I am in control of whether I wear a mask around these people. And as we approach one million new cases a day, I will be around everyone but my husband. But science is clear: reciprocal masking is more effective at infection control than a single person masking — especially when that single person is trying to protect themselves, not others.

This is settled science. We’ve known this since 2020. It says clearly that the choice you make is not personal- it has implications for everyone you come in contact with.

And being clear — if I could, I’d make everyone wear a mask for their own health. I don’t want people suffering with what I have. But you’ve been told this lie that you can take your risks for yourself, so you feel comfortable going out without a mask. You’ve been told this lie that it’s possible to completely recover from a COVID infection, so you assume that even if you do catch it, that’s what’ll happen to you, despite evidence showing that every body is indelibly changed by an infection, and that risk only grows with each subsequent infection.

And the greatest lie of all — that only the sick or elderly have anything to fear from COVID — has given you unfounded confidence in your own “good” genes or immune system or fitness. You can get long COVID even if you’re in peak form — in fact, may even be more likely to be hit hard.

So you have decided, individually and collectively, that only the sick or elderly should have to take precautions, and you freewheel through life, only to get surprised and dismayed when you bump into COVID in the wild. It’s back, people declare every summer or winter, as though it ever left.

But I want you to really think about the implications of your choice. Besides yourself. Because let’s be honest here, that’s who you’ve been thinking about, right? Your risk. Your comfort. Never mind your bubble, never mind the bubble of everyone you come into contact with, never mind the people like me who are literally hiding from people like you.

You’re not masking at the doctor’s office. You’re not masking at the airport. You’re not masking at the giant superspreader you just attended, and you’re not masking in the bars and restaurants where we know the virus flourishes. And then you’re bringing that exposure back to your family and friends. Back to the grocery store, where you run across people like my husband, shopping for someone who is unsafe to leave the house, or your elderly neighbors, or an immunocompromised employee.

You’re a good person, or you like to think of yourself that way. That’s why when you’re asked to mask, you dismiss it out of hand — because that changed behavior implies that you’ve been doing something wrong.

And my friend, I’m telling this because I love you: you have been. You might have been doing that on faulty information, but be honest with yourself and with me — you’ve heard me begging people to take this seriously. You’ve seen the information I’ve been sharing. You have had the opportunity to seek out the correct information all along, and you have chosen not to.

It isn’t too late to change your view of the risk you’re imposing on the people around you. It’s not too late to push public health to become more effective. It’s not too late to act in solidarity and be the inclusive person you think you are. It’s not too late to take care of yourself.

Ultimately, that’s what I have been screaming myself hoarse about. I don’t want you to end up with what I have. I don’t want you to inadvertently impose that on someone else. And yes, I’ve been angry, because you’ve been advertising your absolute lack of concern with group shots of your naked faces on social media. It doesn’t seem to bother you that I am stuck at home like it’s 2020, except for doctors’ appointments that I literally have to risk my life to go to. You’ve told yourself that it’s not your problem, because only the sick and elderly have to take precautions.

You know better. You can do better. For your community, yourself, and me, do better.

Please. I love you.

Anna

PS. If you’re feeling upset and embarrassed right now, the best thing you can do is take action. Get yourself good masks (the surgicals and cloth ones don’t cut it anymore), donate to mask blocs so others can access good masks, write to your representatives and the President, comment on upcoming CDC guidance, schedule yourself a booster, and talk to your loved ones about doing better, too. The only way we get out of this is with community care. So care.

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime (pt. 2)

summary: you and logan try to steer clear of each other, the scars running so deep that certain memories of the past occur. pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader word count: 3.5k tags / warnings: angst - post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), flashbacks from both reader's world and worst!logan's universe (in italics), no use of y/n. a/n: i'm so so surprised at how well the first part was received and i just want to thank everyone who's read it!!! i'm a sucker for angst and i'm so excited to make this into a longer series. in each part, there's gonna be a song that basically sums up the feels for the chapter. song: wherever you will go by the calling prev. part - next part.

“I’m not him.”

His words repeat in your mind like it’s some kind of mantra, trying to convince you that the Logan you saw a week ago wasn’t the same Logan you lost all those years ago. 

But he was right there, so close and yet so far. The subtle touches that night only reminded you of the man you lost. Even after all this time, he still had such a strong hold on your heart. 

But this Logan wasn’t yours and he made that very clear. It felt like the world was laughing in your face, taunting you by having the love of your life resurrected in a version that wanted nothing to do with you. You weren’t naive, you knew that this person wasn’t the same man you had fallen in love with, but your soul yearned for him and you knew he felt it too. 

You never truly recovered from losing your Logan. Instead, you had just forced yourself to get up day in and day out for Laura because you knew that’s what Logan would have wanted you to do. As the years passed, you became numb to the loss of him. You tried not to think about him, tried not to reminisce of the moments you shared with each other, but there had been times throughout the years where something reminded you of him. 

And every time, it crippled you. Took hold of every inch of your being until all you could think about was Logan and it broke your heart all over again. 

But seeing him caused your entire world to stop, serving as a reminder of the gaping hole that your Logan left in your heart. 

While you tried to forget your Logan, to just continue living your life until it was your turn to go, seeing a different version of him just brought back all of the memories you tried so hard to erase. You wanted to forget, wanted these memories of him gone from your mind because it just hurt too much. 

But here he was. A walking reminder of the man you loved. 

The man you lost. 

And the man you will never get back. 

–

“I’m not her.”

Logan couldn’t stop thinking about you since that night he saw you. He tried to tell himself that you weren’t her, to convince himself that you weren’t the same woman he lost.

But having you so close where he could have just reached out and touched you stirred a lot of unresolved emotions that he tried so hard to bury. He knew you weren’t the woman that he had fallen in with – you were just some version of her in this universe and he had to wonder if this was life’s way of punishing him for all of the things he had done in his. 

Logan wanted to push you away and he made it very clear that night that he wasn’t your Logan and that he never would be. He needed to keep you at a distance, but every fiber of his being yearned for you. Since that night, all Logan could hear was your laugh, your voice. All he could see was your smile, your eyes that gazed up at him. 

He tried so hard to snap out of it because you weren’t her.

And when he was alone, when the hope that things could be different finally vanished, all he could see now was the same woman who had died in his arms because of him. All he could hear was your voice, calling out to him to save you, and the last words you told him before you took your last breath. 

He barely slept and drinking only did so much. This universe was supposed to be his second chance at being a better version of himself, but he didn’t know how he could do that when he knew you existed in this world. 

Your mere existence haunted him, causing a lot of conflicting feelings. 

He wanted another chance with you, but how could he do that when he knew that you were better off without him? Safer without him? 

This Logan didn’t belong in this universe, he knew that much. 

But he couldn’t help the hope that he felt within himself (and from you) that maybe this wasn’t life’s way of taunting you both, but rather a second chance to make things right. 

To be happy. 

To have an ending that you both deserve. 

With each other. 

—

“You know, I’d do anything for you,” you tell Logan, who’s lying in bed next to you. What had started as a very casual situationship had turned into something much more serious. 

Logan started spending more and more nights at your place, finding comfort in your presence. You were the calm within the storm, the peace within the chaos. He didn’t know when things changed, when things shifted, but his soul yearned for you. 

“I know you would, bub,” he’d reply. Logan never made his feelings for you known, never made it obvious because if he did, it would make things more complicated than he already made it to be. He often wondered why he found you so late in his life, after everything he had been through, Logan finally had a chance of happiness but he didn’t know how long he had. 

He could feel that his body was much different than before. Could feel the pain of his wounds last longer before it healed itself. 

But you made him feel young again, made him feel like he finally deserved a life that he had seen others live. A chance to be happy. A chance to love. 

“I’m serious, Logan.”

“I know,” he repeats. 

“I think I love you.” you admit. 

Logan sits up in bed abruptly. He can feel his chest tightening with so many emotions: relief, joy, fear. He feels you reach out for him and he just stands up, gathering his clothes and beginning to put them back on without a word.

“Logan–”

“No,” he growls. “No.”

You scramble to your feet, grabbing the sheet from your bed to wrap around your naked frame. With one arm holding it up, you use your other hand to rest on his chest. “Stop running.”

“Ain’t running. We both know exactly what this was, bub,” Logan says, shrugging your hand off of him. “I ain’t good for you, and we both know that.” 

“Don’t you love me too?” you ask, voice quivering as you take a step away from him. “I know who you are, what you are, the things you’ve done and seen… but I love all of you. The good, the bad. All of it.”

Logan pulls on his black slacks and white tank top, glancing over at you. He feels tethered to you, feels like if he walks out of that door that he wouldn’t come back and he’d never fully recover. 

“Of course, I love you,” Logan admits. “But I can’t– We can’t–” he feels his breath hitch in his throat. “I mean it. I ain’t good for you, bub. You deserve someone better than me.”

“I deserve you,” you hesitantly reach out for him, afraid that he’s going to pull away from you again. “There is no one better than you, Logan.” 

“Things don’t ever work out for me,” he whispers, looking down at your hand that moves to take hold of his. “If I lose you, I won’t ever forgive myself.”

“You won’t lose me,” you promise. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“What happens if I lose you? What happens then?” 

Logan shrugs. “You’ll be fine.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “I have never loved anyone as much as I love you,” you tell him honestly. “My heart will always belong to you. In every lifetime. In every universe, I’m yours.” 

Logan gazes at you and can see the tears in your eyes. Your free hand moves to rest gently on his chest, above his beating heart. You look at him in a way that no one ever has, that despite all of the things he has done, you still see the good in him. 

And it was in that moment that Logan promised himself that he would do everything in his power to keep you happy, to make sure you knew how much he loved you. 

“In every lifetime. In every universe,” he repeats, voice quiet as he leans into you…

Suddenly, you awake, gasping for air as you scramble to reach out to the empty space next to you. “Logan…” you call out for him, the sudden realization hitting you straight to your core. Tears begin to roll down your cheeks as you bring your legs up to your chest, beginning to cry into your knees. Your dreams – or rather memories – of Logan occur almost every night since meeting some version of him last week.  

This new Logan had the same exterior as your Logan, haunted by his own memories, by his regrets and failures. But you couldn’t help the fact that while you were yearning and missing your Logan, you also craved this new Logan. 

Was this life’s way of giving you another chance?, you had to wonder. And if it was, would you take it? 

—

It was another morning where Logan was sitting on the couch, a bottle of liquor on the coffee table as he tried so hard to forget you and erase the memories that tied you to him. But even when he closed his eyes, you were all he could see. 

“So, you do like me,” you grin up at him. 

“I tolerate ya,” Logan answers with a smirk. 

“Hm,” you gaze up at him. “I think you more than tolerate me. Just admit it, Logan. You like me.” 

“And so what if I do, bub?” he asks, taking a careful step into your personal space. Logan can hear your heart race begin to beat faster and he smiles to himself. There had always been an instant attraction that he felt towards you when he came to the mansion and found you teaching a literature class to mutants. You had locked eyes with him as he was passing your classroom and flashed him a smile. 

Logan never believed in love at first sight, but you had certainly made an impression on him from that brief glance alone. The more he got to know you and spend time with you, the stronger his feelings for you grew. 

“If you do – which I think you do,” you begin. “Then I’d tell you that I like you too. A lot, actually.” 

Now it was Logan’s turn to feel his heart racing at your admission. When he was around you, Logan felt calmer. And you always looked at him like he was someone worthy of your attention. Logan knew early on that there was a lingering longing for you, a craving that showed him he wanted more of you. 

“That so, sweetheart?” Logan grins, hand gently resting on your cheek. His touch was such a stark contrast from what he was capable of. The same hands that were now touching you had hurt so many other people and yet with you, he was gentle, careful. 

“Yeah, Logan,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “And I’d very much like it if you could kiss me now.”

“I think you’re trouble,” he mumbles, running the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. “If I kiss you now, that makes you mine.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Logan,” you reply, gently grazing your teeth across the tip of his thumb. 

“I ain’t ever gonna let you go,” Logan admits. “There is no going back if we do this.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Whatever this is, I want it. I want you.”

Logan stares into your eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you were lying. But you never did lie to him. In fact, you were the most honest person he’s ever met. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to give into this because he knows that who he is and what he is is a danger to anyone that’s close to him. 

And yet, he can’t seem to stay away from you. 

“Are you sure?” Logan asks.

“I’ll always be yours, Logan,” you admit honestly. “In every lifetime and in every universe, I’m yours.” 

Logan hears the sound of Althea cursing aloud, which causes his eyes to open as he looks around. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s not in the same universe anymore and there’s a sudden realization when he remembers that you were gone. In his universe, you were dead. 

He pays no attention to Althea, grabbing his liquor bottle and grunting in her direction before he walks down the hallway and into his bedroom. Once the door shuts, Logan sits on the edge of his bed and lies back, staring up at the ceiling as he thinks of you. Thinks of the night he saw you last week. The sound of your voice, the sound of your laughter, the sight of your smile, the gaze in your eyes… 

“In every lifetime and in every universe,” he mumbles to himself. 

—

Later that night, Wade’s having his weekly family dinner again. Logan tries to make an excuse that he’s going to leave for the night, that he doesn’t want to participate or be around anyone, but Wade saw right through it.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Wade asks, setting up the table and making sure to gather chairs around it. “I don’t even know if she’s coming,” he lies.

“Laura will be here.”

“Doesn’t mean that she will be.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I’d rather not be here if she is.”

