#so… well played Elektra

[hawkzeyes]

Stripping down in the snow and hanging your underwear off a branch was crazy just for a little prank 😭😭 see these comic book women are built different cause I would never want a man that bad 💀

Daredevil: The Man Without Fear (1993)

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You kiss them when they least expect it

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Reply to anon: As promised...your little Catholic boy. I spend my days writing to keep my mind off my surgery. I'm a really anxious person, so I have to fill my head with my pleasures (my fandoms). So the requests will come out quickly, I'm happy and you're happy... win win. Thank you for all your requests and support. LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH ♡

Peter Parker

- Peter Parker has been kissed before. He has known the warmth of affection, the giddy rush of young love, the slow ache of something deeper. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment your lips press against his, sudden and unannounced, shattering the rhythm of his thoughts like a lightning strike in the middle of a quiet night. His brain short-circuits instantly.

- His body reacts before his mind does, his breath catching, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to hold you or simply let himself drown in the moment. There is a fleeting second of hesitation, a half-formed thought that this must be some kind of dream, some cruel trick played by the universe. But your warmth is real, your presence undeniable. The city fades around him, the constant hum of responsibility momentarily silenced beneath the press of your lips.

- When you finally pull away, Peter blinks—once, twice—like he’s trying to process what just happened. Then, without warning, his face erupts into a deep crimson flush, spreading down to his neck like wildfire. “Oh,” he breathes out, voice slightly strangled. “Okay. Cool. That was… um. Wow.” He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Was that, like, a scientific experiment? Because if so, I volunteer for more data collection.”

- Despite the awkward attempt at humor, his hands are still trembling, his pupils blown wide with something raw and unspoken. And then, after a moment of hesitation, his fingers curl around yours, his grip steady despite the lingering nerves. “But, uh… just so we’re clear,” he murmurs, voice softer now, more certain, “if you ever wanna do that again, you won’t have to catch me off guard next time.”

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark has spent a lifetime mastering control. He anticipates every possible scenario, every variable, every consequence. His mind is a constant whirlwind of calculations, solutions, contingencies. But when you kiss him—when you seize the moment and steal his breath away with no warning, no preamble—his mind goes completely, utterly blank. For the first time in years, there is no plan. No exit strategy. Just you.

- His body reacts on instinct, hands coming up to grasp your waist, a sharp inhale against your lips. But it’s not just the physical contact that undoes him—it’s the fact that you did it at all. That you, beautiful and untouchable in a way he never dared to hope for, have chosen him in this moment, with no ulterior motive, no expectation. It is not a conquest. It is not a game. It is real. And Tony Stark has never known how to handle real.

- When you finally break away, his lips are still parted, his usually sharp tongue momentarily silenced. Then, ever so slowly, a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, something dangerous and delighted and entirely Tony. “Well, well,” he muses, his voice a low hum. “That was unexpected. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But, uh, you might wanna be careful, sweetheart. You kiss me like that, and I might just start thinking you like me.”

- And yet, beneath the bravado, there is something softer, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger against your skin, in the way his expression shifts—just for a fraction of a second—into something almost reverent. Because the truth is, he is already lost. And if you kissed him again, he wouldn’t just let you—he’d make damn sure you never stopped.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers is used to the world moving too fast around him. Time slips through his fingers like sand, people come and go like ghosts, and every moment is a reminder of just how much he has lost. But when you kiss him—when you break through the steady, predictable rhythm of his days with something as sudden and undeniable as your lips against his—it is the first time in a long, long while that he feels truly, absolutely present.

- He freezes at first, caught between instinct and shock, but it lasts only a second. Then, without thinking, his hands find your waist, steadying you both as though the moment itself is something fragile, something sacred. His heart is hammering against his ribs, a deep, resounding drumbeat that he swears you must be able to hear. And when he finally exhales, it is not out of hesitation—but out of something else. Something like surrender.

- When you pull back, his blue eyes are searching, tracing your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t speak at first, doesn’t joke or tease or stumble over his words. Instead, he simply watches you, memorizing every detail of the moment, committing it to memory as if he is afraid it will slip away. And then, at last, he lets out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. “You really do like keeping me on my toes, don’t you?”

- But there is warmth in his voice, something gentle and unshaken. And then, after a moment, he does something you don’t expect—he leans in again, slower this time, deliberate. His lips brush against yours, and this time, he is the one who takes control. And when he pulls away, his hand lingers at the back of your neck, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Just so you know,” he murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips, “next time, I won’t let you take me by surprise.”

Thor

- Thor Odinson has been kissed before. He has known the passion of warriors, the devotion of gods, the fleeting tenderness of mortals who looked upon him with awe. And yet, when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without hesitation, without prelude—it is not reverence that he feels, nor expectation. It is something deeper, something that sinks into his very bones. It is you.

- There is a moment of stillness, as if the entire world holds its breath. Then, with a deep, rumbling exhale, he reacts—not with hesitation, not with shock, but with the full force of a man who has never done anything by halves. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip firm yet careful, as if you are something both fierce and fragile, something he is terrified of losing.

- When you pull back, he does not release you immediately. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, he simply exists in the aftermath of what you have done. Then, with a slow, wolfish grin, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with something unmistakably pleased. “Ah,” he rumbles, his voice thick with amusement, “so the battle has begun, then?”

- And before you can question him, before you can even think, he leans in once more—this time with purpose, with certainty. His lips claim yours in a way that is both a challenge and an offering, a promise and a declaration. And when he finally pulls away, his fingers trail down your spine, his grip unwavering. “A warning, my beloved,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “You have started something you may not wish to finish.” But the way he holds you—the way his touch lingers, possessive and warm—tells you that, in truth, he is hoping you never do.

Loki

- Loki is a creature of calculation, of control wrapped in silver-tongued deception. He reads people like poetry, anticipates betrayals before they are spoken, dissects affections before they can wound him. But when your lips find his—without warning, without preamble—it is the first time in centuries that someone has truly caught him off guard. His breath halts, body rigid, as if the universe itself has shifted beneath him.

- He does not pull away. He does not return it immediately, either. Instead, he remains perfectly still, sharp eyes searching yours with an intensity that borders on dangerous. You can almost hear the gears turning in his mind, the war between disbelief and hunger, between skepticism and the undeniable thrill of being wanted without agenda. And then, ever so slowly, the corner of his mouth curls, something dark and pleased blooming in his expression. “Interesting,” he muses, voice velvet-smooth, though there is an unmistakable edge of breathlessness beneath it.

- When you move to step back, he does not allow it. A hand—cool, firm, deceptively gentle—curls around your wrist, anchoring you in place. “You think you can best me in my own game, little one?” he murmurs, amusement dripping from every syllable. “That you can steal a kiss and escape unscathed?” His voice is teasing, but there is something else beneath it—something raw, something aching, something that trembles on the edge of longing.

- And then, with a slow, deliberate certainty, he leans in once more. This time, there is no hesitation, no caution. His lips claim yours in a way that is both challenge and surrender, fire and ice melting together in something neither of you can quite name. And when he finally pulls away, his thumb traces the edge of your jaw, his smirk lazy yet predatory. “You are playing a dangerous game, darling,” he whispers. “And I do hope you intend to see it through.”

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has been trained to anticipate the unexpected. He is a man who survives on instinct, who sees what others miss, who never lets his guard down—not truly. But when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his without warning, without prelude, it is the first time in years that someone has managed to slip past his defenses. And it floors him.

- His breath stutters, muscles tensing as if expecting some kind of punchline, some cruel joke at his expense. But then—then—your hands brush against his jaw, gentle, grounding, real. And suddenly, the world feels quieter. The weight of it all—the missions, the past, the scars that never quite fade—momentarily lifts, leaving nothing but the steady, warm press of your mouth against his. And for once, he lets himself sink into it.

- When you finally pull away, he blinks as if shaking off a haze, lips parted in something like disbelief. And then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face—lazy, crooked, entirely Clint. “Well, damn,” he breathes out, a chuckle escaping him. “Gonna be honest, didn’t see that one coming.” He tilts his head, eyes alight with mischief. “You always go around ambushing guys like this, or am I just special?”

- But there is something softer beneath the teasing, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger near yours, as if debating whether to pull you back in. And then, with a quiet exhale, he murmurs, “Not that I’m complaining, but—maybe next time, give a guy some warning?” He smirks. “Or don’t. I kinda like the element of surprise.”

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff is not a woman who is easily caught off guard. She is control, precision, danger wrapped in elegance. She anticipates every move before it happens, never allows herself to be vulnerable, never lets anyone too close. But when you kiss her—without warning, without calculation—it is the one scenario she never saw coming.

