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venomnyx · 25 days

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HOUSE IN NEBRASKA — Logan "Worst Wolverine" Howlett x Mutant!Reader AO3 version Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT — 15.4k SUMMARY — Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too. TAGS/WARNINGS — she/her pronouns (minimal usage), female anatomy, flashbacks in italics, angst, enemies to lovers, alcoholism, smoking, arguments, canon typical violence, cursing/bad language, Deadpool breaks the fourth wall like twice, canon behaviour worst wolverine, religious trauma, honda odyssey scene self-insert, eventual smut, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty nasty talk (logan has a filthy mouth), mentions of cocaine literally once. smut is marked after last divider if you want to skip plot but i'll kiss you if you don't!

You’re smoking a cigarette on your porch when the snowfall happens. It would be normal, you think, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s dead in the middle of July. A group of nanas, elbow-deep in the community garden soil, glance up to the sky and begin muttering prayers amongst themselves.

You’ve lived in this safe house for a while now, up in the mid-west of the Appalachian mountains, surrounded by thickets of pine and opposite a bubbling creek. You grew up somewhere near here and the locals welcomed you back with open arms and a plateful of hot food when the humans started the culling— when the X-men fell apart.

It has plenty of benefits. The smell of lavender, for one, and your cat, Kevin, loves chasing the pigeons, even if he’s not the most successful hunter. The locally sourced produce means you can avoid the poisoned food they’re distributing in supermarkets.

But, most importantly, the humans can’t find you out here. You’re lucky the gossip of your… genetics, so to speak, doesn’t leave Sunday morning church.

Things have been different, lately. The trees are shedding down to dust, people are disappearing at an exponential rate, and there was a time when you’d be on the front lines helping them. You’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the call — a learned habit — but it’s never coming. Charles is dead. Logan is dead. The X-men are dead.

The snow is warm when it lands on your skin. It feels like rot, and your solitude suddenly feels lonelier and more daunting than ever.

You reach to take a sip of your steaming coffee when you hear movement. A zipping strobe light crosses your vision and you flinch against the intrusion, but you’re not afraid. You’ve surely survived worse.

Stryker worse.

A comical and confused looking figure pops out from an orange portal, scratching the crown of his head over the red and black mask on his face. You sip your coffee as you observe him nonchalantly.

He notices you and approaches with a dainty point of his finger.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

“Well, well well,” you suck on your cigarette with a frown. “Look what the cat dragged in. Got a new suit, Red?”

“What, aren’t you happy to see lil’ old me?”

“You’re on my property,” you say matter-of-factually. You had a shotgun stowed away inside for emergencies, but frankly, you never had to use it. You were enough of a weapon yourself. Consider it insurance, if the corn-syrup they’re poisoning ever finally makes it way to you.

You glance sidelong at the old ladies in their aprons, clutching one another with stern gazes in your direction. The deal was that you didn’t bring trouble their way — but it looks like trouble found you. You narrow your eyes and silently hope that this doesn’t turn messy, as it so usually does where he’s concerned.

He sighs heavily and continues approaching regardless. You analyse his stature and take notes of the weapons on his holsters and back. You reckon you could take him if it came down to it, but he didn’t seem threatening.

You and Wade used to be friends, but after isolating yourself from grief, you don’t necessarily consider yourselves to have a close relationship. More often than not he brought trouble; hence your defensive response.

“Listen, ants in your pants, I’ve done this about a hundred times,” he huffs and places a hand on his hip, waving the device around in his hand. You take another drag of your cigarette and perk your brows before rising to your feet.

“I’ve had my spleen shattered by the Hulk, about eighty stab wounds…”

He rambles on about his collection of injuries and you tilt your head with amusement. Must be another one of his famous mental breakdowns. This might be entertaining, at the very least.

“…You’ve even killed me a few times in different universes!” He claps his hands together. “And frankly, I was just going to let you die here. You’re not even canon, so you won’t be missed, but you appear to be of use to me. So I need you to come with me. Now. Please.”

What on Earth was he talking about? What on Earth was he ever talking about?

You bark a laugh. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, Red and Black.”

“Will it change your mind if I add a cherry on top?” He asks with a dry laugh before nodding enthusiastically. Manically. “You’re coming. Kevin’s life depends on it.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you threatenin’ my cat? That’s a new low, Wade.”

“Is it? Is it really? I am certain that I can go unfathomably lower.”

You roll your eyes, half-way through turning your back on him.

“You see this?” He holds out a gloved hand and catches some snowflakes. He rubs them between his fingers and they spark and fizzle before dusting away. “That’s not snow. That’s time death. Our universe is dying, womp womp. Stay here, sure! By all means, but—”

Your cat launches out of the door behind you, chirping and meowing to himself before promptly dashing through the portal and disappearing into the blurry void on the other side.

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

He sighs and lets you process. You take the final swig of your coffee and huff a breath.

“You literally have nothing left to lose. Trust me. I know. I’ve seen all kinds of you and, believe me when I say this, even though I love and cherish this version of you, this—” he points two fingers at you and gestures towards you judgmentally. “— isn’t the best look on you, honey.”

You want to dismiss him. You want to turn him away, to tell him to get lost. Grief swallowed your heroism whole, turning it into a barren wasteland of bitter indifference. You used to be bright, full of light, love, and hope.

Fucking hope. It’s the reason Logan left you to help Charles in the first place. You just wanted to settle down and disappear, to live a normal life. You lost an intrinsic part of your being when he died; you remember feeling it before you heard the news. Fucking hope.

Hope, hope, hope. Nana Rose chants on about it when she clasps your hands with her wrinkly ones, dragging you to church in spite of your atheism.

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts,” she chants, basket of flowers on her hip. “Romans 5:5. You’d do well to do your readin’, tulip.”

You didn’t and don’t ever usually believe a word she says, but you can feel her faith. It’s solid as steel, pouring out of her like blotting light through the gaps in the trees. Undying. And you’ll be damned if you let anything happen to her.

A flicker remains. You imagine what Charles would say to you now, how you’d hang onto his every word and he’d bring out the better of you. You truly do have nothing left to lose, except maybe your cat. Over your dead body.

“Come ooon,” he pokes his fingers together. “Fancy being a hero? One last time?”

You take the final drag before stubbing the cigarette out on your railing. “Alright, Red. I’ll bite.”

“Then suit up.”

Your friendship with Deadpool was a rocky one. There was a time you told him you’d be there for him through everything, and you technically owed him one for saving your life that one time even though your ego insists that, to this day, you could’ve taken the fight. That’s what heightened cellular control of your body is for, right? Accelerated healing? Empathetic abilities? Faster reactions, enhanced strength— you get the point.

Though you didn’t realise that returning the favour meant following him through space, time and alternate dimensions, you were a person who stayed true to their word, and you hated being indebted to someone.

So, here you were, waking up in the middle of a barren wasteland that was seconded as a cocktail soup of abandoned universal relics and heroes ripped from their worlds, accompanying your ex-best friend to restore your timeline.

But, one thing about paying someone back, it doesn’t technically count if they lie to you about the terms and conditions of the agreement. Only a few mere moments after you come to, dazed by the impact and the blaring wobbly heat of the sun, you rise to watch as Deadpool takes six blades of Wolverine to the chest.

You’re still a little dizzy when you stagger to your feet, head throbbing, as you’re trying to process if, yes, that’s exactly what you were witnessing.

“Let’s see you grow your fuckin’ head back!” Wolverine growls.

Deadpool holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I can fix it! I can fix it!”

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

“Whatever it is that you did, whatever made you so bad—” Wade pants, catching his breath. “Those pricks at the TVA, you heard ‘em. They have the power to end my universe, but they also have the power to change yours. We get back there, and we can fix your world! Together. I promise.”

You stumble from around a pile of debris, clutching your side as a rib pops back into place. Wolverine sniffs the air, face blanching as he snaps to look in your direction.

When you first make eye contact with him, it feels as though you’re resurfacing from water after being on the precipice of drowning. Your heart leaps into your throat, adrenaline boils your veins and your lungs burst with relief of breathing.

“Troubles always gonna find you, baby,” Logan murmurs, kissing his way up from the pulse in your throat as he rocks against you. “But so am I.”

You’ve never loved him more, you think, than when he fucks you slow like this. A snowstorm rages outside the cabin, howling full of glass and needles and rattling the window frames. His skin against yours burns a fire within you, warming you to the bone. He sweeps hair away from your face before capturing your mouth in his, swallowing the sounds of your pants, threading his fingers between yours.

You could stay here forever, you think.

Your fingers shake from the whiplash of the memory. You instinctively reach towards him but you catch yourself. This was the husk of him, not your Logan. The realisation feels akin to ripping open a haphazardly sewn wound right down to the fatty yellow flesh, raw and needling and sore.

He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little darker, wrinkles a little deeper. He smells of alcohol and cigars — that much is familiar. That’s him, flesh and adamantium bone, living, breathing. Alive. The physical shell of him prods alive parts of your inner circuitry that you weren’t aware had fallen asleep, like intrinsic nerves untangling within you.

You can sense that he knows you, too, based on his emotional response. His noise is extremely loud, spilling out of the cracks of whatever wall he thought he’d successfully built up. This version of Logan certainly had a lot of secrets.

“You,” he whisper-growls. It’s almost intangible, leaving him like a breath. He pulls his blades promptly from Deadpool’s chest and kicks him backwards.

You’re starting to understand that faith thing that Nana Rose was knocking on about when he strides towards you, large and tall. You certainly weren’t a believer by any means but you’re sure you’d be the picture of unbridled worship for the way you’d fall to your knees for him.

Your empathetic power lurches for him, seeking him out as you used to — like a flower to the sun — but it physically recoils from the aura that it touches. It was all your Logan but not in a familiar way. It’s tainted, dark, and it tastes like copper and screams.

All colour melts from his face and his body shuffles in a way that indicates discomfort; a dry swallow, tense shoulders and flicking eyes that refuse to meet your gaze. He omits feelings of guilt and shame that linger on the tendrils of your empathetic powers where you connect with him.

You try to zone Wade out, squinting as you attempt to navigate through his cobweb of emotions (seriously, this guy’s aura could do with a cleanup) but it’s like wading through black-tar syrup, feelings negated by years of alcohol-abuse and avoidance. Eventually, you feel something that makes your guts twist and your legs shake: a version of romantic attraction and recognition so carnal and raw that you begin to blush, a warmth that creeps its way up from your belly. A breath escapes you like a punch.

“Well. This feels awkward.” Wade glances between you both and places his hands on his hips. “Why do you both look like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I need to call Egon Splegler and tell him to bring his ghost sucky-sucky vacuum? Oh my god—” He slaps his hands to his face and gasps sharply. “Cross-Universal lovers?”

As inappropriately timed and tone-deaf his one-liners could be, you’d never been more appreciative of an icebreaker. You think you could’ve stood there for an hour, frozen in silence, staring at a reanimated corpse, basking in the noise of his emotional frequency like an addict finally getting another hit.

But then the noise stops, swallowed up like a heaving black hole had split and atomised the tension whole with its unforgiving jaws. He closes himself off from you. Connection severed. You reach out and feel a cold nothingness similar to how, on particularly rough nights, you’d try to reach out to him after his passing. You’d clung onto his plaid shirts until the smell and emotional residue wore off of them.

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

You nod tightly. You don’t think you can find your voice in front of him.

“Let’s just keep moving. And stay out of my head,” Logan grumbles, crossing you with a cold shoulder and mumbling something incoherent under his breath. When he’s made enough distance, you turn to your old friend with a cold glare.

“Ooh, brr. Anybody else feel a chill?”

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

“You. Motherfucker.” You begin approaching him. He backs up slowly and holds his hands up.

“I knew if I told you the plan you wouldn’t have gone along with it!”

“Are you insane? You think multiversally grave-robbing my fucking dead ex-boyfriend is going to save our timelines?!” You yell.

“Technically he’s not dead—”

You push him. “He should be! He- he was— he is!”

“Well, this one isn’t!” He pushes back. “And I’m not sorry for finding a loophole in the plan to fry — not just mine, mind you — but both of our timelines! Did you happen to forget that? No multi-dimensional depressed Logan? Alright then! No more Kevin!”

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

“Don’t you dare bring Kevin into this.”

“You forced my hand!” He yells, mouth moving alien-like behind the mask on his face. “Besides, I’m not doing this for me—”

You blink your eyes closed. You might reach the end of your tether if he said her name one more time. You’ve been in his company for approximately an hour, and he’s already drilled a hole into your brain with his incessant yapping about the “love of his life”.

“Wade, you need to move on. She clearly has.”

“I will not move on from the only people I love in this fucked up dimension. This isn’t just for Vanessa.” He shoves a glossy photograph in your face. “This is for you and blind Al and even that shit-head teenager and her pinkie-pie girlfriend! They deserve their timeline!”

“I literally don’t care about any of those people!”

Even yourself?

“Well, I do! I have people I care about! Aren’t you supposed to be a hero? God, all of you X-men are so depressing. Is it the suits they make you wear? Is that it? Can’t breathe in that thing?” He continues poking at you. “Loosen up a little!”

You straighten your posture and the black leather of your suit crackles. You swat his hands away as he continues poking. “Alright! Cut it out!”

“Think of Nana Rose.” He draws a heart with two fingers. “Little old ladies like her deserve a chance, don’t they?”

And even though humans had done nothing but wage war on your kind for simply existing, you still felt obliged to help them. Besides, the thought of other mutants — kid mutants — dying when you hold the chance to save them in the palm of your hand? You were hardly managing as you were now. You’re not sure you’d be able to live with yourself if you kept going like this.

“Alright, alright!” You huff, heart pounding in your chest. You look over at where Wolverine kicks at rocks in the distance. “Fucking hell, Red. Holy fuck.”

You say it again, only this time you scream it into your hands.

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

“Are we go—” You scoff. You kick his ankle, feel the bones shatter and crunch beneath your foot. He lets out a short, high-pitched yelp. “You deserved that.”

“Motherfuckermotherfucker… oh you’re lucky I feel bad about lying to you or I would’ve twisted your milk bags off for that I swear to God.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, walking forward. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

He limps after you, floppy ankle dragging a line in the sandy dirt. “I’ll be dead before you ever get one of those out of me! And too bad I can’t fucking die!”

The difference between this Logan and your Logan is stark, minus the uncanny resemblance. Your Logan was soft and gentle, but this version is sharper and blade-edged, and your fingers bleed when you try to touch him.

Staring at him feels like throwing up a mirror and analysing yourself, a picture of what happens to a person when they make all of the wrong choices. You’re embarrassed, almost. This isn’t a version of you that you ever want him to know, but at least you can say you’re trying.

Him, on the other hand…

“Are we going to keep up the awkward silence?” You snip, awkwardly adjusting the restraints on your wrist.

You’ve been in Logan’s company for all of an hour, and yet accompanying one another through literal time purgatory didn’t seem to irk any feelings of obligation from his end. He’d been cold-shouldering and ignoring you the entire time, even though you kept catching him staring.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he spits, wriggling uncomfortably against a very unconscious Deadpool. “You got us into this mess.”

You frown, small. You can feel hatred pouring out from him, leaving a sickly bile taste in the back of your throat. You’ve lived through enough hate for being a mutant in your lifetime, enough that you’d become accustomed to tuning it out of your radio channel, so to speak, but something about it coming from the man you loved makes it a little harder to swallow.

You’re quiet when you next speak. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

He shoots you an indistinguishable look and grunts to himself. Such a Libra.

“So, what’s the story here?” Johnny asks with a sly grin. He turns to you with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “You two know each other?”

You cringe. “Sort of. Last I remember, he wasn’t this much of a prick.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” His grin grows. “That’s a shame. Not often we get girls like you in the void.”

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

He shrugs, all blue-spandex biceps and charming smile. “No harm in trying.”

Your breath hitches as Cassandra approaches, wide eyes and tilted head aiming for you purposefully. Logan swiftly angles his body so that he’s standing in front of you and she halts as a delighted, implicating smile stretches across her face. Your chest constricts, tendrils of yearning coiling tighter. It appeared to be muscle memory: his instinctual, protective flinch. Just like your Logan used to, despite how capable he knew you were.

“Now, I’ve always wanted a Wolverine.” Her finger moves along the crowd. “Knew I’d get one eventually. But I never even dreamed of having you.”

Cassandra zips behind you and her slender fingers delve into the crevices and valleys of your brain, lips intimately close to your neck and ear. Wolverine snarls territoriality, but he’s unable to move. The urge to reach for him is overwhelming.

“Do you know that there are so few universes where you exist?” She whispers, caressing your deepest memories. “I even asked the TVA about you, in exchange for keeping the peace. I was disheartened when I found out one of you died. But you’re here! Now, I don’t believe in fate, but this almost feels like it was meant to be.”

You flinch when she uncovers a particularly fond memory, one you hadn’t been aware was so prominently in the forefront.

In the back of his truck, a cigar between his teeth, hands sliding under your shirt. In another world, he would’ve taken the time to do this properly, but living in a school didn’t exactly grant two consenting adults any privacy.

“Waited long enough for this.”

He kisses up from your bare foot to the sensitive skin of your inner knee, lips scorching against your skin.

“Logan…”

“Easy,” he murmurs, leaning away for a moment to remove his plaid overshirt, leaving himself in that white vest you could eat him alive in. “Still wanna take my time with you.”

You’re desperate, he can tell— can probably smell it, too, but you’re far too humiliated to ask him if he can.

Logan wasn’t your first by any means, but with the way you were near trembling for him truly felt like you’d be losing all of your innocence in the back seat. You’re shy and quiet, everything he isn’t. You’re infatuated with him — have been since he burst out of the lab in his grey hoodie — and have daydreamed about what it would be like to have him. You certainly didn’t let him know that right away, and with whatever shred of composure remained around his relentless flirting and teasing remarks, you tried to play hard to get.

Until you couldn’t. Because you weren’t. He had you, and with every fibre of your being, you wanted him to.

She pulls her hands from your brain with a shlick sound, rubbing her fingers together as if relishing in the produce of your memories. She grabs a rag from her pocket and smirks knowingly.

“You’re thinking of that at a time like this?” She laughs all witch-like. “Worry not; your secret’s safe with me, naughty girl.”

Wade lowers his voice and leans towards Logan. “She was thinking of me.”

“I can read between the lines, darling,” she potters on. “This isn’t about a sexual fantasy. Deep down, you just want to be wanted. To be loved.”

She steps back and extends her arms. “After all, you’ll never amount to anything in your world. It’s such a shame that your Logan left you so abruptly. Did he break your heart?” She giggles. “Why suppress your powers in his name? For a level-five mutant, you certainly don’t act like one. You can do that, here. Freely!”

Your worn thin tether creaks with exhaustion like a dilapidated bridge under pressure. There isn’t a singular fibre of your being that desires to be stuck here, but the small, angry teenage voice in your head would love nothing more than to just let go. You’d been containing your powers for as far as you can remember, and they'd always been as irresistible as the promise of Pandora's box.

But you know how that story ends.

You take a moment’s pause. “I have no interest in livin’ in a garbage dump.”

She tilts her head and neatly clasps her hands behind her back. “Do you forget where you come from? I think we both know who lives in a garbage dump.”

“You motherf—”

You’d just managed to escape Cassandra’s lair with Alioth’s foggy storm fangs nipping at your ankles when you ran across the abandoned diner.

You’re ravenous, wrist aching from how you dig at the freezer-burned ice cream. It’s your least favourite flavour but you’ve been running on fumes for the past day or so, so you’ll take what you can get, though you begin to lose your appetite when you remember Johnny, and how Cassandra had zipped the skin from him like popping a blood-filled water balloon.

Something is rumbling beneath your surface. A distinct, constant buzzing, like two atoms slowly building up radioactive energy. You’d asked for none of this, and would certainly give Wade a talking to when the time called for it, but, for now, you’re trying your hardest to make this as easy a process as possible.

Your male counterpart, however, was doing exactly what men generally do. He was making this fucking unbearable.

Logan sits across from you, brooding, fingers gripping the medicinal bottle as if it’s anywhere near appropriate to be drinking. He throws you a particularly lingering glare when he notices you staring, but refuses to maintain eye contact when you look back at him

You toss the tub and spoon across the table with a sharp clatter, your patience collapsing.

“What? Can’t even look at me?” You snap. His eyes look exhausted when they finally meet yours. Wade, being the characteristic little fucker he is, pulls a delighted, shit-stirring grin as he glances between the two of you as if watching a tennis match.

Logan gasps as he finishes taking a drink. “Not much to look at,” he says, wiping the back of his mouth.

The words twist like a fist in your gut. For a moment, you’re rendered too stunned to respond, like he’d tossed a flash-bang toward you. His casual cruelty digs deeper than you care to admit— but you’ve had far too much therapy, too much psychological training, to know he’s deflecting.

But you wouldn’t doubt for a second that there was a more beautiful version of you somewhere.

“What, you comparin’ me to someone?” You ask. You can tell you’ve struck a nerve by the way he goes for another sip. “That it?”

He grimaces.

“Do I make you feel sick? Am I making you feel sick?”

He stares at you hard, but silently. He takes a long swig of the rubbing alcohol and you cringe as his throat bobs. His silence and feigned indifference light a fire of indignation.

“You know, you’re not the only person who’s suffered. Who’s lost people.”

He laughs like what you’re saying is funny. “Yeah, right, bub, you have got no idea what loss is.”

“Oh, you are such a fucking cunt,” you spit, slamming your hands on the table as you rise to your feet. “You know what, Wade? You’re right. I can’t do this. So fuck you and fuck his timeline and fuck every timeline that had anything to do with it! I’m done.”

A wave of uncontrolled psionic energy born from your anger blasts from you upon your final words, slamming them back into their seats and sending the cutlery, nearby debris and weapons flying. The neighbouring windows smash, shattering explosively and sprinkling outside of the diner.

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” Wade cries, crouching down to scoop up what remains of the gelatinous spam.

You pause for a moment, glance at your hands, and then grab your jacket in an aggressive fit.

Wade whines your name, halfway through gagging down a forkful of cold spam off of the floor (one of which resonates with a particularly distinct crunch, but you don’t stay to find out whether or not he just truly ate glass), and he doesn’t attempt to get up and follow you as you storm off.

You take a heaving breath of hot desert air when you leave the diner. The sandy breeze tousles your hair, and with the prickly energy of an incoming nervous breakdown, your legs kick and you’re running.

“Stryker got you, too?” Logan asks, eyebrows flicking up.

You don’t look him in the eye when you nod. You cross your arms and slouch a little, caging your heart in. Stryker — the ex-militant with a fetish for experimenting on mutants — had held you captive for several years. He’d brainwashed you into using your empathetic abilities for nefarious purposes, like seducing other mutants, and sometimes important political and militant figures.

“You like me?” He questions, quieter this time.

“No… no, not like you,” you reply. “I don’t have the fancy bones. I heal fast, but I wouldn’t survive that kinda procedure.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t remember everything. Just bits and pieces. Feelings, mostly. Nightmares,” you explain. He nods understandingly. “I’m always on edge.”

“You always seem so calm,” he observes. “Nothing seems to phase you.”

“I have to be. It took a lot of pain and damage to get this level-headed,” you respond quickly. “If I don’t manage my emotions, all the emotions that I receive, touch— it all comes out. Explosively. It has to come out somehow. I could hurt people.”