“You know, you’d think that seeing the woman you love alive again would get you excited. Instead, you’re running away like you usually do,” Wade says seriously. “You know what happened in your universe wasn’t–”

“Enough,” Logan interrupts. “We don’t talk about my universe anymore, got it?” 

Wade raises his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. All I’m saying… This is your second chance to be better, Peanut. Why not actually make a life for yourself here?”

“Because I don’t belong here,” Logan answers and then grabs a case of beer from the fridge along with another bottle of whiskey. “I’ll be in my room. I won’t bother you and you don’t bother me. Got it?”

“Sheesh,” Wade says. “Fine, Peanut.” 

Logan grumbles under his breath and then walks into his room, shutting the door behind him and quickly opening a bottle of beer that he downs with ease. 

As the hours pass, Logan tries to tune out the chatter coming from the living room. He doesn’t hear your voice amongst the amount of people in the apartment and while that should provide him some relief, it instead does the opposite. It disappoints him. He wants you nearby, wants to hear your voice, your laugh, smell your scent from miles away. 

Logan wants you here. 

And just as his mind drifts, he hears a knock on his door. 

“Don’t bother me,” he calls out. 

The knocking persists and he lets out a sigh of frustration. Logan stands from the bed and then swings the door open to see Laura standing on the other side of the door. 

“What do you want?”

“For you to talk to her,” she answers, completely unbothered by his attitude. “I think you both can help each other.”

“Yeah, well that ain’t happening, kid. Now, please–” Logan’s about to shut the door when the younger woman’s hand reaches out to stop it from closing. 

“I know she isn’t her and I know you aren’t him, but I also know that you both are thinking the same thing.” 

“Yeah? And what’s that, kid?”

“That this can be a second chance for the both of you.” 

“Ain’t no such thing as second chances,” Logan replies. 

“You saved our world, Logan,” Laura says softly. “You saved her.” 

Logan can feel his chest tightening. “I killed her,” he corrects. “In my universe, I–” he shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes. “Just leave me alone, kid.” 

This time, Laura allows him to close the door. 

—

You’re pacing in front of Wade’s front door, heart beating out of our chest in anticipation that you might see Logan again. This was the first time in the last week that you managed to get yourself out of bed, having called out from work for an entire week. You had thrown on a pair of leggings and ironically, Logan’s flannel. Your Logan’s. 

With a deep breath, you knock on the door and see it swing open. Wade’s on the other side with a large grin, welcoming you inside. 

“You made it,” he grins. 

“I’m only here to pick up Laura,” you correct him. 

“Well, you and the big guy are certainly avoiding each other,” Wade points out. “Why is that?” 

“Wade,” you sigh quietly. “I’m just here to pick up Laura,” you repeat. 

Wade sighs dramatically. “Fine, fine. But between you and me? This seems like a second chance that not a lot of people get.”

You don’t respond and see Laura round the corner. You smile in her direction and pull her into a hug. You can tell that her having another Logan in this universe is also taking a toll on her and you try to tell yourself, to convince yourself, that you need to be better for her. 

“Ready to go?” you ask. 

“Yeah, think so.” 

“Great, I’m just gonna use the bathroom and then we’ll head out.” 

You release her and walk down the hallway to the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and sigh, resting your hands on the edge of the sink as you feel tears threaten to spill over. You know he’s here, know that he’s somewhere close because you can feel his presence. 

Logan had been on high alert the moment you entered the apartment building. His heart rate picks up when he can smell your scent waft through his senses followed by your voice. It isn’t until he hears you enter the bathroom and begin crying that he feels a twist in the pit of his stomach. 

He probably shouldn’t be focusing his hearing on you, especially since it seems like just being here was causing you so much pain, but he couldn’t help himself. This was the closest he can get to you while keeping you at a distance. 

—

After a few minutes, you wipe your eyes and make yourself presentable. You know if Laura sees you crying, she’s going to want to do everything in her power to make you feel better and you don’t want to burden her with your feelings. 

With a deep breath, you step out of the bathroom with your eyes gazed downwards. Suddenly, you bump into someone’s hardened chest and your hands immediately reach out. There’s a sense of familiarity with your touch and when you slowly look up, you see Logan gazing down at you. 

“Logan, I–”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to move away. He just keeps his eyes locked on yours. Logan keeps his hands at his sides, his fingertips itching to touch you, to feel you. 

You drop your hands back to your side and bite your lower lip in embarrassment. You’re both standing in the hallway, away from the sounds of chatter and laughter. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I should have watched where I was going.”

Logan just nods, but instead, he takes an inch step towards you. It causes you to take a step back until your back gently touches the wall. He’s crowding your space, gazing into your eyes. Logan knows that he should run, knows that he should keep himself far from you, but he can’t. 

Your souls are tied to each other, bonded in every lifetime. Even if he tried to forget about you, tried to keep himself at arm’s length, Logan knows that it would only hurt you (and him) more. 

Logan’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he stares into your eyes and just like the version of you in his universe, you’re looking at him like he’s enough, like all you can see is the good in him. And it makes his heart swell, reminds him of the moment he locked eyes with you in his universe for the first time. 

And maybe Wade was right. Maybe this is his second chance at making things right. 

Slowly, his hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Logan feels an electric pull towards you at the soft touch and he knows you felt it too. 

Quietly, Logan whispers, “In every universe and in every lifetime, I’m yours.” 

You feel your breath catch in your throat, remembering the dream you had earlier this morning and those same words you told your Logan when you told him you loved him for the first time. 

Maybe Wade had a point. Maybe this is your second chance. 

[gatorbites-imagines]

Logan Howlett x Cyclops variant male reader

Ficlet

Reader is a Cyclops variant, just extra spikey, because Scogan is one of my guilty pleasures. I don’t know a whole lot about the X-men, so this I try to keep it vague.

I’m also very sick, so if this sucks, that’s why. I didn’t get a request for this, but I just needed it out my system.

Deadpool and Wolverine Spoilers ahead!!

The void was a strange place, it didn’t take Logan long to learn that. Being stuck with Deadpool meant he had come to expect seeing weird shit, but a very angry, very bloody, almost half feral Cyclops was not one of them. You were simply so… angry. From what the resistance could tell them, your deep connection to the punch dimension, and whatever else had you picked up by the TVA and dumped into the Void, kept you safely out of Novas grasp, even if she very openly wanted you by her side.

Seeing the familiar visor made Logans heart ache so deeply, but that snarl on your lips reminded him too much of himself. Deadpool being himself immediately started cracking jokes, only for you to blast him with your eyes. And instead of just throwing Deadpool back, it seemed to completely disintegrate arm right off his body. Logan later learned that was one of the reasons the TVA picked you up. Apparently, your mutation was… wrong. Cyclops wasn’t meant to slice people in half with his eyes, just throw or punch them back. But whatever life you had lived, had shaped you differently.

Working side by side with a Cyclops again took some getting used too, and for you it was difficult too. But that rivalry but underlying respect was still there. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to hit him or kiss him when Logan absentmindedly called you Slim for the first time. In the end you nailed him in the knee with your one of your beams, just enough to get him to trip face first into the ground. That had caused Logan to snap out at you with his claws, but there had been no real heat behind it.

After everything, with Nova, with the TVA, and with you and Logan for some reason settling down in Deadpools dimension, things were up in the air. The X-men still existed in this world, and neither of you felt much want to join them again. Both for the fact that they clearly already had a much more stable Cyclops, and their Wolverine had been dead for years at this point. So, in the end you two just stuck together, tracking down different mutant traffickers and other bad guys, and dealing with them in your own violent manner. Your beams and other abilities, and Logan technically being dead in this world kept you both an unknown card in this world, to everyone but Deadpool at least.

Sure, at some point your actions would catch the attention of the X-men, but it would take them a while, and during that time the relationship between you two brewed into something new and different, but still good. At least, you thought it was good, and if Logans shoulders growing less tense and his eyes less haunted meant anything, then you could only assume the same from him.

Seeing Jean, Remy and Anna Marie on a hit wasn’t something you expected though. Logan had never truly dealt with his grief of losing them, and you had over dealt with it, to the point where you felt nothing but an empty black hole, which fueled the more deadly part of your powers. In the end, you sent Logan away, as you distracted the present X-men, with the fancy black beams you had mastered, keeping their appearance different enough that they wouldn’t be able to tie it back to their Cyclops.

Maybe the reunion with past familiar faces was what broke the camels back with Logan, as the moment you guys got back to your motel room, you found yourself flung onto the bed, Logan easily ripping your baggy clothes off your body. “Logan- hold up” you grunted out, as he descended upon you like an animal, sinking his teeth into your neck, your shoulders, your chest, as his hands grabbed and kneaded at you. Unlike most cyclops, you had a healing factor, so it was fine, but still, seeing him so fervent had you worried.

Logan had never been one for talking about feelings, but he also wasn’t gonna force you to do something when you clearly wanted to talk about it first. In the end, you two wound up laying side by side, Logans ear resting against your chest to hear your heartbeat even if his heightened senses easily could have heard it anywhere else. It was clearly painful for him to talk about it, how he felt, what he wanted to do about it but couldn’t, what he thought of himself, so on and so forth. And through it all, you just found yourself rubbing his back and caressing his hair, giving him replies when he needed it.

Getting all the nasty details off his chest seemed to be what Logan needed, as he became so much more relaxed and softer afterwards. You had never imagined you’d see the wolverine of all people being soft, but him laying on your chest and drawing small shapes on your stomach was proof it was real. Hearing it all from Logan brought of some of your own suppressed memories, stuff you wanted to forget or stuff you had overanalyzed till it lost all meaning, but still, you found yourself spilling it all to him. What happened to you, your own x-men, your powers, how you ended up in the void.

It left you both feeling vulnerable, like an exposed nerve, but also so much closer. It was at this point you two officially started your relationship, and would also be the day you celebrated anniversaries, even if Logan acted like he didn’t care.

In the end, you two hadn’t really planned too far out in the future, what you would do, where you would go, you just kinda lived at the edge of your seats and went where the wind took you. Of course, you guys joined Deadpool and his little gang of misfits every now and then, whenever you were around his territory. You shouldn’t have been surprised when the X-men finally fully tracked you down. Apparently, Colossus had been a great guy and kept you two hidden, since you in his words “needed time to heal and find yourselves”.

Them having Kurt bamf into your motel room was too much though, especially as Logan almost skewered him on his claws, only avoided by old instincts of Kurts taking him out of fire. They had all been near tears when they saw Logan, some happier or weepier than others. He fit in so great with them, and made that lonely sour feeling rear its ugly head as you sank into the background.

Logan, being ever observant, pulled you to the front, and introduced you by his nickname for you, easily stating that you were his, and that was that. Your visor had been lost a long time ago, replaced by whatever shades or goggles you two could find, but it was pretty clear who’s variant you were. It left the X-men floundering when it became obvious you two were more than just allies. Your preference for bloody violence was also pretty new, but what could they really do.

You both denied joining the X-men, blaming it on not wanting to settle down in one place. Xavier had a very knowing look on his face, so you wouldn’t be shocked if he knew exactly why neither of you felt comfortable amongst their ranks, at least for a long while. That didn’t keep different X-men from pulling up on you two any chance they got. Apparently seeing an edgier more rebel version of their leader and/or headmaster was quite a hit. They talked about you offering students beer for months, and how sour this worlds Cyclops looked about you made you cackle. So maybe it wasn’t all bad. But only the future could really tell, but with Logan, and your shared group of randos, then that future didn’t look too bleak .

[zafirosreverie]

Call the exorcist (Agatha x F!Reader)

For @roseclear

a/n: I haven't watch the show, I just know the basics, so sorry for any plot mistakes.

Spoilers for the ending

______________

Your life was chaotic. From the moment you met that damn charming, chaotic and slightly evil (well, very evil) witch, your whole world did a 180.

From one day to the next, magic was not only something possible, but little by little, it became something common in your life. Something you got so used to that you thought nothing could surprise you anymore.

Rule number one of being married to a witch: Agatha Harkness can always surprise you.

You weren't stupid, you knew she didn't tell you absolutely everything, that there were parts of her past she would never tell you, that they were completely buried and she planned to keep them that way. Not that it bothered you, if you were honest. 300 years of life had to have hard moments, and you decided that you wouldn't push her any further than she felt comfortable sharing you.

Still, that damn woman always managed to give you gray hairs, and you were sure that one of these days she would put you in an early grave. But you still loved her, more than life itself.

______________

The first scare was when she disappeared to go to Westview. You had a hard time getting in touch with her, and she only gave you a hasty and poorly structured explanation about chaos magic before sending you back home.

A week later, Maximoff's escape and what she had done to the town was reported on the news. You came back as quickly as you could, but you couldn't do anything. You were forced to watch your wife live as Agnes for 3 years, powerless and weak to bring her back.

Then the boy showed up. Billy Maximoff, or at least a variant of him? A reincarnation? The truth was that you didn't quite understand, nor did you care. The only important thing was that Agatha was back. And with her, chaos. Of course.

God forbid you have a second of peace with your wife.

The coven, Rio, Billy, everything was too confusing, too much for your mortal mind to understand in all the details how quickly the situation was changing, and Agatha, in the middle of it all, the central pillar, was not much help.

You knew she didn't tell you everything, but that she had gotten involved with death or that she had a child should have been some of the things she could have tell you, right? At least you thought that something like that should be important enough to tell her new wife.

You hadn't even finished assimilating all that when your witch, always chaotic and without explanations, kissed Rio, lady death, to save Billy. You didn't even have time to say goodbye to her, or to assimilate that, just like that, from one moment to the next, you had become a widow.