- Her body tenses immediately, years of instinct screaming at her to assess the threat, to react. But then—then—your lips linger, warm and unhurried, and something in her falters. There is no ulterior motive, no expectation, no game being played. Just you. And that, more than anything, leaves her shaken. She does not kiss you back, not at first. She is too busy deciphering why—why you would do this, why she doesn’t hate it, why the world suddenly feels too small with you this close.

- When you pull away, she does not speak. Instead, she tilts her head, studying you with an unreadable expression, emerald eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer you have not yet spoken. And then, at last, a small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “Brave,” she murmurs, voice smooth, almost amused. “Reckless, but brave.” But there is something else in her gaze—something uncertain, something hesitant. As if she is not quite sure what to do with the warmth still lingering on her lips.

- Then, before you can respond, she steps closer, closing the space between you. There is no hesitation this time, no calculation—just the slow, deliberate press of her mouth against yours. And when she finally pulls away, her voice is softer, quieter. “Don’t do that unless you mean it,” she warns. But the way her fingers trail against your wrist, the way her breath lingers against your skin, tells you that she is hoping—just this once—that you do.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes is a man who flinches at softness. He does not know how to accept kindness without suspicion, does not know how to be wanted without expectation. He has spent years being used, being controlled, being nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. But when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without warning—it is the first time in a long, long while that he is simply Bucky.

- His entire body stiffens at first, muscles coiled as if expecting an attack, a trap, a trick. But then your hands brush against him—gentle, grounding, real—and something in him cracks. His breath shudders against your lips, something raw and unspoken trembling just beneath the surface. And for the first time in years, he allows himself to be held instead of holding himself together.

- When you pull away, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is unreadable, blue eyes stormy with something you can’t quite decipher. And then, ever so slowly, he exhales. “Why?” The word is quiet, hesitant, as if he doesn’t believe he deserves the answer. As if he is bracing himself for you to tell him it was a mistake. But you don’t. You just look at him, and that alone is enough to undo him.

- And then, after a long moment, his fingers brush against yours, tentative, uncertain. “Do it again,” he murmurs, the words barely audible. But when you do—when you kiss him once more, slow and patient and real—his hands finally come up to hold you, steady and warm and home. And this time, he doesn’t let you pull away.

Matthew Murdock

- Matthew Murdock is a man who lives in anticipation. Every breath, every footstep, every heartbeat in his vicinity is accounted for, cataloged, expected. He senses things before they happen, navigates the unseen with the certainty of someone who has never truly been blind. But he does not sense this. The moment your lips press against his, his world—usually so finely attuned—stutters. For the first time in a long time, Matt is truly caught off guard.

- His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, and for a brief moment, he is frozen in place. The taste of you lingers—warmth and surprise and something maddeningly sweet. His senses flood with you, and it is overwhelming in the best and worst way. His pulse is erratic, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts. He has fought the devil inside himself for so long, denied himself softness, pushed away love because it only ever ends in ruin. And yet, here you are. Kissing him.

- When you pull back, he exhales shakily, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words come. Instead, his hand finds you—fingertips ghosting over your cheek, as if to make certain you are real. His voice, when he finally manages to use it, is quiet, reverent. “You shouldn’t do things like that,” he murmurs, but there is no conviction in his words, no true protest. Only the lingering tremor of someone who wants—desperately, deeply—but does not know if he is allowed to have.

- And then, as if unable to resist the temptation you have placed before him, he leans in. His kiss is not hasty, not fevered, but something far more dangerous—slow, deliberate, inevitable. It is an unspoken confession, a quiet surrender, a promise that he may not be ready to put into words. But his hands find your waist, his lips press deeper into yours, and the way he sighs against your mouth tells you all you need to know.

Frank Castle

- Frank Castle has lost too much to believe in second chances. Love is a thing he buried alongside his family, a thing he does not touch, does not deserve. He is a man made of violence, of war and grief and cold, unrelenting vengeance. He does not get soft things. So when you kiss him—when you, in all your warmth, in all your reckless beauty, dare to press your lips to his—he does not know what to do with it.

- His entire body goes still, as if the world has caught fire and he is standing in the center of the blaze, unscathed but bewildered. He does not pull away. He does not push you back. He simply exists in the moment, feeling something that is not rage, not pain, not the gnawing emptiness that has been his only companion for years. The taste of you lingers—something achingly sweet against the bitterness of his own existence.

- When you finally step back, he exhales sharply, his breath uneven, his jaw clenched. His eyes—dark, stormy, battle-hardened—lock onto yours, searching, questioning. He wants to tell you this is a mistake. That people who get close to him only end up hurt, that his hands are meant for killing, not holding. But he doesn’t say it. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he does not want to push something away.

- Instead, his fingers curl at his sides, his voice low, rough. “You sure you wanna be doin’ that?” It’s not a warning—it’s an invitation. A chance to walk away before he inevitably ruins you the way he ruins everything else. But when you don’t—when you meet his gaze and kiss him again, slower this time, softer—his resolve cracks, and he kisses you back with something that is almost desperate, almost alive.

Bullseye (Lester)

- Bullseye is used to taking. He takes lives, takes power, takes anything he wants because no one can stop him. He is a monster, and he knows it—embraces it. There is nothing good in him. Nothing worth saving. And yet, you—beautiful, foolish, unafraid—have the audacity to kiss him as if he is anything but ruin incarnate.

- The moment your lips meet his, something snaps in him. His instincts scream at him to turn this into a game, to take control, to make you regret ever thinking you could surprise him. But for once, he does not move. He lets himself feel it. The warmth of you, the softness, the maddening contrast of something so pure against the corruption that coats his soul like tar. It is unexpected, undeserved, and utterly intoxicating.

- When you pull away, his smirk is slow, sharp-edged, dangerous. His eyes—dark and gleaming with something predatory—drag over your face like he’s memorizing every detail, committing your recklessness to memory. “Well, damn,” he drawls, voice slick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, sweetheart.” His fingers ghost over his lips as if testing whether the sensation was real or just some twisted hallucination.

- And then, with a sudden, startling speed, he moves. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other pressing against your waist, and before you can react, he’s kissing you back. But this—this is something else entirely. It is wild, chaotic, consuming. A warning, a promise, a claim. And when he finally pulls away, grinning like the devil himself, he murmurs, “Hope you know what you just started.”

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector is used to ghosts. His past, his mistakes, his fractured mind—he carries them all like shadows that never fade. He does not trust happiness, does not trust peace, because both have been ripped from him too many times to count. And love? Love is not something that belongs to men like him. But then there is you. And then there is this. Your lips against his, unannounced, unexpected, real.

- The first sensation is shock. Not fear, not rejection—just shock. His mind, always a battlefield of shifting identities and whispered voices, goes silent for one aching, beautiful moment. The warmth of your mouth, the way you lean into him with no hesitation, no fear—it is something foreign, something he does not know how to hold. And yet, he wants to. God help him, he wants to.

- When you pull back, his breath is unsteady, his hands curled into fists at his sides as if fighting the urge to pull you back in. His eyes—haunted, desperate, yearning—flicker between you and the ground, as if struggling to find something solid to anchor himself. “You shouldn’t…” His voice is raw, broken. “You shouldn’t do that.” But there is no weight behind the words, no real protest. Just the quiet, trembling confession of a man who does not believe he deserves to be touched with kindness.

- And then, with a slow exhale, he makes a choice. His hand—scarred, trembling—reaches for yours, fingers brushing tentatively before curling around them. He does not pull you close, does not claim you the way others might. Instead, he simply holds on. A silent plea, a fragile hope. And when he finally kisses you back, it is not with hunger, not with dominance—but with something far more dangerous. Need.

Taskmaster (Tony Masters)

- Taskmaster survives by reading people before they can act. He sees a shift in weight, a flicker of intent, the smallest twitch of a muscle, and he knows what comes next. It’s how he wins fights, how he predicts every move before it happens. But not this. Not you. He doesn’t see it coming when your lips press against his, a ghost of warmth against the cold edge of a man who has spent his life being untouchable.

- His entire body stiffens, instincts roaring at him to react, to counter, to do something—but he doesn’t. His mind, trained to memorize, analyze, replicate, suddenly falters. He can mimic a thousand fighting styles, anticipate attacks from the best in the world, but he has no defense for the softness of your mouth, the way you kiss him like he is something more than a weapon. And it unsettles him.

- When you pull back, his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing as if searching for the right response. His mask hides his face, but you can feel the way he’s staring at you, the sharp intensity of a man trying to process something he can’t categorize. “The hell was that for?” he finally mutters, his voice low, rough—gravel scraped over steel. But there is no anger, no mockery. Just a quiet, dangerous curiosity.