“Funny. School therapist ‘n’ you’ve got the most issues,” he teases light-heartedly.

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

You’re on your knees, arms and hands and chest soaked crimson, sobbing. They’d come out of nowhere, the raiders, and they were hungry for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that you felt their need, their desperation, their willingness to do anything to get it.

The flash of harrowing horror someone feels before they die isn’t a unique experience. It simply varies in strength — sometimes it’s a feather-like touch that careens over you, a shuddering realisation that they’re taking their last breath, and sometimes it’s like a crack of lightning. Bloodied hands gripping your biceps with fear in a final attempt to survive. They’d rather cling to you than die alone.

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

You don’t cry for them. You don’t even cry for yourself. It’s a small emotional space where they cry vicariously through you.

You were black-out when it happened, you tell yourself, and suddenly regress to the student you used to be, sobbing on your knees in front of Charles as he tries to teach you serenity and control after an outburst had caused you to kill a nest of birds. He’d done it for Magneto, he said— so he could certainly do it for you.

You should have meditated more.

The sound of a car gurgles somewhere behind you, but you haven’t the energy to look or use your powers to seek out who’s approaching and what their intent is. You’re exhausted enough that whatever they wish to do with you — turn you to processed dog kibble, send you back into the jaws of Cassandra’s lair, kill you — whatever. Just let it happen.

A slamming car door and then the crunching of boots on gravel.

“You’re easy to track.” A pause. “You look pathetic. You done throwing your tantrum?”

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

“As much as I’d like to, you and the Mouth still have to hold up your end of the bargain,” he quips, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Now get up.”

You glare up at him and his arms unfurl as he notices your tear-streaked face. His expression drops, softens, before it quickly ticks back up into an incredulous, irritated look.

“Are you crying?” He asks with a scoff. He pauses before dragging his hand down his face and rubbing his scruffy jaw. “Jesus Christ. Get up. Get in the car.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ around, Logan. Piss. Off.”

He mumbles a string of incoherent curses and turns on his heel. You think, for a moment and a breath of relief, that he’s truly going to give up on you and leave. He could finish this without you. It’s easier this way.

Instead, a thick bicep wraps around your middle and you’re flung over his shoulder with a yelp.

“Quit your squirmin’.”

“Then put me down!” You yell, thrashing in his grasp. He promptly ignores you, unphased by the jabs you strike at his back. You quickly unsheath the small knife from your jacket sleeve, winding up your arm before you drive it into the muscly pocket by his kidneys.

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

Wade sighs and clutches his hands in front of his chest romantically. “Oh, the newlyweds.”

Logan dumps you into the front seat of the car carelessly, grumbling something as he slams the door shut and applies the child locks. Petty motherfucker.

You rub the sore spot on your tailbone where you landed on a seat buckle funny. You want to bite your tongue but you’re flared up.

“We should switch places. I’m a better driver than you are.”

Logan doesn’t bother looking at you as he starts up the ignition. “Just shut up.”

“You can go on ahead and smoke a cat turd in hell, then.”

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

“Mom and Dad can you please stop fighting!” Deadpool cries out from the backseats.

You just roll your eyes, resigning into your chair and folding your arms.

At some point along the ride, Wade falls asleep, snoring soundly to himself. You’re silent in the front, drumming a beat on your knees, awkwardly thinking of something to say. You have the impulsive need to fill the silence, even if you were trapped in a crappy car with a man who had made it vehemently clear that he irrevocably hated you.

“So, if they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Logan rips his eyes towards you. “What did you say?”

“I said when you get back, what’s the first thing—”

“No, no, no— before that.”

You hesitate, wondering if you’d landed yourself in a trap based on the sharpness of his tone and the way that anger crackles off of him like static lightning.

“If… they can fix your world?”

He slams his foot on the brake and you just about catch yourself before your nose goes flying into the dashboard. Wade is thrust out of the front window, smashing through and promptly falling unconscious underneath a tree, neck broken at an awkward angle.

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

“I don’t give a fuck who said what. He promised me he would fix things—”

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

He laughs, low and devoid of humour. “You don’t have a clue if they can fix things, do you?”

Well, no. You’ve been operating on a hunch the entire time and had half come to accept that you might be stuck in the TVA void forever. Who knows how much time has passed elsewhere?

Regardless of the fact you truly had nothing to do with whatever came out of Wade’s mouth, you weren’t about to let Mr. Worst Wolverine shit all over him and his plan to save his friends.

“Is it really that far-fetched? We made an educated wish!”

Something dark flashes across his face. You can feel hate pulsing off of him in dizzying waves, doubling with each passing moment.

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

“What’s your problem with me, huh? Got a stick up your ass?” You reach for the car door handle, but he snaps up your wrist, holding it high. “You better let go of me right now, old man—”

“Or what, huh? Gonna run away again?” He threatens.

“You geriatric, alcoholic motherfucker. I’ve done nothin’ but try and be civil with you and you treat me like I’m the one who ruined your life! I don’t know what version of me you knew but you need to stop actin’ like I ain’t worthy of being here because of what you did!”

“Listen, I’ll tell you what my problem is with you—” he leans closer, eyes roving over you with a disgusted look on his face. “I mean, you are a ridiculous, emotional, immature crybaby. I have never met a sadder, more attention-seeking, foul-mouthed little bitch in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“And I’ll tell you, that bald chick was right about one thing: you will never amount to anything. You’ll never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with me. I’d say you should’ve died alone but it’s one of God’s best jokes that in this universe you didn’t seem to fuckin’ die, except that ones on the rest of all of us!”

He breathes heavily when his rant finishes. You’re taken aback, jaw slack, eyes warm with the onset of tears born from shock.

“What, you got nothin’ to say, empath?”

You suck in a deep breath, blinking slowly as you flick the emotional switch off in your head.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

In a swift manoeuvre, you raise your slap him around the face. You knew better than to punch a metal skull, but you still wanted him to sting. His eyes slit, nostrils flaring in challenge.

“That all you got?”

“Not even close,” you snap back, knuckles whitening from the way you curl your fingers into your palm. “You want to play this game, Logan? Fine— but I’m not gonna sit here and keep on provin’ myself to you. I’ve had enough of your Christ-born-again superiority complex. Did you forget that you’re the worst Wolverine?”

“Oh, yeah? Well, at least I’m honest about who I am. Look at you— you’re a fuckin’ joke, pretending to be some hero in a suit made for a dead team,” he barks back, voice rising with each word. “I don’t need your bullshit “wishes”— you should know, I’ve buried people for less.”

“Yeah, because you’re so perfect, ain’t that right?” You yell, voice cracking from the power of your anger. “The almighty Wolverine— the unkillable bastard who can’t seem to hold onto anythin’ good in his life! You’ve had centuries to get your shit together, and look at you—” You look him up and down with disgust. “—still just a bitter, lonely, broken man, takin’ it out on everyone else and a goddamn bottle.”

His eyes narrow, muscles in his jaw twitching as he appears to fight and keep his temper in check, but there’s an obvious crack forming, the dam of his unbridled rage near overflowing.

“You think you know me, huh?” He murmurs, voice a deadly whisper, the calm before the storm. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve been through. You’re nothing but a lost woman playing make-believe and hiding in the shadow of a fuckin’ merc. You’re pathetic.”

Something inside of you breaks. “I’m pathetic? Look at yourself! You’re so goddamn desperate to feel anythin’ that you’ll lash out at everyone around you for some semblance of warmth. There’s a fine line between hate and love, after all! You think you’re so strong because you can heal, because you’ve lived forever? Yeah, right— you’re the weakest, most cowardly man I’ve met in a loong time.”

The blades between his knuckles shoot out with a shink! For a moment, you think that he’s going to attack you. Hell— you even hope that he will, just to diminish some of the unbearable, stifling tension. Instead, the blades retract with a deep breath, and he grabs you forcefully by the collar of your suit, yanking you so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

His voice is low and rough, each word dripping with venom. “Go on, keep psychoanalysing me. You wanna talk about cowardice? How about leaving people who need you, just because it’s easier to run? Better yet, how about the fact that you abandoned the X-men to hide away in the mountains, huh?”

Your eyes widen with recognition.

“Yeah… Wade’s got a big mouth. Told me everythin’. You’re no hero. Hell, you’re just a selfish, reckless hillbilly who failed at pretending to be human.”

Your heart palpitates in your chest, each word coiling and slicing like blades in your intestines, but you refuse to let him see how much it hurts. Instead, your lips curl into a cold, bitter smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And you’re just a sad, angry old man who can’t handle the fact that he’s lost everythin’. Go ahead: keep pushing people away! Keep hidin’ behind that anger o’ yours! It’s got you this far, ain’t it?! I’ve treated kids with trauma worth double yours and they were nothin’ but kind and selfless. I won’t let you project your failures onto me. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

The argument reaches a fever pitch, tension sizzling in the air between you. You’re so close, glaring at each other with so much anger, so much resonating heat, that it feels like something’s going to break. And then, suddenly, it does.

Before either of you can think, you close the gap between you, lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle, it’s not soft— the kiss is rough, violent, a clash of lips and fury. His grip on your collar tightens, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, caught in the shock of what’s happening.

But then something more fiery in nature than anger ignites, and he kisses you back just as fiercely, and maybe a little more desperate— like he’s trying to pour out all of his pain and resentment, into this one moment. Your tongues slide against each other and his teeth catch against yours as he groans into your mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, yanking him closer as if trying to hold onto something real and tangible in the chaos of the kiss, reeling from the sudden spinning in your head. It’s angry, raw, filled with all the things you’re not capable of verbalising: grief, love, yearning, reconciliation.

The result of a painful reunion.

The world falls away and all that’s left is the taste of him, the feel of his lips against yours, rough and demanding. You hate him right now— hate him so much that you can’t help but want him. The sheer intensity of it all overwhelms you and makes your fingers shake against the nape of his neck, but you can’t pull away— not now, not when you’ve tasted the wine. You’re too far gone, caught up in the storm of his intoxication, fantasising about ripping that yellow and blue suit off of him and riding him until there’s nothing left for him to regenerate.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the bubble of the moment bursts with the sound of slow clapping coming from outside the car. You jerk back from Logan, breath coming in ragged gasps. Logan is equally as stunned, still tight-gripping your collar as if he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.

You both see Wade sitting up, hands together, eyes wide as saucers as he takes in the scene.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did I just wake up in a telenovela?” His voice is laced with amusement. “I mean, I know you two clearly had some unresolved sexual tension— but this? Oh, this is gold. Please don’t stop on my account, just let me get the camcorder first!”

You’re too stun-locked to respond, lips parting and closing as your brain scrambles to formulate a response as you’re still reeling from what just happened. Logan (for once) seems equally as lost for words, his typical scowl replaced with a look of confusion.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Logan barks, but there’s no real heat behind it. There can’t be, really, not when you’ve both been caught red-handed. He releases your collar at once.

Wade, however, is having none of it. “Oh, no, no, no! You don’t just get to brush this off like it’s nothing! That was a full-on makeout session! I only interrupted because I thought you were about to rip each other’s clothes off.” He sighs wistfully and crosses his legs. “Here I was thinking that you two hated each other— but I guess all that anger was just foreplay, huh?”

Your face burns with a mixture of shame and something else you’re not quite ready to admit. “Wade— cut it out.”

He grins, not deterred in the least. “Oh, but I’m loving this. All that pent-up aggression finally coming to fruition. It’s beautiful, truly.”

Logan shoots him a look that could melt iron, but Wade just simply shrugs, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. Everyone being me.”

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

“Well, unless you want me to watch (which I am not opposed to, by the way) maybe next time the two of you should get a room,” he tilts his head. “Or, you know, a couples therapist.”

He then turns to address Logan directly.

“And I must’ve missed the AO3 tags because I did not peg you for the enemies-to-lovers type, Mister. Who knew all it took was a bit of hate-kissing to get the sparks flying? Don’t look so ashamed! I’m just jealous I didn’t get to you first.”

He stumbles towards the car and collapses into the back seat. “Next time you wanna bump uglies, just ask for some privacy! You can save me the broken neck!” He gets himself comfortable, man-spreading and laying his hands on both of your shoulders as you stare dead-forwards, unable to look at each other.

“Gosh, you’re both so tense.” He begins massaging. “Look— props to you both for not letting all that angst go to waste. This is a safe space, and there’s no shame in a little hormone-induced—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Logan interrupts, revving the car back to life and shoving his prodding hands away. “Just be quiet back there.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep the commentary to myself. But just so you know— got that bad boy playing on repeat, right here.” He says, tapping the side of his head.

You bury your face in your hands. This was going to be a long car ride.

As the car starts moving again, you muster the bravery to risk a glance at Logan. His expression is hard to read but his energy thrums with uncertainty. The boiling hatred seems to have dialled down to a gentle simmer, mostly redirected towards himself rather than you. There’s something else— something that wasn’t there before. You rip your eyes away quickly, mind racing.

For somebody so in tune with emotions and the literal ability to manipulate them if you so desired, you were horrendous at navigating your own. You don’t know what this kiss meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

If there’s anyone you didn’t expect to come across in the void, it’s X-23— Laura. She’s taller, now, with hair down her back, but she’s still got that stern, mean look on her face that intimidated you the first time you met her.

The weak front door squeaks when you open it a crack. A girl, maybe in her small teen years, blinks up at you.

“Can I help you?” You ask, wiping your flour-dusty hands down on the front of your cooking apron.

“Are you—” she says your name.

You attempt to swing the door shut, but she jams it with her boot. You flick your eyes up, glance around for any signs of threats, and then lower your gaze to her. You wrap your cardigan around your mid-section.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. Who the Hell are you, kid, and what do you want?”

“I’m here about Logan,” she says, matter-of-factly.

Logan. A name followed by your own, both of which you hadn’t heard in years.

“He’s not here, kid. He died years ago.”

“I know,” she answers, unwavering. “I was there when it happened. Your name was the last thing he said.”

You’d let her in for a glass of sugary sweet tea that day, but once stories were exchanged you told her not to come back. She respected your wishes— she said she simply wanted to put a name to the face, to get closure, but you’d felt her desperation. Perhaps she was seeking out respite, or family, but you were in no position to be sharing your space with someone who could put another target on your back.

After introductions were made with the others who had been ripped from their timelines (Elektra, Blade and oh my god a Gambit variant with muscles so huge he could pop your head between his biceps) you excused yourself to sit outside. The buzzing emotional energy made your collar feel a little tight around the neck, your head a little fuzzy with noise, so you decided to reignite the small campfire a few yards away from the safe-house and rest there, instead.

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

He looks defeated, raising and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I gotta leave, baby.”

“If you leave, I ain’t lettin’ you back,” you whisper. “You don’t heal the same anymore, Logan, and you promised me—”

“I know what I promised,” he rebuts, but not angrily. You can already see on his face that he’s made his choice. He’s not coming to you to discuss it. “But I owe it to him. To Charles. He gave me everything.”

“So then what did I give you?” You ask. “Not a home, not my love, not everything?” You slam the tea towel down and turn away from him as the tears form. He’s quiet, perhaps processing everything, but you’re too impatient.

“If you’re just gon’ get up and leave, do it now. I won’t beg you to stay, Jimmy.”

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

You wake up with a start, damp clinging to your forehead. You immediately sense another presence and glance over to see Logan watching you with a steady gaze. His expression is soft and almost reverent at first, but his facade hardens with a quick tick of his jaw.

“You talk in your sleep.” The bottle in his hand sloshes as he takes a drink. “Nightmare?”

You sigh frustratedly when you realise it’s him. Of course, it’s him — his energy reeks of whiskey and self-loathing. You prop yourself on your elbows, massaging the sore spots on your temples where sleep fog forms.

“I can’t even get some rest without you botherin’ me? You’re leakin’ self-hatred everywhere.”

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, but it’s without bite.

A moment passes before he fills the silence again. “What are you even doing out here, alone? Trying to get yourself killed? Pretty stupid.”

“Do you know how hard it is to sleep when nobody shuts up?”

His brows knit. “They’re all dead asleep.”

His hand runs up and down your back.

“Can’t settle?” He asks after you sigh.

“No.” You turn so you’re lying on your back, shoulder touching his, staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone is feeling so loud. It’s like a frequency I can’t turn off.”

He hums. “They’re grieving, I s’pose.”

“Even you and you always said you hated the guy.” You shuffle to lie on your side, facing him. You place a hand on his bare chest. “I can feel it, you know.”

“I didn’t hate Scott. Just found him… obnoxiously irritating.”

“Tough guy.” You giggle and stroke his cheek. “You’re turnin’ soft, old man.”

He pulls you flush against him and presses a kiss to your hairline. You lay in verbal silence for a while, soaking up his presence (god, you were so in love), but you’re interrupted when he abruptly sits up and grabs the white vest he discarded somewhere near the bed.

You lean on your elbows. “Where you goin’?”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

“You can’t sleep here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

He hadn’t told you he loved you yet, but at that moment you felt it.

And so you do, clinging to his mid-section on his motorcycle, head stuffed into the helmet he affectionately forces you to wear. It’s a warm night in New York, soupy with heat, but the further you get away from the compound with him by your side the more you feel you can breathe.

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

You reach for the small pouch on your hip and retrieve a cigarette. You light it between your lips, taking a seat a few paces away from him, hands still shaking a little with the aftershocks of the night terror.

“Since when did you start smoking?”

You perk a brow. “I’ve always smoked.”

He seems to realise something and simply shakes his head before returning to the vice in his fist.

“Right.”

You stare at him for a long, passing moment, before pulling out your lighter again and offering it towards him. He perks a brow.

“I know you got a cigar in there somewhere,” you say. He pauses, sighs, and then retrieves a thick cigar from one of the pouches on his suit. You lean closer, flick the lighter, and cup your hand to protect it from the breeze, shamelessly glancing at the dancing glow that bathes his face amid the firelight. You feel the urge to kiss him again, and when his eyes flick up to yours, you think for the briefest second that he wants to kiss you, too.

Swallowing, you collapse your lighter and clear your throat. You sit quietly, smoking and drinking in a silence only negated by the distant sound of chittering bugs around you. Once you’re finished with your cigarette, you toss the butt into the fire.

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Your lips tighten into a thin line. “We won’t make it without you.”

“Sure you will. I’m not him, you know,” Wolverine grumbles, slugging another shot of alcohol.

You scrutinise him from across the log. You wonder if he feels as pathetic as he looks.

“No— you got that right,” you answer. You pry the liquor from his hands but the grip he releases from the neck of the bottle must have been a mercy on his part because you knew he was extraordinarily stronger than you. “He was much braver than you.”

His eyes flicker from the flames to you as you take a long swig.

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

A beat before he spits a dry laugh, “what gave you that idea?”

You give him a once over and offer a half-smile. “That suit, for starters.”

He looks down at himself like he’d forgotten he was wearing it and wipes away a stray speck of blood from the bright material that you’re sure you might be responsible for.

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

You can’t help but smile. “Yellow suits you.”

“This is all I had left to remember you— them by,” he says, tone turning more sombre as he reminisces.

You decide it’s not the time to make another jab, so, instead, you play back and forth with the bottle for a while until the alcohol stops stinging your throat.

Something small shatters inside of you when you watch him muster the strength to look into your eyes, and his look a little glassy.

“Did you love him?”

Woof, that needed a healthy drink of courage to answer. When you hold his gaze, there’s a hollowness to his expression— an unasked question. Was there truly a version of him worth loving?

“Yeah.” You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth to cover the crack in your voice. “Yeah, I did.”

He’d insisted he hadn’t wanted you around yet he’d kissed you and now followed you to where you’d been sleeping. That had to count for something, so you extend your arm and gesture the bottle towards him— an olive branch in the form of shitty Jack Daniels. Your fingers touch when he accepts it and the brief glimmer of eye contact you share sends shivery energy zipping between you.

“I loved him,” you repeat, as if convincing yourself. A repeated balm to soothe the pain of letting him leave.

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

You bite back a sob-laugh, imagination caught somewhere between wondering who you’d rather beat up more: him, or yourself.

“Maybe I’m an idiot for not followin’ him.” You sniff deeply to push back the incoming sob-induced mess. “Not that he woulda let me.”

He hums resignedly.

Clearing your throat, you tuck your hands between your thighs. Swiftly moving on. “What was I— she like?”

He takes a long drink and sighs thickly when he comes up for air. He looks down at his hands when he talks as if choosing his words thoughtfully and carefully.

“Strong, smart. Stubborn. Far too fuckin’ stubborn.”

You force a smile over the flinch of pain in your chest. “Guess we got that in common.”

You reach up and twist the dog tag around your neck, feeling for the ring you’d slipped around the chain. You were never married legally but were in all the ways that mattered. Your heart aches for the brief moment of domesticity you shared with him. You expect him to be finished, but he once laughs, a smile cracking on his face.

“She loved kids— had a soft spot for the weird ones.” He squints and rubs at the flesh between his knuckles where the blades typically protrude. “Put me in my place. Stood up for what was right.”

His words strike a chord in your heart, playing the familiar tune of yearning and guilt and grief. A swelling sensation rises from your stomach and you’re not sure if you’re going to scream, cry or throw up.

“Were you—?”

“In love with her? What, like you can’t tell?” He interrupts, face hardening. Another drink. “It doesn’t matter. We argued one night and I refused to follow her back to the school, ‘bout the same time the humans went mutant hunting.”

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

“When I came back, shit-faced from the bar, I realised I’d gotten my version of you murdered, along with the rest of them. Laid up like a fucking log pile. That’s what loving me got you.”

The gruesome imagery sours the liquor in your stomach. You push the nausea down with a hard swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wh—” He jolts back, face pinched. “I got you killed, and you’re fuckin’ sorry?”

“There’s a world where you didn’t make that choice. You know, I’m not proud of who I am, either,” you answer, softly. “After you left and I lost you… I got bitter, stopped pulling my punches.”

“You never liked hurting people.”

“I didn’t.” You take a deep breath, willing away the warmth that pools behind your eyes. You quickly regain composure with a short cough. “Whatever woman you’re comparing me to, I stopped being her a long time ago. Like you told me— I’m no hero.”

He grunts, looking like he regrets saying that now. Checkmate. You’re not what either of you expected or yearned for in one another, but maybe you’re exactly what you both need.

“You know, your accents thicker.”

He says it as if to draw a line of separation, but you take it as an invitation. Your head swims from the alcohol, and against what probably is your better judgement, you inch closer to him until your knees bump against each other.

“That’s what I get for hidin’ in the mountains. Got adopted by a scary old lady and her church friends. I reckon she rubbed off on me. You’d like her, I think,” you tell him fondly. There’s something wistful about it, imagining a life with him. You grieve a life you never had but somehow, in his company, the melancholy loosens its grip.

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

He lifts the bottle with a dry laugh. “You have a very funny idea of what lucky means, bub.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure. Y’see, they didn’t get lucky. They died, ‘n’ we lost each other,” you explain, glancing up at the stars as if either version of you would ever be in heaven, as if it was as loving enough as a mother’s womb to stretch wide enough to allow space for mutants.

God probably hated you just as much as they did down here.

You lower your head onto his shoulder. “But, we’re still here. Maybe there was always space in my universe for you.”

“You’re drunk,” he observes flatly, but he doesn’t move.

“A little.” You get more comfortable against his tense bicep and close your eyes. “Humour me, why don’t you?”