You didn't think you had known greater pain in your life. Knowing that your wife, the woman you loved, as imperfect, chaotic and evil as she was, was no longer there, broke your heart. You couldn't even stay there for long, you went back home as soon as you could, desperate that everything was a damn nightmare, that when you opened your eyes, Agatha would be there, with that infuriating but beautiful smile that you loved so much, ready for a new chaos.

But no matter how many times you woke up, reality was still there. Agatha was dead, you were alone. And your wife wasn't coming back.

_______________

…until she did.

________________

You calmly stepped into the shower, allowing the hot water to wash away the stress of the day, the worries and sorrows. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and focus for a moment on the feeling of the water against your skin, the warmth of the steam and-

"AGATHA!!!" you screamed as you jumped up, and your wife still had the nerve to laugh.

It had been less than a week since Agatha Harkness had come back into your life, ready to turn it upside down again. At first, you thought you had finally lost your mind (sometimes you still thought that it was the case, to be honest), when the ghost of your dead wife appeared in the middle of the living room.

However, in true Agatha fashion, she began to cause all kinds of mischief around the house, moving things around, disarranging things, and giving you those damn kisses that you still couldn't decide if you loved or not. And that was all you needed to know that yes, your wife was back. In the form of a pile of ectoplasm with too much time on her hands and too eager to take you to the grave too, but she was back.

"Come on sweetie, you can't blame me" she laughed, floating closer to you "you know I've never been able to resist your…charms"

You shivered as her fingers, cold and not quite physical, ran down your lower back. Before you could protest, Agatha kissed you deeply. Kisses with her were very strange now, to say the least.

Not that they bothered you, you just still had to get used to the feeling of kissing an ice cube that you couldn't really touch but was at the same time as real as yourself. You never imagined kissing a ghost, but here you were, proving once again how much you loved this woman even in death.

"You're a menace" you said as she pulled away

"But I'm your menace" she smirked

"…we said 'till death do us part', why are you still here?" you crossed your arms, covering your naked body a little

"Oh darling" she laughed and caressed your cheek with those icy fingers "it's cute how you really thought death would rid you of me. No, my love, you're mine, in this and every life after"

Something in her tone and the way her ghostly fingers gripped your chin, told you that she really planned to keep that promise. And you couldn't help but smile.

"That's cute, my love" you said "…but get out of my shower right now"

"Oh come on" she laughed "I've seen you how tou came into the world many times"

"Agatha!" you shivered as you felt her icy fingers on your lower back again

"Yes?" She smiled like the Cheshire Cat

"I love you" you said "but if you don't let me take A FUCKING SHOWER IN PEACE, I'M GOING TO CALL A PRIEST AND EXORCISE THE DAMN HOUSE!!"

And of course, that damn beautiful, charming, chaotic and slightly evil (well, very evil) witch that you loved more than life itself, had the nerve to laugh.

[messylustt]

݁   𓂃 ៸៸៸ and kisses? — miguel o’hara + reader: you finally confront jessy, showing him just how much he means to you (nothing). miguel wants to give you time, but he just can’t hold back.

contents : break up. mentions of cheating. kinda possessive!miguel?? making out. wc 3.6k.

pt one pt two pt three

you ran your thumbs over your palms, trying to smooth out the sweat that had begun to gather. you shouldn’t feel this nervous, you weren’t the one in the wrong. but you just can’t help feeling that dread at the prospect of confronting jessy. he had cheated. you have every right. but, no matter how many times you reminded yourself of this your lips only pressed harder together.

you watched as jessy walked out of a portal, smiling and laughing with the other spider variants. he has always been a very social person. center of attention type of guy. and at first that was what you were attracted to. you had loved him introducing you to his friends and bringing you along to ‘catch up’s’. but now you feel more so like a show pony. brought out because people always said ‘oh, she’s so sweet’.

you had begun to feel disgusted. and now miguel’s words have kept you up at night. ‘break up with him’ ‘more prominent’. what the hell had he meant by that? suddenly jessy’s arm moves to loop around your neck making your body jolt. “hey, babe.” he murmurs far too close to your ear that you have to actually hold back from grimacing. you paste on a smile, your words not quite prepared yet. “hey, jessy.”

he doesn’t notice your reluctance to his touch, he doesn’t notice the way your voice betrays your true feelings. but he does. your gaze unintentionally flickers over to where you knew miguel would be debriefing a group. the moment you do you can feel your breathing hitch. miguel is stood, eyes fixated on you. even as he speaks, his gaze doesn’t waver. only once to glare at jessy’s arm. you swiftly look away, focusing on jessy as you realise that he had said something, his gaze expectant.

“sorry, what was that?” you ask. and now finally does jessy notice that somethings off. but you aren’t ready. you don’t want him to ask ‘are you okay?’ or ‘what’s wrong’, because then that would mean you’d have to blurt out the whole speech you had prepared, one that your worried mind is slowly forgetting. jessy brushes your hair away, tucking it behind your ear before he says. “i’m busy tonight. thought i’d just let you know in case you wanted me all to yourself.” his tone is overly cocky, almost faking the joke he slipped in there. how had you ever fallen in love him?

your smile widens as you chuckle. god, you hope that he didn’t catch the forcefulness practically dripping off. “no worries. can i ask why?” you look up at him, your smile overly sweet as you hold back from asking the questions you really wanted to know. how many times? and for how long? inside, your smile is turning sour, as you wait. jessy scratches the back of his head, darting his gaze around. “just hanging out my friends. you know, guys night.”

“oh.” you nod, pretending to understand. ‘the guys’ equals her. “well, have fun, then.” jessy nods, giving you a once over, before he pulls you in, leaning in for a kiss he expects you to reciprocate. “i’m busy too.” you quickly say, making him pause. you catch the confusion in his eyes. because you had never been busy when it hadn’t included him. “oh? what are you doing?” jessy now forces a smile.

you step back, and his gaze darkens a fraction. these details you are just now noticing. and you realise that miguel’s words may have maybe effected you a little more than you had initially thought. your gaze again flickers over to miguel. the spider group had dispersed, and miguel is stood, talking to jess. but again the moment you look over, his gaze shifts to you. you stand there, staring back, forgetting that jessy was waiting for an answer, and instead remembering the way miguel’s arms felt wrapped arou—

you snap your gaze back to jessy, who is eyeing you with very clear confusion and something else that has his gaze shifting to where you were looking. but you speak before he can spot miguel. “yeah, i’m catching up with a friend.” jessy looks back, brows furrowing. “what friend?”

you fake a gasp, trying to be less obvious in your shift of attitude towards him. “you make it sound like i have no friends, jessy.” you say. jessy pauses but then cracks a smile to your relief. “i didn’t say it outright. your words, not mine.” you reach over and hit his shoulder. “rude.” you mutter. but you can feel jessy’s suspicious gaze now gone all together, until jess and miguel decide to walk over and pay you a visit. make sure your schedule is free for the day tomorrow. we’re expecting to have quite a few anomalies pop up.” jess informs, to which you nod. “of course.”

you don’t let your gaze shift to miguel once. and of course he takes notice. miguel eyes you openly, watching the way you keep your gaze on jess as if he’s not even here. miguel tilts his head, letting his eyes drop down your figure. yes, he’s gotten bolder with his glances, now not worried if people saw. in fact he wanted people to see. namely a certain boyfriend he’s waiting to turn ‘ex’. you hadn’t broken it off yet. and miguel’s patience was wearing thin. he would never tell you this, because his own emotions are too confusing to actually articulate. but that doesn’t stop him from lying awake, holding back from just sending jessy off on a mission that many don’t come back from.

extreme. he’s reached a level of extreme. and the more you put it off, the more miguel’s emotions are becoming visible. whatever those emotions exactly are. “…oh is that what you’re doing? work stuff?” miguel zones into jessy’s words, finally lifting his gaze from your body. jess had walked off between the time spent, leaving just the three of you. jessy is looking at you, all smug as he crosses his arms. “aw, you don’t have to be embarrassed, babe. you could have just said that instead making up how you’re hanging with a friend.”

the moment those words leave jessy’s lips miguel’s jaw clenches. his gaze drills holes into jessy, now actually considering killing him himself. at least then he’d know that the job is done. miguel can see the way your expression cracks. your smile faltering only slightly. and the sight makes miguel’s claws scrap hard against his palms. “i didn’t lie.” you say, trying your best to keep that pretty smile present. and that’s when miguel catches on, reading between the lines and what most likely happened during that conversation you two had had before.

“baaabe, it’s fine.” jessy coos, and miguel wants to rip his tongue out. “she’s not lying.” he says before he can stop himself, or even consider. you shift your gaze to miguel, brows furrowing a moment. jessy shifts his gaze also. “and how would you know?” jessy chuckles, but miguel’s gaze stays cold. “because she’s with me tonight.” the moment those words leave miguel’s lips, jessy’s smug expression falters. the rush miguel got from seeing jessy crack made the smallest of smiles edge his lips.

“what?” jessy tries his best to keep that nonchalant behaviour present, but anyone can tell that he’s losing it, and fast. you stare at miguel, eyes expanded a fraction as you question him indirectly. miguel looks to you. “yeah.” miguel holds your gaze, feeling his heart beat a fraction quicker as he repeats. “she’s with me tonight.” miguel reluctantly shifts his gaze back to jessy who is looking thoroughly confused.

“i didn’t know you two were friends.” jessy says, shifting his gaze to you, as you nibble at your lower lip. “you didn’t?” now miguel is taunting, getting far too much of a high out of this conversation. “we’ve grown quite close actually. she gives the best hugs, doesn’t she?” miguel catches the worried look in jessy’s eyes, and he couldn’t feel more elated. be worried. regret what you lost. because you arent getting her back.

“yeah, she’s great when it comes to physical affection.” jessy’s words are an indirect challenge, and miguel’s beginning of a smile falls, wanting so badly to remove jessy’s voice box. at this point most of jessy’s body parts are removed, and miguel is just waiting for him to completely bleed out.

you stand there eyeing them, as you contemplate just leaving the scene altogether, maybe gather the words you had prepared for jessy. miguel’s presence is all but a reminder of what you will inevitably have to do. as your mind wanders, your gaze zoning out onto the floor a moment, jessy takes a step closer to miguel, looking up at him as he tries to appear more intimidating, before he speaks lowly, out of your earshot. “just because you two have hugged a few times doesn’t mean she’s anything to you. you got that?”

miguel doesn’t flinch at his harsh words, staring down at jessy with eyes that makes him stiffen, and visibly gulp. no matter how prideful jessy gets he’s no match for miguel, and even he knows this. “just because she hasn’t left you yet doesn’t mean she’s anyway near being yours.” jessy’s nose twitches in anger. “yet? you must be blind if you think she’d ever leave me. she loves me.”

miguel’s claws twitch, but before he can speak, you step closer, grabbing jessy’s arm. “come on, let’s go.” you murmur, pulling jessy towards you. miguel shifts his gaze to you. meeting his eyes you catch what used to be a recommendation, a better option, now turned a demand. break up with him.

;;

“jessy, we need to talk.” you finally say after you two had begun to walk back together after lunch. jessy pauses, turning more to face you, as his expression shows underlying disinterest, something you had grown to ignore when you were together. …were together. that was first time you had unintentionally admitted that you weren’t a couple anymore.

“what?” jessy asks, before his gaze gets caught up behind you. you don’t even need to turn around to know who his lustful gaze is focused on. he could at least be more discreet. and now as you watched him imagine fucking another girl your whole prepared, well worded speech flew out the window. he didn’t deserve that attentiveness. “i want to break up.” you said it so simply, watching as his expression halts, before his brows furrowed. a flow of a emotions passes across his face before he looks to you, scoffing.

“funny.” he shakes his head. and he again has the audacity to look behind you. you don’t spare him another glance as you turn and walk away. jessy calls your name, his confusion evident. “where are you going?”

you walk up to the girl your ex boyfriend seems to be infatuated with and smile. “hey, sorry i don’t think we’ve properly met before.” she shifts her gaze to you and her smile instantly falls, before she picks it back up, her smile now a cheesy grin. “i’ve seen you on other missions, i should’ve introduced myself. i’m ronnie.”

“ronnie, nice to meet you.” you glance behind you, watching as jessy stands there, face paler than ever. you then gesture over to him, while shifting your gaze back to ronnie. “he was actually asking for you. you are the girl he fucked in that corner right? i wouldn’t want to get the wrong girl.” your innocent gaze is met by her frozen one. shock isn’t a big enough word as her lips part. “well, come on then, wouldn’t wanna keep him waiting, would you?” you place your hand on her back, guiding her towards him.

the moment her face paled, you knew that she knew of you. even the slip in her smile could have told you that. you step back looking at them both, as they look caught in the middle, unsure of what to do. you let your gaze drop down them both, before you nod. “you two make lovely couple.” your tone isn’t giving away any sadness or embarrassment. even if you may feel it, you would never give jessy that satisfaction of hurting you. if you meant nothing to him, he means nothing to you. and that confirmation feels like a weight lifting off your shoulders.

and as they both stare at you gulping, jessy’s mouth opening to most likely explain, you speak, beginning to step away. “maybe next time do a better job at hiring it.” you shift your gaze solely to ronnie, who’s looking thoroughly embarrassed. “and please don’t be naive enough to think that it won’t happen again. for your sake at least.”