- And then, something shifts. A decision made. He moves faster than thought, a gloved hand catching your wrist, pulling you in before you can slip away. And when he kisses you back, it is not soft, not hesitant. It is sharp-edged and confident, like a man reclaiming control over the one thing that has ever caught him off guard. You wanted to surprise him? Fine. But now, he’s the one in charge.

Johnny Storm

- Johnny Storm burns hot—always has, always will. A fire that never quite settles, never dims. He is loud and reckless and bright, and he wears his confidence like a second skin. But beneath it all, there is something deeper, something hidden behind smirks and easy laughter. And it is that something that flickers the moment you kiss him.

- At first, he doesn’t process it. One second he’s talking, maybe making some cocky remark, and the next—your lips are on his. His brain short-circuits. Johnny Storm, king of comebacks, has absolutely nothing to say. There’s just heat, not from his flames but from the rush of you, the sudden realization that this thing he’s been pretending not to feel is very, very real.

- When you pull back, he blinks—once, twice—before a slow, almost disbelieving grin spreads across his face. “Damn,” he exhales, voice a little breathless, a little stunned. And then, because he is who he is, he recovers. “If you wanted a piece of me, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.” But his voice wavers slightly at the end, betraying the fact that he is not nearly as unaffected as he wants to seem.

- And then, before you can say anything, he moves. A hand curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he crashes his lips back to yours, kissing you with the full force of his fire—burning, consuming, alive. Because Johnny Storm never does anything halfway, and now that he knows what you taste like, he is never going to pretend he doesn’t want more.

Reed Richards

- Reed Richards lives in a world of equations. He understands the mechanics of the universe, the fabric of reality, the infinite complexities of time and space. But there are some things even he cannot predict. Some things he cannot quantify. You are one of those things. And when you kiss him, it is a complete and utter anomaly.

- His breath stills, his mind goes blank—something that has not happened in years. He can usually calculate the likelihood of an event before it occurs, but this? This wasn’t factored into his reality. His hands hover in the air, as if unsure of the proper response, as if the laws of physics themselves have momentarily escaped him.

- When you step back, he does not move immediately. He is frozen, recalibrating, processing. Then, slowly, his lips part, and a quiet, stunned “Oh” escapes him—soft, unguarded. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if needing a moment to refocus. “That was… unexpected.” His voice holds no rejection, only fascination, as if he has just witnessed a scientific miracle.

- And then, something shifts. His hand reaches for yours—not hasty, not desperate, but careful, deliberate. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, Reed Richards abandons calculations in favor of instinct. When he kisses you again, it is slow, exploratory, like a man learning a new language and savoring every syllable.

Ben Grimm

- Ben Grimm does not get soft things. He does not get stolen kisses or tender touches or the kind of love that isn’t weighed down by pity. He is The Thing. A man made of stone, of battle and loss, of aching loneliness that he never speaks of. And yet, here you are. Kissing him. As if he is not a monster. As if he is just a man.

- He stiffens, his whole body locking up. His heart—too big, too hopeful despite everything—stumbles in his chest. He has dreamed of things like this before, but dreams are cruel, and reality is harsher. He expects you to pull away, to realize what you’ve done, to see him and regret it. But you don’t. You don’t. And that, more than the kiss itself, threatens to undo him.

- When you finally step back, his throat works around words he can’t quite form, holding the weight of years spent convincing himself he doesn’t get to have this. His massive hands twitch at his sides, as if afraid to reach for something too fragile, too precious. “You… you sure about that?” There is doubt in his tone, not because he doesn’t want you, but because he doesn’t know how to believe you’d want him.

- But when you step closer again, pressing your hands against the solid breadth of his chest, when you tilt your head up and kiss him again, slow and sure and certain, something in him cracks. A deep, shuddering breath escapes him, and his massive arms finally—finally—come around you, pulling you close. And when he kisses you back, it is hesitant at first, reverent. But then it deepens, something raw and aching in the way he holds you, like a man who has been starved of love for far too long.

Susan Storm

- Susan Storm is a woman of grace, of careful composure, of quiet strength that bends but never breaks. She is a leader, a protector, a force of nature wrapped in silk. And yet, for all her brilliance, for all her ability to phase in and out of sight, she does not see you coming. Not when you step close. Not when your fingers graze her cheek. Not when your lips press against hers in a kiss that is as sudden as it is soft.

- Her breath stills, caught between the moment and the impossible realization of what it means. Her mind races—was she blind to this? Had she misread the signs, the weight of your glances, the unspoken words hovering between you for so long? But all thoughts unravel when she feels the warmth of your lips, the unguarded tenderness of it. She has spent her life holding herself steady, but now—now she is the one being unraveled.

- When you finally pull back, she blinks, slow and breathless, a flush creeping up her neck. “Oh,” she murmurs, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of her lips. A rare moment where she is not Susan Storm, the poised and polished heroine, but simply a woman standing before someone who has just shaken her world.

- And then, that moment of surprise shifts into something else—something warmer, something braver. Her fingers find your wrist, curling around it in a silent request. She meets your gaze, eyes shining with something unreadable, something soft. And when she kisses you again, it is no longer hesitation, no longer surprise—it is intention, steady and sure, as if she has made up her mind that this—you—is something she does not want to let go.

Felicia Hardy

- Felicia Hardy is a woman who dances on the edge of danger, who thrives in stolen moments and the rush of risk. She is a thief, a phantom in the night, a creature made of silver laughter and sharp edges. She knows the art of seduction, the game of push and pull, and yet—when you kiss her, it is not part of the game. It is not calculated, not played for leverage. And that is what stops her dead in her tracks.

- Her lips part against yours, a stunned exhale slipping free. For the first time in a long, long time, Felicia Hardy is caught off guard. She is used to controlling the moment, to being the one who sets the pace, who dictates the terms. But this—this—feels like something stolen from her. And she doesn’t know if she wants to steal it back, or if she wants to let herself fall.

- When you pull away, her signature smirk wavers, something uncertain flickering behind those sharp, clever eyes. “Well, well,” she purrs, but there’s a breathlessness to it, a vulnerability beneath the velvet tone. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” A tease, a cover. But her fingers twitch at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to pull you back in, to demand more.

- And then, as if making a silent decision, she moves. She closes the space between you with a sharp, deliberate kind of grace, tilting her head with the confidence of a woman who has decided to play a game she was not expecting—but one she suddenly wants to win. When she kisses you again, it is slow, languid, laced with amusement and hunger, as if savoring the way you are the one who caught her off guard for once.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is a man of logic, of precision, of control honed by years of discipline. He bends reality to his will, commands forces beyond human comprehension, and yet—he is utterly unprepared for the moment your lips press against his.

- His body locks up, his breath caught between disbelief and something deeper, something dangerously close to longing. He does not move at first, too caught in the sheer absurdity of it. He has faced cosmic horrors, rewritten fate itself, but he cannot seem to process the feeling of your touch, the warmth of your mouth against his own.

- When you step back, he blinks, slow and calculating, as if searching for some rational explanation. “That was… unexpected,” he says at last, his voice measured but carrying the faintest waver. He looks at you as though you are a paradox he cannot solve, an anomaly in his carefully structured existence.

- And then, after a long pause, his lips curl in something resembling amusement, a rare, genuine softness breaking through the rigid control. “I suppose,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice dropping to something almost dangerous, almost reverent, “it would only be fair if I returned the favor.” And when he kisses you again, it is with the deliberation of a man who refuses to leave anything to chance.

Namor

- Namor is not a man accustomed to surprise. He is a king, a warrior, a god walking among mortals. He has stood against empires, defied the heavens, and shaped history with his own hands. But when you kiss him—you, with your infuriating defiance and your breathtaking boldness—he is, for the first time in centuries, at a complete and utter loss.

- His entire body tenses, as if bracing for an attack rather than an act of tenderness. And yet, despite his initial shock, despite the sheer audacity of you, he does not pull away. He does not stop you. Instead, his sharp, piercing eyes darken, a slow and simmering heat curling beneath his ribs—dangerous, unrelenting.

- When you finally part, he does not speak immediately. He simply looks at you, gaze heavy with something unreadable. And then, after a moment, his lips curl—not in anger, but in something far more unsettling. Amusement. Interest. Challenge. “You are either very brave,” he murmurs, voice rich and edged with something unmistakably possessive, “or very foolish.”

- And then, before you can respond, before you can think to retreat, he moves. His hands—strong, unyielding—catch your wrist, his body closing the space between you with the effortless command of a king reclaiming what is his. And when he kisses you again, it is not a question. It is a declaration, a silent vow that whatever game you have started, he will be the one to finish.