He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Just for a while.”

“Good, because you’re not very good at keeping your feelings quiet. I know you like this.”

“Keep that to yourself.”

You sigh, eyes remaining closed. “We ain’t gonna talk about it, are we?” You ask, in reference to the kiss.

“Nope.”

A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, vision blurring as if lying underneath a rippling river current. Paradox has just explained the stakes to you — to stop Cassandra, somebody would have to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. This wasn’t a matter of regeneration anymore— it was being ripped apart from the seams, atomised.

It just so happens that your cat, Kevin, has been loving his little journey around the TVA. Cheater.

“You won’t survive it,” is what you say in response to Logan offering himself up for the job. What you really meant was: I don’t think I can survive losing you again.

“I know,” Logan answers. His eyes drip to where you palm at the slow-healing wound on your side, courtesy of the Lady Deadpool variant. You’re winded, running on fumes, and know you’re in no position to start throwing yourself out there as a suicide volunteer. You’d never make the journey, let alone succeed in your venture.

“That’s why it’s gotta be me,” Deadpool interrupts, peeling the mask from his face to address you both. “Neither of you asked for any of this. You were right. I lied. I lied right to both of your faces — just to get you to help me, and you did.”

“You didn’t lie,” Logan replies, throwing you a glance. “You made an educated wish.”

He reaches into his pocket and slaps the bloodied Polaroid of Deadpool’s friends against Wade’s chest. The gesture is a final, silent acknowledgement of why any of you are here in the first place, and everything that’s led to this moment.

“I got nothin’ back in my world,” he explains, the sharp arrow of his words striking a sting straight through your heart. “Let me do this. For you.”

You could see that this meant more to him, that he would only deem himself worthy and die a peaceful death if he could do it knowing he saved at least one variant of you. This is more than just a mission. This is his only chance to redeem himself, and you know you’re in no position to start trying to convince him that you’d have him either way. Fuck redemption.

You’re parallel from one another, standing just outside of touching distance. It was a cruel existence— reaching out and never quite being able to hold on. It’s inevitable, the pull you feel. You’re dictated by his gravity but cursed by the narrative.

Your chest rises and falls with shallow, laboured breaths as you attempt to process what’s happening, what he’s asking you to let him do. The pain in your side ebbs only from the comparative pain of watching another version of the man you love sacrifice himself for you.

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Give me this.”

But I love you. The words are there, hiding behind your clenched teeth, gnawing at the bars like a feral animal caged in the reminder that this isn’t — shouldn’t be — the man that you love.

Something shifts and as you’re running on the delirium of your battery running low, healing resources drained, you decide that you don’t actually care to make the distinction any more.

You’re in no condition to fight; you barely had the energy to argue with him, let alone stop him. But you can’t just let him go.

One wobbly step forward. You poke his chest, mustering whatever energy remains to express your feelings in the only true way you know how. “I…” you stammer, but you suddenly can’t find the words.

His hand reaches up and he splays yours flat against his chest. Faintly, buried deep behind the armoured layer of his suit, you feel the distinct thunk, thunk of his heart. He exhales deeply when your empathetic energy transmission reaches the other side. Your eyes connect, and even through the sharp whites of his mask, you can feel the psionic pulse resonating between you two— strong enough that the wound on your side begins to sew itself together.

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

He nods shortly, releases your hand, and turns on his heel. You collapse against the control centre, eyes needling through the camera footage, desperate to watch the final moments and know that his sacrifice was worth it.

It’s about the same time that Deadpool yanks his mask back on and barrels down the hallway after him.

“Wade!”

You glance back at the party as you creep towards the apartment door to leave. Your consciousness has only recently slipped back into place, having hovered somewhere above your body for the entire time you witnessed your friends atomically ripped apart, only for them to return mere moments later.

You think it might’ve been witnessing Wolverine sweaty and shirtless that was finally the last straw for you. You’re not sure you’ve recovered since.

You thought you were being sneaky about your departure, but a flat hand reaches from out of view, splays and then holds the door closed.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Logan asks, voice slow and tentative.

“I ain’t runnin’ this time, I promise,” you answer. He rests his arm on the beam above him, making him appear even taller and maybe even more imposing. Your pulse quickens as you look up at him, trying to find the right words, ones that you hope won’t give you away. You nearly squeak. “I um— just—”

He arches a brow, a hint of a micro-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He shifts, getting closer by just a fraction. “Yeah?”

Trying to keep your distance is proving to be immensely hard when he’s gotten himself this deliciously close. His energy tastes of confidence, a stark contrast to the self-loathing only a mere few days prior. It’s magnetic. If you make eye contact now, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control yourself.

The atmosphere crackles with tension, like the static energy right before lightning strikes. His gaze is intense when you look at him, and with the way his eyes glance purposefully down at your parted lips—

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

You gently pull away from him and feel the spell of the moment dissolve. “I just… need time.”

Recognition flashes on his face, as well as a tick of disappointment, but he seems to understand.

A beat, then he taps the door before stepping aside. “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

Wade bursts around the corner, arms wide and voice booming. Vanessa hangs off of his arm, white teeth gleaming with mischievous joy.

“Whoa, hey there, lovebirds! What’s going on here— a secret rendezvous? Looking for somewhere to sneak off? Should I cue the romantic music or just give you two some privacy?”

You jump in surprise at his sudden entrance, flinching away from Logan as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Logan’s expression shifts from whatever tender moment was brewing, spell broken, to a mix of exasperation and resignation, jaw tightening.

“Wade,” he grumbles, voice sharp, but you can acknowledge there’s a level of begrudging affection beneath the steely surface. “Timing, as usual, is impeccable.”

“Um, actually, I was just leavin’,” you answer, tugging on your bag.

“WHAT!” Wade exclaims, face dropping. “We haven’t even gotten to our favourite part yet!”

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

“The cocaine part,” he says, matter-of-factually.

“Wade, that was one time,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry. Thank you for inviting me. I just can’t miss my flight.”

Dogpool jumps at your ankles, whimpering and chewing on the hem of your jeans. You give her a gentle scratch on her head, deftly avoiding the lick of her impressive tongue. Wade scoops her up, holding her against his shoulder and kissing her affectionately on her wet nose.

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

Your heart stutters at his chivalrous attempt. “Oh, um. That’s okay— I called a cab. So.”

That was a lie. You hadn’t— not yet. You just weren’t sure if you were going to make the right decisions if you were alone in his company for an hour. Probably wouldn’t make it to the airport without fighting or crying or making stupid choices.

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

“I better!” Wade yells, using two fingers to gesture that he’s keeping his eye on you as Vanessa yanks him around the corner gleefully.

A magnetic tether — or red string, whatever you want to call it — seems to strain when you walk away from Logan. You feel the pull in your chest, a fluttering of electricity, but you swallow the urges and ignore the way they scratch like glass on the way down.

You call an Uber, squeezing your bag tightly for a source of comfort as you crowd yourself into the back seat. You spare one last glance at the apartment and think for a brief moment you see a silhouette of someone watching you from the balcony, but they slip away into the light before you can discern it.

You know, though. Of course, you know.

You expected relief when you arrived home, but, instead, the aching, gnawing black hole in your chest seems to grow exponentially. You go through the motions— feed your cat, tend to the garden, eat the food with no appetite, go to Church.

The fixture of Jesus pinned to the cross gives you pause for the first time. You wonder if he was a mutant.

You weren’t sure how much of this “time” thing you were going to need to heal or make a decision on where you and Logan stood after everything, but only after your second night, sleepless and alone, do you start to doubt that this will be an easy process. You communicate like you know what you’re doing, but you haven’t stopped shaking since he kissed you, like a newborn foal traversing ice.

You want to do things right. You’re not trying to replace any missing pieces or live up to any expectations he might have of you. The girl he knew seemed to be a softer, sweeter (less traumatised) version of you, and you worry that you’d be constantly comparing him to a ghost of himself.

The rain lulls you as it patters on the window by your bed, but sleep doesn’t take you.

You hear thunder, you think, and wonder if the chickens are frightened in their coops. However, the distant grumble continues to grow, reverberating through the floorboards of your rickety cabin. As it creeps closer you discern that it’s not a brewing storm— but the growling engine of a motorcycle.

Awash with a deep sense of knowing, you throw yourself out of bed and knot a silk robe around your middle. The sound of the engine dissipates, replaced only by the hammering rain and the rushing pulse in your ears when you tear your door open.

You see him— all leather jacket slick with rainwater and tight jeans, brows pinched against the onslaught of the weather as he dismounts his bike.

Logan.

When your eyes meet, there’s a palpable shift in the air, and the storm, angry as a howling spirit, mirrors the turbulent emotions within you. You don’t speak, you don’t think, you just act.

Barefoot, dressed in your slip of a robe, you race down the short path and meet him halfway.

“Logan? Logan?” You call out. “What are you doin’ here?!”

“Had to see you,” he calls out between strides, voice nonchalant as if what he’s said was obvious.

You’re closing the distance. “That’s a day’s ride, and the weather—”

Instead of letting you finish, he grasps your face, kissing you suddenly and with a reverence so sincere that your knees feel gelatinous and weak. His thumbs brush away the raindrops— tears? —that drip over your crystallised lashes. His touch is both grounding and electrifying; the warmth of him pressed against you is a stark contrast to the chilling downpour.

Your fingers curl against the front of his jacket, clinging with equal fervour as if it’s the only thing keeping you anchored from floating someplace else. The strength of his body crowds over you, arm sliding down to capture you by your waist as you lean into him, syrupy-decadent and entirely reliant on him to keep you upright.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding over yours tasting both bittersweet and intoxicating in equal measures, like cigar smoke and peppermint gum. There’s a distinct sharpness of liqour and you wonder if he had a shot (or bottle) of courage before coming here. You breathe deeply against his skin, smelling rainwater, musk and gunpowder; your senses are completely overwhelmed by him and you’re not sure that anything could pull you away.

The red string knots.

When you both eventually take pause, gasping for air as the rain continues to pelt, his eyes lock with yours. He radiates relief, desire, and a raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

“You’re freezin’,” he murmurs, peppering kisses against your lips, your cold nose, and pulling one of your hands to his face to peck along your palm. You feel dizzy in his embrace, drunk on his lips.

“You should come inside,” you whisper, “before the neighbours start askin’ questions.”

He quietly nods, kissing your fingers before following you inside and ducking away from the rain.

Once inside, he shakes the rain from his hair with a flick, eyes immediately roaming around the innards of your respectable (tiny) house, the size of him immediately proportionally shrinking the interior. He absorbs your surroundings, chivalrously pretending like he can’t see every curve of you in that wet material.

You lead him towards the heath, lighting a small fire to help dry you both off. You leave, pottering around to gather some towels for your hair, and arrive back to see he’s peeled off the top layer of his clothes, leaving him half-exposed, his back an impressive marvel of rippling muscle. He glances at you over his shoulder.

You’re lost for words, but can’t just stand there ogling him. “Um, I don’t think I have any spare clothes that’ll… fit…”

When he turns to face you, his rain-slick torso shines in the firelight, skin glistening on the taught muscles of his biceps as he accepts a towel from you. Your words lag, entirely distracted by the realisation of one thing when you glance down at his v-line and dark, coiling hair that creeps down into his jeans: you’re absolutely going to have sex with this man.

You might’ve decided that when you watched the way his jeans clung to him when he dismounted his motorcycle, but that’s beside the point.

“That’s alright,” he answers, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes roving shamelessly over the damp, silky robe that clings to your silhouette effortlessly. “Don’t need ‘em.”

Your mouth dries when he steps closer to you, head angled, lips centimetres apart.

“Logan…” you breathe, tone edging toward a warning.

He presses against you, tilting you back. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. I’ll get back on that bike and I’ll leave.”

You creep further away, trying to catch your breath. “I—”

The words don’t manifest, simply because you don’t have it in you to lie— to deny yourself of this.

He cages you in against the wall, shrinking you underneath his frame, eyes narrowed and dark as they search for yours through lowered lashes. “Tell me you don’t feel somethin’, and I’ll walk away. You won’t see me again.”

His bare-chested proximity was overwhelming you. You’re acutely aware of every inch of his skin that touches yours, pebbled nipples hard against his warm flesh, stubbled jaw nuzzling against your neck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel like a teenager again, anxious and hormonal, a ball of puppy fat and unrequited crushes. The space between your thighs positively aches with heat, throbbing like a second heartbeat.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that I feel something.”

He leans back, lips quirked with a flash of disappointment.

You blink up at him. “Let me show you instead.”

He ticks an eyebrow.

You use your empathetic influence to decrease his heartbeat, relaxing him down to the bone. He sighs, nosing against your shoulder, arms flexing as he holds himself up against you.

“Just with a little influence…” you stroke your way up from the slow pulse in his neck to his jaw, capturing him swiftly. You use your mutation to increase his heart rate this time, hiking it up to an excitable level. His cheeks begin to flush, pupils dilated, lips parted with the anticipation of your kiss. His eyes darken with something intrinsically primal and hungry.

“Does it excite you?” You ask, innocently.

He shakes his head all dog-like as if to regain control, canine showing as his lips curl into a wolfish grin.

“You’re not the only one with… tricks. I can do that, too— in other ways,” he says, tone low and suggestive. He lifts a hand, tracing a knuckle over your exposed collarbone, shifting the soft material of your robe just an inch. Your breath hitches.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat, right?”

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

You challenge his eye contact, feigning self-control and authority. The stare-down has your pulse spiking, arousal ricocheting down your spine and sitting low and syrupy in your belly.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, too.”

Oh, Hell. He’s got you melted like butter in a pan.

You rest your head against the wall, breath quickening. “If we do this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Good,” he growls. “I don’t like to stop.”

The teasing back-and-forth game of teetering towards nearly touching finally gets the better of you. You’re weak, as malleable as soft dough, so you invite him against your mouth with a sigh-wine and a tug on the nape of his neck.

He positively devours you, a hand palming at your breast as you kiss desperately and feverishly. The shoulder of your robe slips and you’re half-exposed, the slip barely holding itself together by the loose knot on your waist. He pulls you impossibly closer, the skin of his chest flush against yours as he reaches and digs fingers into the globe of your ass, hips twitching together.

You fumble between your bodies, yanking on his belt buckle and zipper impatiently. He pulls backwards, a wet string of spit snapping between your lips as you separate, helping you with steadier fingers to remove his jeans. With equal passion, he swiftly tugs on the waist-tie of your robe and discards it somewhere on the floor.

When you’re both bare, nude silhouettes sharp and soft in the firelight, he stumbles you over to the plush rug in the centre of the room. He nods to the couch.

“Legs up.”

You obey without hesitation, taking your seat and spreading decadently for him. He kneels below you of you, hips between your ankles, and gazes at you like a hungry, stalking animal. You feel impossibly sexy and dangerous.

He peppers kisses along the bone of your ankle first, foot hiked up onto his shoulder, only breaking eye contact to flutter his eyes closed. He moves along the inner length of your leg, pausing keenly against the sensitive parts— the thin stretch behind your knee, the soft plush of your thigh. He lowers himself, scruff tickling between your legs, and then licks a molten stroke between your folds, parting you with his tongue and burying his face deeper.

You clench around his skull, mindfulness of your heightened mutant abilities long forgotten. You can’t crush metal between your thighs. Or can you?

He groans into you, varying suckling and kissing you on your clit with long strokes on the blade of his tongue to your hole, lapping up the nectar of your arousal, fingers digging bruisingly into your hips. The sting of his grip and the relentless lave of his tongue entice moans from you, fingers raking into his hair for some semblance of reality grounding in your pleasure-lapsed consciousness.

Jesus. With as filthy as his mouth was, you should’ve known he would be this good at eating pussy.

You come quick, orgasm pulsing on his lips. The burn of overstimulation seizes your muscles, writhing against his onslaught, but he shoves your hips down.

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs possessively, leaning back to wipe his chin. “On all fours.”

You bite your lower lip, suppressing the humiliation of the intimacy (vulgarity) of it. You turn, belly still clenching with the aftershocks, arching with the anticipation, whining moments later when his mouth reconnects with you. His hands palm at your ass, spreading you wider, tongue slipping dangerously close to the tight ring of muscle.

He slides a finger knuckle-deep, miming fucking you in a rhythmic pulse. His other hand massages you, thumb sliding down until you jerk sensitively against his nudging intrusion.

You feel impossibly full and tingly, clenching around the burn of his thumb and the velvet of his finger, second orgasm surging and bubbling over with your face pressed against the couch cushion, lips agape. You’re slick, drip-dropping onto his cupping palm, every nerve in your body burning raw as his wrist works you through the pulses.

You turn over, relishing in the sight of his scruff glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm, his eyes dark with lust— a hellish man, seraphic on his knees for you. Your insides clench at the sight as he quite literally shatters and redefines what worship means to you.

“Tired already?” He hums, massaging your hips.

You perk a challenging brow. “That was just the warm-up, old man.”

“Alright,” he seethes, sucking on his lower lip as he lifts himself up to your level. “Show me what you got then, baby.”

When you kiss, his mouth slides against yours, drenched with the taste of yourself. His cock steels against your belly when you pull him close, tip pearl-smooth with precum when you reach down and grasp him with a hollowed fist. The feel of him, heavy and warm in your grip, fans to life the flames of your briefly quenched arousal, and you hungrily pull him down onto the couch beside you.

Moisture pools on your tongue as you rub him. You spit on your hand before stroking him from the base to tip, lathering him silky with your drool. You tuck your hair behind your ears, narrowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down his length, fisting the inches that remain.

“Christ.” He twitches in your mouth as you gently massage the warm weight of his sac, lewd sounds emanating from where your lips and tongue meet him. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, gripping your hair in a fist at the crown of your head. Your engine purrs with his encouragement, revving with newfound enthusiasm.

You always gave as good as you got, after all, and you’re certainly not one to back away from a challenge.

His head lolls onto the back of the couch, thighs tense beneath you, cock hot and hard on your tongue. He growls when he comes, pulsing strongly in your mouth as you lap up the produce of his orgasm, salty and molten down your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Put those regenerative powers to good use, why don’t you?” You ask, working him through the over-sensitivity with your wrist. His eyes don’t once leave yours, even as they glaze over and flinch from the pleasure burn. There’s a sharp look of challenging determination on his face— a grit of his teeth, the furrow in his brow. He remains hard in your hands and you perk an impressed brow. Not bad for an old man.

There’s a sweet moment of vulnerability when you crawl over him, a brief sobering in the cloud of lust, a clarity of two not-quite strangers and their shared grief and yearning.

You’re not sure where this moment will take you, but the love of somebody scraping together the shards of a shattered heart for a brief time, even as it cuts their hands, holds you with a semblance of human connection so sincere that you’ll carry it with you for a lifetime.

His thighs spread to accommodate you. You hold your fingers against the thick chords in his neck for support as you fumble between your bodies, slotting him against the catch in your cunt before lowering yourself entirely.

You hiss against the intrusion and he steadies you with a hand on your hip.

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You laugh-moan, laying your palms against the coils of hair on his sweat-shimmering chest.

“I can take it.”

The fire, intended to help dry you off, creates a heated environment that beads sweat on his temple. The only brain cells that remain coherent bounce around on lust in your skull — so you lean forward, lick the salty droplet clean, and sigh-whine as you begin rocking against him.

You fall into sync quickly, a desperate rhythm of desperate bodies. The delicious ache of him inside you is a masochistic thrill, similar to the irresistible press on a day-old bruise. The squelching shlick between your bodies is an animalistic reminder of your flesh and blood as you chase the pleasure, bouncing with vigour.

“Christ— I can feel you…” his jaw clenches with resolve, fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “…dripping all over me. You wanted this bad, huh?”

“Wanted to ride you in that fuckin’ Honda,” you straighten your posture, leaning away from him to hold your breasts, panting words between bated breaths. “Thought it might shut you up.”

His hand snaps up and grabs you roughly by the chin. “Mm… mouthy, aren’t ya?”

You grin. “You got no idea, lumberjack.”

He pulls your face against him, meeting your mouth halfway in a sloppier, fever-driven kiss that shoots arousal to your core like a shot of his favourite whiskey. Something feral stirs within you: a primal, cellular-deep need to connect with him further. Your empathetic power roils off of you like steam on a hot spring, surging into and merging with him until there’s nothing but one feeling, a black hole of unquenchable desire.

You suddenly feel as though you are him: navel-deep, a throbbing muscle with an aching desire to dive further into the serpent-clutch of your cunt, gliding through tingly, honey-silk velvet, blades hanging onto a tether of self-control as they threaten to slide out of your knuckles in ecstasy.

Well. This was certainly new. Add “voodoo sex doll” to your list of mutations.

You gasp, ripping away from the kiss, your powers recoiling back into you at whip-lash speed, dizzying in its ferocity. His eyes meet yours with darkened curiosity.

“Did you—”

“I felt that,” he grunts, tongue darting out to roll over his lips. “It always like that for you? Feelin’ so fuckin’ full?”

You half-laugh blissfully. “Only the good times.”

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

He isn’t gentle when he manhandles you, forcing you into an arch as he repositions and aligns himself behind your thighs, one foot planted firmly on the floor, the other bent to accommodate the new angle. He reinserts himself inside of you with ease, hands palming your hips and ass.

You feel him nudging cervix-deep and you reach out, clawing at the couch to hold your jerking body steady against the relentless slap of his hips. There’s no need to tell him faster or harder when you feel the metal plate of his adamantium hips pressing against your ass, pounding and vulgar with the sound of sweat-damp skin-on-skin.

It’s involuntary, the way you pant and cry out, intoxicated by the relentless drag and pull of his cock. He says something to you but you either don’t hear him or have enough conscious space in your sex-drunk fog to process words and respond. He slides a hand down your spine and pulls on your hair until you’re upright, breath hot when it fans against your neck.

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

You lick the drool from your lip, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “Fuck you.”

The half-lidded up-and-down look he gives you as satisfaction grows slowly on his lips turns your bones to jelly. “There she is,” he growls back, offering a sharp slap of encouragement on your ass as he drops you back onto your front. You involuntarily grip around him, puffy clit throbbing with the almost-but-not-quite-there anticipatory build. “You gonna come for me? Yeah? I can fuckin’ feel it.”

You slide a hand underneath yourself, reaching for the swollen nub with two fingers. You’re overwhelmed with kinetic energy akin to a fizzy champagne bottle— two more shakes until you’re ready to pop.

You hear a Snikt! behind you, accompanied by a throat-caught groan, and then the distinct ripping shred of blades impaling your couch. You finally come, hard, when you feel him throbbing inside of you, followed by the decadent syrupy flood of his orgasm filling you up. He ruts into you one, two three more final times, milking himself dry, before collapsing over your body in a sweaty heap, sparing you the weight of his metal bones with a forearm propped next to you.

Shared fluids drip to the couch when he eventually pulls out of you, blades retreating into his clenched fists. The fluffy innards of the chair spill out beside you, and, while you were in no financial position to afford another, the sight entices a humoured smile from you.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, helping you sit up when your unreliable legs shake beneath you.

“That’s alright. It’ll make for an interestin’ story,” you retort, fanning yourself with a hand. You both let out a shared laugh, mostly from the relieved delirium of it all. After a beat, you lean into him, massaging a hand across his belly. “So. We really doin’ this?”

His face softens. “If you’ll have me.”