;;

the moment you had found yourself alone you could feel the familiar frog arising in your throat. how the hell had you done that? been able to show no emotion, no, in fact fake sweetness? your subconscious slipped into that far too easily.

as you rest your hand on your head, taking a breath you don’t notice the shadow that looms over you. “jessy’s looking rather…out of it.” miguel’s voice meets your ears as you turn, your stomach suddenly burning up. “ah…you noticed that?” you ask. and by instinct you paste on a smile, until miguel raises his brows. you let your face relax, rubbing your lips together. “i hope that’s not because you kissed him.”

you lightly chuckle, shaking your head. “you know that thought actually makes me want to throw up now.”

you don’t notice it at first but miguel’s lips begin to quirk up at your words, before he’s actually smiling down at you. a proper smile that no one would associate with miguel, ever. “really?” it comes out a murmur, and you finally glance back up at him. his gaze is fixated, but unlike the other times he’s watched you, his eyes are now permanently holding onto you. no restraint can be found. he then takes a step forward as you briefly dart your gaze to the floor. “so, you aren’t together?” he further asks.

you nod. “thanks to you.” you say, watching as he takes another step before glancing back up to his face. your palms have increased in sweat. “thank you.” you confirm. but miguel just shakes his head. and as you wait for him to speak, thinking he would after disagree with something, all you’re left with is a tense silence surrounding you both. “so, uh,” you mutter, glancing around. “i should…” you point behind you in the direction you were heading, but suddenly miguel is very close, and suddenly your feet are sliding back.

and when your back hits the wall your breathing cuts short. miguel runs his tongue along his lower lip his gaze darting everywhere it can. you can almost feel his body heat radiating off of him. he’s so close. he feels even closer then he’s been all those times you’ve hugged. “i want to give you time.” he murmurs, tapping under your chin to lift it. “you deserve that…”

you’re staring up at him, eyes wide, and chest visibly moving quicker. “but, i just…” his hand hasn’t moved from your chin, now gliding along your jawline until he reaches your ear, his hand big enough to practically hold your head. you can feel his claws grazing your skin, as his eyes now show restraint. wavering restraint. “you aren’t anything to him now.” he continues as he now presses his body against yours, his hand slipping to your waist, and making you shiver.

“…and i don’t want anyone else to get a chance.” at his words your brows furrow. “a chance?” you slowly question. but before he manages to get any more words out, his breath having been tickling your lips he finally gives in, capturing your mouth hungrily. maybe a little harsh, but all he wants is to be prominent. more prominent. when you slowly begin to reciprocate, past the initial shock, miguel nearly groans at your willingness.

before you know it you’re being lifted, up into his arms, his hands having slipped down to grab your thighs. your quickly grab onto his shoulders, fully dependent on him, as he pushes you harder against the wall, not having broken the kiss once. he runs his tongue along your lower lip, asking for access. your mind is dizzy, your brain screaming for breath as you force yourself to break away, gripping his shoulders tightly.

but miguel doesnt leave your lips alone for long enough before he’s grabbing your chin and attaching his lips back to yours. “open up.” he murmurs, as your messed up mind forgets to let him in. once his tongue slides into your mouth, his grip tightening on your back as he keeps your legs spread around him, small sounds leave your lips and get muffled by his kisses. miguel manages a grin against your mouth, as you both pant into each other. “a chance to do that.” he breathlessly mutters, pulling you impossibly closer.

you then realise how public you guys are, and your eyes widen, glancing around and behind him. miguel re-directs your chin back to face him. “people.” you say quickly. “others could see.” miguel just tilts his head, running his claw running along random parts of your face as he hums. “mhm.”

“mhm? miguel we’re practically in a work setting.” you move to get down, but he tightens his hold, moving you off the wall as you grab his shoulders tighter. “put me down.”

all he does is bring your face back to his, wrapping his lips around your lower, this time slowly sucking and licking, as you go to protest in worry at being caught. “shh, stop squirming.” he speaks to your mouth, far too distracted in tasting you. with more peppered kisses, your lips are now bright red and swollen, his spit glistening. miguel doesn’t want to let you go. in all honesty he’s a little scared that it’ll be as if it never happened, if you do step back. he can’t have that. even though you don’t realise how deep his attachment to you runs, you have begun to feel it through his touches.

he’s the type to pull you closer if your ex eyes you. he’s the type to remind you what ‘more prominent’ really looks like. maybe you don’t set a definite label. he had said that you deserved a break. but all he meant was the title, the pressure. girlfriend or not, either way you’re gonna be there, hugging him when he’s stressed, kissing him when he grabs your face a certain way, and letting him mutter whatever it is on his mind into your neck, as he leaves marks to make people assume that the title is very much there.

you’re his comfort. he had realised this the first time you had offered him that hug. so maybe it’s your fault for his attachment to you. yeah, he’ll blame you. he’ll blame you for whatever it is he confides in you, it’s your fault that you just make him so fucking comfortable.

and as he continues to kiss you, now tilting your head to the side so that he can access your neck, with his tongue and gliding fangs, he murmurs, pulling you tighter against him. “aren’t you with me tonight?”

his earlier words, his cover for you. “well…i didn’t exactly agree to that.” miguel pulls away from your neck, raising his brows. you press your lips together. miguel mockingly nods. “oh, uh huh. yeah no my bad.” he grabs your neck, pulling your face back to his, as you gasp, his movements fast. and with his breath tickling your lips he whispers. “i meant longer than that.”

he doesn’t want to scare you away, but he just can’t help from confiding in you. “you know how you like to hug people?” you slowly nod, your gaze darting down to his close lips, his one hand on your thigh moving closer to your ass. it’s a better grip anyway. “from now on you don’t like to hug anyone.” he says.

your brows furrow. “what do you mean?” miguel now grabs your ass in both his hands, holding you more firmly against him. “you only like to hug me. you got that, cariño?”

“hugs don’t mean much—“ you begin, but his grip on you tightens, successfully shutting you up. “yes, they do. and your hugs mean more. so don’t you dare go wasting them on anyone else.”

you eye him a moment, your stomach burning. “alright. no hugs.” you then lean closer to his ear, your breath tickling as you suddenly jab at his side, his grip on you loosening a fraction, as you manage to get to your feet. “instead of hugging I’ll kiss people on the cheek. that seems fair right.” your smile gives away your true intentions.

but miguel isn’t having any of it, even if it is just a joke. as you step back holding your hands out, miguel walks forward. you spare a glance behind you briefly, careful not to trip, but it gives miguel the perfect opportunity to grab your extended hands, and yank you back towards him. “what did you say?” he asks, as you hit his chest.

you quickly shake your head. “nothing.” you mutter, but miguel squeezes your cheeks. “try again.” he states.

“you know, i might need that time that you offered. to think things through.” you mumble out. “oh really?” he hums. “uh huh.” you mumble back, but he just shakes his head. “sorry, too late.” he then leans in close. “you’re little hugs and kisses are all mine now.”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 4

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: Not sure if I'm completely happy with how this chapter came out, but I hope you still enjoy it.

Masterlist | Read ch 3 here

Loki had watched through a checkered screen how you held onto his hand as if he were your whole world. He had watched the love in your eyes and the smile on your lips, all directed at him. And now, he watched as you, in flesh and bone right in front of him, walked away.

There was a foreign feeling consuming his heart the more you distanced yourself from him. It was akin to loss, but how could he lose something that wasn't even his?

He was about to make the mistake of going after you when Mobius finally returned from the storage room he had been talking to you in.

"What happened?" Loki asked with a hint of urgency, his brows furrowed.

Mobius took in a long breath and then let it go past his lips. "She said she wants nothing to do with you."

Loki's frown only deepened, his eyes shifting between Mobius and the place you had disappeared into. If anything, he looked slightly offended. "Why?"

"Well, it's pretty obvious that she watched her Loki die, right?" Mobius gestured around, sounding a little fed up with all of this. "So it's a delicate subject, give her time, don't get on her face, don't be obnoxious, and she'll likely come around and be willing to answer whatever it is you wanna ask."

Loki blinked at the words, chewing at the inside of his cheek. "I'm not obnoxious."

─── ·❆· ───

"Stop looking at me like a lost puppy," you grumbled with a scowl on your features, gripping tightly onto your food tray.

Loki, who stood right beside you, scoffed. "I am not. I'm looking at the rice you're standing right in front of."

You breathed in, slowly, holding yourself back from rolling your eyes. It's been three weeks since Mobius tried to reintroduce you two, and for the past two weeks, you've gained a new shadow. He doesn't talk much; or interacts much with you at all for that matter. But he's always there.

TVA's cafeteria was usually bustling with people this time of day, which was exactly why you always came by at least an hour earlier; but today you got caught up with work and there was no other option than to brave the crowds, otherwise, you'd stay without lunch.

When you'd picked up everything you wanted to eat, you turned around and surveyed the spacious room for any vacant tables. By the corner and near the railings that overlooked the city—or, what you would call a city here in the TVA, because to be honest, you still weren't sure what to name most of the things in this place—stood the only vacant table left, small and round, with two lonely chairs.

You closed your eyes and mumbled a curse under your breath. You made a beeline for the table, and you didn't have to look behind you to know that Loki was following your steps.

You settled into a chair and a few seconds later Loki made himself comfortable beside you. It was… strange, having him around. The racing of your heart every time he was near you was inevitable, but you were doing the impossible to dissociate any feelings from it. He was just another variant, that was it, nothing more. You just wished you knew what his obsession with you was all about, so what if he saw his would-be future with you? That was not yours or his life anymore.

"Your food is gonna get cold."

Loki's voice caught your attention, you glanced toward him with a frown, only now realizing that you'd been poking your food around with your fork for a while, lost in thought. For a heartbeat, you held his gaze, you allowed yourself to drown in those ever-familiar bright eyes that you'd missed so much. But before you could lose yourself in the ocean, you swam back up. This wasn't your Loki, no; you had to remind yourself of it, time and time again. For your own sake, you had to believe in that lie.

For the last couple of weeks that he'd been following you around, more and more you noticed the same glint in Loki's eyes, a mix between expectant and lost. You wondered if even he knew what exactly he wanted from you.

The only answer you gave to him was a low hum.

─── ·❆· ───

The days inside the TVA blend together easily, that was something you learned in your first few weeks here. In all fairness, it's what one would expect for a place out of time. Sometimes the day they captured you as just another variant felt like ages ago. Sometimes, it felt like just yesterday.

It had been difficult when you first arrived here, nearly unbearably so. In the blink of an eye, you had lost your entire life, everyone you still loved and held dear became unreachable. It was either starting a new life here, or ending your life altogether. For some reason, you still felt like living.

The TVA kept you busy then, enough for you to not succumb to panic. As days went by, it became easier; as time passed, or as Mobius would tell you, as time passed differently, you became almost numb to what you'd lost. Almost.

A sigh went past your lips as you ran your fingertips over the paper. Mobius usually had you go over each file reporting a possible new Loki variant. Finding patterns and creating connections they otherwise wouldn't have noticed. You tried not to dwell too much on the fact that you had to use your connection to the person you once loved as a form of work.

Your desk stood by the edge of the library, away from too much commotion, a cozy little space you'd given your own personal touch to over the time you'd been here. A few books here, a small cassette player there, a snack drawer, a sketchbook, a purple desk lamp; small things to remind yourself you were still human.

As much as you could, you made a new home here.

A shadow suddenly appeared over the paper in your hands, you straightened your posture on your chair before looking up.

Loki stood before you, in his dress shirt and dark jacket with the word variant on the back—you'd worn one of those too on your first days here, now that you recall. He held a fresh stack of papers in his hands that already had you internally groaning.

"Mobius sends his regards," Loki smirked as he dropped the papers on your desk.

"Great," you mumbled, sarcasm dripping from your words, "it's not like I wanted to sleep tonight anyway."

A beat passed and you could feel Loki's gaze still lingering on you. From the corner of your eyes you watched as his fingers nervously tapped the wood of your desk. You hated that you knew this habit of his oh so well.

"Maybe I could assist you." Loki pulled a chair from the empty table to your left, setting it on the edge of your desk so he could sit down. But before he did so, he said, "If you'd like."

He was giving you an out from spending time with him, even if that was clearly what he wanted. You nearly took it. Your lips hung open, ready to say something like; I work better alone, or go bother someone else. But your eyes suddenly had a faint burn behind them, your chest squeezing tight around your heart—the heart that still bled and missed him every day. "Knock yourself out," you found yourself saying, without looking up from your paperwork.

Loki sat down on his chair beside you, took a few of the papers in his hands, and for a good few minutes, the silence that lingered between you was, surprisingly, somewhat comfortable.

Stealing glances at you was inevitable. As Loki read the files in his hands, the words started to blur together, and he found his gaze drifting to you. He observed the way you'd frown slightly as you read over the lines, sometimes scoffing or mumbling something to yourself.

You were quite annoying, Loki had to agree with Mobius on that. Stubborn, closed off, and hard to read. If it were anyone else, Loki wouldn't even consider losing his time of day, but each time he saw you, his heart jumped and stumbled inside his chest, he grew short of breath, cold hands turning clammy. It was inevitable. His body acting against his will, as if his soul ached to touch yours.

He had to know why.

"May I ask," Loki began, hints of hesitance in his words.

Your eyebrow perked up a little, but you still refused to look at him.

Loki pursed his lips before speaking, "Mobius mentioned you've been here a while, that he found you could be useful. But he never went into detail." He let go of the papers in his hands, "how did you get here? Why didn't they prune you?"

You visibly tensed. Jaw setting tightly into place as you took in a short breath through your nose. For several moments, you kept quiet, eyes fixed on the same words in the file you held as you considered whether to humor him or not. You weren't sure why you answered, the words simply rolled off your tongue; a subconscious reaction to the sound of his voice.