Johnny Blaze

- Fire and damnation have clung to Johnny Blaze for as long as he can remember. He is a man marked by hellfire, by a fate he never asked for, by the weight of every soul he has ever sent screaming into the dark. He does not expect kindness, not really, not from anyone. And yet, when you kiss him��suddenly, without warning, like a spark catching dry earth—he is stunned into absolute stillness.

- The scent of smoke and leather clings to him, the remnants of something infernal lurking beneath his skin, but you do not hesitate. Your lips are warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold edges of his existence. He has faced demons, outrun the devil himself, but this? This simple, quiet moment? It terrifies him in a way nothing else ever has.

- He exhales sharply when you pull back, as if he’s just come up for air after drowning. His blue eyes burn like embers, searching your face as if trying to understand what the hell just happened. His throat works around words he doesn’t know how to say, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust himself to. “You don’t wanna do that,” he finally mutters, voice rough with something dangerously close to longing.

- But when you tilt your head, when you don’t flinch, don’t pull away, don’t fear him—something in him cracks. His jaw clenches, his hands curl into fists, and then, finally, finally, he lets himself move. He grabs the back of your neck with a touch that is both possessive and reverent, and when he kisses you again, it is with the desperation of a man who has spent too many years in the dark, suddenly blinded by the light.

Eddie Brock / Venom

- Eddie Brock is a man who has lost too much, fought too hard, and learned to trust too little. He is rough around the edges, worn down by anger and regret, always bracing for the moment when the world inevitably turns against him. He is not used to gentleness—not from others, and certainly not for himself. And so, when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his like it is the most natural thing in the world, his brain short-circuits entirely.

- His first instinct is to pull back, to question, to doubt. But Venom—Venom is faster. The symbiote rumbles in amusement, in approval, wrapping around Eddie’s ribs like a second heartbeat. "We like this one," the alien purrs inside his mind, and Eddie swears under his breath because of course Venom would be delighted by this.

- “You’re—” Eddie starts, but stops himself, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically shove down the confusion. He shakes his head, glancing at you with something that is half bewilderment, half hunger. He wants to say something cocky, something to brush it off, but all that comes out is a breathless, “What the hell was that for?”

- And then Venom moves, slick tendrils curling around his shoulders, shifting his posture. "Kiss her back, Eddie," the symbiote urges, a wicked, knowing grin in his voice. And—God help him—Eddie does. He surges forward, his grip strong, his kiss a mixture of frustration and want, like he’s fighting against how much he needs this, how much he needs you. And when he finally breaks away, his breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide. Shit.

T’Challa

- T’Challa is not a man who is easily surprised. He is a king, a warrior, a strategist who sees every angle before the game even begins. His mind is always ten steps ahead, his composure an unshakable force of nature. And yet—when you kiss him, when you step close without prelude or warning, tilting your chin up to press your lips to his—he is caught entirely off guard.

- His breath hitches, just slightly, so small a reaction that most would not catch it. But you are not most. You are you, and you notice the way his body stills, the way his fingers twitch at his sides as if warring with the impulse to pull you closer. His heartbeat is steady, measured, but beneath the surface—oh, beneath the surface, you have sent ripples through a man who does not bend easily.

- When you part from him, his dark eyes study your face with a sharpness that borders on unreadable. “You are bold,” he says, but there is no admonishment in his tone—only observation, only something deeply considering. His gaze is heavy, knowing, like he has already unraveled every reason why you did it. And yet, for all his brilliance, there is one question left unanswered.

- And so, after a pause, he tilts his head ever so slightly, a slow, deliberate movement. “Was that a challenge?” The words are a whisper, rich and silken, spoken against your lips as he closes the space between you once more. His kiss is not hurried, not desperate—it is a promise, a declaration, a reminder that T’Challa does nothing without intention. And you? You have just become something he intends to keep.

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra moves like a shadow, like a blade cutting through the dark, like something that cannot be held for long. She is sharp edges and silken danger, a whisper of death wrapped in a dancer’s grace. She does not trust easily. She does not love easily. And yet, when you kiss her—fast, sudden, without warning—she does not push you away. No. She freezes, her entire body tensed, not out of resistance, but because she did not see it coming.

- For a woman who has spent her life reading people like open books, you have just managed to turn a page she did not anticipate. Her lips part against yours, not in invitation but in sheer, startled stillness. The moment you step back, her gaze is already piercing into you, unreadable and electric, the air between you charged with something taut and dangerous.

- “That,” she breathes, eyes narrowing just slightly, “was foolish.” But the way she says it—it is not a warning, not truly. It is curiosity, the ghost of something far more wicked lurking beneath the surface. She watches you like a cat watching its prey, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if deciding whether to draw a weapon or pull you back in.

- And then, just as quickly, just as effortlessly, she moves. Her hand catches your wrist, yanking you forward with a force that is not violent but possessive. And when she kisses you this time, it is not hesitation—it is fire and fury, a battle won with the curl of her fingers at your nape, the press of her body against yours. If this is a game, you have just signed yourself into a war. And Elektra Natchios? She never loses.

Muse

- Muse does not feel things the way others do. Art consumes him, violence is his language, and the world is nothing but a blank canvas begging to be marred. He has wandered through blood-soaked streets and carved poetry into walls with trembling hands, but this—this sudden kiss, this moment where your lips press against his without prelude or warning—is something entirely new.

- He does not flinch. He does not gasp. He does not react in any way that might be considered human. Instead, he listens. To the way your breath hitches. To the way your heartbeat stumbles in your chest. To the way the world stills around him, just for a moment, like existence itself is waiting to see what he will do next. And oh, how he loves the weight of expectation.

- When you finally pull back, his blind eyes remain locked onto you, empty and unreadable, yet somehow knowing. His lips part—not in surprise, but in something closer to fascination. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word almost a sigh, almost a prayer. “Do it again.” It is not a request. It is not a plea. It is a command wrapped in velvet, spoken like a secret only you were meant to hear.

- And when you hesitate, when you wonder if it is wise, if it is safe, he simply tilts his head, his smile carving itself into his face like a brushstroke on an unfinished painting. His fingers ghost over your jaw, not quite touching, not yet. “I wonder,” he muses, voice lilting with something dangerous, something close to reverence, “how many shades of red I could pull from your lips alone.”

Victor von Doom

- Victor von Doom does not tolerate surprises. His mind is a kingdom unto itself, a fortress built upon knowledge and control. There is no action he takes that is not calculated, no movement that is not deliberate. And yet—when you kiss him, when you dare to step into his space and press your lips against his without permission, without warning—it is the one moment he does not anticipate.

- His body tenses, not in shock but in something colder, something unreadable. There is steel in his stance, in the way his fingers curl ever so slightly at his sides. For one impossibly long second, the world feels as if it has stopped, as if the very air around you is waiting for his verdict. And then, his hands rise—not to push you away, but to cup your face with the precision of a sculptor, as if he is considering whether to keep this moment or cast it aside.

- “Foolish,” he murmurs, though his grip does not loosen. His green eyes burn into yours, heavy with something unreadable, something vast. “You mistake me for a man who yields to impulse.” But you can feel it—the faint tremor beneath his touch, the war waging behind his gaze. You have shaken something in him. Something he does not have words for.

- And then, Doom decides. His grip tightens just slightly, his gaze darkens, and when he leans in, it is not hesitant. It is not uncertain. No, Victor von Doom does not do anything halfway. His lips capture yours with the finality of a ruler taking his throne, with the weight of a choice made, a fate sealed. And when he pulls away, he exhales sharply, as if he has allowed himself one moment of indulgence—and nothing more. “You are either very bold,” he muses, voice quiet, “or very foolish.” And then, after a pause, after a second’s hesitation— “Perhaps both.”

Peter Quill

- Peter Quill has been kissed before. By strangers in bars, by lovers who knew better, by the lingering ghosts of memories he refuses to let go of. But this—this kiss, your kiss—catches him completely off guard.

- He is mid-sentence, probably saying something ridiculous, something cocky, something meant to make you roll your eyes—and then, suddenly, your lips are on his, stealing the words right from his mouth. His brain short-circuits so violently that for a full second, he just stands there, hands hovering awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

- And then, like a delayed reaction, like an aftershock, he grins. A slow, lazy, completely obnoxious grin that spreads across his face like wildfire. “Well, damn,” he breathes, blinking at you like he’s just been hit by a starship. “If I knew that’s how you felt, I would’ve shut up ages ago.”