You cup his face and kiss his cheek. “I’d take any version of you I could get.”

divider credits: @/vysleix and @/cafekitsune tag list: @bearwithegg, @uhlunaro, @sseleniaa, @jxssimae, @autumnsymphony

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #x reader #deadpool and wolverine #honda odyssey #logan x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months

Note

Can I request headcanons for Logan and Wade with shy gn s/o please?

I’m going to assume separate unless told otherwise as poly relationship between Wade/Logan and reader would be cool too, but again unless specified I’m just going to assume it’s separate.

Wade Wilson/ Deadpool

Wade found your shyness adorable but found your reactions to his teasing and flirting.

And he abuses the shit out of that to his hearts content.

Mouse was a nickname that you were given almost immediately from the moment you met as you were quiet and cute as one too that to Wade it just fit you perfectly.

Wade; stop being so fucking cute!

You: huh?

Wade: you heard me! It should be illegal to be as cute as you! You should be locked up for the thing you do to me, but I’d rather keep ahold of the details because half of them might make you faint little mouse.

You: oh. 😶🫣

Wade will make it a tradition to take you by surprise, whether it be by randomly kissing you, hugging you from behind, playfully smacking your ass, it didn’t matter because your tendency to whine his name out in embarrassment ‘waaaaddde!’ Before hiding your face in his chest as he laughs and whispers teasing words into your ear that only makes your flustered state worsen.

Wade didn’t mind that you were shy, he really didn’t as he found it to be one of the many things he loved about you and wanted to protect, he didn’t want you to feel as though you should have to change to better fit him when he was more content with you being you.

He’s never had as much fun nor laughter in his life like he did when he was with you, and Wade considered himself lucky to have someone as soft and sweet as you that he often times thought you’d be better off without a fuck up like him in your life but he’d kept it to himself, disguising it with humour and teasing you instead.

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine

Logan finds you being shy amusing to say the least.

It brought his protective instincts out as someone as soft and shy and softly spoken as you would need him by your side 24/7.

He’s your guard dog, scary dog privilege in the form of a very traumatised man who’s became more familiar with pain and heartbreak than the tender affection and touches you give him.

So you found it best to be patient with Logan and give him time to become familiar with your love and affection until he felt ready to reciprocate in his own way. And Logan appreciated you for that and would let you know his appreciation by planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

Logan is a softy with you and while he’s quick to bite back at other people, with you he’s much softer with his words that they’re practically sweet murmurs whispered within your ear, as he held you against his chest protectively as you both drifted off to sleep.

He more or less acts as your voice whenever you felt discomfort, he’d could easily tell from your bodily language and would immediately step in, and voice your discomfort for you in your stead for Logan knew that you’d rather avoid conflict then delve headfirst into it like him.

However Logan would be the type to try and teach you ways to defend yourself and how to stick up for yourself when he couldn’t, this is probably out of his fear of losing someone dear to his heart again, but he wasn’t about to risk looking you when he could give you the tools to keep yourself safe while he was away.

He gives you his jacket, just make sure that the point gets across that you were his and not theirs, after all he’s a possessive man who doesn’t like sharing what’s his with anyone else.

He didn’t care about anyone else, you were the only thing he gave two shits about alongside Laura Kinney (x 23) other then you two, nothing else mattered to Logan. He just wanted you to be happy for as long as possible.

Side note: he’d love it if you and Laura got along, it’ll mean all the more to him.

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wolvietxt · 2 months

Text

💭 thinking about …

𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗁𝖼𝗌!

warnings : slightly suggestive, size kink, reader shorter than logan word count: roughly 750 a/n : i wrote this with logan from the original x-men trilogy in mind, but it still works fine with worst wolverine (although he’s a little moodier)! this has been sitting in the drafts for like two weeks but whatever😖

you met through wade, and didn’t exactly hit it off immediately…

your first impression of him was a grumpy old man who didn’t know how to have a conversation of any value and his first impression of you was basically a more sensitive version of wade

but you stuck with it, and tried your very hardest to get along :3

lucky for you, logan opened up more and more with every small catch up, until eventually he’d consider you one of his closest friends!

but that wasn’t enough for him, he wanted more of you in a lot more ways than one😖

when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out on a date, you were absolutely overjoyed!! so was he when he heard your sweet giggles!!

after that he was officially whipped!

you could have him on his knees for so much as a kiss on the cheek :3

first date!! hmm i can imagine him taking you to a drive in movie or maybe a rooftop dinner

something relatively intimate!

it probably starts out a little awkward but he just needs some warming up!!

within a half hour he is a whole lot chattier (or as chatty as he can get)

you do most of the talking though

he’s a very active listener which is so comforting

he’s reluctant to drop you home because he wants to spend more time with you ☹️

you reached up and softly kissed him on the cheek as you shut the door behind you, not quite catching the flush of red that quickly spread over his nose and cheeks

it wasn’t long at all until he was sheepishly stood at your door, small bouquet of roses in hand, asking if you’d be his girlfriend the same way a man would ask to marry a woman

you moved in within a couple of months and the rest is history!

always checking up on you! your phone is 24/7 pinging with his messages :3

‘text when you get home.’

‘i left some food out for you, text if you eat it.’

‘hi baby, text when you get to work.’

it is CONSTANT!!!

manhandling! all the time! he cannot leave you alone!

you can expect a hand or two plastered to your skin while you’re curled up on his lap binging something random

speaking of, he loves nothing more than that!

insanely obvious size kink, he may try to hide it at first, but you can really tell when his usual frown morphs to a smirk when you have to get on your tippy toes to kiss him

not massive on pda, but will totally swing an arm around you when he feels like it

sooo possessive, but you’d never live it down if you told him you found it hot

if he even senses another man’s eyes on you, his arm seems to quickly find its way around your waist

secretly loves you playing w his hair while you straddle him 🥰

will moan about it in the moment, but you can feel his little grin when you reach around his head to play with the back

he’s an absolute sucker for those cute domestic moments!

feed him something you’re making with a hand under his chin to make sure nothing spills and he is done for!!

he’s subtle showing affection but you learn to pick up on his cues over time!

shoulder massages when he can tell you’ve had a bad day☹️

he def reads to you

gently wiping something off of your face and smiling to himself because you’re just so adorable

petnames!!!

baby + bub/bubs are what he calls you the most

he babies you constantly omg

a teeny part of him kinda likes when you’re sick because you’re just so pliant and easy to take care of

sometimes you tend to make a bit of a fuss and feel guilty, but if you have a stomach bug or a bad case of the flu you simply cannot find it within yourself to care

‘can i have another blanket?’

‘do you really think that’s a good idea, bub?’

anyways i need him thank you for reading 🙌

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tremendouscreationperson · 2 months

Text

Logan x Reader pt.2

So I truly didn't think that many people would like this but thank y'all so much, genuinely

The reader is unfortunately no longer GN, they are referred to as 'mom' but otherwise fairly neutral

There is blood/sort of self harm imagery in this one but it ISNT SELF HARM I promise! Make sure you only read if you're comfortable though!!!

<< Part 1 Part 3 >> Masterlist

Waking up next to him was pretty surreal. Mostly because of how relaxing it actually was. His chest pillowed your head and one of his arms was around your back, playing with your hair. He smelt fucking amazing.

You lifted your head and looked down at him, images of last night flashing behind your eyes. It had actually been pretty funny to begin with, neither of you could work out how to get the other out of their suits, ending in you both giggling and undressing yourselves. He was out of his suit lightning quick - you're surprised it is still intact - and immediately found his way back to you. Kissing your neck and you struggled to remove your shoes.

“I promise this isn't some elaborate plot to turn you off.” You laughed as your foot was finally free of the blasted shoe.

He merely hummed, breath fanning your neck as he slowly bit down. Your brain short-circuited and it took a full shaky breath for you to be back in the room and removing the spandex.

His face was calm, relaxed, and he gifted you a small smile.

“Hey.”

You grinned back. “Hi.”

“It's still pretty early.” He wiggled his brows.

Your cheeks warmed and, in a move that probably wasn't wise, you hid your face in his chest. “No. We have to get ready.”

His chest rumbled with his chuckle and you groaned, placing playful kisses on his pecs.

“C’mon, baby.” He pulled you up to his lips and kissed you slow. Taking his time with a leisurely pace.

You kissed him back before nipping his bottom lip, knowing it would drive him crazy, and pulling back. “Stop." Kiss. "It's a big day." Kiss. "I gotta make sure Laura eats.”

Confusion splattered across his features but he slowly released you. A fact that you were grateful for because you don't think you could've rebuked him another time.

You eased yourself up, still a little sleepy and a little sore before stretching fully. His eyes watched your naked body shamelessly and you turned to locate your suit.

“What is that?” His expression was stony.

You turned around to catch what he had seen and couldn't find anything. “Was it a spider or something?”

“No, what is that?” He pointed at you.

There better not be a fucking spider on me. You looked down, scared, to see nothing. Just yourself, naked as the day you were born. “I'm still confused.”

“That fucking scar on your back."

Ah.

Shit.

He hadn't seen it last night because he had you laid on your back for the majority of it.

“Oh. That scar.” You played it off. “It's nothing real-”

“Did I do that?”

“No. It wasn't you.” You bit your cheek. “It was a version of you.”

“Wh-”

“Lo.” You stopped him before he could spiral, placing a hand on his cheek. “Nothing happened that I couldn't handle. He just got lucky and unlike you I can't heal everything so unfortunately I have claw marks. But I am alive and safe and you are not to blame.”

He looked like he was about to argue but a knock at the door stopped that.

“Guys, are ya decent?” Wade asked in a sing-song voice.

Not really. “You okay?” You called back.

“Yeah, I'm here to tell you to hurry up because Maya doesn't know how to end this part.”

Who the fuck was Maya? “O-okay?”

“See ya soon!”

Logan didn't look like he wanted to move. He was content with staying here and blaming himself for something that he didn't do.

“Look, Logan, if he is awake they all are. It's time to go.”

He had to agree with you there.

Logan entered the main living space and was unsurprised to see everyone else there. Gambit was sitting with Elektra talking strategy, Blade was kneeling spinning his weapon and psyching himself up, Deadpool copying every move he made and you were braiding Laura's hair.

“At least they won't be able to grab your hair, lovely.” You kissed her crown as you finished, tying it off with a small piece of fabric. She smiled and scooped a handful of dry cereal into her mouth. “Make sure you have some fruit, please.” The girl rolled her eyes but did take a piece of fruit from the can by your feet. “Good girl.”

Laura would never tell anyone but she loved praise from you. You were her favourite person and for you to tell her she was doing good meant the world. She liked to be strong and fierce but secretly she loved when you babied her.

“You her mom or something?” Logan asked. He didn't mean for it to sound so insulting. Every set of eyes turned to him, their judgement sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Wade even piped up, “What in the ever loving fuck?”

You looked up shocked and a little embarrassed. “No, of course not. But it's good to keep her safe and s-she needs a balanced diet, so I try to... provide one.” Oh, god. You sounded crazy. Your gaze fell to Laura who was staring right back at you. “Sorry. I guess I have been acting like your.. I know you have parents and I know I'm not- I’m sorry.”

“I don't have any parents.” She clarified.

That didn't hurt, per se, but it didn't feel good.

“‘course you do.” El called over. “She just braided your hair.”

Laura smiled and leant further into you, you hugged her back and handed the can of fruit to her. “Have you packed your things?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Her ‘things’ were her comics and a pair of sunglasses. The light was far too bright for her eyes and they were a blessing in this wasteland.

“That's good.” You smiled as she stood up and walked through Wolverine, clipping his shoulder with her own.

Gambit asked Laura to help him in the other room. Everyone in your party knew it was a distraction so that Blade could feed. It was your turn and you knew it would go over swimmingly with the man that just insulted you.

“I didn't mean-”

“It's fine.” You stood and made your way over to the Daywalker. “You ready?”

“I hate this.” He clasped your arm and you helped him to his feet.

Wade reached his arm out and you obliged, pulling him up too. He bounced happily on his toes and hugged you. “You can be my mom any time.”

“Sure thing.” You chuckled.

“Where are you going?” Logan asked. He was just stood awkwardly where he had stopped in front of you and Laura.

“To feed Blade.”

“Feed him?”

Blade sneered, revealing his fangs. “I used to have a friend that helped my hunger. Now I'm here.”

“We all pitch in.” Elektra continued. “Take turns.”

Wade fanned himself, “he bites you? Kinky bitch.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I cut myself and pour an amount into a glass, we have a measuring line. It's a very well thought out system.”

“Cut yourself.” Logan's stony expression hadn't quite left from earlier but was back in full force now.

“It might sound strange to you but it's a good system.” You defended it. “We try to shield little Laura, we all take turns, it's fair. The only victim is Blade! He hates it!”

Blade, who had stayed quiet, nodded. He was embarrassed to ask anything like this, he hated that he was a Dhampir. His mother had died because of a selfish Vampire and said being cursed him, he swore to rid the world of them and here he was. No better than those he hunted.

“I'll do it.” Logan volunteered. “I heal so I'll do it.”

“You don't have t-”

“I'll do it.” He was firm but then spoke lowly. “I don't want any more scars on you.”

You sighed but agreed, half hating and half loving him.

“Come on then.” You ushered them both into the makeshift kitchen.

Deadpool followed watching with wide eyes.

Blade hung back as you got the glass, it had been scratched halfway to indicate the measurement.

“That's a lot of blood.” Logan's tone was accusatory.

“Every other day.” Blade informed, emotionless.

Logan was quick to yank off a glove and cut a quick slice on his hand. The hand had so many veins that he was sure it would take seconds to fill the cup. Except, he healed before he could fill it a quarter of the way.

He repeated his actions and the cut seemed to heal faster.

“This is embarrassing.” Wade ‘whispered’.

“Shut up.” Logan growled as he did it again and finally got just under the mark. “Is that enough?”

“Not quite-”

Blade agreed to stop this painful display. “It'll do.”

“Blade, we have a big fight coming up, you'll need all your strength.”

“It's okay, I'll be good.” He picked the glass up and took long thick swallows, hating that the taste was good. That it itched the scratch in the back of his head.

“So if he's a Vampire why can he go out in sunlight?” Deadpool asked whilst Blade licked his lips.

“Daywalker.. he can handle light.” You recalled something, “actually did you know that Dracula could as well? Sunlight didn't kill him, it just weakened him.”

Blade set the glass down, “I killed that mother fucker.”

“Dracula?”

“Yeah.”

“He's real?”

“Real as the stake I shoved into his heart.”

You were in complete shock. “Are you being serious? For real life? This… this is mind-blowing.”

Wade shrugged. “I dunno, I'm pretty sure in that comic he comes back to life.”

“Comic?” Blade raised a brow.

“Yeah keep up, sweety, this is a bunch of nerd comics thrust together with you included.” Deadpool pointed at you.

You'd never seen a fully grown man scream ‘shotgun’ and sprint to the side of a car. Yet, here he was, shoving Gambit to the side and opening the door of a Honda.

Wade rolled down the window and explained, “I'm not driving but I am a passenger princess.”

“I guess, I'll drive.” Elektra shrugged and there were no objections. She was probably the most logical of all of you, she could handle his outbursts and tune him out. She had done that to Daredevil for years apparently.

Laura, Gambit and Blade were next in the car, the latter sandwiched in between the others. You smiled at Laura leaning against him.

“Y/N.” Logan gestured to the open boot. Oh, right. Yeah. You'd have to get in the boot. With Logan. The man that had been cold towards you today. Great.

You shuffled into the car and settled your backpack next to you, he got in behind you and you were both just sitting facing each other. Knees meeting.

You busied yourself with your backpack, handing Laura her sunglasses. She had them on her head and placed them down for a second, forgetting them. Luckily you picked them up for her.

“There you go, hun.”

She blushed and took them happily. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

After that there was nothing else to do. You had no distractions.

Wade had put the radio on as El had pulled away from your home. This might be the last time you ever saw it. It was actually a little bit sad. You all might never be back here. Or all but one could be, you hated that thought. It was bad enough Johnny being dead - and he was fairly annoying - you couldn't handle anyone else. Were you going to cry? No. You weren't. You were fine. Everyone would be fine.

You sniffed just as Britney Spears started singing and Gambit and Wade put on a terrific performance.

"I think I did it again."

“You look tired.” Logan whispered, the others wouldn't hear him over the duet.

“Do I?” You frowned. What had you done to him this morning? “Way to make a girl feel special.”

“No I mean.” He sighed. “Have a nap. It's a long journey.”

“There's not an abundance of space.” You gestured to each other.

Logan manoeuvred and motioned for you to move with him, you were wary but did as he asked and ended up in a very comfortable position. It mirrored how you had awoken this morning, resting on his chest, except you were both closer. If that was possible.

To be comfortable he pulled your leg over his, leaving the other straight, and wrapped both arms around your sides.

“I'm sorry I've been a dick.” He whispered against your hair. “I- The scar set me off this morning and everything I've done since I can't explain. I don't know why I've been an asshole. I jus-I haven't meant to be it's just come out like that.”

“It's alright.” You raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Your Logan had explained once that sometimes he says something and between his brain and his mouth it was as though it went through an 'asshole filter'. He truly didn't mean to be a dickhead but he couldn't help it. He usually felt horrible when it happened.

“No it isn't-”

You placed your hand on his lips, “yes it is. Now shush let me sleep. I was up practically all night.”

At least that got you an amused huff.

Part 3

#logan howlett #logan 2017 #logan x reader #logan #james logan howlett #deadpool 3 #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #the wolverine #wolverine x reader #xmen #logan xmen #wolverine x men

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pastorpresent · 28 days

Text

part 2 to this, but it's not necessary reading to understand this:) tw for panic attacks

Logan is going to find every motherfucking TVA agent and rip them methodically into a hundred little chunks, which he's then going to serve to dogpool for her lunch.

He's just got to find Wade and get out of this stupid fucking warehouse first - and seriously, dingy old warehouse for an evil fucking lair? Get creative for once, jesus christ.

The thing was, this mission was supposed to be the definition of easy. The TVA just wanted them to catch some stupid deadpool variant, slap their cuffs on him and be done with it. Hell, Wade had even been looking up nearby lunch spots because they were so convinced they'd be done for then.

They weren't. The variant thing was a trap - which somehow completely went over the TVA's heads - and the place was actually an experimentation warehouse for mutants. They were baited there like fish to a hook, and Wade had been grabbed before either of them could fully grasp what was happening.

Wade was grabbed - and Logan was loosing his god damn mind, because he'd seen the uncharacteristic flicker of fear over the mercs face when they realised what this place was, watched Wade thumb through the paperwork with a tight expression, unsettlingly silent.

He understood. He'd been there, quite literally, but he had the small mercy of not remembering it so completely. His time spent chained to an experimentation table was mercifully shorter than Wades, and he only recalled brief flashes of it.

Wade had told him one night after a few too many drinks that he remembered his weeks in that warehouse vividly. Every second of it was etched into his brain like a branding, and if Logan had known that this mission would take them anywhere even slightly resembling that trauma he would've told the TVA to stick their mission so far up their ass they start choking on it.

He didn't, though, and now he was stuck hiding outside trying to figure out a way to get in there and grab Wade without getting caught himself. He needed back up, realistically.

It stung to call the X-Men. He hated doing it, because seeing them in this universe... it just reminded him of what he'd failed to protect. Of the team he'd essentially killed.

He'd gladly suck all of that up and toss his baggage aside if it meant helping Wade, though.

Even with their help (and their insistence on cuffing instead of murder) It still took a good half hour for them to clear the place.

Logan was growing antsy. He'd seen the sideways looks from Storm and Rogue as his murders grew more brash and violent, prioritising wiping the bastards out as rapidly as possible over doing so in a way which was... more composed and less bloody.

He'd killed about thirty. The team had cuffed and sedated the other lucky twenty, and had taken the... test subjects somewhere safe. Most of them were mutilated beyond looking like recognisable people, half alive, and honestly Logan thought they'd be better off just being put down and freed from their agony, but he didn't voice that. He didn't have time for a morals debate, not when the bastards have had Wade for almost a fucking hour.

"Wade!"

He was dipping in and out of every curtain, trying to find the idiot. His booming voice was echoing through the entire place, and so wherever he was he mustn't be conscious, or verbally able to respond.

Finally he pulled back a curtain and found him.

He was in a glass cylinder, strapped down with thick leather bindings, and was gasping for breath periodically as his skin burned.

An oxygen deprivation machine. The same type that gave Wade his mutation in the first place.

Those fucking sick bastards. He hoped that the team had gotten those men they cuffed the fuck out of here or Logan was going to chop off their fingers and make them eat them, then beat them to the point they were begging for death, and then he'd beat them some more and let them die from blunt force trauma, slowly and in agony on a dirty warehouse floor.

He surged forward, using his claws to bust holes in the machine, allowing immediate air flow while he figured out how to get the damn thing open.

He figured it out, the lid lifting, but something was wrong.

Wade was still gasping for air, his now free hands scratching at his neck desperately.

"Wade, breathe," Logan ordered a little harshly, grabbing the younger man's shoulders.

Big mistake apparently.

Wade was up in an instant, grabbing a nearby scalpel and driving it harshly into Logan's shoulder, his teeth bared and the air missing his usual cry of 'baby knife'.

"Wade, what the fuck are you-"

He was cut off by the medical scissors being thrown at his face, embedding deep into his cheek just below his eye, and fuck that hurt.

"Wade-" he grabbed him, trying to stop him from reaching for any more makeshift weapons, but Wade punched him hard in the face, driving the scissors deeper, and then proceeded to kick him in the balls.

Logan grunted at the impact, barely staying upright and releasing his grip in the momentary recovery.

Wade grabbed a gun from the side and started shooting recklessly, and Logan was painfully aware that some of the X-Men currently standing just a few flimsy curtains away were not as bullet proof as what he was.

He dove atop of Wade, tackling him to the floor, hissing with every bullet that the merc emptied into his torso.

"Wade, stop!"

"Get the fuck off me! Let me go!" Wade screamed, actually screamed at the top of his lungs, his breathing rapid and eyes hard but full of suffocating fear as he thrashed and struggled.

Logan felt horrible. He felt like the shittiest person on the planet, because Wade clearly had no idea what was happening in his panic, didn't recognise Logan or remember the circumstances, and he was terrified. Terrified of continued torture that was sure to come in his mind if Logan 'caught him', and he had no clue what to do.

"Wade it's me, alright? It's Logan. I'm trying to help you."

"I don't- get the fuck off me! Please! Just let me go!"

Wade was sobbing and begging, and from the grip Logan had of his lithe body he could feel his breathing growing shallower.

"I will, bub. I will, but I need you to put the gun down, alright?" Logan said carefully.

He wasn't going to let Wade come out of this having killed somebody he cared about accidently. He wasn't letting him be burdened by that guilt.

"I- I don't- please," Wade sobbed, and Logan swallowed thickly.

"Gun down, Wade," he repeated firmly, and this time he felt the barrel leave his torso and clatter onto the ground.

He continued to pin Wade down with just one arm as he grabbed the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

"Good boy. That's good, thank you. I'm gonna let you up now, bub. Think you can stop trying to kill me for a second so we can talk?"

Wade whimpered softly, and nodded once in response.

Logan eased up on him gradually, rising to his feet and offering out a hand to help Wade do the same.