"It was my fault, I tried to travel through time when I knew I shouldn't. They caught me pretty much immediately." You chuckled humorlessly, stealing a glance toward Loki only to find his eyes already focused on you. You nearly drowned again. "They kept me around because…" You hesitated, and then merely gestured to the scattered papers on your desk; "I know a lot about Lokis," you shrugged, "and they needed help with that."

A small frown came to Loki's features as he weighed your words. He twirled one of your pencils between his fingers. "Why would you travel through time if you knew you shouldn't?"

Immediately, Loki knew he'd touched a nerve. Your whole demeanor changed, it almost felt like a curtain had fallen over you and a whole new person sat beside him. What little you had began to open up, was back under lock and key.

You didn't raise your voice, you didn't lash out. You simply cleared your throat, turned away from him, and said; "I thought you wanted to stay to help me work. So either do that, or leave me be."

Loki's lips hovered, ready to retaliate with a quip of his own, but he bit back any words he might want to say. Give her time.

He nodded to no one in particular, and indeed went back to work.

Later at night, when the TVA was strangely quiet, and most people had already turned in for the night. Loki glanced beside him only to find you drifting into sleep; one hand holding your cheek and the other loosely holding a pencil that had scratched a weird, faint line into the file on your desk.

It felt unexpectedly intimate. Loki glanced from one side of the dim-lit library to the other, as if looking for a clue on what he should do.

Carefully, almost comically so, he took the pencil from your delicate hold and stacked the file you had with the small pile he'd created.

The desk lamp right beside you cast a faint glow over your features, shaping your cheekbones, nose, and lips. Loki couldn't help but notice, that the light also shaped a thin but rather deep scar running from your forehead to the beginning of your left eyebrow; from the look of it, it appeared to have been there for a while now.

Without giving himself too much room to overthink, Loki reached out and gave a single push to your shoulder. His fingers tingled from your warmth.

You stirred awake, gasping softly as soon as you opened your eyes. You blinked several times, willing your mind to focus back on reality.

"I suppose we're done," Loki told you, keeping his voice just an octave lower as he turned his gaze to the small stack of papers. "If you're quick, you can still grab a few hours of sleep before the new day starts."

"Right," you breathed, running a hand through your hair. Eyebrows still furrowed as you processed what was happening.

You tidied your desk in silence, and Loki put the chair he had borrowed back in its place. He turned to you then, half expecting you to simply turn around and walk away. You didn't, and maybe it was a trick of the light, or the fact that he could visibly notice your eyes dropping from tiredness, but your features were the softest he had ever seen them be. A quick glimpse of the girl he'd first seen from the life he was supposed to have.

Loki held his breath. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

"Thank you for the help," you gave him a tight-lipped smile, refusing to hold his gaze for more than a second, "see you around."

With that, you turned around and left. Loki's heartbeat kept the same rushed pace until he reached his own small bedroom.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 5 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

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[dusterbishop]

two thousand years of chasing taking its toll (and it's coming closer)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 2.5k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. i have crushed on gambit since the animated series in the nineties so the new movie brought back a lot of feelings.

part one. || part two.

An endless spread of worlds to wander into, and this is the one you choose: Gambit crouches next to you, his breath staggering out of him in pained wheezes, his hand clasping protectively over the nape of your neck.

It is getting harder to see past the blood dripping into your eyes and the sheen of unshed tears. Your abdomen throbs in intermittent waves of little agonies, needling deep in the pit of your stomach. The shots had gone wide, at first, until you had stepped right into them. Gambit had caught you as you stumbled, swearing too fast for your mind to unjumble past the desperate rush of French.

An endless expanse of possibilities, and you are living in this one, dying in his arms. It almost makes you laugh, except it hurts to breathe, and Gambit is supporting more of your weight than he was just a moment ago.

“Now don’ go doing that again,” he manages in English. One hand on your neck, his thumb pressed over your pulse, and the other pressed tight enough against your wound to make the shadows flicker around the edges of your vision. “Mais la, there ain’ gon’ be next time, chér.”

No. There isn’t. You know it as sure as you know how much he’s hiding his own hurt. He had been blown back twenty-five feet and hit the pavement hard enough that he had laid there, stunned, unarmed. His armor had been designed to take the weight of a blow, but he wasn’t dressed for a fight. Neither of you are. So they had aimed at him, and you had made sure it wasn’t him standing there when the guns went off.

Like one breath and the next. In, and you saw his impact, saw the weapons being raised towards him. Out, and you flickered across realities as smooth as Gambit shuffled his cards, every timeline fanning out before you in a sea of possibilities. Endless, countless possibilities.

This is your last Gambit, and you’re killing him just as sure as you’re killing yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. Your voice trembles enough to make your lungs seize up. “Remy, I’m sorry.”

“Tant pis pout toi,” he shoots back. “Help Remy get you up, chér, ‘fore they shootin’ us.”

There is no version of you that isn’t broken that still keeps him alive, so you grit your teeth and let him haul you up, steadying yourself in this timeline. It has always been easier to tether yourself to one timeline when you have something to anchor yourself to. He sweeps you up in a bridal carry, and at this angle you can rest your heavy-list head against the warmth of his broad shoulder. He is a solid port of harbor beneath your tethering weight, a rock standing unyielding to the tide around it.

Your second Gambit had been like this, too. That variant had died with a blazing playing card in hand, his mouth twisted in rage, standing before you and the TVA headhunters with all of the bravado and confidence of a hopeless man. A final stand, he had called it. The two of you had gambled and gone all-in only for Gambit to be dead and you to be thrown into another identity.

You had told yourself that you would be better for this Gambit. No vigilante justice or petty crimes. You had gone on your first date to get po' boys and traded familiar barbs while you spun yourself into the web of a narrative that wouldn’t mark you as an oddity in this world. No strange time-skipping mutant here, only a human interested in a man with blackened red eyes and a smooth talking deck of cards.

Playing the odds, raising the bet. Your Remy would have loved that.

This Gambit, though, he dies holding you just like that, cradling you close enough that you feel the breath knocked from his lungs as the bullets find their mark against his unguarded back. You both tumble forward, the impact rattling your bones, your hands lashing out to catch desperately at the sleeve of Gambit’s coat.

Reality warps and trembles around you. You can sense the unfurling of this world’s integrity, like smoothing your hand down the ridge of Oliver or Lucifer’s back and feeling them arch expectantly beneath your touch. Of all your cats, Figaro had always preferred Remy, much to his triumph. This Gambit didn’t have cats; he admitted to being allergic during your third date, and you had to quash the rush of disappointment that rose in you. You had thought to find good foster homes for the boys, at least, in exchange for the sacrifice of loving Gambit. There is some sort of intrinsic symbolism in the fact that they exist just as you two do in every timeline you share.

Not that it matters, now.

“No,” you groan, dragging yourself towards Gambit’s body. Pain lances through your abdomen in arcs of lightning. It’s nearly as debilitating as the sight of him. He’s hunched over on his side, one hand still outstretched limply towards you, the other awkwardly twisted beneath his body. Your voice wretches out of you in a pained wobble. “No, no, no.”

You take his hand and close your eyes at the fading warmth. This is the third time you’ve watched him die. You don’t know what to do anymore. The pain in your abdomen is a vicious throbbing ache in beat with your heart, a clashing crescendo descending upon your head just as disorienting as the footsteps picking their way towards you. They will shoot you in the back and call it a well-fought battle. They will destroy your body with Gambit’s and never speak your names to anyone in this world’s timeline again. As if you are nothing.

As if this version of Gambit, with his purring accent and smooth-striking dealer hands, is nothing more than an obstacle in the way of the true prize of killing you where you lay bleeding.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper to Gambit. You have to let go of his hand so you don’t take his body with you, and then you let reality shift and expand around you, demanding the timeline to come to heel, shuffling the next five minutes into a ribbon-spread of flashing images.

One minute: you come to your feet. This is almost the hardest part. You have to find a version of yourself that is stable enough to handle the staggering weight of the transition. Your body has been operating in survival mode for far too long, especially in this timeline where you met the new Gambit in the throes of angry grief. You hardly recovered before you threw yourself into society with a desperate hope to attract him back into your orbit. This version of your body feels calm and refreshed, which must mean it’s from right after your second date with Gambit, when he escorted you home and wished you goodnight and you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

Two minutes: you see Gambit. His eyes are half-open and glazed with death, staring far into a horizon you can never reach. He would still be alive if you had never crossed timelines to search him out. This world’s version of you had been killed while you were still young and unpracticed in hiding your power. It had been easy to slip into the vacant space and fill it up with a new identity. He had never known your real name, just the mask you wore to allure him closer to you. You see him, laying there, and all you can remember is his shocked laugh when he noticed the way you ate your sandwiches with a fork and knife. Chér, ought’a you honte, non?

Three minutes: you kill them all.

Four minutes: every single one of them. This is the easiest part.

Five minutes: you have to exchange your borrowed body with your current one, and that is the hardest part. You can feel the seams of your borrowed self strain under the weight of your rapid time-skipping, further stretched thin by the pain of your current self. A wounded body decays far faster when you aren’t occupying it. It’s a reluctant exchange, and you stumble beneath the sudden weight of your current self as it wraps around your consciousness. The impact to the ground is faster than your changing, too fast to feel the echo wave of pain. You retch blood and bile, turning your face to avoid choking on it.

You will be nothing more than another corpse beside Gambit’s in a minute. You can feel the timeline of death fogging your mind, muffling your reflexes. You have exacerbated your own death by orchestrating theirs. It’s not a surprise: when Gambit fell, his breath knocked right out from him, you had felt that same jarring finality.

Only this time, only for you, when you close your eyes in death, you open them in another world entirely.

It's a battlefield.

Not surprising. Your hand automatically goes to the small of your back, fingers curling around the cool polished wood of your bo staff. With one fluid flourish, you pull it out from its sheath and extend the length, timelines humming in your hand with the same buzzing tempo of Gambit's kinetic energy. Unlike his power, your staff doesn't glow blazing violet. In one moment and the next, it simply snaps into its full length, the air hissing with displaced energy.

Once, with your Remy, he had settled himself in an armchair in your shared apartment, half-drunk with one of the cats in his lap, and he had demanded to watch you cross timelines. It took small objects, at first. A coffee cup across the room, a pair of your underwear from the bedroom, the cat purring underneath his very touch. You had been a little less drunk from your night out together, but it had been exhilarating to perform for him in a way that affected you far beyond the influences of alcohol. The weight of his black-red eyes lingering over the curve of your figure could take you apart as sure as any timeline.

He had been mystified yet delighted at your display of prowess. Y’a natural Houdini, eh, chér?

 That wasn’t quite true, though. You didn’t disappear, you simply… rearranged yourself to exist in a state of your choosing, from a time of your choosing. You had explained it to Remy like this: like choosing the channels on T.V. until you found a show you liked. Except instead of old reruns of some sitcom, you were settling on a state of existence.

Your weapon of choice - the bo staff, much like the one Remy trained you with - comes from another version of yourself. It weighs a perfect balance in your palm because it was made for you, even if you were not the one to personally commission its design. The staff whistles sharply as it cuts through the air, singing its anticipation as you swing into action, adrenaline from the fight with the hunters still raging in your veins. It’s a relief to be distracted from the last image of Gambit, dead.

Instead, you revel in the finesse of an unfair fight.

There seems to be four men surrounding you, their faces a blur of distant familiarity. Some part of you had met them, before, in another time. You could have tried to find the names to their faces if they weren’t fully committed to trying to kill you. Battle comes to you easier, and perhaps you are indulging in the violence when you could have stepped away and gone to another time.

But, perhaps, you are so fucking tired of being anything other than a violent, selfish thing.

It’s all smooth motion, to fight like this. Alone. No need to worry about a Remy LeBeau by your side in case the reckless fool got himself killed trying to protect you. You think to your Remy: I told you nothing was going to happen to me, LeBeau. I exist in so many timelines that it doesn’t matter what happens to me.

It doesn’t matter what happens to you. Not even when one of them strikes you across the face with the sharp bend of their elbow, cutting your cheek against your molars and filling your mouth with blood. You merely shuffle the deck, pull another card, draw a version of yourself with no blood and just as much battle-hardened pain tolerance. So many versions of you can handle the aftershocks of pain that your stride hardly stutters as you swing your staff and sweep his feet out from under him. Another swing, a sickening crack of a wood impact to an unprotected skull, and you keep moving to the next target.

Another hit to your ribs, hard enough to knock the breath from you. Shuffle, pull, draw. Your new borrowed body takes the hit without notice and crushes the faceless attacker’s windpipe, cutting off his shriek of pain in a gurgling wheeze. The next one tries to make a move while your back is turned, and you move to meet him, staff swinging, mouth twisted in a grimace. You can feel the timeline bending to stretch thin around you, taut with the rapid succession of your draw. Your blood thunders in a raging crescendo in your ears. There is a limit to how much you can take before you splinter apart.

You just don’t know if you care to heed that limit, anymore.

Another swing. Shuffle, draw, pull. This version of you switches from the long reach of your bo staff for the more intimate versatility of twin blunt-ended sticks. It works well for close combat. So well that your opponent has to keep to the backstep to avoid your blows, shuffling out of range.

So well, that you forget that there were four.

The pain that cracks across the back of your skull sends you to the ground in an instant. Your hands spasm and release the sticks, but not fast enough to soften the blow of your sudden fall. The timeline whines a high-pitched whir around you, unsteady in the relentless time-skipping.