- But then—just when you think he’ll ruin it with another joke—he tugs you forward, his fingers curling around your waist with an easy kind of confidence. And when he kisses you this time, it is deeper, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he means it. And maybe, just maybe, Peter Quill has finally found something—someone—worth holding onto.

Nova (Richard Rider)

- Richard Rider has been through hell. He has seen galaxies burn, has carried the weight of worlds on his shoulders, has fought and bled and lost more than he can put into words. He is tired. He is so tired. And yet—when you kiss him, when you pull him down from the weight of the cosmos and remind him of something as simple, as human as this—he forgets, just for a moment, how heavy the universe feels.

- His breath stutters. His entire body tenses, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, like he’s bracing for an impact that never comes. He has been hurt before, has been broken in ways that no amount of power can fix, and yet—this is different. You are different.

- “I—” he starts, but the words get lost somewhere between his lips and yours. He laughs, but it’s not the cocky, confident sound most people expect from him. It’s breathless, unsure. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Didn’t see that coming.” But the way he looks at you—the way his blue eyes soften, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you and doesn’t know if he should—tells you that maybe, just maybe, he’s glad you caught him off guard.

- And then, slowly, hesitantly, he steps closer. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with a gentleness that feels at odds with the battles he’s fought, with the wars he’s survived. And when he kisses you again, it is not hurried, not rushed. It is quiet. It is careful. It is real. Because for the first time in a long, long time—Richard Rider is not fighting. He is simply here. With you.

[storiesforallfandoms]

shared trauma ~ logan howlett; marvel

word count: 3466

request?: no

description: in which she sneaks away to help them return home, and ends up bonding with the brute with knives in his hands

pairing: logan howlett x female!reader

warnings: swearing, some deadpool & wolverine spoilers, trauma bonding, wade wilson being wade wilson, a good ending

masterlist (one, two, three)

Getting out of Cassandra's compound wasn't as hard as the Others thought. Not when you shut up and played by her rules. She trusted everyone who worked under her enough to let us come and go as we pleased, mainly because she knew we were scared enough of Alioth to come back and be under her control.

The Others also weren't as hidden as they thought. At least, not from me. Lucky for them, I was the only telepath in Cassandra's army, because Johnny's mind gave away everything about the Others without even knowing I could hear him.

When it got dark and mostly everyone had turned in, I snuck out of the compound. I could see the hiding place of the Others in my head, and I knew it would take me a long time to get there on foot, but I needed to get there. There was something about these variants - this Deadpool and this Wolverine - that was different. They may be the key to my freedom from Cassandra. Maybe to all of our freedoms.

I travelled for so long that my legs burned and I felt like I was going to pass out, but I got there. Immediately I was hit with the sounds of several brains, all thinking about a plan to take down Cassandra. All except one, but it was hard to make out what was going on in that head over the wounds of everyone else. I pushed into the place, a silence falling over the room as they heard me enter. I winced with every step I took down the stairs. When I appeared in the doorway, I was greeted by a barrage of weapons.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, putting my hands up.

"You're one of hers," Blade stated.

"I came alone," I insisted. "I...technically snuck out."

"How did you find us?" Elektra asked.

"Let's just say Johnny Storm's mind was just as loud as his mouth. Look, I'm not here to hurt you guys. I'm here because I think those two - " I nodded to Deadpool and Wolverine " - may be who we need to take Cassandra down."

"And why would you want to take down Cassandra?" Blade questioned. "She's your leader."

"Not by choice. I followed her because I knew it meant survival. But I'm telling you, I see something with those two. I'm clairvoyant as well as a telepath, and when those variants were with Cassandra I could see a fight that ended with her downfall."

The group shared a look. Well, all besides the Wolverine, who was halfway through a bottle of whiskey. He seemed to be ignoring everything going on. I realized his mind was the one I couldn't hear. It was almost like he was trying to block out any thoughts. Not because of me, but because he didn't want to have to think those things.

"We could use a clairvoyant," Elektra pointed out.

"This reading you got form us," Deadpool said. "Did you see all of us winning?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't work like that. Some scenarios aren't definitive, and some are. I saw that we'd fight her, but after that there's a number of different ways it could go. All I saw for sure was that Cassandra was taken down and everyone in the Void was finally free from her reign."

"Sounds like a shit power," Wolverine muttered.

"She could tell us how to avoid the bad paths," Elektra said.

My legs were starting to ache in a way I couldn't handle for much longer. "Can you guys make a decision soon? I walked all the way here and my legs feel like they're about to snap off."

The group, minus Wolverine, shared another look before X-23 - Laura - nodded and said, "We'll give you a bed. Once you're rested, we'll come up with a plan."

~~~~~~

I laid awake that night while everyone else was asleep. We had come up with a plan to attack Cassandra's compound, one that should be mostly successful for everyone if the input from my visions helped at all. Everyone else had gone to bed with hope of a successful mission at sunrise, but I was wide awake with thoughts of going against Cassandra. Unlike everyone else, I had been part of Cassandra's team for a very long time. I had seen the things she did to people who opposed her. Despite the fact that my visions should give us a leg up in this fight, I was still scared of the consequences if we lost.

There was a stir in the air that told me someone was awake. I heard movement and the sound of a glass bottle being picked up. Logan didn't notice as I rolled over to face him. He was already walking up the steps and out of the hideout. It took me all of ten seconds to decide to follow him. This Wolverine may have been a grumpy Gus, but trying to speak with him would be way better than laying in the silent room struggling to sleep.

I followed him into the woods, where he had already started a small fire. He was sat next to it, hunched over with a bottle of Gambit's whiskey. I was shocked there was any whiskey left at this point, but who was I to judge someone else's coping mechanism.

His back straightened when he heard me approaching. "I don't want company."

"Good thing I'm not here to keep you company," I said, sitting next to him but keeping enough space between us. "I'm here to see if you'll share the liquor you're stealing."

To my surprise, he willingly gave me the bottle without hesitation. I took a big mouthful, which proved to be a bad idea when the harsh liquid burned my throat. I winced at the burn and gagged once I had it swallowed. Logan let out a low chuckle. "Not your usual drink of choice, huh?"

"Actually, I've never drank," I responded, passing the bottle back to him. "I was pruned before I was legal drinking age, and Cassandra doesn't have alcohol at her base."

"You nervous to fight your boss tomorrow?"

"She's not my boss. I'm not part of her team by choice. I already said that. You saw Alioth, you saw what he can do. I was young, I was scared, and she promised to keep me safe."

There was a pause. I wouldn't look at him. I knew coming here was a risk. I knew they wouldn't completely trust me. I just wished they would understand I only sided with Cassandra to stay safe and alive.

Logan broke the silence when he asked, "How young?"

"What?"

"You said you were young, below the legal drinking age. How young?"

"I was a teenager," I responded. "Mid-teens, I think."

"What does a teenager do to get themselves sent to this hell hole?"

I shifted in my seat. No one had ever asked me my backstory before, so I never had to reveal what I was most ashamed to admit. "Do you have Hydra in your universe?"

He nodded. I sighed and said, "My parents...they worked for Hydra. They...they let those Hydra scientists experiment on me. Trying to recreate something as powerful as the serum that created Captain America. Except, instead of making me super strong, it gave me the ability to read minds and see the future. Weirdly enough, the TVA doesn't like anyone that can change the future."

"They didn't get you to join them? Seems like your powers would've been perfect for a time variance agency."

I chuckled humorlessly. "That's not how the TVA works."

"You were a kid."

"That's not how the TVA works."

When he didn't respond, I found myself becoming aware of the silence. Like, of the actual silence. I couldn't hear a single thing Logan was thinking. No one could truly block me out. At least, no one I had met. Not even Cassandra could keep me out completely. I looked over at Logan, trying to focus on him, but still I couldn't hear anything.

"I don't like people poking around in my brain, bub."

I smiled a little. "I can't help it usually, but your brain is weirdly silent. No thoughts, Wolvie?"

"They're none of your business."

I left it at that. Despite my abilities, I wasn't one to pry into other people's thoughts. I heard things by accident, but I wasn't searching through people's heads for their trauma. Actually, it was nice to not have Logan's voice in my head. It was true silence that I had not had in years.

"Are you really not coming with us?" I asked him.

"I'm not a hero," he responded.

"You sure about that?" I eyed his yellow suit. "It's not about being a hero, though. It's about going home."

"There is no home for me to go back to."

His mental walls cracked for just a moment then. I could hear something coming from his mind; the faint calling of his name. No, not calling. Screaming. It was multiple voices, but it was just a faint whisper to me. At the same time, an image came through in his mind. It was a woman with red hair and brown eyes. We didn't have any variants of her come through the Void before, but I had recognized her from the minds of other X-Men who I had crossed paths with: Jean Grey.

Just as quickly as those thoughts slipped out, Logan managed to pull them back in. I wasn't sure if he was hiding them from me or from himself, but either way they were gone. I could tell from the look on his face that he knew I had heard something, and he was not very happy that I had.

"You don't have to tell me," I said, my voice soft. "Or...or show me. But whatever it is going on that has you like this, I'm sorry it happened."

His face was hard as stone, but I could see in his eyes that there was a flux of emotions.

"I lost people," he admitted. "Everyone I loved in my universe. It was my fault and...I just couldn't live with that. I did things...things I regret. Things that could never bring those people back."

"You could be reunited with them in another universe."

He shook his head. "It won't be the same. Every other universe already has a Wolverine. The only one that doesn't is the Mouth's, and that's because he died. I couldn't go back there and put them through seeing me and opening up old wounds. Besides, I don't think I could see them again either. Too much guilt."

I could see Jean's face again, just for a moment, before she was gone again. I could feel Logan's grief; his guilt. The more he opened up, the more his mind became easier to read.

I moved closer to him. Not by much, just an inch to test the waters. When he didn't react, I moved closer again until the space between us was almost completely closed. He looked up at me, but for once he didn't have that scowl on his face. He looked curious by my actions more than anything. I didn't try to push his boundaries any further than just being close to him.

"Good people do bad things sometimes," I told him. "It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I'm no hero, kid," he pointed out.

I shrugged. "Neither am I. None of us are here. But that doesn't mean you can't become a hero."

I wasn't sure if it was the whiskey, the fire, or just how close I was to Logan, but I felt a rush of heat washing over my body. I knew I was definitely feel the effects of the alcohol because I was swaying involuntarily. I started to lean in closer to him, but tried to stop myself as best I could. He seemed amused by it, at least, which made me smile more.

I let out a yawn and stood. I stumbled a little, causing Logan to reach out for me to steady me.

"Are you gonna be able to get back on your own?" he asked.

"I think so, but if you see me passed out along the way do me a favor and carry me back," I said. He chuckled and I tried not to beam too much about it.

I started to walk away, or more like stumble I guess, when Logan called, "Did you see me there tomorrow? In your visions?"

I turned back to him and responded, "Maybe. You'll figure that out tomorrow."