The younger man didn't take it, scrambling up by himself on shaky legs, taking a few stumbling steps backwards away from Logan.

That stung a little, but he understood. Wade clearly still didn't grasp who he was, and it was probably a very natural reaction to want distance between yourself and your conceived captor who had you pinned to the ground moments ago.

"Look at me, ok? You know me, bub. You know I'm not here to hurt you."

"I- I just want you to let me go. I just want to go home to Vanessa, please."

And maybe that one stung... a lot, more so than any of the sharp objects lodged into his body right now. He often worried about what his existence in this universe meant for Wade. He worried him being here, some sort of unnatural and inconvenient prescence, made it so Wade felt he couldn't truly go after what he wanted. A life with the girl, a few kids, a decent home.

Instead he got stuck with Logan, an alcoholic mess who could barely tolerate basic human interaction most days, and he knew Wade would argue that it was actually vice versa - that Logan was the one stuck with him - but it just wasn't true. Not when Wade was the one with a life he imposed on.

That day with Vanessa, when he'd just almost killed Wade from his own stupidity, rang clear in his head.

('You almost killed him, Logan! He could be dead right now because of you!' Vanessa screamed, voice thick with emotion.

Logan couldn't even bring himself to disagree, or defend himself.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it,' he stressed, staring at Wade's limp body on the couch, his torso wrapped with blood stained bandages.

She looked at him too, and for a painful few moments, there was just heavy silence. It felt like a boot hovering over them, waiting to drop.

'You know, ever since you... appeared here, bad shit has happened. Wade's not himself, because he spends so much of his time on you. He's always in danger trying to drag your sorry ass to safety. It's not fair.'

The boot dropped, and squished him whole.)

"We can. I'll take you to her, but you need to settle down first, bub. Look at me?" Logan said, taking the tiniest of steps closer.

Wade didn't move back, which he took as a win, and he did finally stop his rapid searching to look at him.

"Good. Good job, think you can try match my breathing?"

Another step forward, this one intentionally impossible to avoid noticing, just to gauge Wade's response.

He looked uneasy still but didn't move, and nodded minutely.

Logan breathed in and out slowly, intentionally exaggerated and verbally guiding Wade through it.

It took several minutes, but eventually after calming down considerably, the confusion seemed to evaporate alongside the panic.

"Good boy, again, ok? 1...2...3...4.... exhale-"

"Logan?"

He could've just about collapsed with fucking relief. For a minute or two, he was growing worried that the temporary confusion and amnesia was from more than just the panic attack and the torture chamber. That those bastards had done something to erase his memories just like Stryker had done to him.

"Yeah, it's me, bub," he sighed, shoulders deflating.

"What- what happened?! They hurt you?" Wade hissed, marching into his space and pulling out the scalpel. He reached for the scissors but Logan grabbed his wrist to stop him, opting to ease those out himself.

"Well, you could say that," Logan shrugged, and Wade's brows knotted together, until it seemed the events of the last ten minutes hit him and he gasped, stumbling back and away from him.

Logan didn't know exactly what came over him. Maybe he just couldn't stand the idea of Wade slipping away from him again so soon, even on the most basic physical level.

He filled the space between them, grabbing Wade by his shirt and yanking him forward into a tight hug.

"I hurt you, I fucking shot you-"

"Isn't the first time, won't be the last. Don't you fucking apologise to me, you idiot - you can shove your apologies into that smart ass mouth of yours and swallow 'em," Logan warned, and Wade laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a muffled sob, his hands coming up to fist the back of Logan's shirt desperately.

"They- they-"

"Are gone. It's done. You're safe, unlike those fuckers at the TVA the next time I see them," he growled, and Wade let out another watery laugh, hiding his face away in Logan's neck.

"Take me home?"

"Glady, bub."

#i love writing them so much #deadclaws #poolverine #deadpool #wolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #wade wilson angst #the wolverine #deadclaws fic #poolverine fic #mywriting

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bewiiitched · 1 month

Text

Sexdoll (chapter four)

WARNINGS: +18, MDI, Dom!Worst!Logan, cocky!Worst Logan, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, angst, ass play, anal sex, powers as drugs, dub-con (just in case, there is alcohol involved) drunk!reader, teasing, rough sex, some aftercare, overstimulation, age gap (reader is mid 20's)

////////////

There is a heavy silence when she finishes recounting what happened and squirms in her chair, the loop of memories in her mind not ceasing and she tenses when she looks up to see him although he is not looking at her but at the glass in front of him.

The new Logan is a slightly older version of the original but her chest still twists at the sight of his features. Those she had tortured to exhaustion, and for a moment, she could remember the metallic taste of his blood, and yet, despite not having detailed everything, the mutant's expression made it clear to her that he had an idea of what happened.

There are no comforting words and instead he refills both of their glasses while leaving space for her to calm down. He seems not to pay attention to her but in reality he can't help but focus his hearing on her insistent heartbeat and the small tremors he notices when she brings the glass to her lips.

— Didn't you see each other again?

He asks, his voice hoarse but slow as if he were hesitating to even speak and he sees her shake her head, there is bitterness in her gaze as she puts the glass on the counter. — No. I stayed hidden for months until Wade finally found me.

There is a slight grunt of recognition and she notes that he is cautious about asking, so she smiles weakly and steps back a little. — When looking for information about Francis he found out that I had deserted. So he went to find me in case I knew anything about him.

If she had ever been lucky in life, it was that Wilson had not killed her. — Don't tell him anything, he doesn't know.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see her nod and in the mutant's mind, it fit why the mercenary had referred to the situation so lightly, oblivious to the true damage that had occurred between them.

As she lets off steam, two or three glasses become four bottles. Part of her is embarrassed by the repertoire of alcohol she keeps at home, for those stubborn nights when she wants a binge and needs it to be consistent before her healing factor wears off. On the other hand, the night becomes much more enjoyable when they put aside the darker parts of their lives, and she even learns a couple of differences between the two realities.

As she gets up from her chair to refill the bottle, the intoxication stalks her, walking a few steps, the kitchen spins around her causing her to stagger to the side. There is a screech behind her when he moves the chair, and before she can turn to look at the mutant, she feels his iron grip on her forearm preventing a fall.

— I think that's enough, dollface.

His voice echoes in her ear and her mind is still thick but hearing the nickname sends a tingle down her spine, suddenly she seems to regain awareness of the closeness they have gained. She can practically feel the heat coming off the older man’s body, and her heart flutters loudly.

She can smell the masculine cologne mixed with the strong scent of alcohol on his breath and she swallows, ridding herself of any obscene thoughts that may arise in her deteriorating mind. Her hand travels to the older man’s with a light touch to indicate that everything is okay, but she can feel the doubt in the way his fingers press.

— I’m fine, Logan.

She slurs, never having managed to stay drunk for more than a few hours but she had no doubt that she would regret the little show later. Turning slightly, she glances at him sideways, his eyes darkened, focused on something she can’t see and her curiosity piques her, but she doesn’t ask.

When his grip is finally removed, she watches him walk away, a silent farewell as he grabs the half-finished glass from the counter and brings it to his lips, drinking every last drop. She keeps looking at him, her lower lip between her teeth and the longing in her body.

The mutant's gaze follows her, watching her as she watches him and puts the glass back in its place. — Stop torturing yourself.

She didn't think his voice could be any hoarser, but his tone is restrained despite the hint of annoyance she notices. However, the abruptness catches her off guard, and the mutant himself grimaces at it, she's not blind, she knows that blaming this Logan for how is like to feel guilty is stupid, as Wade had said he was a darker and more broken version than the original, but it was a version that hadn't crossed paths with her, with her powers.

— He left you alive for a reason.

His tone is softer but that doesn't stop her from boiling over when she remembers it. — Yes, and I spit in his face. I didn't play fair, that's what my power is all about.

She answers hurt, digging her nails into the palms of her hands, the pain is familiar and seems to clear her drunken mind a little, but Logan growls, coming closer abruptly when his senses recognize the smell of blood and in a second, her back is against the wall, and his hands are on top of hers to prevent her from hurting herself.

— Don't.

There is a certain daze in her gaze for the speed with which Logan had cornered her and the alcohol in her system but that doesn't quench the annoyance he has unleashed, but he covers her mouth momentarily, interrupting whatever she was going to say.

— What did you do after that happened?

— I fled into the woods...— she whispers when he releases her mouth, in an almost questioning tone in confusion because she doesn't seem to understand where the conversation is going,

however, there is insistence in the mutant's gaze.

— No. He let you go.

He says it with such seriousness that for a moment she doubts her own memories, of how his weight felt on her and the effort it took to leave him in that state. His touch leaves her and one of his hands travels to her chin, lifting her face.

— You said it yourself, he wasn't unconscious.

Despite his grip, her gaze drops to his chest, considering his words while a shiver runs down her spine. She remembered it vividly, her bruised feet as she fled barefoot through the forest, expecting to look over her shoulder and see his figure coming towards her, looking to drag her into the cabin, but it didn't happen. Despite running and running until she reached the road, there were no claws, no growls, no blood.

— How the hell are you so sure?

She counters, with obvious hesitation, it didn't change everything she had done. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears and it's not hard to feel nauseous so she abruptly pushes him away, placing her palms on his chest. — You don't know what I've done.

She hisses, frustrated, and she can feel the tears building up in her eyes, blurring her vision even more, but he's stubborn, and she wonders if it's a quality all the variants share. He grabs her again, shaking her figure slightly, and his gaze burns into her for different reasons. The concern in his dark eyes makes her stomach drop.

— I've healed worse things, kid. If he really wanted to, he would have chased you.

There is a silence where only her labored breathing can be heard, and her lips become a thin line considering his words. Her eyes remain fixed on his chest because she cannot face him in this state and ends up regretting drinking.

The outburst causes her to remember the events of the car, and the hair on her body stands on end as she remembers his words, tears overflowing down her cheeks.

« You reek of regret. »

In retrospect the mutant watches her break down in silence, watching her come back and move away from reality just as quickly and without thinking his hands go to her face wiping away her tears, causing them both to look at each other for a moment.

It is an impulse, and she can blame the alcohol or her ruthless emotions but still her hands go to his face bringing him closer and she puts her lips on his. The tips of her fingers tickle from the growth of his beard that itches against her skin, and she feels him moan in surprise. His hands settling on her wrists, gently pushing them away from her face.

— No…— He starts, with a growl, and jerks back as her heart skips a beat, but he stops her from moving away by tightening his grip on her arms. — You’re drunk. I’m not going to…

He trails off, a rejection in his voice, one that seems more attuned to his own desire than her advances. And now it’s her who watches him writhe in his loop of martyrdom and self-blame.

— Don’t. It’s me who is in the wrong for wanting you.

There’s a subtle shift in the mutant’s posture, and his fingers press into her grip. He can smell it, see it in the way she looks at him, but nothing compares to hearing her admit it. Logan can feel the lurking power in his body, a sensation he can’t quite describe as a subtle chill, a sudden itch, or a lingering burn, but he knows it’s there. Present for the her whim and desires.

His breathing becomes heavy, and his gaze descends to her lips, wondering what differences this version of her hides with her own version of his world, which he had never known. His grip is strong and restrained, ignoring the fact that he should not desire her.

— Are you sure?

He asks in a raspy voice, leaving no room for jokes, and although he is usually quite serious and grumpy, the demand behind the question creates a bubble of emotion in her chest.

— Yes.

She gasps, since he kisses her fiercely after barely saying it, his tongue takes control and she does not complain as his hand goes to her neck, bringing her closer to his chest. Her own hands surround the mutant's neck, and she gives a small jump to propel herself, wrapping her legs around the older man's waist. It is then that she feels his erection against her core, and her fingers tickle to retain her power.

His large hands grip her thighs, making lazy circles as his mouth leaves her and attacks her neck mercifully, the growth of his beard irritating her skin as he kisses, bites and sucks his way down to her cleavage. She throws her head back with her bottom lip between her teeth, and feels his hands rise to suddenly stop, his breath caught in his chest as every muscle in his body tenses and the pads of his right hand brush the relief of one of her scars.

Three small vertical scars where his claws would have stabbed her, it's hard not to identify them, though no one had survived them enough to leave a mark, or those who had didn't have one. He licks her lips at the sudden dryness in his throat, and opens his mouth, fingers clenching her legs unconsciously. — How...?

He asks, leaving it hanging, the fact that they were so thin let him understand that they had been deeply buried and from her story he had deduced that although she had a healing factor, it was not so accelerated.

— It's not the only one I have. — She speaks with a grimace, and sees the mutant's eyes darken, with his grip shaking on her legs. — It's a side effect of my power, I can die from so many ways, but blood loss won't be one of them. Just like I can control my own nerves, in times of danger my body creates and regenerates fluids like crazy.

There's a slight sigh, no doubt remembering the run she'd made through the woods and the searing pain it had caused her for weeks after escaping. — However, my healing is only superior in stopping bleeding and regenerating nerves. Bone or muscle damage is shit to heal.

The explanation to calm the mutant, and her grip on him tightens, seeking to get him away from his new worries she takes him by the chin to kiss him, unconsciously moving her hip forward. She feels him growl between the kiss, and when they separate, her hand travels to his erection, giving a slight jump as a dirty smile spreads across her face. — Does the size change in all versions?

She murmurs, her voice thick as she cups the bulge in his pants and her eyes shine as they glisten in a mix of mockery and lust as she teases him, which seems to take effect, given that even though he doesn't respond, his hand travels roughly to her hair and tugs on it, pulling her head back and his mouth resumes the previous movements, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. And out of the corner of her eye she sees his marked biceps as he keeps the iron grip on her hair, it doesn't hurt, but it keeps her in place.

— You're playing with fire.

It's so brief that for a moment Logan stops stunned, and she can see his gears turning in understanding what the hell just happened, fast and relentless the wave of pleasure shakes him like an electric shock, his muscles relax, and his hair stands on end, causing him to shudder when the pressure in his pants eases slightly.

— For a moment I worried about seeing you struggling down there.

At that moment, he seems to understand many things about her story, but everything has been left in the background as he feels himself burning with desire even though his temperature is normal. When her hands go to his chest, her touch burns on his skin, and he finds himself tearing her shirt in response, leaning over her as his hips rock against hers.

Of course, the friction is not enough, and her own hands travel to her pants to get rid of them before they suffer the same fate as her tattered shirt, but hearing the sound of his claws makes her stop halfway, with her gaze fixed on them as she sees his edge go towards her bra, tearing it from the front and feeling his lips suck on her nipple moistened by his saliva.

The mutant practically drags her against the counter, and she shudders when her back hits the coldness of the granite, and she barely has time to climb on top before he attacks her.

She moans, arching her back as she resumes undoing her pants, and the mutant wastes no time in sliding one hand down her hip, the other tugging at her pants until they are down to her ankles. His hand cups her core, feeling the wetness that seeps through her underwear and soaks the insides of her thighs.

— Fuck. Do you feel in danger or something?

It’s an obvious tease, but the low tone makes it sound more like a purr, and a shiver runs through her, her foot kicking playfully against his thigh with an embarrassed huff.

His smirk is cocky, and there’s no warning to prepare her for the three fingers that thrust in roughly after pushing her panties aside. The stretch makes her gasp, and she lifts her hips sharply, but she barely has time to adjust to the slight burn as he curls them and begins to move them.

— L-Logan.

She moans, her eyes clouded with pleasure so she can barely make out the figure on top of her, however, that doesn't stop her from taking some revenge on that and her hand wraps around his wrist, the sensation is welcomed, and the pleasure that rocks him has him leaning over her, burying his face against her neck and breathing in her scent.

Her hand leaves him and travels to the back of his head, commiserating her fingers in his hair and holding him close. She can feel the familiar tug at her lower abdomen, her walls tightening and contracting as his thumb moves against her clit and she's so close to orgasm that she doesn't give him a chance to tease her any further.

Her own hand moves down and positions itself over his, she can hear his small laugh against her ear, Logan curling them even more, as his rhythm becomes rougher and his mouth old to her earlobe, biting it.

The orgasm shakes her. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her squirm, a moan escaping her lips as he sees her fingers curl and his arrogance return to him like the sun rises every morning.

— You okay, dollface?

— Fuck you.

She gasps at his attempts to mock her. Her breathing is labored as she struggles to recover, but the mutant isn't so merciful and suddenly she finds herself face down against the counter, her feet barely touching the floor with his hand holding against her back, and soon his entire arm is braced, holding her in place. The one he has free and covered in her fluids descends again between her thighs, and to her surprise, a finger lightly brushes the entrance to her anus.

— What...?

She gasps and her voice breaks, a wave of adrenaline rushes through her at the thought, and the mutant seems to take it as an incentive, hovering over her without stopping his circular movements, and his mouth is soon at the level of her ear, his lips brushing her skin.

— Have you ever been fucked from behind?

From the way she reacts, he assumes not, but his senses are more focused on how her heartbeat quickens at his question, his nose picking up on her growing arousal and he watches her shake her head slightly.

He hides his smile to himself, and he doesn't let go of his hand to grip the flesh of her hips. His erection strains against his clothes at the thought, and a growl resonates against his throat, her nervousness palpable, but he relaxes it by bringing his other hand to her clit while his finger continues to play around her entrance until he slowly inserts it.

It stings, though it's mild and feels more like a lingering discomfort, but the movements against her clit make it so she can't focus too much and she finds himself pushing her hips back, so his finger is inserted up to the knuckle while her clit suffers the overstimulation with his other hand until he stops.

He feels her writhe beneath him and he keeps it slow, stretching her entrance carefully until he can insert a second finger. He sees her nails dig into the counter and her cheek remains braced against the surface, her eyes closed while her hips are raised for him.

— Do you like it, dollface?

— Y-Yes.

Watching her as she is soaking wet, practically drips down the fingers inside her. He uses her lubrication to his advantage with his other hand traveling down to his pants releasing his erection, and coating his member with her fluids. He inserts his fingers again and this time simulates scissors, creating a slow but sure rhythm as his hand moves up and down to his cock.

— You should see yourself. — he murmurs, and he hears her moan in response, noticing that she is trying to fight the sensation. — Does it hurt?

— No, it's just...uncomfortable, like a tickle.

She gasps, and tenses as his fingers leave her, her hole remaining open. He brings his tip against her entrance, and swallows, hearing him spit but trying to keep her mind elsewhere until he begins to enter, the stretch burning despite the lubrication, and small tears gathering in her eyes.

It doesn't go unnoticed by him, who is analyzing every movement and sees her tense, so he stops halfway and his hand travels to her core, inserting two fingers with ease while his palm is against her clit, in turn he leans over her, leaving a trail of kisses down her back.

— M-Move — She moans after a few minutes, the burning has not completely dissipated but the pleasure is overwhelming and she feels another orgasm stalking her while the feeling of fullness makes her mind spin. He obeys, entering all the way with a low moan, all her insides squeezing him while his hands rest on her hips. — Logan, please.

She whispers, her thighs tighten around his hand and he feels her walls contract, he hasn't moved yet, but she is quick to establish a rhythm on her own and that's when he follows her, with slow and deep thrusts. She's quick to lift her leg, placing it on the counter so he can penetrate her deeper.

— Hold on a little.

He growls, placing his hand on hers causing her to look over her shoulder at him curiously, a slight nod from him causing her to sneer with a weak smile as pleasure shakes him again, but this time it holds, and his fingers squeeze her hips until they leave marks.

His rhythm becomes more disordered as they both approach orgasm, and he hears her struggle to form coherent sentences while the only thing that escapes her mouth are moans. His balls slap her with each thrust, and his own member throbs, precum beginning to fill her and ease her entry as his fingers bring her to the edge.

Her walls squeeze him, tremble, and contract. He watches her arch her back and he buryes himself all the way in, his thrusts becoming rougher as he fills her, staying inside her until he feels her melt beneath him.

It takes him a few seconds until he pulls out of her, returning his member to the inside of his pants and his gaze travels to her core, dripping from her both orifices and he grabs her torn shirt to clean it.

— Are you okay?

He asks, surrounding her waist to sit her up and sees her nod slightly, her voice coming out sleepy from the consecutive orgasms.

— Stay.

And he does, passing a hand under her knees to pick her up bridal style and take her to her bedroom.

//////////

Taglist: @bontensbabygirl @twinky-wink

#deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #mutant!reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 25 days

Text

Pairing(s): Billy Butcher x Reader x Logan Howlett, Billy Butcher x Reader, Billy Butcher x Becca Butcher, Logan Howlett x Reader, brief mention of past!Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: ft.deadpool, denial of feelings, more complicated shit, soldier girl au, butcher be losing his gd mind with jealousy, crossover, marvel x the boys, brief invincible mention

Wade giggles loudly next to Logan, the binoculars pressed against his eyes so he could get a better look. "Wow! Sugar Tush really has a type!! Sexy, dark, bearded and brooding!"

"I told you not to call her that."

"Hey, I'm just calling them like I sees them! And she's got a rocking a-"

Logan snatches the binoculars out of Wade's hands before giving him a rather harsh bop on the head.

He should have never let Deadpool drag him along to stalk Billy Butcher. Damn curiosity got the better of him though. This guy was after him due to a few unfortunate casualties in Logan's escapades. You tried not to mention Butcher when you were with Logan.

This was the guy who got to have you with him every day while Logan was lucky if he could find a couple of hours with you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Logan was old enough to know better, learn from his past mistakes with women and relationships in general. You though. . . God you drove him crazy. Your witty mouth and the cute way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. And the fact that he knew how you liked your coffee (the lightest splash of creamer accompanied by a dash of cinnamon) and your favorite show to relax to was something as simple as the Office. He was growing attached to you in a domestic way that he couldn't allow.

You preferred to sleep on the left side of the bed and always had one leg sticking out of the covers.

Butcher took you for granted. Too focused on a lost love when you were right in front of him.

"Earth to Peanut." Deadpool waves a hand in front of Logan's face. "You there space ranger? What'cha wanna do? We can take this guy out right now. Easy peasy. Then Sugar Tush is all our's."

"You're not involved in this." Snaps Logan. Pivoting on his heel, he goes for the rooftop door.

Truth was he could've killed Butcher many times now. Of course he'd fantasized about it. No one would benefit from Butcher's death. Not even Logan. He couldn't have the kind of life he desired with you for many reasons.

He can hear Wade's footsteps close behind him in the stairwell. "You're just gonna let that guy have her? That's not very romantic of you. From the noises that come out of your room when the two of you are together, it sounds more like lovemaking than raw pounding. And true lovemaking like that cannot exist without pure love!"

"Will you shut the fuck up. I don't love her. And I'm not doing anything. I got enough problems trying to evade that Butcher guy as it is. I don't want to get even more involved."

"You made beautiful love to his woman, that's pretty involved."

Logan grabs Wade and tosses him down the stairs.

He didn't love you.

A constant prayer repeated in his mind. You were just a phenomenal lay. Simple as that.

Fuck he wished it was simple. Nothing about you was simple though.

The next few days proved quiet for Logan. No sign of Butcher or even that scrawny kid you called 'Hughie'.

And there was nothing coming from your end. Dead silence. He was hoping with the quiet, you would go back to texting him. It was proving too quiet for him.

Were you okay?

He rubs his knuckles, willing his anxiety to subside.

And unconsciously Logan found himself changing the channel on his tv to Vought News. Your life was interlaced with Vought, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not.