Too bad, you think distantly. This is a quick life for this timeline of yours. A violent, lonely one. It is grim, but there is a quiet relief in the end beckoning you closer. The quick ones are the easiest. It only really kills you when you have to linger in the shadow of your self’s presence. A living ghost. That’s all you really are. You just haunt the narrative of your own lifetimes.

You, and Gambit.

Blazing purple flashes across your vision, and the timeline whirs again, except it isn’t, because you haven’t used your dealer’s hand. It isn’t your power charging the air with magnetic energy. It is all Gambit’s. Of course it fucking is.

How ironic for you to find him now, in this timeline where he has never known your name, when you are already dead? You close your eyes to silently curse out whatever pathetic higher being found fit to orchestrate your life into this circus sideshow.

“Cherchez la femme,” he says. His accent is lilting in its coyness. “Found ya’, chér.”

[coldhearthotlove]

For Disability PRIDE Month - It’s EXTREMELY important to remember that COVID still exists.

It never went away, and it’s as dangerous as ever.

Here are some facts everyone should be aware of:

1) COVID has killed millions around the world (directly and indirectly - such as causing heart problems, for example, and then causing a lethal heart attack months later), and debilitated tens of millions, if not more, around the world in only a few years.

2) COVID can and often does cause long term effects which can last for months, years, or even a lifetime. These long term effects commonly include: fatigue, shortness of breath, loss of taste and smell, etc. - but there are countless other long term effects. Ongoing health issues that come from an infection is called “Long COVID” - and can range in severity.

3) Most people with Long COVID have reported being dismissed, and even gaslit or made fun of by family, and even medical staff. They have been told “it’s all in their head” or “not that serious”.

4) No age, gender, race, nationality, etc. is immune to COVID. ANYONE can get it. There are some groups of people, however, that are more likely than others to have more severe outcomes from an infection.

5) Herd immunity cannot be achieved with COVID, because the virus mutates every time it infects a group a people. This new mutation can dodge any immunity you have from a previous infection, and infect you again. Millions of people around the world have already had COVID multiple times - often different mutations/variants of the virus. The less often you and the people around you get COVID, the better.

6) While vaccines and boosters can prevent more severe illnesses and even death - you can still get COVID and Long COVID, even if you’ve been vaccinated. Vaccine efficacy only lasts a few months, and the vast majority of Americans are not up to date with their boosters.

7) COVID can wreck your organs and immune system, and make you more susceptible to other diseases and conditions - such as Pneumonia.

8) Since COVID is a relatively new virus, there’s still a lot not known about it; but the limited knowledge we do have on it is terrifying.

9) “Mainstream Media” doesn’t talk about COVID anymore, because society wants to pretend it doesn’t exist anymore. Lockdowns, masking, taking precautions, etc. was costing too much money and inconveniencing too many people - so the average person would rather just pretend it doesn’t exist, even though it does. Just because everyone around you thinks “COVID is over”, doesn’t mean it is. Don’t be fooled.

10) An experiment was done on lab mice: reinfecting them with COVID. By the 10th infection - all the mice were dead…

10 infections sounds like a lot, but if you’re 20 and you get 1 infection every year on average - you’re not likely to live past 30…

If you do, you’re almost guaranteed to have some from of Long COVID.

Please take COVID seriously, for yourself, and everyone around you…

[exhaslo]

Hello! I really enjoy the last post you wrote involving the alternative outcome of Villain!Miguel x Hero![Reader]. I have another fun idea and it may be a little META.

Since there are a ton of Spider-Man 2099/Miguel O’Hara fics circulating around the internet…

How about a request with Spider!Fem![Reader] who secretly reads fanfics and smut fics she found from different universes in the multiverse? Let's say the [Reader] was reading fics involving her boss and the leader of the Spider Society, Miguel O’Hara since she is completely DOWN BAD for him. Then one day, she’s reading some smut involving Miguel and he catches her doing so.

He’ll probably tease her about it and things would escalate to something hot and spicy between the two Spiders.

- @club-danger-zone

*Looks around* Shall we break some cannon events? RIP SORRY FOR BEING CRINGE BUT LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOO

Warning: Minors DNI, Smut, teasing, size kink, dirty talk

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was getting bad. You needed to learn some self control. You kept telling yourself that, but it was difficult. You had a big problem that involved your fellow Spider, the boss man, the big bad leader of the Spider Society: Miguel O'Hara.

You were head over heels for the man. He was the definition of FINE. Honestly, you never even knew that such a Spiderman existed. You, yourself, was a Spider-Woman. Like everyone else, you had your story and your life. The only thing you didn't have compared to the others was a person who loved you.

No Mary-Jane.

No Gwen Stacy.

Hell, no Peter Parker.

You were your own variant. It frustrated you. So, when Miguel brought you along to the Spider Society, you ended up simping hard for him. You had so many wet dreams about him. So many nights with whatever sex toy you had in your closet. It was getting really bad. You needed to get laid or find something to entertain you.

"Heeeeey, (Y/N), guess what I stumbled upon," Lyla appeared before you.

You had just entered one of the guest rooms that some of the Spiders used to crash for the night. You turned towards the AI, taking off your suit.

"That you found or Miguel?"

"Me! Miguel would probably shut this down if he found out," Lyla said with a grin, sending you something.

You were suspicious, but checked your mail anyway. You were very close to Miguel, in his inner circle, so you had access to Lyla. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you saw the file before you. Lyla just appeared before with with a confident grin.

"That word doesn't have a real Spiderman. Apparently the Miguel there is in a movie. Soooooo, there are soooooo many stories involving him. You're going to enjoy the smut~"

"I-I can't," You said as you opened the first website, "You are a horrible influence. I will not read these!"

---------

"Oh my god, keep going," You whispered as you clicked on the next chapter.

Your cheeks were bright red as a wide smile engulfed your face. You were enjoying all of this smut far more than you would like to admit. Hell, it made those dreams of yours even more vivid. While it did not help with your raging crush, it did get your mind off of currently wanting to fuck your boss.

"Yes!" You squealed in joy.

"Someone is in good mood." Miguel said as he walked by, "You've been focused on your watch for the past week. What could you be reading from another universe?" He asked.

Your face paled as you quickly hid your watch. Miguel would never talk to you again if he knew. Hell, he might kick you out of the Spider Society for conflict of interest. That was the last thing you wanted.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel questioned.

Miguel could sense your nervousness. His senses were higher than everyone's. Sighing softly, Miguel motioned you to follow him to his office. He had originally approached you for another reason. He could never ask you about it though. Once the two of you were alone, Miguel looked at his watch and started to type away.

"Let's see...(Y/n)'s watch."

"W-Wait! Miguel, before you do-"

"Oh-" Miguel immediately made eye contact with you, "I didn't even know there was a world like this. Very specific."

"I-I'm sorry! I was just curious and you know...The stories were just so good-"

"His tongue swirled around your clit?" Miguel's grin widen towards your flustered cheeks, "The sheer size of his dick made you feel full?"

"M-Miguel...Y-You d-don't-" You bit your lower lip, feeling your body warm up as he read the story.

"I never knew you were into all this smut, and about me none the less. That explains why you smelled extra sweet this past week," Miguel muttered the last part, watching you, "You know (Y/N), you don't need to read these."

You glanced towards Miguel, watching him approach you. Your heart was racing as his body pressed against yours, pinning you to the wall. You could feel his hot breathe. This wasn't what you were expecting. He was teasing you for reading porn about him!

"I could have helped you instead," Miguel whispered in your ear. You stared right into his lustful eyes,

"So...I'm not in trouble?" Your voice was low as you leaned closer to him. Miguel chuckled lowly, his thumb pulling against your bottom lip,

"Do you want to be?"

"Depends on the punishment," You felt dazed as you leaned towards Miguel's lips.

"Read the story to me," Miguel whispered as he licked your lips before pulling away.

You whimpered lowly, your body craving him. Why did he have to do this to you? Miguel was just so tempting. You were folding hard. Without hesitating you pulled the story up and you started to read the story.

"His hands gently stroked down y-your waist," Your breathing shuddered as Miguel's hands started to do as you read. "H-His hips g-grind-"

"What's wrong? Can't even read me a story?" Miguel chuckled lowly as you watched you melt under him.

"H-His d-dick-" You gasped lowly as Miguel started to grind his hips against yours.

You whimpered quietly as you felt your panties get damper and damper. Miguel's face was so close to yours. Miguel brought his lips to your neck as he held your hips closer. His fingers rubbing circles around your hips.

"What about my dick?" Miguel chuckled as he felt you trembled, "Such a naughty girl, reading such things about me. All you had to do was ask,"

Miguel slowly undid the bottom of your suit, exposing your soaked and desperate cunt. He lifted you onto his desk, demanding that you kept reading. Much to his amusement, you did. Miguel resisted a groan as he took his dick out, rubbing it against your folds. Your moans were so sweet.

"M-Miguel s-started....s-started to...to e-enter-" You stuttered, trying to focus on reading, but was getting distracted. You whimpered a moan as Miguel started to push his tip inside you.

"You're sucking me in so well, you've been wanting this for how long now?" Miguel held your waist, sliding his cock deeper into you, "I could have made you feel good so much sooner. Were you that oblivious to my gestures?"

You cried softly as you focused on Miguel's thick length stretching your walls out. Your back rested against his desk, muffling moans as you squeezed against him.

"I-I guess so?" You told him. Miguel scoffed lowly before thrusting into you, "Ah~ W-Wait~"

"After making me wait so long? After masking my office with your sweet scent so many times? Amor (love), I've waited long enough and so have you."

You cried out a series of moans as Miguel started to slap himself into you. His dick making itself at home within your pussy. It felt so right. Felt so much better than you doing it yourself at home. You wrapped your legs around Miguel's waist, wanting to get closer to him.

"Who do you think gave Lyla access to those stories?" Miguel chuckled as you cam against his dick, "I grew tired of waiting and wanted to give you a little push."

"H-Hah~ Mhm~ C-Can...C-Can we do what some of those stories did then?" You begged. Miguel raised a brow as he pinched your clit, watching you squirm,

"That and more. My naughty girl needs to be punished first."

You moaned to his wishes, having him use you for his pleasure. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes, feeling your body grow hot again. With a grunt and a deep thrust, Miguel cam inside you. You shivered from the feeling, crying out his name.

"That's right. Now you're being a good girl," Miguel panted softly, soaking in the state you were in, "As much as I would love to continue, I have some reports to do. Why don't you pick your favorite story and we'll continue this tonight?"

"Mhm," You nodded towards his request, watching Miguel fix himself.

Miguel smiled before stealing a kiss from you before leaving. You nearly squealed as you fixed yourself up. Looking through all your saved stories, you felt a new fire light up inside you.

"Ohhhhh, I'm getting wrecked tonight~!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Haha, hope you enjoyed this!

[miguel-owhora]

Something like one day Miguel assigns you some task and in the process you encounter a variation of his and you completely forget about your mission, then Miguel has to go look for you because enough time has passed, only to find you half unconscious and very stupid, with clear signs that another Miguel fucked you.

I was actually hooked on your idea idk idk

TYPE — drabble

SYNOPSIS — what anon said

WARNINGS — 18+ , cheating but is it really cheating if it's a variant of your husband , cunnilingus , squirting , implied multiple orgasms/milking

FEM-ALIGNED READERS AND MINORS DNF, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED.

TAGS — @sweetcorpse , @tophamhat-kyo , @villainousdelicacy , @realitylemon , @gayaristocrat , @gaynesspersonified

MORE — this idea literally has me foaming and slamming inside my cage

This version of your home world isn't unusual. It's literally a couple years from '99, a couple years back into the past. Nothing unusual, nothing uncommon from your current year back in your original timeline. Swinging around your city is nice, the sky dark with the city lights polluting the night sky, preventing you from seeing the stars - that is, you never really did see them, unless if you went to the moon station. But that was only ever a privilege you got once you were older.

You spent majority of your youth in the underground part of Nueva York, living in the dark with only the city lights as the sun. You only ever stepped out whenever you wanted to rebel and when you went to college, and only ever moved out of the underworld - the name many called the underground of NY - when you got with Miguel. Bless his heart, as much as you adored your husband and how many years you've been living on the nicer side of NY - that is in looks, but just barely - you would always favor the underworld. You found that despite the reputation it earned, the people were always more real and down to earth than the people living overhead.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and just barely swerved out of the way before you hit a pole. You swung yourself up and landed on top of a skyscraper of a building, landing in what many would dub the classic spider pose. You peered over the edge of the building, overlooking the city in all its glory. Nueva York, as a whole, no matter how corny you would sound right now, would forever hold a special place in your heart. The people, the food, the diverse mixture of culture and background - that's what made Nueva York, Nueva York: just a clusterfuck of everyone and everything.

After a solid couple seconds of surveying everything you raised your hand to look at your goober - despite what Miguel tried to get everyone to say, it was a goober at the end of the day, a damn watch if you want to be simple about it - and began to type in it. You read over the mission Miguel gave you, just a simple 'catch an anomaly and go home' type of mission It wasn't one of those big bad villains, just some guy. Didn't even have a name.

You snorted to yourself as you lowered your arm and stretched, grunting as one or two of your bones popped pleasantly, blood flooding back to wherever it needed to go.

"I didn't know we had a Spider-Man."

The sound of Miguel's voice nearly has you falling off the building, and hadn't it been for your ability to stick to surfaces, you would've been a splat of flesh on the floor. You whipped around, startled, and found yourself looking at your husband.