~~~~~~

Good news is, the battle at Cassandra's hideout went well. We took down every one of her cronies, and when Cassandra had left with the army of Deadpools to go to Deadpool-10005's universe, we commandeered her place to keep us safe from Alioth.

Bad news is, Wolverine and Deadpool got out, but the rest of us didn't.

No one really seemed upset over that fact. I mean, besides Laura, who was already missing the variant of Logan ("He may not have been my dad, but he was a version of dad," she had said when she realized he had left without her). Blade, Elektra, and Gambit were more proud of themselves for saving the day, even if it meant not going back to their own realities. I guess I was happy to no longer be under Cassandra's control, too, but I found myself wishing I could've left this place too.

And I found myself dreaming about Logan.

Well, partially dreaming. Some of them were visions.

It's not hard to differentiate between dreams and visions. I don't often get visions when I sleep, but when I do I can feel that they're visions. It's hard to explain other than that. Some nights I found myself dreaming of us by the fire again, except this time I allowed myself to get close enough to Logan to touch him. It very rarely went further than my shoulder against his, sometimes my head against his shoulder. But the visions I had were us together in an apartment I didn't recognize. At first they were all the same - me, Logan, and Wade living domestically in some apartment in New York. Laura was there once too, but only one time.

But then once the vision ended with Logan's arm around my waist and his lips against my forehead. I had woken up with a start before anything else happened.

It was the only vision that showed me with him romantically, but I knew deep down inside of me that that's what I wanted. I mean, Logan is an attractive man. No one could deny that. I may have only known one version of him briefly, but still it was enough to leave me longing for his presence again.

It was just another new normal day in the compound previously owned by Cassandra - I was in my own room reading one of the few books Cassandra had somehow found and kept - when an orange door shaped portal opened. I recognized it as a TVA portal. I sat up quickly, my guard high as I waited for a TVA agent to walk through.

But it wasn't an agent.

It was Logan.

"Come on, kid," he told me. "I'm taking you home."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I was up off my bed and through the portal. I expected to be brought to the TVA first, but I was surprised to find myself in a small apartment.

The apartment from my visions.

I looked around, taking in every detail of the place that I had already seen in my head before. Everything was there, from the pictures to the crude drawings Wade had stuck to the fridge, to the mattress in the middle of the living room where Logan slept. Everything from my visions.

"This..." I said, but paused before I finished the sentence. Did I tell him I had been seeing this place? Did I tell him that I had been seeing us?

When I didn't say anything further, Logan said, "I know it's not your home. But...I wasn't sure if you'd want to go back there."

"I don't," I said quickly. And it was true, I never wanted to go back there. After what my parents had done to me, it was almost a blessing to be sent to the Void. Besides being forced to do Cassandra's bidding.

Logan nodded. "Okay. So...well...welcome. You can stay here as long as you want. It'll take some time to get used to actual society again, I'd assume. The Mouth lives here too - "

As if on cue, the front door opened and there stood Wade, being followed by the mut I once knew as Dogpool.

"Ah! You got the girl!" he said, ushering the dog into the apartment and kicking the door shut behind him. "Finally, he can shut up about seeing you again."

Logan's face turned a shade of red I never expected to see from The Wolverine. "Wade, shut the fuck up."

"What? I'm just saying you've been brooding around this place for ages because we had to leave her behind. You finally have her back. Oh, and Laura! You guys can be one big, happy, fucked up family."

I looked over at Logan. "Laura's here?"

"Not staying with us, but she is in this universe," Logan said. "The TVA agreed to let us save you guys from the Void. Gambit, Elektra, and Blade are all gone back to their own universes now."

"Hopefully one where Gambit can find a better dialect coach," Wade added. "And you get to stay here with us! Isn't that just great? You get to share a bed with Wolvie."

"Only if you're comfortable with that," Logan quickly added, shooting another glare at Wade.

"Of course she'll be fine with that. Better than sharing a bed with Blind Al. Actually, can we switch? I'd much rather cuddle up to the greatest showman."

Logan raised a fist to Wade and unsheathed his claws. It was enough for Wade to finally stop running his mouth and scurry off to his room, the dog following closely behind him. Logan pulled his claws back in and let out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry, I know this is a lot to take in at once," he said. "It's a lot of explaining."

"I can figure it out, I'm sure," I said. "Thank you for saving me."

"I should be thanking you."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't do anything."

"After our talk by the fire, I realized you were right. I was letting the shit I did get to me for too long. I forgot who I was, or who Charles wanted me to be. I just needed a little push from a different mind reader."

I smiled at him. "You just needed someone to tell you you're not a bad person. It's insane to me that no one had done that before I did. Just cause you did bad things didn't mean you were ever a bad person."

There was a pause, then suddenly I was being pulled towards him. Before my mind could comprehend what was happening, Logan's lips were against mine. His hands were holding my face, holding me to him. It took my brain a few seconds to register what was going on before my hands were reaching for his shirt, holding him as well.

Our moment was swiftly interrupted by a familiar merc exclaiming, "Finally!"

Logan pulled away from me to glare at Wade over my shoulder. I heard the bedroom door slam shut again.

He looked down at me. "I'm sorry that you will have to put up with that."

I giggled. "I guess it's a small price to pay if it means I get to kiss you more."

His smile was so beautiful. It really brightened his face after all the brooding and scowling I had seen him doing before. "I'll kiss you as much as you want, bub. Just gotta make sure Wade is locked away in his room if you want it to be any more than kissing."

"Awe, no fair!" came Wade's voice.

Logan and I shared a look before Logan said, "Maybe we start looking for an apartment of our own."

The suggestion caused my mind to fill with another vision: Logan and I in a small place similar to this one, but one that was just our own. The two of us tangled in sheets, completely naked, with the glow of the sunrise spiling through the blinds onto us.

I smiled, both at the vision and at Logan. "I would love that."

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tell Me a Lie

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 4617

Summary: Months of hell lead you to one moment- finding out your boyfriend is really alive. After figuring out where he’s been hiding, you concoct a plan- a very stupid, very dangerous plan- to draw him out. 