He had to take this chance. Finally knew where his Becca was and had formulated a plan to see her. Even if it meant abandoning the team. They'd be alright. Besides Hughie, you and MM had everything under control.

And, well, Butcher was fairly sure you were moving on from his grasp. Not that you were his to begin with. Damnit you were right about there being no exclusivity between the two of you. He had no claim over your body. You were free to have sex with whomever you wished. Butcher was still married after all. Finding out that his Becca was alive put his mind back into the true focus of his mission.

Still. . .

The idea of someone else's hands touching you nagged at him relentlessly. It was starting to burn a hole in his insides. He didn't like it. Didn't like the hickeys on your neck that he KNEW weren't from him or that you smelled of another man's scent. That bothered him. Some guy leaving his scent on you like a claim to you.

Who was it? Who was the fucker that thought they were strong enough to be in your life?

No one in the Boys, that was for sure. Maybe one of your exes? That Mark Grayson hadn't reared his head in a while.

Someone from Vought? Nah. You hated Vought more than anything.

Shaking his head free of thoughts of you, Butcher pushes forward through the thicket of trees that encased his Becca's gilded cage. She was within his grasp. Before long he'd be whisking her away, saving her from this long suffering nightmare. If he had her back everything would be okay. And he wouldn't have to be feeling conflicted about you. He wouldn't be plagued by the image of you pulling your lover into one of your intoxicating kisses.

Even when he finally gets Becca alone for a moment, Butcher can't keep you out of his waking thoughts.

Now that he'd left the Boys, were you back in your lover's arms? Happy and content?

Did that man sate you the same way Butcher did? Did this stranger without a face have you producing little kitten mewls when he went down on you? Had that fucker enough time to map out all of your freckles?

He shouldn't be thinking of you.

But you were constantly on his mind.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #the boys series #the boys #butcher the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys prime #the boys imagine #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett wolverine #logan wolverine #logan howlett

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eternalsunrise · 2 months

Text

….at first fight.

wolverine (logan howlett) x f!reader

wc: 1.6k

summary! (request here!!) you (an ex widow turned merc) are on a mission for a client. the x-men send wolverine to intervene. the fight goes in a direction neither of you expected.

tags! tons of flirting, sexual tension, violence

notes! this was so fun, reader is so cunty but that’s logan’s type (looks at wade)

it’s never just in and out. almost every client you’ve had since leaving the red room has made the same empty promise, “it’ll be easy. just in and out.” a few of your more eccentric clientele simple that down to “it’ll be easy peasy, trust me.” and guess what? they’re all full of shit. body guards, hidden cameras, lasers, quicksand; the list goes on for miles. after all, if it was truly just in and out they wouldn’t need you.

so maybe it was your own fault. maybe you jinxed yourself, because you really did think you got lucky this time. but c’mon, you should’ve known better.

“you’ve got to be joking.”

you recognized him immediately. from the top of his feline like quips of hair, to the bottom of his boots. but the biggest calling card is the x branded in the center of an all black suit that you assumed was leather. if someone walked in, they would assume you both came together.

“the x-men sent their guard dog? no offense but aren’t petty heists a little below your pay grade?”

you slide the vials that you were sent in here for into one of the pockets on your belt. you knew there was bound to be a scuffle, and the last thing you wanted was to walk out of here with damaged goods.

logan tilts his head at you, eyeing you up and down just as you had done to him a few seconds ago. he thinks about mentioning how funny it is that you think he gets paid. but he doesn’t really want to make the time for small talk. instead he takes only three of his long strides before he’s directly in front of you, staring down at you.

“listen. i really don’t wanna hurt you. and i’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding, blah fucking blah. but can you just hand that over so i can get outta here?” gruff voice rumbling out of his chest.

you can’t help but scoff at his condescending tone. you’re used to it sure, as a woman in the mercenary industry, you get talked down to constantly. it’s a good thing you pride yourself on proving people wrong. plus you weren’t about to let a guy with a dorky x-men belt buckle shit talk you.

you clench a gloved fist, a right hook taking him by surprise. his entire form stumbles a bit, it’s obvious his guard was down. you see your opening, bracing your hands on the counter space behind you. you bring both of your legs up, putting all of your weight behind a kick to his torso.

all logan can do is crash to the ground, stunned as he tried to process what the fuck that was.

you saunter over and press your boot into his crotch, staring down at him with an “are you sure you wanna do this?” look on your face.

unfortunately it’s his job to do this, and for a lack of better judgement, logan thinks he wants to do this with you. bad. he brings a hand to his jaw, cringing as it popped back into place with a loud click.

“who–who the fuck sent you?” it’s a question that came from confusion, but there’s also a brewing curiosity now. he finds himself craving to know who this woman was standing over him.

a laugh that’s dripped in sarcasm tumbles from your lips, “oh i’m sorry honey, don’t you know a true lady doesn’t kiss and tell?”

you press your heel in a little more, for your own enjoyment as a groan emits from the wolverine. then you spin around, deciding it was time for you to go. you charge extra for after parties, and you already have what you came for.

“well this play date has been fun, but i need to get going now. give the professor my love, i’m sure that’s how you found me.”

you’re walking away, but a dark part of you wants him to follow. life gets a little boring, and it’s been a while since you’ve had a good challenge. as if on cue, two strong arms come underneath your shoulders. forcing your arms back in a way that makes you hiss, but you smile nonetheless. now we’re talking.

“who do you work for then?” lips against your ear, deep voice causing a shiver that starts in your head and trails down your spine. you try to ignore it, instead laughing at his ridiculous question. “whoever wants to pay my rent.” your answer is honest, you didn’t even know the names of your clientele most of the time.

you ram the back of your head into his, causing his hold on you to unravel.

you turn to face the wolverine, watching as his trademark metal claws finally make an appearance. now it’s a party!

“what do the x-men want with this shit anyway?” you ask, pulling two knives from your belt, flipping them around in your hands. okay maybe you just wanted to show off a little.

the two of you start clashing blades, and logan is starting to get a little frustrated. partly at how calm you were as you held you own, and also at how for some reason, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“it’s not what we want, it’s who we don’t want to have it. you’re a damn good example—FUCK.” he lost track of your movements, and now there’s two knives deep in both sides of his waist. who the fuck were you?

your hands are resting on the handles still, and he uses his momentum to push the both of you into a nearby wall, pressing your back against it. his metal claws digging into the wall on either side of your head and caging you in.

this was a new closeness you haven’t experienced fighting before. hell, you usually don’t let fights last this long.

“oh don’t be so mean, you don’t even know my name.” you say, laying your voice on sweet and thick. his body is a solid wall that takes up the whole room, you have to crane your neck upwards to get any space, and it puts you even closer.

logan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, staring down at you. this close he can count every mark and detail on your face. watch your chest go up and down due to your heavy breathing. this was trouble.

“what makes you think i give a shit, huh kid?” his words spit like venom, and you eat them up. you twist the knives in your hands, the sound of flesh and bone reverberating from his body. he groans, a deep sound that rattles his throat. you’re ashamed at what it does to you. but you crave the feeling all the same.

you bring your head off of the wall, your noses are basically touching now. chests together, hearts pounding against one another. it’s all intoxicating.

“i think you got a little crush on me, wolverine.” your voice is cocky and steady. and if he sees through the front you’re putting on he doesn’t show it.

logan gulps, his throat feels dry. his adam’s apple bobs up and down, and you lick your lips at the sight. he yanks one hand out of the wall and retracts his claws. you gasp in surprise when his rough hand drags over your waist, finding home on your hip.

“what makes ya think that?” trouble. trouble. trouble.

your lips are almost brushing against one another, his facial hair tickling your cheeks. “well. i foolishly tried to kill you…” you grip the handles and yank the knives out of his sides, red pooling onto the porcelain floor. the sensation causes him to lose his breath for a second. so much for not being messy. “and you haven’t even tried to draw blood.”

logan chuckles as if he’s been caught, and he yanks his other hand out of the wall, sheathing his claws. his lips brush against yours again momentarily, and you think you’ll finally get some relief from the suffocating tension. but then he moves his head to whisper into your ear, “i don’t have to play dirty to get what i want, sweetheart.” his voice drops another octave, if that was even possible.

suddenly his body pulls away from yours entirely, and the bubble around the two of you is popped. you look at him confused, your lips involuntarily forming a pout. he holds his hand in front of your face, smirking as your eyes finally spot the reason for his new found smugness. there, barely visible due to the size of his hand, was the fucking vial.

easy fucking peasy my ass.

you gasp as if you’ve been betrayed, because truly you have. he shows you a smile then, all teeth and you want to knock them all loose and take him home after. he’s so infuriating. you check the time on your watch, sighing as you realize you have no more playtime. you’re supposed to meet your client in 10 minutes.

“well, this has been fun.” you sigh and pat logan’s shoulder, and you swear you see a glint of what looks like disappointment flicker through his dark eyes. you turn around and walk away, lifting your hands up to fix your hair in the process.

logan wants to follow you, but he resists. instead he clears his throat and asks what he’s wanted to know all night, “aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” he calls after you, unsure of what the fuck just happened, and why he didn’t want it to end.

you smile to yourself, turning around momentarily to throw your reply back at him, “maybe i’ll tell you the next time i see you, logan.” you send a wink his way, and leave him standing there stunned.

you walk out of the building with dollar signs in your eyes, practically skipping your way to the meetup.

although you liked playing ring-a-round the rosie with logan, you’d never risk a job over it. you unzip your jacket, pulling a small vial from the inner pocket. after all, you only needed one.

you call this one a draw. you’re looking forward to a rematch.

#deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #x reader #marvel fic #wolverine #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #x men #x men x reader #mcu x reader #mcu #james howlett #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader

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tabloidtoc · 4 years

Text

Star, March 1

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Humiliated Jennifer Lopez used for money and fame by Alex Rodriguez

Page 1: Princess Eugenie and her husband Jack Brooksbank, who is a UK ambassador for George Clooney and Rande Gerber's tequila brand, welcomed a son on February 9 at London's Portland Hospital

Page 2: Contents, Robin Thicke in front of a piano at Gold Diggers studio in L.A.

Page 3: Star Shots -- Serena Williams honored late Olympic gold medalist Florence Griffith Joyner by rocking a one-legged Nike catsuit at the first day of the Australian open, Chrissy Metz brought some vibrancy to the virtual SCAD aTVFest where she discussed This Is Us and was honored with the Vanguard Award, Olivia Culpo checked out the view before heading to the Shaq Bowl in Tampa

Page 4: Inside Britney Spears' nightmare -- a shocking new documentary exposes how Britney was used and abused by people she trusted -- Britney's unable to communicate with fans directly without permission -- fans flooded Justin Timberlake's Instagram to demand an apology for what one called profiting from trashing a woman

Page 5: Facing a lawsuit from her estranged older sister has rattled Mariah Carey -- Alison Carey alleged to a NYC court that Mariah had intentionally inflicted emotional distress by writing about her in the 2020 tell-all The Meaning of Mariah Carey and Alison is seeking $1.25 million after the singer accused her of, among other things, throwing boiling hot tea on her and trying to sell a 12-year-old Mariah to a pimp -- now Mariah has become wary of even those in her inner circle and is making longtime employees re-interview for their jobs -- Mariah's always been on the paranoid side but everyone is a suspect now and she's grilling everyone from bodyguards to chefs to stylists and household staff who have been with her for years and if anyone pushes back they are shown the door -- her great fear is that people could cross over and spill secrets to the enemy because she's been caught off guard before by those she trusted

* Catching ZZZs has become a real problem for Kelly Clarkson -- between her gig as a daytime host, trying to sell homes in Nashville and Encino, and battling her ex Brandon Blackstock over custody of their two kids, she is beyond stressed and she can't sleep and nothing works; the most shut-eye she gets is two to three hours -- it's gotten so bad she's even tried hypnotherapy but her workaholic brain outwits it -- meanwhile her legal woes including a lawsuit with her husband and ex father-in-law's talent agency are getting nastier and Brandon has told her in no uncertain terms that he's not going to stop until he gets what he wants which is a ton of money and time with the kids

* She was the most loathed mother in America and now Casey Anthony wants her say -- 10 years after she was acquitted of murdering her two-year-old daughter Caylee, Casey is making a documentary about the trial and she thinks she can clear her name -- she's not looking for sympathy but she believes she's a victim too and was unfairly convicted in the public eye -- she is planning on dropping bombshells in the doc including her take on the theory that the toddler accidentally drowned in the family pool as well as shocking secrets about her own abusive upbringing but don't expect much remorse

Page 6: Just over a year after her father Kobe Bryant and sister Gianna Bryant perished in a tragic helicopter crash, Natalia Bryant who is Kobe's oldest daughter, has signed a modeling contract with IMG Models who also represent Bella Hadid and Gigi Hadid and the just signed Inauguration standout poet Amanda Gorman

* Rumer Willis was heartbroken when her months-long relationship with Armie Hammer fizzled out in December but after harrowing reports of Armie's alleged abuse of women including asking to barbecue their ribs and carry their severed toes in his pocket, Rumer is telling friends she feels lucky -- she wanted to defend him when the cannibalism stories first came out because she thought they were outrageous and now she feels badly for all of the victims and she's really grateful she didn't get caught up in the Armie nightmare

* Star Spots the Stars -- Eva Longoria, Mandy Moore, Demi Lovato, Dan Levy, Dorinda Medley

Page 8: Star Shots -- Meg Ryan wore some wide-legged trousers and a cute cap on a nature walk in Santa Barbara, Gavin Rossdale wore pink socks while playing tennis in L.A., Ciara holding six-month-old son Win during a family getaway to Hawaii

Page 9: Delilah Belle Hamlin and Love Island's Eyal Booker removed their masks for a quick street smooch during a coffee date in L.A., Sofia Richie enjoyed some PDA with shipping heir Gil Ofer in Miami

Page 12: Kate Upton doing yoga, Tia Mowry-Hardrict and her husband Cory Hardrict shared dishwashing duty after cooking at home, Robin Roberts tasted a treat on Good Morning America in New York City

Page 13: Pregnant Brittany Cartwright brought her dog along to retrieve the mail in L.A., Victoria Justice showed off her toned tummy post-workout in L.A.

Page 14: Goldie Hawn turned quality time with granddaughter Rani into a workout toting her in a backpack, Madonna and Guy Ritchie's son Rocco Ritchie waded in during a vacation in Tulum in Mexico, Lucy Hale on a stroll with her dog Elvis in L.A.

Page 16: Chris Noth put in a day's work on The Equalizer in Paterson in New Jersey, Flavor Flav and Flo Rida at The Super Glow Super Bowl kick-off party in Tampa, Bradley Cooper kept daughter Lea close as the two ran errands in NYC

Page 17: More than a week after celebrating 18 months of sobriety Lily Allen enjoyed a snack on-the-go in London, Jessica Alba lifted her son Hayes while riding scooters with husband Cash Warren in Beverly Hills

Page 18: Normal or Not? Cody Simpson got physical with new girlfriend Marloes Stevens during a romantic getaway in St. Barts -- normal, Selling Sunset's Christine Quinn picking up a portrait of herself in L.A. -- normal, Jack Black raised Thor's hammer in a parody posted on Instagram prompting Chris Hemsworth to call it the greatest thing he's ever seen -- not normal

Page 19: The Crown's Emma Corrin looked intrigued by a leafy object she stumbled upon during a stroll in London -- not normal, Sarah Jessica Parker kicked back in heels during a break from assisting shoppers at her flagship store in NYC -- not normal

Page 20: Fashion -- stars look sweet in tiered dresses -- Maude Apatow, Logan Browning, Margot Robbie

Page 21: Julianne Moore, Camila Morrone, Saoirse Ronan

Page 24: After months of quietly dating, Aaron Rodgers and Shailene Woodley are ready to marry and they announced it in the most low-key way possible and the couple are madly in love and feel unequivocally that this is the real deal -- Aaron and Shailene were friends long before sparks flew in August last year and having to endure a long-distance romance during football season actually made their bond stronger -- Aaron and Shailene are already planning to start a family and they're at that stage when they feel ready to be parents and are keen to have a baby

Page 25: Olivia Wilde and Harry Styles have found another dynamic duo to spend their downtime with which is Florence Pugh and Zach Braff -- the foursome hit it off on the set of Don't Worry, Darling which Olivia is directing and in which Florence and Harry star -- they have the best time together and know how to forget the world outside -- as it turns out bearing witness to Florence and Zach's happy relationship despite their 20-year age difference played a part in Olivia taking a chance on dating Harry who is nine years her junior following her split from Jason Sudeikis and seeing them together inspired Olivia to go for it with Harry and she's so glad she did

* While some couples are overwhelmed being with their kids 24/7 in lockdown, Prince William and Duchess Kate have enjoyed the extended family time with Prince George, Princess Charlotte and Prince Louis -- having the kids at home during the pandemic has given Kate baby fever and she loves being around them and wants to have one more and she and William are trying for another, with Kate saying she's hoping for a girl -- as for raising four young kids, the pair are up to the challenge because Kate's a pro at multitasking and William is a devoted dad and they'll split parenting duties

* Matt Damon is hoping a change of scenery will save his rocky 17-year relationship with wife Luciana Barroso as the couple and their three girls have set up house in a lavish $7000-a-night rental in Australia's tony Byron Bay while the actor films Thor: Love and Thunder -- the beachy new surroundings are just what the couple needs after hitting a rough patch and Matt is working overtime to make sure Luciana enjoys herself Down Under by arranging date nights and buying gifts for her to open every day and even when he's working he's got time set aside for just them and the gestures seem to be working and it's the shot in the arm they both needed

Page 26: Cover Story -- Jennifer Lopez humiliated and used -- shocking cheating allegations rock J.Lo's world as fiance Alex Rodriguez's mistress Madison LeCroy tells all -- while Jennifer is putting on a brave face the affair rumors are devastating to her whether she admits it or not -- after revealing she and Alex exchanged DMs Madison said she doesn't want anything bad for his family or for hers -- Alex says it was innocent and that nothing happened but Jennifer is not fully buying it -- Jennifer and Alex's relationship is personal but it's also business; together, their fortunes have doubled

Page 30: Chip and Joanna Gaines -- inside our farmhouse reno -- Chip and Jo are expanding and renovating their Waco home and it may be their toughest job yet

Page 32: Celeb Parenting Fails -- these celebrity moms and dads share their hilarious hapless moments -- Anne Hathaway, Brad Pitt

Page 33: Willie Geist, Mila Kunis, Pink

Page 48: Parting Shot -- Despite it being her first concert in over a year, Miley Cyrus was ready to rock while headlining the TikTok Tailgate Super Bowl pre-show event in Tampa -- the show treated 7500 Florida-based healthcare workers to a set that included guest appearances by Joan Jett and Billy Idol, who both collaborated on Miley's latest album

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

Where the Crossroads Meet Ch 3

Summary: As the dust settles, heroes and villains meeting don’t necessarily go as planned. Some first meetings are peaceful, others catch the town on fire.

<= FIRST

<= PREVIOUS

Chapter 3: Reformation

Silver never much liked fighting magic, too many ways for stuff to go wrong. So fighting a magician with a penchant for starting fires wasn’t how he wanted today to go.

Wade was battling the fires, but magical fire tended to act like an oil spill, so Wade was trying to smother the fires rather than blast them out of existence.

“Can’t you do something?” Wade spat.

“Only if I can hit the bastard!” Mark shouted back angrily.

“I am no such thing, you blasted cur!” The mage spat, his red and white outfit with a sparkling red cloak billowed out behind him despite their being no wind. His red and white opera mask was covered in gold glitter that caught the sun. He had an immaculate sword in his hands. “En Garde!”

Silver sighed, bringing his fists up, “Yeah, buddy, why not?”

He smiled, “A worthy adversary! At last!”

“Do you have one volume for everything?” Silver quipped.

“He does,” another unfamiliar voice, the city seemed to be full of them.

“Back off, Lo, this fight is mine,” the regal mage said.

Wade was standing at Silver’s back. “Hey, pal, we don’t need to fight.”

“Correct,” the unfamiliar voice agreed. “None of us should be fighting at all, The Prince is merely desperate for a fight after our failure at the bank.”

“Hey,” “the Prince” complained. “No I’m not.”

“Your friend, Iblis, sent us,” Logic continued.

Silver chanced a look at the fully masked person with a visor in front of his eyes. He was in a mostly dark blue outfit.

“Princey, I insist you stop your games and help the Captain and I look for the Duke, I am certain he is one of the causes for destruction, you being one of the others,” he was looking around. “I am also about to ask a question that I want the correct answer to: who started these fires?”

“Uhhhhh,” Princey drew out, looking nervous even past his mask, pointing to Silver. “Him?”

“No I didn’t!” Silver shouted back.

“Obviously,” he said, you could practically hear the eye roll in his voice. “I fail to see how two people with super athletics, and hydrokinesis can start fires at will.”

“Well, that’s judgmental of you, and you’re better than that,” Princey told him.

“Just do us all a favor and put the fires out,” he dismissed curtly. “We’re about to have enough problems.”

“How so?” Silver asked, walking. As a man who looked like he’d stepped out of an old black-and-white vaudeville cartoon and another person in a light blue outfit and puppy dog mask were helping to carrying an unconscious hero in a mask.

“Because me and other of our soon-to-be compatriots have upset two very angry and unstable super powered humanoids, and one of them wants me dead,” he explained. “In other important information, you can call me Logic. The personification of ludicrous fairy tales over there is Prince Charming, and our companion over there is Captain Morality.”

“Which one’s which?” Wade asked, which Mark was secretly happy about because he’d been thinking the same thing but now he didn’t have to take the fall for asking it.

“Neither of these are your compatriots, are they?” Logic turned to J.J. He shook his head and Logic groaned. “Well, our chances of meeting a violent demise have raised.”

“Why?” Silver asked.

“Lo upset some demons,” Patton smiled.

“I hardly believe there is a supernatural element at play with any of this,” Logan proposed.

“That’s absolutely impossible,” Roman reminded, chuckling a bit.

“Have you met Anx?” Patton agreed.

“I don’t believe in ghosts or wacky stuff like that, and even I have to admit my city is controlled by a fucking demon,” Mark commented.

“We’ll table this for later,” Logic ordered.

Roman walking up to the unconscious man. “Is he safe to hold up?”

The mute hero nodded and Roman picked him up in his arms. “What happened?”

He made a couple signs and Logan sighed, “He says it was demon possession.

“Silver!” Wilford called out and Silver screamed.

“No!” Silver flew over and slammed into Wilford, knocking him into the nearest wall and just pinning him there. “I’ve had enough bullshit today, and I don’t want more!”

Wil had a huge smile on his face. “I’m so glad I found you, I can’t find Abe or the police and something happened to the city.”

“What did you do? You insane asshat!” Silver knew that whatever happened, Wil was somehow involved.

“I did nothing,” Wilford balked, sounding insulted. “It was that chatterbox that did it.”

“Quit deflecting, you maniac, what did you do?” Silver demanded. He could hear another conversation going on behind him.

“What the hell happened, Jay?” A voice behind him asked.

Silver felt someone tapping on his shoulder. The mono-colored hero looked back to see the mustached silent hero holding up a chalkboard.

“Leave Wil, Dark is coming and we need to be gone,” his whiteboard ordered.