...Future husband, as this Miguel isn't - first of all - your Miguel and younger than the early thirties man you knew and love. But it was still technically your husband. Technically. Unless if this was one of those world's where you didn't go overhead and stayed in the underworld, or something along those lies, somewhere where you never met Miguel.

This Miguel of Earth-547, Miguel-547, was younger than your Miguel, a bit more youthful, but no less handsome. Perhaps in his twenties, with the telltale signs of a lack of sleep on the heavy eyebags underneath his dark eyes, perhaps from studying so much. The thought has you almost snorting but you caught yourself as you stepped down from the railing of the building, looking over at Miguel with a slight tilt of your head.

"You don't. Not yet, at least." You replied, eyeing him with keen interest, mission forgotten.

Miguel raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. You shake your head, snorting in amusement. He's Miguel, he's your husband, just like when he was younger, back when you first met him, back when you first roomied with him against your will.

"Who are you?" Miguel asks, and you can see the regret written across his face. This time, it makes you laugh, both at his face and at the question.

"That's.. that's stupid. Nevermind." Miguel mutters, face darkening in embarrassment as he lightly pouted - frowned, whatever, he has the same face for both feelings - and looked away. It's such a Miguel thing to do that you choke and cough, laughing, and wiping away tears that never meet your fingers, not with your mask covering your face.

"I'd tell you my name but..." You rolled your shoulders, placing your hands on your waist. "I think Miguel would get mad at me for revealing my identity, even if it's just my name. I don't want to mess with any canon event. You know how it is."

"I don't." Miguel replied, glancing back at you with a confused expression. "And Miguel? That's.. that's my name. I'm guessing you mean somebody else? And canon ev- what the shock are you even talking about?"

Oh the irony, you thought to yourself. "Something like that, sure, and it's a long story."

Miguel pursed his lips and gave you a look. You grinned behind your mask, the lenses to your mask squinting at him.

"But I can offer you something better."

This got Miguel's attention and you chuckled, still grinning. Gotcha.

Which is how you ended up in Miguel's dorm room, stuffed between his legs and eating at his pussy. His legs hold you firmly between strong thighs, keeping you trapped and stuffing your face into pussy - not that you minded of course. It's your favorite past time, and why would you deny yourself the opportunity to eat your man's cunt like it's your last meal? You'd be a fool not to.

Miguel's voice is breathless and whimpery, a hand holding the back of your face as he shamelessly grinded against your mouth. He arched his back and squeezed his thighs when your mouth attached to his swollen cock, sucking on the sensitive nub. Your tongue dipped into his hole as you felt him tremble and moan, incomprehensible words of praise and encouragement tumbling from his mouth as he came inside your mouth.

He tried to push you away once his climax passed over, but you didn't budge, merely using your enhanced strength to grab onto his thighs and gently push them down. The position made him even more open and gave you even more access to the sweet, delicious slick that poured out of him, which you didn't dare let a spare a single drop and eagerly slurped up.

"Hah - ca- shock! - cálmate, pinche perro!" Miguel moaned, his thighs tensed and twitching as he danced between pushing your head away and humping into your mouth. He moved when you slipped into two fingers and began to move them, thrusting them in and out of his pussy with a certain expertise that came with someone who's done this before, and sucked on his cock.

Whatever you did, however you learned it, was enough to rip an unexpected orgasm from Miguel that had no buildup and caught him off guard. Even moreso when he felt liquid shoot from his pussy and he went unbelievably warm, but shock, if it didn't make him stomach flutter. His cheeks darkened when he heard you obscenely slurp, drinking whatever liquid he squirted out.

"What - what the shock was that?!" Miguel breathed out after you finally pulled away with a pop. Miguel felt something hot and possessive curl in his stomach when he saw the bottom half of your face - the only thing you dared to show him, the upper part of your face was hidden by the mask you wore - was dripping wet with his fluids. He watched as you licked your lips; and Miguel swallowed.

"You squirted," You said calmly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You pulled your fingers away from his pussy and plopped them into your mouth, cleaning them of whatever slick coated it, and Miguel stared with wide eyes.

He slowly blinked and looked away, beyond flustered.

"I never knew I could do that." Miguel muttered, panting.

"Well now you do, use it wisely." You replied, amused, lips curled into a teasing grin. Miguel rolled his eyes, but not unkindly. Your eyes flickered from his face down to the rest of his body and over to the lower half. His pussy was slick and swollen, the dark hair neatly trimmed, looking and smelling and tasting absolutely delicious. That never did change about him, did it? You could spend all eternity between his legs, eagerly doting on his cunt.

You snapped out of your thoughts with a little grunt as Miguel suddenly hauled you off the ground and onto his bed, flat on your back. The lenses of your mask widened and your mouth went dry when Miguel swung himself over your lap, straddling you. Your hands instinctively fell onto his waist, so small and holdable, and nervously giggled, licking your lips that suddenly felt too dry.

"What's - what's all this about?" You asked, flustered. Miguel seemed to pick up on this and smiled, a little dangerous, a little fond. He slowly rolled his hips down, eyes gleaming when you softly moaned, your cock, hard in your suit, eagerly responding to some stimulation.

"Just a little treat. You ate me out..." Miguel's hand reached down to grab a hold of your cock, rubbing it through the material of your spandex. "...So I'll let you hit."

"Fuck." You whispered, breathless. Miguel just chuckled, eyes dark and smile dangerous in the way that made you fall in love all over again.

-

"Have you checked on [Name], Miguel?"

The sound of his AI's voice is enough to rip Miguel's attention from the holograms in front of him. His eyes feel dry as he gives a couple of blinks, vision straining from having stared at screens for so long. It takes a couple of heartbeats before Miguel could process Lyla's question and gave her a questioning look as she hovered near him.

"What?" He asked, intelligently, and totally not in a dumb way.

Lyla rolled her eyes, exasperated. "[Name]? Your husband? The one you sent on a mission?"

It was Miguel's turn to roll his eyes. "I know the name of my husband. Why are you asking if I checked up on him? He's reliable, he'll get the job done."

Lyla smirked in the way that told Miguel she knew something he didn't and could already feel his heart dropping to his stomach.

"What's wrong?" Miguel demanded, immediately on alert, his mind beginning to creep with different scenarios that made him stomach twist uncomfortablely.

"Nothing's wrong. He's fine, he's not hurt." Lyla paused and gave him a look over her heartshaped glasses. "He's just neglecting his duties for a variant."

Miguel processed the words and paused, eyebrow raising. "Variant?"

Lyla just smirked even wider, glitching and moving somewhere else, teasing. A set of coordinates appeared on Miguel's watch.

"Why don't you check it out?" Lyla chuckled, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "But just go alone, alright?"

Miguel didn't know if he wanted to strangle Lyla or himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. He could already feel the telltale sign of a migraine appearing, and no, his lack of sleep did NOT contribute to it.

"Lyla, open a portal." He eventually sighed out, dragging a hand over his face to get rid of any drowsiness.

"You got it, boss."

The orange and colorful portal appeared in front of Miguel, lighting up his dark lab in a warm color, changing the texture of the area around it. Miguel took a moment to appreciate it, a moment to gather himself, before throwing himself in the portal.

He knew the world he sent you to was one of your guy's timelines. Just a couple years back into the past, nothing crazy. The whole mission was a simple one, even a newbie could've done it. He knew you could handle more, obviously, but the thought of you getting hurt, of losing you, that frightened Miguel. It scared him. And while he knew you'd get tired of basic missions like the one he assigned you, he wouldn't budge. Well, at least not now.

But he didn't think he'd end up in a rather familiar dormroom. Specifically, his old dorm room, in his bedroom. Familiar posters line the walls, little figurines scattered around, his old desk lined next to his bed and scattered with messy shit. It's nostalgic, and for a second, Miguel imagines himself as his fresh out of high school guy barely entering his college years.

What's out of place, however, is the body of his husband laying on his bed. He's not dead, thankfully, Miguel's eyes catching sight of the slow rise and fall of his chest, and if anything, seems to be half out of it.

His mask is pulled halfway up, from his nose and down being the only thing revealed. His lips are slick and bit, light bruises on his jaw. The pants of his spandex are pulled down far enough to reveal his cock, which lays heavy and flaccid on his stomach, and yet...

Miguel's cheeks darkened and his lips pursed when he saw the dried evidence of cum on your belly and cock. Miguel pixelated his mask away, sighing out of exasperation, even if his core squirmed in a familiar way.

Miguel walked the short steps towards his bed and hovered over you, taking in your frazzled and obviously worn out appearance. Miguel reached down and gently grasped your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you.

He was surprised when you softly groaned, squirming as you seemed to awake up.

"Miguel?" You slurred out, and Miguel then realized his variant must've had his time with you.

"[Name,] ready to head back home?" Miguel questioned, his voice quiet but a faint hint of affection tinting his words. Perhaps he should be jealous that a variant got to his husband, but he can't find it in himself. If anything, it was... kind of hot. But that was another thing for another time.

"Mm? Home.... wait-" You stirred a little, becoming just the slightest bit alert. "Which dimension?"

Miguel made a little exasperated face even if you couldn't see. "928."

You went slack, pleased with the answer. "Mkay, le's go h'me..." You slurred before promptly knocking yourself out. Miguel stared before slowly setting your head down. He gently pulled your mask down and stuffed yourself back into your spandex before scooping you up.

"Lyla-" He began but was caught off by the AI, who glitched into existent.

"He looks kind of cute. You're, like, his knight in shining armor - or would it be spider in shining armor?" Lyla mused as she took a couple mixtures of the husbands. Miguel didn't dignify her with a response as a portal opened up, illuminating the room in a warm colorful glow. Then, a thought crossed his mind and he paused.

"Did he even finish his mission?" Miguel asked Lyla, even if he knew the answer.

"Absolutely not." Lyla grinned.

Miguel took a deep breath but didn't get angry - he never did get angry with you, now did he?

"Send someone to finish it." Miguel asked as he slipped through the portal, his AI glitching out of air. Missions he damned, he had his own mission now: giving you the aftercare his variant failed to do, which, in his opinion, made him the best variant out there.

all rights reserved © miguel-owhora

[syluscore]

Every Version of You (2)

A reverse harem with three variants of Leon Kennedy and feminine reader.

~ Masterlist ~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

SONGS: Daylight - David Kushner and Linger - The Cranberries

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR PART TWO: depression, grief, suicidal thoughts, death idealization, yearning for childhood, reminiscing on girlhood, paranoia, nightmares, monsters, dead looking bodies, time travel, the unknown, denial, trauma, PTSD, hugging, embracing, kissing, first kiss, mentions of readers death

TAGLIST: @growingupnrealizing​ , @weneewinnie , @delulusimps , @yoonbabe-d , @missjoenowhere , @cassiecasluciluce 

!!!!!MINORS DNI! THIS BLOG AND POST ARE 18+ ONLY!!!!

PART “CHAPTER” TWO:

Your eyes are puffy and stinging. You’ve always hated how weak you are; how easily you fall apart. You thought that you were getting stronger. You truly believed you had hardened from all the adversity you’ve witnessed and endured the past couple of miserable years.

But seeing Leon’s limp body fall into that machine, watching him disappear right in front of your eyes, you feel like that young, terrified little girl again. 

The girl who didn’t like scary movies, covering your eyes anytime you thought something even remotely scary was going to appear on screen. The girl who didn’t like to be alone, feeling safer surrounded by others. The girl who relied on a night light and leaving the closet light on because nothing was scarier than the dark. 

You want it back. God, you want your girlhood back. You feel physically ill from the pain coursing through your veins and chipping away at your soul. You want your sweet and naive innocence back because regardless of how strong you wish you could be, you’re incapable of it and you can’t endure this. You weren’t built for this. How could you ever fool yourself into believing you could be strong in the face of incomprehensible pain. 

You close your eyes tight and will yourself to go back in time. To be in that tiny bed underneath some frilly blanket, comfy in some nightgown with a cartoon character on the front. You’d pull the blankets up to your chin, plushies on either side of your small frame and by god, you’d not just be, but you’d feel fucking safe.

Your blanket would tuck under your feet, protecting your toes from the invisible monsters of your overactive and colorful imagination. And that would remain your biggest concern in life. The only danger to you would be the shadow coming off of some stray jacket, illuminating from the little bit of moonlight shining in through your sheer bedroom curtains. 

And you’d squeeze your eyes shut real tight. You’d think about running outside after lunch with your classmates to the playground. Your friend would push you on the swing and you’d wait in line for a turn on the slide. You’d finally accomplish skipping some of the monkey bars as you crossed them. 

Your happy place would have you slowly relaxing and unwinding until sleep took you. The imaginary monsters would fade away along with your consciousness.

The morning light would greet you through your bedroom window and you’d sit up. You’d stretch real big and crawl out from under the covers. The fears that stewed within you in the dark would be long forgotten. They’d vanish in the daylight and you would be free of them. 

You wouldn’t think about how inevitably night will return and so will the monsters. You’d only think of the present as you got dressed and ready for school. You’d be confident, well rested, and most importantly: peacefully and irrevocably happy.

When you’re young, your monsters don’t chase you into the day. The entire world could be falling apart around you and you wouldn’t even know it. Because when you’re young, you're exempt from the world’s cruelty. 

You never anticipate the day it’s all stolen from your fragile arms as it approaches. One day, something that means nothing to everyone else in the world will change everything for you. Your girlhood is stripped from you and the world comes crashing into you. You can beg and plead for that innocence back, but once it’s gone it can’t be undone. 

Maybe you weren’t meant for this world, never meant to live past your cherished girlhood. Maybe you’ve lived past your expiration date and that’s why you suffer so deeply.