Notes: This is a terrible summary, but whatever. I finally started season three and I thought putting the reader in this situation would be really interesting. Obviously, his relationship with Elektra wasn’t the same, but the whole self-destructive Matthew is here and ready for angst. I’m imagining this kinda between the episodes where Matt goes to the hotel and the prison, but doesn’t really follow the plot of the episodes, just my own. This is also just a mess, but oh well. (And I know this is kind of what Bella does in New Moon, but I kind of dig it so I won’t apologize haha)

Warnings: Attempted assault, violence, abandonment, alcoholism literally looking for danger (obviously, spoilers for season three)

More Matt Imagines: HERE

-

It didn’t smell like him anymore. Such a weird, stupid complaint, but it made you sick to your stomach to breathe in the musty air of the apartment. 

You sat up, nursing your head in your hand, still pounding from the night before. Not that you’d slept, but hangovers still found a way to bite you in the ass. It was getting pathetic. Not that you cared. And not that your friends had actually used that word. 

‘Concerning’ was Foggy’s favorite. 

He could have his concern. 

You chased the numb. 

Anything was better than remembering he wasn’t here and the apartment you’d just started to share didn’t smell like him anymore. 

You got out of bed on shaking limbs, feeling the nausea roll over you. You swayed, wondering if you’d throw up again. You didn’t. 

You went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee to pull you out of the haze. Karen and Foggy were coming by today to talk about rent. You had to seem at least somewhat put together or they would try and talk you into getting help. Getting help meant moving on. Moving on meant giving up. Giving up meant lying to yourself. Admitting that he was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

But Matt Murdock wasn’t dead. 

You could feel it. 

The pounding at the door felt like knocking on your skull. You groaned. 

Foggy stepped inside. 

“Morning,” he greeted with his usual chipper smile. 

You didn’t understand it. How he could still seem so happy after everything that happened. Then again, things went rather well for him after…

You shook the thoughts from your head. This wasn’t Foggy’s fault. 

“Hey,” you croaked. You took a long, burning drink from your caffeinated cup and let its effects wash over you. “I thought you two were coming together?” 

“Karen had… other stuff.” Foggy peaked around the corner, plastering a smile across his face. He figured he’d ease into the news. Especially because you looked- well- you looked the way you usually did these past few weeks. “But she says hi.” 

You nodded and took another drink. “Coffee?” 

“I already had some, thanks.” 

He stood silently. 

You stood silently. You raised a brow. “You can sit down, Foggy.” 

“Right. Thanks.” He nodded awkwardly and took a seat on the couch. So much for playing it cool. 

You set your mug to the side and leaned on the counter, fingers gripping the edge like a lifeline. 

“What happened, Foggy?” You stared at the back of his head and felt that familiar squeezing, wrenching breathlessness in your chest. The same feeling when Claire dragged you out of Midland Circle. The same feeling when you watched the building fall. The same feeling when Matt didn’t walk out. “Is it… is it Matt? Did they find him?” 

“No, it’s not about-” He blew out a sigh. “God, you haven’t seen the news then?” 

You hurried around to stand in front of him, panic still evident in your exhausted eyes.

Foggy had to look away. 

“Why, what’s on the news?” 

He gulped. “Maybe you should sit down.” 

“Just tell me what happened,” you scoffed. The sound came out as a nervous laugh, but on the inside, you were screaming. 

His blue eyes met yours. 

“Wilson Fisk made a deal with the feds. He’s out of prison.” 

You blinked. The crushing in your chest was replaced by your heart stopping. 

“What?” You choked out. Of all the things you were expected to hear, Fisk’s name wasn’t one of them. 

“Well, not out exactly. He’s apparently giving them information that’s made him a target in his old prison so they’re keeping him in a cushy penthouse for ‘safety purposes.’” He spat each word out. 

You put a hand on the back of the chair for support. “Fisk is free?” 

“Like I said, he isn’t free, but-”

You held up a hand to stop him.“Where’s this hotel?” 

-

The courtyard was absolute mayhem. Reporters scurried in every direction, each harassing a different agent for information they wouldn’t get. Matt dodged in between them. The noise made his still recovering head pound, but he could still pick out enough to get through. He ducked his head when he heard Karen’s voice, a small moment of panic almost making him turn around. 

He kept moving. 

The crowds didn’t surprise you. And neither did seeing the familiar blonde head weaving through the groups with determined strides. You hurried after her, almost bumping into the man in front of you, but he stepped out of the way just in time. 

“Karen!” You called. 

Gold strands whipped around. Her clear blue stare cut through the crowd. 

“Y/N?” She said, pushing through to you. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“So it’s true.” You tilted your head to the top of the building, its windows reflecting the sun in blinding brightness. “Wilson Fisk is up there?” 

She sighed. “Foggy told you then?” 

“If you’re planning on an ‘it isn’t safe for you to be here’ speech, save it,” you snapped. “I could tell you the same thing.” 

She bit her cheek, looked you over, and determined you looked sober enough. “Alright, follow me.” 

Matt couldn’t move. He tried to force his feet forward, but the heavy beating of his heart filled his ears and made it impossible to navigate the space around him. 

Your voice. Your scent. Even your heartbeat stood out amongst the dozens of people there. And for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to turn around. 

“Promise me we’ll go on that trip we talked about, yeah?” You laughed, though the air was salty with your tears and your voice shook. He kissed your lips for the last time.

“I promise.” 

But that wasn’t what haunted Matt for the last few months. Your sweet words of promise and hope stung, but they weren’t what kept him from going to you. Your screams were. 

“Let me go! Matt! No! Matty! I won’t leave him! Matt!” Even with countless floors between, Matt could hear your gut-wrenching screams as the others dragged you out of the building just before it blew. “Matt! Please! Matt!”

“Matt?” 

It took him a moment to realize that your voice now wasn’t from his memory. It was now.

You’d seen him. But judging by the direction, there was a chance you hadn’t seen his face. He could ignore you and chances were, you’d think you were crazy. Just another offense he’d committed against you. 

He wanted to turn around, to hold you and kiss your lips again and tell you he was okay and everything was going to be okay. That he was still your Matt. 

But the man you fell in love with was gone. He was buried under Midland Circle. 

Matt kept walking. 

-

You’d seen him. As crazy as it was, you knew it was him. He’d heard you. He must have because he stopped- just for a second, but he stopped. Karen may not have believed you, though you could tell she wanted to, but it didn’t matter. 

It was Matt. 

Somehow, it didn’t make any sense but it all made sense at the same time. He was going after Fisk. Of course, he was. Not even the grave couldn't stop your Matt from protecting his city. From protecting you. 

What you didn’t understand is why he kept walking. He acted like you weren’t there, but he of all people couldn’t have simply not noticed you. He’d left you there on purpose. 

He’d left you.

You paced the apartment with your hands raking through your hair with one question on your mind. 

Why? 

Sure, Matt would always use the excuse of protecting you before, but this time felt different. Had you done something? Had you not done enough at Midland Circle? What happened to him? 

Was it your fault?

The explosion was your idea and it buried him. Did he blame you as much as you blamed yourself?

Your feet halted in front of the closet door. Behind the door was a box. Inside the box was the emptiness that haunted your every waking moment for the past you didn’t even know how many days anymore. Your fingers clutched at the neck of the bottle on the table. The drink burned. 

None of it mattered. ‘Why’ didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was out there and he left you and as the burn raced down your throat you knew what you needed to do. 

And you knew where he might be.

-

The gentleness of your touch eased the sting of the disinfectant as you dabbed it on his wounds. It wasn’t the first night he’d come back cut and beaten, but you didn’t let your worry deter your movements. He came back. That’s what mattered. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your voice as soft as your motions. You touched a particularly sore spot and he winced. As you went to draw your hand away, he caught it in his, fingers grasping at yours, still clenched around the towel. 

“Can we just… sit for a while?” He breathed. 

You nodded. He wiped away any blood remaining on his skin and set the towel aside. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you to his chest. He listened to your heartbeat. You listened to his. 

Matt remembered the woman he’d come across earlier that night. Two men had jumped her. They were going to take what they wanted and leave her for dead. He’d taken his time beating them senseless while she got away. But her screams still echoed through his head. 

He tensed beneath you and you looked up at him through your lashes. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing.”

You sat up. “Matt.” 

“It’s nothing,” he managed a laugh. “Really. Just come here.” He coaxed you back to him, but the tension was still there. He breathed in your presence and let out a low sigh. His arms tightened around you. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” His tone was different. Almost afraid. 

You drew lines on his chest. “I know.” 

“And I’d never hurt you, or at least mean to, anyway, but I know that I have and I’m-”

“Matty.” You crawled up so you were beside him, taking his face in your hands. “All I ask is that you come home at the end of the night.” You kissed his cheek. “In one piece, preferably.” He chuckled and you pressed your lips to his. You whispered in between kisses. “Just come home.” 