“Oooh,” Wil said in relief to J.J, suddenly appearing out of Silver’s grip to stand next to the mute hero. “And what a dapper gent too.”

J.J just stared at him.

Wilford snapped his fingers in disappointment, “Ahh, shame, maybe some other time then.”

“Hold up a second,” Silver interrupted, “if Dark’s coming, I’m not going anywhere.”

A series of explosions rocked the city a couple blocks down and Silver turned to the source.

“Oooooh~” Wilford cheered, “that looks like a big enough problem. Darky can’t possible ignored that.”

“Can you slow yer roll there fer five seconds, pal,” Jackie told him. “We’ll find him, but there are people dying.”

Wil made a scoffing laugh, “Oh, that’s a good one, this hasn’t been going long enough for games like that.”

“This isn’t a game!” The Irish hero shouted.

“Welcome to Egoton,” Silver greeted dryly to Jackieboy Man. “He’s literally insane.”

The explosions were getting closer.

“It’s too late already,” Logan groaned as a shrill ringing began to flood the area as color began to drain from the area.

A violent tear in reality opened up, a portal as dark as a black hole ripped and Dark stepped out. He looked around and stopped when he saw Wilford.

“There you are!” Dark spat in rage. “What did you do?”

Wilford was too happy to be angry and ran over to hug Dark. “Darky, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“No! No!” Dark shouted, using his aura to push Wil back and pin him in place. “You are going back to the Manor and staying there until I fix this.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Wil pouted.

“Then why is my city stapled to three other ones?” Dark shouted, gesturing to the city around him with one hand.

“I don’t know, the box didn’t tell me,” Wil snapped back.

Dark held up his hands, his aura was still around Wil to keep him in place, “I’m not dealing with this right now, you are going home and that is the end of that.”

Another explosion rag out, closer than the last.

“See?” Wil defended. “I’m not the one blowing up the town.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Dark groaned.

“Give it up, Dark, you’re in on this,” Silver spat.

Dark’s aura snapped out and stabbed Silver, who was too close to get away in time. “I didn’t ask you. I am dealing with enough today and I don’t need your childish antics.”

Dark glared at J.J, “And you, we will be having words after I deal with you.”

J.J signed something that made Wil giggle a bit. Dark glared at him. The sentence had actually been, “Over your dead body”. But due to a lack of anyone translating, Dark assumed it was more vulgar than it actually was.

“So am I in trouble?” Wil asked

Dark glared at him, “What do you think?”

“No?” Wil smiled as he wasn’t about to be shaken like a ragdoll.

“Try again,” Dark warned, tapping his arm angrily.

“Alright, I understand you’re angry but I found you something that might make you feel better,” Wilford bargained. “If you’ll give me one moment, I can show you.”

“No, I’ve had enough of your games,” Dark spat.

Silver, who had been too busy fighting the two to really stop to think about the villains’ personal lives, realized, “Wait are you two dating?”

J.J and Logan just stared at Silver.

“Isn’t he one of your rogues?” Logan asked.

“Yeah really,” Roman laughed, “these two are obviously as gay as the month of June.”

“As much as I like me some men, I’m actually pan—”

Dark shot out some of his aura towards Roman, J.J frantically pulling out his watch but Jackie was already pulling him to safety.

“Will no one leave me alone for five seconds? If I wanted my personal affairs invaded, I would have continued to keep talking to that insufferable power switch.” Dark snarled.

“Well if I knew how to solve that, I would,” Wil said.

“Wil, you are lucky you can’t die, or I would have painted the wall with your entrails YEARS ago!” Dark roared.

“I was just answering your question,” Wil pouted.

Dark’s eye twitched, but before he could say something Anti appeared next to Dark.

“Hey ‘coon eyes,” Anti smiled, ignoring Dark stabbing him through the heart with his aura. The Entity promptly let go of Wil to glare at Anti. “Yeh find Electro Nerd yet?”

Dark just looked a mix of tired and furious.

Silver looked around to notice that Logic was gone, wherever he was, J.J shook his head at Silver, tapping his finger to his mouth. The black and white colored hero nodded, watching Dark whose aura was churning angrily.

Anti stopped when the glitch demon saw Wilford, looking between him and Dark. He slowly started smiling.

“What?” Dark growled at Anti.

The standoff was momentarily distracted when Marvin was forcing Remus into the ground next to Jackie with inhuman speed and force. Fortunately neither of them were exactly human anymore so they still had usable bones. Both of them were cursing at each other, their clothing singed and burned.

Then Remus noticed Wil, winking and saying, “Hey hot stuff, having fun?”

“Are you kidding me?” Dark muttered angrily.

“Well, I’m a bit busy at the moment but maybe some other time,” Wil smiled encouragingly.

Dark rolled his eyes, opening up a portal and pushing Wil through it, closing it up as quickly as he could, “Stay in there until I get back.”

“Yeh know, yer supposed ta take yer boyfriend outta the closet,” Anti commented with a huge smile.

“You can’t just hijoke me like that,” Remus shouted at him, a giant snake quickly snapping and forcefully dragged Remus towards him, Virgil hiding behind Janus, the Deceitful Side was controlling a massive two headed albino python.

“There you are,” Janus spat. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Oh, Dee, you’ve been missing all the fun,” Remus smiled as the Virgil was starting to tie Remus quickly to the back of the large serpent with yards and yards of spider silk to make sure he couldn’t run off and cause more trouble.

“Come on rat boy, stop squirming,” Virgil spat.

“Only if you make me,” the Duke raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ugh,” Virgil groaned and slapped a mass of spider silk over his mouth. “Shut up for five seconds, will you.”

Remus looked elated, mumbling something that Virgil couldn’t understand but still looked upset. Deceit quickly taking them away, throwing up barriers so that he could put as much distance between him and Marvin as possible.

Dark took the distraction as an opportunity to slip away, going back to his warehouses to check on them, Anti glaring after him before counting the amount of heroes and dissolving into green and black pixels.

Jackie had to calm Marvin down from chasing after the three Dark Sides with single-minded anger.

NEXT =>

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Text

Beat the Heat

A/N: First of the Logan smooches and what do you know, its a d o o z y. (who’s surprised? anyone? bueller?) This goes along with the Oblivion/Simplify timeline. Countin’ down the kisses and this one comes in at 14. 6 down, 13 to go!

Word Count: 1,604

Warning: Z E S T.

Prompt from an anon, who i hope enjoys where this one went:

It was unseasonably hot for the fifth day in a row. Three months in to life on the outskirts of the tiny hamlet of Lake Louise had made you accustomed to the cooler weather even in the summer. But when temperatures dared to soar to to 30 degrees Celsius even at night, you had had enough. There was no AC in the cabin as it would hardly ever see any use, and even with every single window thrown wide open, the air was stagnant and thick, not even a cross breeze to cool things down. It had gotten to the point where sleeping outside was the only option; not that you or Logan minded that at all, climbing onto the over-sized patio lounges wearing as little as possible. What you did mind, was being unable to sleep next to him, legs tangled together and arms draped over his chest, due to the heat. While you normally loved sleeping under blankets even in the summer, the current heat wave was making that impossible and even sharing body heat was too much. Logan moved the two cushioned outdoor lounges as close together as possible, but the armrests acted as a divider between you as you slept...or tried to sleep.

You opened your eyes after several hours of feverish tossing, the soothing sounds of the lake lapping at the smooth gray stones and Logan’s quiet, rhythmic, open mouthed snores failing to pull you under the cover of slumber like they normally would. Turning on your side, you felt the frustration melt away. The furrows in your sweat slicked forehead relaxed as your eyes fell upon the man that you loved with your entire being. He’d stripped down to just his boxer briefs, lying propped on his side with his long limbs spread out as much as possible. One arm was extended toward you, hanging from the cushion, fingers curved but not closed. He’d fallen asleep with your hand in his, and even after you’d pulled yours back to change positions, his lay waiting for its return. A smile replaced your tired frown as a sigh fell from your lips. Love you, Logan.

As though you needed more warmth, you felt your whole body flush involuntarily like it always did when you looked at him, love and desire combining in your bloodstream to set you on fire. You thought about waking him, but you knew that he’d been having just as difficult a time falling asleep in what you’d come to think of as “sweltering” heat as you had and decided against it. But if he wakes up on his own… well that’s on him. Your smile grew wickedly as a wild thought crossed your mind, brought on by the heat and the way that you wanted him.

You quietly sat up and swung your legs over the side of the lounge, bare feet making contact with the cool stone slab of the patio. You hummed to yourself in satisfaction and considered laying your whole body on the slate ground, but you peeled your shirt off, sticking to your original plan like the fabric stuck to your skin. Dropping it, you slid your underwear off next, leaving both articles of clothing on the chaise where Logan would clearly see them as soon as those deep brown eyes opened. You headed down the few wooden steps to the lake-shore, carefully picking your way through the rocks until you reached the spot where the slope of the lake’s floor dipped dramatically. With a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the shock that always came from plunging into the icy water before jumping in with a loud, purposeful splash. The water was frigid like it always was in the glacial lake, but where you normally had to convince yourself not to run back to the shore and the warmth of a waiting shower, you relished the quick cool down, staying beneath the surface for a full ten count before resurfacing.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

The sound of a sudden splash startled Logan from the fitful sleep he’d been wrestling with. What the… He sat up groggily, blinking his eyes a few times while they adjusted to the low, silvery light of the moon. Running a hand through his hair to push it from his face, he immediately looked over in the direction of where you’d been lying, a moment of worry crossing his mind at your absence. But it was quickly dispelled when he saw your discarded clothing, a groan rumbling in the back of his throat at the thought of your naked body in the starlight. He stood quickly, yanking his own clothing off and throwing it on top of yours as he followed the phantom footsteps that you left on your way down to the lake.

He’d hated the fact that it had been too hot to hold your body close, to feel your skin at home against his, to indulge in you the way that he wanted and needed to, and the pile of clothing along with the sound of the splash finally clicked as he realized where you were. Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? His strides widened as he descended the last step, getting down to the shore and finally seeing you as you emerged from the shimmering water. Hair slicked down your neck and back, you slowly turned in the moonlight, the water obscuring your form from the chest down. He could barely see the curve of your breasts above the rippling waves that your splash had created. But I know...I know what’s under that water and… he tripped over his thoughts as he hurried to the water’s edge, and you smiled at him knowing what was on his mind.

“Nice and cool in here, Logan,” you called, more innocently that you should be allowed to sound. You smirked, raising yourself out of the water enough so that he could see your hardened nipples and the underside of your breasts. One hand came up to slowly move your hair over your shoulder, wringing it out so that water ran in rivulets down your exposed chest. You flipped your hair back behind you, showing off your throat. Oh, so that’s how she wants to play. “You should jump in if you’re hot.”

“Burnin’ up, darlin’,” he answered, thoughts racing to the forefront of his mind about how not even the icy water could do anything about how hard he was.

You let the hand you’d used to squeeze out your hair fall softly to your shoulder before running it down your slick, wet skin, eyes on him as your palm followed your own curves before disappearing into the lake so you could continue to touch yourself. Desire spread through him like a fever, stoking the flames that danced on his skin and in his blood from the temperature and the way that he wanted you.

You laughed as he waded in, taking a few long strokes until he was right next to you, arms cutting through the water with more intent than he ever used in his morning laps. Reaching for you beneath the cool, dark surface, his fingers found yours between your legs, right where he thought they’d be. “How am I supposed to cool off when you’re doin’ that, huh?” He gripped your hand, stopping your touch, replacing your fingers with his own and using the other hand to grip your hip. Your gasp was the most satisfying thing he’d heard in days, your lips falling open, your eyes rolling back. “So fuckin perfect,” he growled, nose pressed to the cool skin of your cheek before taking your bottom lip between his teeth. You hissed as he did. “You knew you were gonna wake me up with that splash, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you sighed as he released your lip, plump now from his bite. “Are you mad at me?” You blinked up at him and he could tell that you were trying your hardest not to smile, to feign worry that he’d be upset with you.

“Only if you stop me,” he tilted your head to the side with his nose and chin, fingers still working their magic under the water as his tongue tasted the fresh droplets that clung to your neck.

You let out the most wanton moan he’d ever heard as you promised that you’d never stop him. Logan found himself wondering once again how he’d managed to get so lucky; how he’d found you, how he’d kept you, how he’d gotten you all to himself, and as always those thoughts filled him with a need to kiss you, to cover your lips with his and press your body against his own and swallow your sighs. Without another second’s hesitation, he did just that, devouring you with all the want he’d ever felt and then some.

His tongue pushed through your lips, sliding along your teeth as you gasped again at the sensation of two fingers entering you. His name slipped from your lungs down his throat as he deepened the kiss and deepened his touch, neither of you breathing, drowning in that kiss. The moon reflected off the water surrounding you both in silver circles as his free hand gripped the flesh of your ass before sliding up to the small of your back. He pressed his hips into your yours as he continued the kiss. You’d both be blue lipped and shivering soon, and he was already thinking about ways to warm you back up, all thoughts of the heat wave completely gone from both of your minds.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @belladonnarey @ymariejp @obscurilicious @ms-delos @songtoyou @gollyderek @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime

#smooches #smooch drabbles #kiss prompts #kiss requests #logan delos #logan delos x you #logan delos x reader #oblivion #simplify #beat the heat #smutty #mc #smutterson #zesty #lemons #a kiss in the moonlight #lust

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babbushka · 6 years

Text

No Time Like the Present

I rewatched Logan Lucky for the 147395th time, so i felt inclined to write a little Clyde Logan x Reader fic. It’s soft, it’s sweet -- i hope y’all enjoy

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: none :)

I love you so much, it hurts me

Darlin, that's why I'm so blue

I'm so afraid to go to bed at night

Afraid of losing you…

You sang along to the crackling radio, swaying your hips slowly back and forth, rearranging some flowers in the sunlight that streamed through the soft linen curtains. The sun caught some speckles that were floating around, and you sighed, reaching for the duster.

“Oh Patsy.” You sighed to yourself, her lyrics bouncing in your mind as you hummed along, preoccupied with one thing. “What am I gonna do?”

You didn’t know when it had started, not really, when your heart had started growin’ full of love for him. Probably back in high school, if you were honest with yourself, but that was such a long time ago that really it felt like you were born with it, with this crush.

He was your favorite customer, Clyde. Not many folk round those parts had as deep of a love for reading as Clyde did, a respect for it. When he came in, he went through every spine on the shelves, his brow knitted in concentration. Unlike so many others, he purchased the book of his fancy even after taking a quiet seat in the reading nook and getting through a big portion of it. Once, he even finished the story in his lil corner of the nook, and he still bought the book.

Clyde was always respectful of you and your shop, carefully wading through the aisles and shelves that might have been too narrow for him to get through comfortably – after all it was a small store. He always paid with a couple bucks too much, but refused to take back any change. He gave you a smile that you were practically fixed on, and every now and again he would crack a joke in that dry deep voice of his that had you melting.

You were so wrapped up in the thought of him, that you nearly missed him walking through the threshold into your store.

“Good afternoon, Clyde.” You smiled warmly at him. He blushed and gave you a smile in return, and for the first time in your quiet acquaintance with him, he approached the checkout counter instead of going straight for the books.

Every time you got to look at him, you were always blown away. He was tall and wide, and looked so sturdy you were pretty sure if you ran at him, you would bounce back. You had never seen him in any sort of formal wear, always in a pair of dark jeans and a short-sleeved button down (carefully tucked in, of course), and today was no different. He did wear a baseball cap though, to keep the sun out of his eyes. You loved the way his ears stuck out.

“Good afternoon, (Y/N).” Clyde took his baseball cap off, and ran his good hand through his locks to fluff them back up. You had to resist the urge to card your fingers through his hair yourself. “You look beautiful today.” He blushed, immediately tripping over his words, “Not – not that you don’t look beautiful other days! – just – well today especially so.”

“Thank you. You look handsome yourself, as always.” You blushed bright red, caught very much off-guard by his compliment. You couldn’t help but grin seeing that smile of his once more, seeing the way he too flushed red.

You two fidgeted for a moment or two, before Clyde cleared his throat and looked at you with hopeful eyes.

“I was just wonderin’…” He started, trailing off and looking nervous again.

Your breath caught – was he going to ask you out? Valentine’s Day had passed a couple of days ago, but there was nothing wrong with a belated celebration you thought. Why, you were sure there was still chocolate and candy at the grocery stores, even discounted!

“Yes?” You prompted, when Clyde didn’t wind up finishing his question.

His eyes snapped to you, all nervous again. He looked like he was going to say something, but then he sighed very slightly and his shoulders slumped.

“Would you mind helpin’ me find a book?” He asked, rubbing his finger idly against the wood of the counter. “There’s one in particular I’ve been lookin’ for, I was hopin’ you might have a copy.”

You tried not to let your spirits crash too visibly. Damn Patsy Cline and her love songs, getting you into such a romantic mood. Of course Clyde was only here for a book, that’s why he always came, after all.

“Of course!” You forced a bright smile and walked around the counter. “What’s the title?”

“Well that’s just the thing,” Clyde sighed once more, scratching the back of his neck. “I can’t remember it.”

Despite your shattered hopes, you laughed. Looking for a book with no title is like trying to find a song with no lyrics, you thought. You said as much, and he laughed too.

“I’m pretty good with song lyrics.” He said warmly, and you just crossed your arms over your chest.

“Do you remember what color the cover was?” You asked, needing someplace to start.

“Yeah, I think it was red?” Clyde said, his voice trailing up into a question.

“Then let’s go see, hmm?” You smiled, walking over to the section of the store that had a big selection of red spines and covers.

You became very aware that the two of you were the only ones in the store. It wasn’t unusual, three o’clock was a pretty off time for your humble shop. But the song faded out from the radio and light static replaced it as the signals tried to figure themselves out. In the quiet, you found you were nearly holding your breath around him, and feeling very pathetic for it. Why couldn’t you just get a grip? He probably had no interest in you whatsoever, you thought bitterly.

Unfortunately, you also became very aware of just how narrow some of your aisles of books were – the two of you kept bumping into one another as you sifted through covers. Arms brushed, and you blushed, feeling like a love-sick fool. It didn’t help that he practically radiated warmth; on more than one occasion you had to scooch by him and you placed a respectful hand on his back to let him know, and it always surprised you at how warm your hand came away.

He towered over you a good foot and a half, you barely comin’ up to his shoulders. You thought it must be nice to be able to reach the top shelves with no problem, and despite it all, the image made you smile.

“Do you remember what kind of book it was?” You asked, when you wanted to hear his deep rich voice again.

“’Was a love story, I think.” Clyde said softly.

“I’m a sucker for romance.” You replied, “Don’t get much of it out here in the real world, so the books are a nice way to pretend.” You admitted when you turned to find him looking at you in surprise. No doubt he had been teased before for liking romance novels, they had a stigma attached to them for whatever reason.

“You outta tell your man that you’re feeling neglected.” Clyde frowned. He frowned even deeper when you sucked in a laugh.

“I’ll tell him but I don’t think he’ll do anything about it, on account of he doesn’t exist.” You smiled sadly.

“He doesn’t exist?” Clyde repeated in that baritone voice of his.

“No sir.” You shook your head, resuming your search through the books on the shelf.

“You mean to tell me a gorgeous angel like yourself was all by her lonesome on Valentine’s Day?” Clyde asked, voice almost so quiet you couldn’t hear it.

“Every year.” You said simply before shrugging. “But it’s okay. I’ve got my flowers and my shop, and my radio. Helps keeping me from feeling too lonely.”

And you, you thought, but you didn’t dare say that out loud, didn’t want to scare him off and then you wouldn’t have him anymore.

Clyde stopped his search, and circled your wrist with his warm hand. You stopped what you were doing too, and turned to look at him. He was unfairly handsome, you thought, as the sun made its way to his eyes through the window. He looked at you – really looked, and nudged your wrist in his direction, silently asking you to step closer to him. You did so without any hesitation.

“Does it work?” Clyde asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand leaving your wrist to rest softly on your cheek.

“Not all the time.” You whispered back with a shake of your head.

Clyde brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, and you let your eyes slip closed at the feeling.

Moments later, plush lips pressed against yours, a hand cradling the back of your head.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, and you raised your arms to wind around his neck gently, parting your lips so he could kiss you more deeply. You felt Clyde’s prosthetic curl around your waist, and the touch grounded you, gave you more confidence.

You stood on your tip toes, pressed yourself closer to him, as if that were possible.

Oh how long you had dreamed of something like this! The radio crackling to life softly, the sun warming your skin, your life-long crush in your arms. Except this time, it wasn’t a dream – at least, you were ninety-nine percent sure it wasn’t.

Clyde kissed you and kissed you and then kissed you again, until you were grinning against his lips, separating just a bit to get some air.

“I’m sorry – that was too forward of me I – ” Clyde started, sounding not the least bit apologetic, and you just shook your head and giggled.

“Kiss me again?” You asked.

Clyde didn’t need to be told twice.

“Would you like to go out with me tonight? On a date? A proper date.” He asked you, an hour later.

He was helping you lock up the shop early, never having found that book after all. You thought he made the whole thing up to spend time with you, but that was something to tease him about another day.

“I would love to.” You nodded, threading your fingers with his metal ones as you walked to his car.

“I’ve been wantin’ to ask you that for a long time, (Y/N).” Clyde swallowed thickly, looking down at your hand in his. He opened the door for you, and you only let go to sit yourself down and buckle your seatbelt.

“Well, no time like the present.” You beamed up at him when he rounded the car and sat down in the driver’s seat.

In typical Clyde fashion, he just gave you that smile and a blush, and turned the car on. You rested a hand on his thigh as he drove down the road, and with your other one, fiddled with the radio, letting the sweet sounds of Patsy Cline fill the air.

While I give to you

And you give to me

True love, true love

So on and on

It will always be

True love, true love

tagging some friends! @fullofbees @spinebarrel @oh-adam @dreamboatdriver @bad–bad–man @thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @arwarz @admiralsixx

#reader insert #clyde logan x reader #clyde x reader #logan lucky #clyde logan #logan lucky fanfic #fluff #my writing #kylo ren x reader #flip zimmerman x reader

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jmeelee · 6 years

Text

The whimsical text tone of his Stark-issued phone pulls Peter kicking and screaming from a rare deep sleep, and his arm fumbles out of the warm down comforter to flop like a dead fish onto his nightstand. He reels the glowing screen toward his one cracked-open eye.

Johnny: Do you think Cap will wear his American Flag boxer-briefs to the funeral?

Peter types with one thumb. Absolutely. They’re his lucky underwear.

He tosses the phone on the sheets and rolls over, chasing sleep for a few more hours. He’s almost drifted off, wrapped up like a human burrito, when his traitorous brain finally breaks the surface. He grabs the phone again.

Wait. Who died?

*****

And that’s how Peter Parker finds himself standing in the queue of superheroes waiting to bid adieu to Deadpool, a man they all, at one point or another, claimed to despise.

Tony Stark is dressed in a seven thousand dollar slate-blue Armani jacket—likely tricked out with enough StarkTech to rival his Iron Man suit—but all the other’s are in full costume. The viewing line stretches out the doors of a funeral home that hasn’t been updated since the nineteen-eighties, and by the time Peter finally reaches the casket he wants to borrow one of Wade’s beloved katanas and carve a swath through the faux-mourners and dated decor.