The world is trying to form a life around someone who shouldn’t be here. People will tell you it’s better to have loved and have lost than to never have loved at all. But they never tell you none of it would’ve ever mattered had you never been at all. 

You feel broken to your core. You’re not the little girl running barefoot through the grass chasing fireflies anymore. You’re the woman who just watched the man she never got to love die in front of her, who can only think of the relief she’d feel to just follow after him, join him somewhere better than here.

Anywhere is better than the concrete floor as the world goes on around you while yours feels as if it’s coming to an end. How can no one else feel the complete utter loss?

“Hey, please listen to me,” the man with his arms wrapped around you tries to get your attention. You’ve been ignoring every attempt he’s made since Leon died. But his grasp on you has never wavered. As you fell apart, the man held you and your pieces together, keeping you from self imploding and becoming nothing but a stain on the floor.

“He’s going to be fine. Just be patient.”

Your eyes finally dart up to his face. “Fine? What part of any of this gives you the impression that everything will be just fine?” Your voice wavers, weak from sobbing and screaming.

“I wish it was easy to explain, but I think you have to see it for yourself. He’ll be right back here soon, I promise. You have my word, I swear to you,” his voice is completely sincere, but you can’t help but huff out a laugh at his words. You did see whatever this was for yourself. You don’t think this man can defy the laws of physics, so how the fuck can Leon be okay?

“Let me show you something.” He stands up and reaches his hand out for you to grab. It’s not like there’s anything else for you to do, so you let him pull you up and guide you to the other side of the room.

He stops in front of the body on the floor. The man is on his side, facing away from you so all you can see is his limp form. 

You look up at the man next to you with confusion.

You’re finally able to take in his appearance. The man has dark brown hair and a beard to match, both tidily trimmed. His dark eyes are complemented by his dark, prominent eyebrows. His broad shoulders match his large presence, his arms damn near the size of a person’s torso. The man could crush your body within the palm of his hand and not break a sweat. It’s intimidating, no matter how gentle he seems. 

“You see him breathing, right?”

You look down at the body beneath you and see a slow heartbeat. At least he’s not dead, but it doesn’t change how weird it is that he fell at the same time that… Actually you’re not going to think about that right this second. If you want to properly process any information at all, you have to focus on what’s in front of you and not the tsunami growing inside of you.

You nod slowly, prompting the man to continue. 

“Walk around to his other side and get a good look at his face.”

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, not following with what this has to do with Leon being somewhere in a tank allegedly alive and well.

“Go ahead, it can’t hurt to look. Just don’t touch him. What he’s going through right now is still super new and we don’t know how outside forces on his body will affect him.” 

Sighing, you give in and slowly walk around the man on the ground. His face is tucked against the floor so you have to squat down to see it properly.

You take in the man's features and immediately recognize him, or who he looks like more accurately.

“Um,” you pause as your brain tries to formulate words while it still feels like mush, “He looks like Leon.”

“He does?”

“Well, yeah, he does. He looks like Leon maybe, I don’t know, 5 or so years ago.” You look up at the man, searching his face for answers but not finding anything. You’re not even sure what you’re looking for and it’s starting to irritate you how he isn’t actually explaining anything.

“It is.”

“Come again?” You question.

“It doesn’t just look like Leon from 1998, it is Leon from 1998. That’s where he’s from.”

You laugh as the man jokes with you. Now isn’t the time for stupid jokes, but it feels good to laugh. Maybe he knows you need to laugh after the breakdown of the millennia. 

“I’m serious. And the man up above the tank?” He points up at him and your eyes follow. “That’s Leon from 2014, from the future. He’s the reason we’re all here, but he’ll explain that to you more when you’re ready.”

You just stare up at him, waiting for him to drop the bit but he doesn’t falter.

“I know we’re far away from him, but doesn’t he look like an older Leon? And it’s pretty crazy that the man on the floor looks exactly like Leon used to. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially at a time like this. You may not believe me now, but it will start to make more sense. Well, as much sense as it can make.”

You continue to stare at him, the face crack has to be coming soon. Much to your surprise, his face remains deadass serious.

You rub your eyes, trying to relieve the ache from the dryness. Willing them to refocus and make things make sense. 

You look back down at the man on the floor with the dirty blond fringe, the soft jawline with supple but plump lips. He’s so goddamn beautiful and unmistakingly Leon, just as you remember him from Racoon City.

“R-Rookie?” Your voice breaks. You feel the need to cry but there’s just no more tears left for you to cry. The rivers have run dry. 

Your body aches with the need to reach out and touch him. To feel his soft skin and confirm he’s real and right here in front of you. Something to assure you this isn’t some twisted dream you need to wake up from.

But that’s wishful thinking. Your emotions and deep rooted pain is too intense for it to be a dream and you know it. Your brain could never concierge up something like this. Your brain could never allow you to stay asleep as your heart breaks. You always wake up when the nightmare gets too bad, and it’s been beyond terrible since the moment these men showed up.

“We’re ready to wake one of them up now. Which one do we pull out, Chris?” The man at the functions panel calls over to us.

“Rookie.” The man that you now know is called Chris answers almost immediately.

“And does the senorita agree?” 

Your head darts up and your eyes connect with the other mans.

“Please.” Your voice is barely a shaky whisper.

He nods his head, his shaggy dark brown–almost black hair falling back over his shoulder as he focuses back on the panel. 

You look back over the sleeping Leon, you can’t help the small smile that slips out as you admire the sweet rookie. Maybe you’ve gone crazy and this is all a delusion, a way for your brain to cope with trauma, but you’re so happy to see his younger self. He still has that boyish look to him, a hopefulness about him even while fast asleep.

A bittersweet feeling creeps up on you. You watched as the light in his eyes slowly dulled out. As the horrors he’d seen and people he’d lost slowly chipped away at his mental health. It’s so sweet to see him and remember the happy go lucky rookie he once was, but it’s such a bitter pill to fucking swallow knowing how it’s all ripped away from him quicker than he can even process it.

He still hasn’t had that time to process everything that’s happened over the past few years. You’ve always encouraged him to go to therapy and come to terms with it all, but he isn’t ready to cope with the trauma. If he can push it away, maybe, just maybe it’ll be less real. He wouldn’t need to cope with it if he just never allowed himself to get into it.

Leon groaning on the ground beneath you pulls you from your thoughts. You fall to your knees as you fight to keep your hands at your side. You don’t want to hurt him and no one has told you if it’s safe to touch him yet. 

His eyes twitch as he rolls onto his back.

“Leon?” You speak quietly, hesitantly. His eyes finally snap open as he looks over at you. 

A smile breaks across his face despite him wincing in pain against the unforgiving concrete floor. “Funny seeing you here.” 

“Yeah,” you speak on a huff of air. Because of course he’s joking and spouting out some bullshit one liner at a time like this. 

You reach your hands out in an offer to help him up and he slowly obliges. His eyes widen as you actually use your strength to help pull him up. 

“Okay, muscles. When’d you get those?” He says with amusion filling his voice.

“Well, I’m not just some archivist for the police department anymore.”

“What happened?” His concern and confusion is clear as he tilts his head slightly. Did they pull Leon from before the outbreak? Does he not know of the horrors you faced through those dreadful late September nights?

“What time is it, like, where you’re from?”

“Um,” he closes his eyes as if deep in thought. “September 1998. Like the 20th was when these assholes showed up.”

So he hasn’t lived through the outbreak yet. Interesting.

He started with the RPD in early September, before everything went to shit. You didn’t start much earlier than he did–some time mid summer. You two only talked briefly when you would run into each other throughout the station. You didn’t form a bond until after that night. A zombie apocalypse and killing the rotting shells of your former friends and colleagues will do that to you. The giant fucking tyrant and monsters didn’t help either.

“Do you know why you’re here? Why either of us is here?” You ask, finally feeling like maybe you’re ready to talk about it. You trust Leon more than anyone else. This is still your Leon, just from the past you suppose. It’s still weird to think about, but there’s bigger issues at hand currently.

“Hardly. They’ve explained some stuff to me but I don’t understand any of it. Guess I’m just here for the ride.”

Your heart sinks at his response. The one person you trusted to be honest and explain things to you doesn’t know what’s going on either. 

Chris speaks up, “He’s here to help you. Sure, you could recognize an older Leon but you’d know a younger Leon. We could’ve left him out and just came back here to your current Leon, but Leon wanted you to be comfortable. He wanted to do everything he could to help you understand and just believe us in general.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But why? Let’s say this is time travel or whatever the fuck, why are you doing any of this? What’s the end goal?”

“I think it’d be better for Leon to explain it to you.” You whip your head towards the Leon standing beside you, but Chris shakes his head and continues, “Not that one. The older version. We’ll call you Rookie, you know, just to make things clearer.”

“I don’t know how this could ever be clearer.”

“Maybe we should put you back to bed, Rookie.”

“Maybe we-”

Rookie is cut off by the man at the control panel speaking again. “I’m going to wake up the big boy now.”

You and Rookie go silent as Chris joins the other man at the panel.

“Do we really need to wake his grumpy ass up yet, Luis?”

“Don’t you worry. She’s here now so he’ll be in better spirits.”

“You’re so sure?”

“No,” Luis turns to face you. “Hey if Leon is being an asshole, feel free to put him in his place for us. You’re the only one who might be able to.”

Leon on top of the platform shoots up from where he’s laying with a loud gasp. He massages his temples as his chest heaves.

“Fuck, that’s the last time we have to do that right? Shit’s fucking painful.”

Luis speaks in a taunting voice, “Good morning sunshine. Wake up on the wrong side of the bottomless vat?”

Leon doesn’t speak, only shooting daggers at Luis with his eyes. Luis just shakes his head as Leon climbs slowly down the ladder. 

“It’s the last time,” Chris does his best to assure Leon.

“Fantastic.” Leon marches over to the control panel, before crossing his arms over his chest.

“We’re doing this all for you. You remember that right?” Chris arches an eyebrow at Leon.

“Doesn’t make it any more comfortable.” 

Luis and Chris shake their heads at Leon’s attitude before quietly talking amongst themselves. Leon just stands there, staring off into the empty vat of liquid.

“Leon?” You speak quietly, but Leon instantly hears it. Almost as if he’d be listening and waiting for your voice.

He whips around and looks over at you. He doesn’t move a muscle once his eyes meet yours. His eyes well up with moisture and unspoken emotions. You can see his chest rapidly rising and falling. He looks like his body is vibrating purely from intense thoughts and feelings, raging inside of him until his body is left paralyzed, unable to feel anything besides the deep, dark ache.

In an instant, something snaps inside of him and he’s taking long strides directly in your direction. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he reaches you in a mere seconds, taking you into his arms and wrapping his biceps around your neck. You’re pulled against his chest before your brain can even catch up, before it can even process that he’s hugging you.

Despite the anxiety of being in such close proximity to him, you’re also overcome with an overwhelming calmness. You melt beneath his touch and allow yourself to relax completely within his arms. You’ve never felt anything quite like this before. Nothing has ever felt so perfect in your entire life. Nothing’s ever felt this fucking right.

He nuzzles his face into the top of your hair, breathing in so deeply, as if you are his life support machines and he’d cease to exist without you against him. And you hadn’t realized it until today, but it’s the same way for you. Who are you without him? You’d be the first to admit it’s super unhealthy to feel this way, but it was never intentional. You feel like you belong right here and it makes your heartbeat stutter to think that maybe he feels the exact same way.

He releases his grip on you and pulls back just enough to look down at your face. His hands cup your cheeks as he takes you in, looking as if he’s in an absolute trance. As if he can’t believe you’re right here in front of him. You’ve never felt so adored or appreciated as you do while he stares at you with this bewildered look on his face. 

Your eyes instinctively close and your brain is slow to catch up with what’s happening. Your eyes dart open again once you process the fact that his lips are against yours. He’s kissing you. You’ve never kissed Leon before.

Of course you’ve thought about, fantasized about him in ways you could never speak out loud. It feels better than you ever imagined and it has your eyes falling shut once again. Before you realize it, you’re wrapping your arms around his waist tighter, pulling him even more closely into you. You cling to him as if you’re an open wound and he’s the pressure keeping you from bleeding out completely. You’re the wound and he’s the fucking suture.

You know it’s fucked up to have never admitted your feelings for Leon out loud before, and yet, you’re here lip locked with his older self. None of it makes any fucking sense but somewhere deep inside of your soul, it’s the only thing that’s ever made any sense at all.

When he deepens the kiss, you welcome him into you without any objections. You let him piece you back together with nothing more than his touch.

He releases your face and slides his hands down your body until he reaches the back of your thighs, pulling your feet off of the ground so you’re forced to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his midsection.

You know somewhere in this room are three other people, or rather two other people and another version of Leon, but you can’t find it within you to care. To even allow yourself to focus on having any sort of shame when he clearly has none. You’ve never needed anything more than you need this man right fucking now.

You know the fact you’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster all fucking day is amplifying your need, but it feels so good. You just want to feel good, you want him to make you feel good.

Your lips finally separate and your foreheads press into each other. You stay there perfectly still as you breathe each other’s air. Your breath is his and his breath is yours.

“Le-Leon,” you stutter out breathlessly but he just shushes you. His lips grazing yours as he continues to hold you so close, unable to withstand even a centimeter existing between the two of you.

He pulls back so he can look directly into your eyes intensely.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you again. You’re not dying on me this time. I don’t want to live without you anymore, I can’t fucking do it, okay? A life without you isn’t a life worth living for me.”

Dying? What the fuck is he talking about?