The sickly-sweet scent of decomposing flowers and the squeaking of vinyl-coated chairs under heavy hero asses is giving Peter a throbbing headache.

In front of him, Wolverine leans over Deadpool’s recumbent body, muttering about the great frozen north in the sky while he stuffs a bottle of booze, a handgun, and an obscene number of knives between Deadpool’s red and black leathers and the white satin lining of the coffin. Peter steps forward, tapping Wolverine on the shoulder and almost earns an Adamantium claw through his chest.

“Sorry to cut your goodbye short, Logan, but do you think I could have a moment alone with him?”

The claws retract. “Yeah, sure kid. Of course. I wasn’t always nice to him, like you were, so I just wanted to give Wade a proper send off.”

Peter nods, even though it’s not true. He’s been plenty mean to Wade too, but at least that’s in the past. “He’ll definitely be…well equipped.”

He watches as Wolverine walks away, pulling a flask out of his yellow suit. When Peter is sure Logan and the rest of the mourners are preoccupied, he steps up to the mahogany casket.

Deadpool is dressed in his red and black suit, minus the mask, which lies next to his pockmarked face on the pillow. Peter bends down, head bowed, and murmurs against the deformed shell of Deadpool’s ear, “Now listen, I know you’re not dead.”

Wade missed his calling as a ventriloquist because Peter swears his lips never move when he whispers back, “Yeah, no shit.”

*****

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Tony’s hand against his chest stops Peter’s momentum toward the exit. “You should deliver the eulogy, Spiderman. You knew him best.”

“Yeah, no, I think… I don’t...that’s a terrible—“

“Nonsense!” Tony leads Peter back toward the casket, next to which the funeral director places a podium. “Knock em dead, er, I mean, I’m sure you’ll do a great job. You’re a natural orator.” That’s Tony’s polite way of saying Peter talks a lot of shit.

“But Mr. Stark, I’ve never given a eulogy before! I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.”

“Tell us something nice about him. Tell us why we should remember him.” Tony shoos him toward the lectern at the foot of the coffin like he’s herding a skittish animal, and takes his seat in the audience.

Peter grips the edge of the wooden stand so tightly it cracks. The funeral director gives him the stink eye. He probably read the Daily Bugle.

Oh god oh god oh god what do I say?

“Uh, good afternoon, everyone. I’m Spiderman, and I guess…” In the front row sits Captain America, nodding encouragingly at him, while Johnny Storm grins and gives Peter the finger from the back of the room. He pauses, restarts with more conviction. “I’m Deadpool’s best friend.”

A hundred spectators lock eyes on Spiderman, but Peter can’t keep help looking to Wade’s still form.

There could be a million reasons why Deadpool, immortal mercenary, has faked his death. Maybe he needs protection. Maybe he’s bored and wants to pull a prank on everyone. Whatever the reason, as Peter stands in front of his superhuman peers, he realizes the entire ordeal has taught him a valuable lesson.

The spandex Spiderman suit leaves no breathing room for fear, but as he swung here, his disbelief ebbing and flowing with each catch and release of his web, Peter found he was scared. It can’t be true. Thwip. What if it is? Thwip. No. Wade can’t die. Thwip. What if he doesn’t come back this time? Thwip. I don’t want to be without him.

“Years ago, Wade Wilson—a mercenary, an ex-soldier, a man dying from cancer—walked into a genetic research facility, and Deadpool walked out. For better or for worse—and for too long I mistakenly believed it was worse—Deadpool came to New York City. He came for me.”

Peter looks out at a room full of colorful costumes and conflicted faces. “He came for all of us; to learn, to change. There are people sitting in this room who hate Deadpool, and always will. There are people here who’ve grown to respect him, to work side-by-side with him, to trust him. I thought I’d always be the former, but I’m the latter.”

Fear’s a hell of a teacher, but Peter’s not scared anymore.

“If there’s one thing I’d want anyone to know about Deadpool, it’s this: Weapon X didn’t create a monster-” Peter smiles- “They unwittingly made a hero. And I’m kind of in love with him.”

Deadpool sits straight up in his coffin, and a dozen of Earth’s mightiest heroes scream like little kids. “You know I’ve actually died fifty-six times in your presence over the years. Where was this heartfelt profession before?”

Peter climbs into the casket and kisses Wade full on the mouth.

*****

“Nice speech, Spiderman,” Johnny says as everyone files out of the funeral home. Wade, with one arm flung over Peter’s shoulder, gives him a quick squeeze. “But I’m kind of pissed we never found out if Captain America was sporting a star-spangled ass.”

Peter shakes his head. “I can say with one hundred percent certainty, he is not.”

Johnny and Wade wear matching skeptical expressions, so Peter pulls the waist of his spandex pants away from his body. “I made a pit-stop on my way here.”

“Now that’s a patriotic dick.” Wade whistles.

Johnny laughs so hard he cries. “Why the hell did you steal Captain America’s underwear?”

Peter looks at Wade, and feels pretty damn lucky.

He may never give them back.

—————

Based on this tumblr post. For @jennoasis my spideypool buddy :-)

[also on AO3]

#spideypool #peter x wade #spiderman x deadpool #spideypool fic #peter parker #wade wilson #spiderman #deadpool #jennoasis #fluff #my fic

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

Text

Found Family, Part Two --Neena.

HELLO.

Okay, this fic covers a LOT of ground. Like, it’s not long (not by my standards, because nothing is EVER going to seem long in comparison to Gatekeeper EVER AGAIN), but it jumps through a lot of fics I’ve already written.

Thus, I have a list (not in order of how it lines up in this fic) of links to the different fics I include different side scenes for or reference: Authority Issues, “Myshka,” Rubber Meets Road, and Decisions, Decisions.

Summary: an overview of your siblingship with your coolest big sister ever, Neena.

Rating: T for mention of injuries, mention of kidnapping, allusions to abuse, allusions to rape (like you can tell what they’re talking about but it’s not graphic/it doesn’t happen to you or Neena), and mild moments of angst.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Special thank you to @leo-writer for proof-reading this to make sure I wrote Neena right since I still haven’t seen either of the Deadpool movies sdhflksdjlsfjdls.

@marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie

You didn’t grow up with siblings. You’re pretty sure your parents only had you to fulfill the societal expectation of having children and creating a family. They definitely didn’t have any kids after your mutation presented –one “abomination” had been enough for them, fuck them very much.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply, desperately lonely you were until you escaped to the Institute, until you were surrounded by people every day and could talk to them, hang out with them, laugh with them.

And Wade’s a godsend, if God exists and has a really weird sense of humor. He’s a ball of chaos and has the best sense of humor. He sticks to your side like glue most days, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

But Wade isn’t always around. And, despite his best efforts, he doesn’t manage to take care of all the things you need to learn.

Fortunately for you, you’ve got the coolest big sister to lend a hand whenever Wade’s off running a mission –or his mouth, as the case may be.

Neena “Domino” Thurman.

Neena is, without a doubt, the single coolest person you’ve ever met. She’s stylish. She walks with swagger. And, unlike Wade, she actually has her shit together.

You don’t get to see as much of her as you see of Wade; she has her own apartment and does work out side of the X-Force stuff, but she occasionally pops over to the X-Mansion to train with some of the people there or talk to Xavier.

Point stands: the two of you haven’t spent much time together. You’re usually running around with Wade anyway.

Until one morning, she pulls out the chair next to yours at the breakfast table and sits down next to you. “Do you have a bank account?”

You, unfortunately, are in the middle of horking down as many pancakes as you can in one sitting. You try to swallow the mass amount of mush in your mouth –and when it’s clear you won’t be able to do that without choking, you just shake your head.

“I didn’t think so.” She smiles and pats your arm. “I’m training with Logan today. Come find me when you’re done eating. I’ll help you get one set up.”

You blink after her as she walks away. You’re not exactly sure what just happened –or why it just happened—but you’re pretty certain that the coolest, most together person you know just offered to help you get your life in order.

Well. You’re definitely not gonna turn that down.

The two of you set up shop in the dining room when she’s done training. As fortune would have it –part of you is starting to wonder if Neena’s probability powers extend through time and space—you’d had the foresight to grab your birth certificate and social security card before running away from home. Add the laptop Wade bought for you, and you’re all set to make your own bank account; you don’t even need to leave the mansion –bonus!

Wade pops into the mix in the middle of it all. He’s resplendent in his suit, freshly back from a mission with Cable. He cocks his head to the side when he see your documents and laptop on the table. “What did I say about giving your information to Internet trolls!”

“Nothing. Ellie taught me about Internet safety, not you,” you fire back. “And I’m not!”

“I’m helping her set up a bank account,” Neena explains.

Wade goes quiet for a moment as he processes that. “Huh. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Hey, let me know when you’re done; I can give you some cash!”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Sure I do! What are siblings for? Besides, I don’t do my taxes, so this a good way to make sure that my dough gets distributed.” He ruffles your hair, then stares at his gloved hand. “I probably shouldn’t have done that. There’s so much blood on my suit.”

“Ew!” You wipe at your hair with your hands, then shove him away from you. “Go take a shower, you fucking cretin!”

“Ooh, ‘cretin!’ That’s a fancy insult! Very—” Whatever he’d been about to say next is abruptly cut off by a very tired, very pissed Cable grabbing him by the collar of his suit and yanking him back, effectively choking him.

“Shower, you walking, talking dildo,” Cable growls as he shoves Wade in the direction of the locker rooms used for clean up after training and mission.

“Ooh, is this the part where we shower together? Shit, I don’t think I have any lube on me –ow!”

Neena shakes her head as the two men disappear from view. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how Cable hasn’t killed Wade yet.”

“Who’s to say he hasn’t? It’s not like it’d stick.”

“Fair enough. Alright, click that box –that gets you a debit card. You’re gonna want that for shopping and stuff. Cash is good, and you’ll definitely want to stick with it if you have to go under for a bit, but plastic’s good for regular life stuff. Helps set up a paper trail and all that.”

You do as she instructs, then glance over at her. “Thanks for, uh, helping me with all this. I don’t think I would’ve ever considered to open my own bank account.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a smile. “I had to figure this all out on my own after I left Essex House. Even if I’m lucky, I still wish that I’d had someone to help me with this shit.” She looks over at you. “Always pay it forward. Be the person to others you wish you’d had.”

You nod, humbled.

She studies you for a moment, then nods at the laptop. “Alright. Let’s get this wrapped up for you.”

You don’t see much of Neena after that. You’re busy training –and breaking shit with Wade—and she’s busy having her life together and being super cool—

Until you run into her in a hallway at Xavier’s. “Oh! Neena! Hi!”

She grins at you. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You heft the laundry basket you’re holding. “Laundry day.”

She frowns at the small pile of clothes in the basket. “You don’t have much to your name, do you?”

“I kinda had to take whatever would fit in a backpack when I left,” you explain. “I can’t exactly fly with a suitcase.”

“Makes sense.” She cocks her head to the side. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“I mean… I need to put my clean laundry away.”

She smirks. “And after that?”

“Uh… not really, no.”

“Cool; me either.” She grins. “Let’s go shopping.”

She takes you out to a couple stores, helps you stock up on shirts and pants and pajamas and –everything you’d wear day in, day out, basically. You need just about everything.

The two of you swing by a coffee shop after to get a bite to eat.

You marvel at the stylish purple and blue exterior. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Lucky find.”

You squint at her. “Do you ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

She grins. “Nope.”

The two of you –and the hundred million bags from your excursion—bump into Colossus as you make your way back into the mansion.

“You had very busy day.” He frowns as you wrestle with your armload of bags. “Do you need help?”

“Uh, I think—” You curse as one of the handles on the bags breaks. “Yes, actually. That’d be great.”

He takes the majority of the bags –he’s got the hand size and arm strength for it—and the three of you head up to your room to get everything sorted.

You’re chattering a mile a minute about your day, what the stores were like, the coffee shop. “—and they have a trivia question of the day, and if you can answer it correctly you get a free pastry with your drink! I thought that kind of thing only happened in TV shows.”

“It’s pretty common,” Neena says with a chuckle. “If it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have it in TV shows.”

You shrug. “It’s not common in the middle of nowhere.” Your jaw clenches involuntarily, and you start digging through your bags and tossing clothes on your bed before you’re swamped by bad memories. “Look! I got so much cool stuff!”

Colossus chuckles at the flurry of fabric. “Perhaps you should take tags off first.”

“Oh, yeah.” You try tugging the price tag off the shirt in your hand, then tug at it with your teeth when it doesn’t give.

“Myshka—”

“Hang on.” The tag breaks, and you spit it on the floor with a triumphant laugh. “See –aw, fuck. The little plastic thingy didn’t come out.”

Colossus smiles at you and shakes his head. “Wait one moment. I will get scissors.”

Neena smirks as he walks out the door, then gives you a look when his footsteps fade down the hall. “I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

You roll your eyes. “No. We’re just friends.”

“I know you like him,” she fires back.

“Well, that doesn’t mean he likes me,” you retort, ignoring the way your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “So there.”

Neena shakes her head. “Whatever you say –but I’m usually right about these sorts of things.”

You quash the hope swelling in your chest and go back to unloading the bags from your shopping trip. It won’t happen. Don’t get your hopes up.

Your outings with Neena become a regular thing after that. She helps you fill out your closet, pushes you to apply for a library card, takes you to various shops around New York when you both have time.

She also becomes a bit of a confidant when you’re dealing with stuff you don’t want to talk to Wade about; he’s wonderful and hilarious and surprisingly wise, but Wade’s also unhinged and unstable. Cable –Nate—is aloof and just as lost in the present as you are.

And, sure, most of the X-Men come from unhappy pasts, but Neena just… gets it in a way that the X-Men don’t.

Sometimes, even, you think she gets some of it better than you do.

Case in point, when she walks into your room and drops a basic padlock, a set of real handcuffs, and a lock picking kit on your bed. “How was your day?”

“…Good.” You look at the stuff on your bed, then look at her. “What’s all that for?”

“I’m teaching you how to pick locks.”

“I can do that with my powers.”

She grimaces. “You won’t always have them.”

You shrug –she has a point after all. You open the kit and pick up the padlock, then stop and look up at her. “Won’t your presence affect my ability to do it? Like, make it easier?”

“Practice is practice,” she says simply, and that’s that. She shows you how to do it once, how to hold the tools properly, and then sits down on your desk chair while you have at it.

You work at the padlock with the lockpick, but you can’t help but notice the way Neena’s knee bounces up and down boot rubbing against the carpet with a soft scuffing sound.

You glance up at her after a moment, note the way her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s staring off at nothing. “You okay?”

She swallows visibly. “Job,” she offers after a moment, as if that explains everything.

And you guess it does, sort of. You’ve been around Wade and Nate after jobs have gone wrong. Wade’s always a little twitchier after, a little more homicidal; Nate doesn’t have many visible tics, but throws himself into work like the world depends on it.

Which, considering the jobs he does, maybe it does.

But this is the first time you ever seen Neena rattled.

It’s disconcerting.

“Didn’t go well?” you venture.

She shrugs. “Got paid.” She sighs when you put the lock and pick to stare at her –a clear sign that you want her to talk. “I was hired to rescue some rich millionaire’s daughter. The paycheck was good, he’s an environmental and queer rights activist, so I figured why not.” Her mouth tugs into a harsh grimace. “Didn’t make it in time.”

You stomach drops –and then you frown. “But… why would you get paid…”

She shakes her head. “Not that kind of ‘in time.’ The other kind.”

It takes you a second, and then— oh.

Oh.

No wonder she’s so rattled.

“It just… it reminded me of when your parents hired bounty hunters to get you back,” she admits wearily. “If Colossus hadn’t gotten there when he did…”

You shudder at the memory. “Yeah.”

She looks at you, finally. “You’re not always going to have your abilities to help you. The more tools you have under your belt, the better –whether they’re ‘ethical’ or not.”

You nod. You get it.

You start practicing on the padlock again.

Neena’s the one that teaches you how to drive after you crash a car with Wade, too.

She’s smirking at you when you when you walk into the garage at Xavier’s. “What, exactly, made you think that Wade fucking Wilson would be a good driving instructor?”

You scowl a little, even though you deserve it. “I wasn’t exactly thinking. At least, not about that.”

She laughs and nods for you to get into the driver’s seat.

She takes you out on back roads –and keeps you at the speed limit, unlike Wade.

You drive for a while, getting the feel of the vehicle, how to turn properly, how to avoid potholes.

Eventually, Neena speaks. “How are you and Pete doing?”

“Better,” you say as you steer the car around a curve. “It’s been a little tense for a couple days, but I think we’re alright.”

“Story is that the two of you had a pretty bad fight.”

You let out a huff. “Something like that, yeah.”

After an hour and a half, the two of you are back in the garage at the Institute.

Neena pulls out a bag of tools before you can make a break for the mansion. “We’re not done yet.”

You frown at the tool bag. “What are those for?”

She grins. “I’m teaching you how to hotwire a car.”

“Wow. Hold the fucking phone for a minute.” Neena stares at you while you work on picking the lock on the driver’s side door. “‘As much as I deserve having to deal with each escalation in your behavior the longer you refuse to deal with void left by your parents.’ He actually said that to you?”

You grimace, but nod. “He was mad at me.”

“No shit. Doesn’t make it right.” She leans against the hood of the car as she watches you work. “You’re staying with him after that?”

“That’s the plan.” You toss a quick glance her way. “You think I shouldn’t?”

She shrugs. “Hey, it’s your choice. Frankly, I’m a little more worried about his control issues than anything else.”

“Ah. That.” You chuckle a little. “Yeah, I’m good with that.”

“You sure?”

You nod after a moment of thought. “Piotr’s tendencies… it usually isn’t about shit like this. It’s about little stuff. It’s about how the fridge is organized, or his teaching schedules, or me eating enough vegetables. Stuff I don’t necessarily care about, stuff that doesn’t hurt me or anyone else.”

Neena nods in understanding. “And what happens if it turns into something worse? Something that does hurt you?”

“That’s a bridge I’ll have to cross if and when it happens,” you say with a shrug. The car door picks that moment to pop open, and you let out a whoop of victory. “Awesome!”

There’s the sound of footsteps outside, and then Piotr’s striding into the garage. He frowns when he sees you and Neena. “Myshka, what are you doing?”

“I’m teaching her how to hotwire a car,” Neena says amicably. Her expression sharpens when Piotr’s turns to exasperation –and suddenly you can see the well-trained mercenary and fighter that hides just underneath her skin—and she points a finger at him. “She’s already been kidnapped once. If it happens again, knowing how to hotwire a car is a skill that she will need.”

Piotr relents with a grimace, even if it’s just barely. “I came to tell you dinner is almost ready.”

“Alright. I’ll try to be done in about twenty.”

He sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Will you be staying, Neena?”

She smiles. “Sure.”

She stops by to visit you after Wade and Nate move out after the incident in Hell’s Kitchen.

You’re out on the back patio, enjoying the late afternoon sun and the warm weather –with that damn wheelchair nearby, because heaven forbid you try to go anywhere without it.

You’ve got new sympathy for Charles, that’s for sure.

There’s the familiar sound of Neena’s boots in the kitchen, and then she appears by your side -with a box of Poptarts in hand, bless her. “I bring gifts.”

You grab the box from her and tear it open; you rip open a package –strawberry flavored, one of your favorites—and shove half a pastry in your mouth with abandon and complete indifference to whatever judgement you might receive. “You’re my hero.”

She laughs as she sits down in the seat next to yours. “I figured Pete would be keeping you on a clean diet. Thought I’d hook you up.”

She’s dressed in a distressed, light wash denim jacket, a white tank top that has ‘i do it better’ written on it in pink lettering, green shorts patterned with four leaf clovers, her boots, and sunglasses.

She’s the coolest person you’ve ever seen, bar none.

“How’s your leg?” she asks as she swipes a packet of Poptarts for herself.

You let out an annoyed huff, partially at your injury, partially at the pastry theft. “Hurts, even with the meds. And I can’t do anything for myself –though Piotr does have to help me shower, so…”

She cackles when you let your voice trail off and waggle your eyebrows suggestively. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve got a sweetheart of a man who loves to get you off whenever you ask for it. We know. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

You mime rubbing soap on her arm, then let your hand drop back in your lap. The two of you giggle for a bit, amused with yourselves.

“What happened?” you ask after the laughter dies off completely. “After I was taken into the hospital. Why isn’t Piotr talking to Nate? I mean, I know they’re mad at each other…”

Neena chuckles darkly and clucks her tongue. “You know you almost died, right?”

“Yeah. Piotr said as much.”

She nods. “Just checking. Anyway, he—” She chuckles again. “He hauled off on Cable as soon as the medics took you into the hospital. I’m surprised he didn’t break his nose; he might’ve been armored down, but he swung hard.” She goes quiet for a minute, considering, then adds “I think that’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him.”

“He punched dad?” You almost can’t believe it. You know Piotr gets angry, but his version of aggression is usually verbal or emotional.

Well, he’s hauled off on Wade once or twice, but Wade is Wade.

You never thought he’d do it to anyone else.

“He was pissed with him,” Neena says evenly. “Blamed Cable for taking you into a mission you didn’t have enough training for.”

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Seriously?”

“Castle sided with him, too,” Neena says. “Said you were too green for the environment.”

And, well, they might be right on that, but punching people is not the answer, Piotr, for Christ’s sake.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re not a mercenary and usually don’t go against people with guns. That makes you green.”

You slump in your seat. “Fair enough.”

Neena pats your shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know.”

The two of you sit in silence for a bit.

This is the one thing that Neena’s better at than Wade by miles. Wade doesn’t do silence; he always has to be doing something, always has to be saying something.

You get it; you used to be the same way. But since getting into therapy, Alyssa’s had you working on being more comfortable with quiet, with stillness.

Neena’s a good person to practice with, if nothing else.

Eventually, though, you bite the bullet and ask her the one thing you know Piotr won’t tell you. “How bad was it? When… when I…”

She squeezes your hand reassuringly –and then tells you the truth. “It was bad. You almost destroyed the dock.”

“I killed people.” It isn’t a question.

She nods. “All of the traffickers. A couple of the victims, too. There’s always collateral with this kind of stuff.”

You let out a shaky breath and try to keep that at the forefront of your mind.

You only partially succeed.

“You’re a powerhouse,” Neena says casually, like it would fit alongside ‘pass me a fork please’ or ‘put milk on the grocery list.’ “I didn’t realize how strong you were until I saw you at the docks.”

“You’ve seen me fight before.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen you cut loose. It’s impressive.”

“Just once, I’d like to ‘cut loose’ without losing it.”

“You’ll get there,” she says, squeezing your hand once more. “I know you will.”

“You can’t know that,” you argue.

“I’m not usually wrong about these sorts of things.” She grins at you. “I was right about Pete liking you.”

You roll your eyes. “Lucky guess.”

“Sometimes luck’s all you need.”

“I could definitely use some more,” you grumble.

“I think you’re doing pretty good, all things considered. Hell, you might even be luckier than me, given all the odds you’ve faced down.”

You huff at that. “I don’t randomly find fifty dollar bills on the sidewalk.”

“Different kinds of luck for different kinds of people,” she says with a smile.

And then Piotr comes out with some water and your next round of antibiotics and pain pills, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him.

Yeah, you’re pretty lucky.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #neena thurman #domino #neena is the coolest person ever #she has swag #so much swag #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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