-

He talked about this place sometimes. Not often. Getting Matt to open up about his childhood was like pulling teeth, but in those last few months together, he’d started to trust you enough to let you in. 

This felt like a betrayal of that. Using your knowledge to expose him. To confront him for leaving you behind. A sober you might have thought of that. But the whiskey-fueled your anger, the rum your despair, and everything else blocked out any logical thought. 

What was the word Foggy used? 

Right. 

Concerning.

“Alright, Matthew,” you called out. Your voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper as you tried to hold back sobs. The wind stung the streaks of tears on your cheeks, but the more you tried to wipe them away, the more they fell. You took a drink. “This is it. Now or never.” 

You waited. You gave him a chance to stop you. 

“You always said you would never let anything happen to me, right? That you’d never hurt me.” You held your arms out at your sides. “Well, here we are, you goddamn liar!” Your voice echoed through the street. He would have been able to hear you for blocks, but standing just outside his damn door had to be good enough. “Come out, Matt!”

“Dude, check out this crazy bitch,” a voice said from behind you. 

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed the nervous bile in your throat. This was part of the plan. Sure, you thought you’d have to do a little more seeking, but this worked even better. There was only one way your tangled-up mind could figure that would get Daredevil to come out to play. You just hoped he would bring your Matt with him. 

You turned around. Two men stood in front of you, both of them with eyes scanning your body and lips forming smirks. Oh yeah. They were perfect. 

“What did you just say to me?” You tried to make your voice sound more confident than you actually felt. You wanted their anger, not their pity. 

“Hey, no need to be like that, I was just kidding,” the taller one said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I was just about to tell my buddy that you look a little lost.”

“Yeah, maybe she could use our help,” his friend agreed. “Do you want our help?” From the sound of his tone ‘help’ was the last thing he was offering. 

They both stepped towards you. 

And then a thought broke through your intoxicated, reckless mind. 

What if Matt really was dead?

It made you freeze. It almost made you sober. 

What if you just saw some guy that looked like him? What if you’d imagined it all together? What if all this time you’d been hoping- hell, even praying- that he would come back and he was still down there, at the bottom of Midland Circle, crushed and bloody and… gone? 

The men took another step forward, looking equally confused as they were intrigued. 

What if there was no one around to save you?

You held your head high. 

You hoped they’d kill you.

Either way, at least you would know. 

“You alright there, sweetheart?” The tall one asked. Sweetheart. The word stung. It belonged to someone else. 

You didn’t say anything and just started swinging. Fist to teeth, then foot against knee, you actually managed to do some damage before the friend grabbed your arms from behind. You stomped on his foot as hard as you could. Just because this was part of your plan didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for them. It had to at least look like you tried. For Foggy and Karen. 

The thought of the two of them threw you off. It made you blink, which allowed the lead prick to get a hold of your hair and use it to throw you to the ground. 

“You wanna play it that way, fine,” he growled. 

“Hair pulling?” You sneered up at him. “What, did your little sister teach you that move?” 

“Mouthy little bitch.” He brought his heel down on your head. Hard. It probably should have knocked you out, but you could still see through blurred vision with darkness around the edges. They started to walk away. 

“W-wait,” you said. The feet at the edge of your vision stopped. “Wait, come here.” You beckoned him to you with your hand. He crouched down. “Is that all you’ve got, pussy?” 

The hit came faster than you prepared for, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He kicked. And kicked. And kicked. Blood filled your mouth. You thought you heard a knife click open, but then everything went silent. 

And there was only one pair of feet.

A grunt. A thud. A body hitting the pavement. 

“What the…” Your main assailant gasped.  

You blinked, trying to see what was going on.

“Hey, man, she started it, I swear.” Another grunt. Another thud. Another body hit the pavement. 

A masked face appeared over yours.  

You smiled through the pain. “I knew it.” 

He took off the black band, revealing his panicked face. It was the last thing you saw before the darkness in your head took over. 

-

Matt carried you downstairs, every sense tuned into the creaking of your broken ribs, the smell of the blood leaking from your lips, your head, your nose. He focused on the sound of your heart. It was still beating. 

It was still beating.

“Sister!” He called. 

Sister Maggie, in all her wise-cracking wisdom, had known to be there. Matt didn’t know how, but not for the first time he was grateful for her presence. She helped without him having to ask. 

“Is she breathing?” She asked. 

“Barely. Her ribs are broken. I-I can’t tell how hard she hit her head.” He laid you on the bed, still listening to the semi-steady thump thump, thump thump. 

“Who is she?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands roamed your features, the gentle curve of your cheek now split with a bleeding gash. He ran a finger over your lips. As if to confirm it was really you. He had to feel, had to know. Know that this was his fault. Your words echoed in his head. 

You’d never hurt me.

You goddamn liar. 

You were here for him. The reckoning for his sins these past weeks. 

“Matthew, who is she?” Margaret pressed again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Just help her.” Matt’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

Sister Maggie frowned, fingers clenched around the cloth she’d used to clean some of the blood. “You need to take her to a hospital.”

“Don’t.” Your voice rasped between them. “Don’t you dare.” You started to sit up, using shaking arms to push yourself upright even as your insides felt like they wanted to rip out of you just from breathing. 

“Stay down,” Matt said. He sat on the edge of the bed, easing you back to a lying position. “Try not to move.”

“I knew it.” 

“Y/N-”

“I fucking knew it.” You pushed back. He was stronger. Matt kept you down as gently as he could. 

“Sister, will you give us a minute?”

You turned to the woman you hadn’t noticed. She seemed glad to leave. 

Matt didn’t face you. He stood up from the bed and paced along the concrete floor, keeping a distance away that made you want to scream. You wanted to touch him. To make sure he was really there. But he hovered away from you like a ghost. 

“Those guys really did a number, huh?” You managed to sit up and this time, he didn’t stop you. Your head, however, wanted to bash itself in. Between the trauma and the liquor, you weren’t sure which made you more nauseous. “But the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is always around to save the day.”

“You did it on purpose,” Matt said, shoulders stiff. “You provoked them. They could have killed you and you-” He sucked in a breath. “Why?”

“I’m an adrenaline junkie. I drink, I look for trouble. It’s becoming quite the hobby.” You were lying. You knew he could tell. 

He stood still, head tilting slightly. “You knew I’d come.” 

“Ding ding ding.” You fell back on the bed and let the ceiling spin. 

Matt couldn’t speak. The panic he’d felt was slowly being engulfed by anger, though it was hard to tell at who. You were looking for a fight, that much he gathered was true. You were drunk, though the fight sobered you up some. Everything he’d ever told you, everything he’d done to try and keep you safe, would have been thrown away tonight. You would have let those men kill you if it meant he wasn’t there. 

And it was all his fault. 

He did the one thing he promised he wouldn't. He left. You’d never judged him, never questioned his need to put on the suit. All you ever asked was that he come back to you and this time, he didn’t. By choice, he didn’t. Just like everyone in both of your pasts, he abandoned you. This was your choice to get back at him, whether or not you believed he was alive. 

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “Today, at the hotel. I knew it was you.” The sure, stubbornness in your voice was gone, replaced by a cracking, wrenching sadness. “I had to know.” 

Matt didn’t say anything. He just reached for the lamp and switched off the light. 

“Get some rest.” 

When you woke up, you were in the hospital, bandages on your cuts, and more hungover than you’d felt in a long time. 

Matt was gone. 

-

They didn’t discharge you, but you left anyway. If they looked too closely at your emergency contacts, they’d find someone who was supposed to be dead and Karen. The latter was not someone you wanted to face right now. 

So, with a couple of busted ribs and one hell of a concussion, you went back to the apartment. His apartment. The place where he first kissed you, first touched you, first-

Now it was just yours. He didn’t want it anymore. 

You half debated going back to the church and demanding he talk to you. You’d like to see the brilliant lawyer try to talk his way out of this one. But in the end, everything hurt too much to face him. You wanted a drink. 

Unlocking the door, the click hit your chest harder than any of that creep’s kicks. 

You knew. 

You may not have had his abilities, but you knew. 

Walking in, you didn’t dare turn around and look at the stairs. You didn’t have to. 

“I’m all better now if that’s what you wanted to see,” you said. You threw your jacket on the floor and kicked off your boots. 

Matt didn’t move from his place by the roof entrance. He stood over you like a judgemental god and you wanted to hit him for it. You might have if he didn’t already look like hell itself spat him back out. 

“You wanted them to kill you,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Not an accusation. An acknowledgment. 

“I wasn’t going to stop them if they tried.” You shrugged. You moved to the kitchen. “Beer?” 

“You shouldn’t drink with the amount of pain medication they gave you.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Like he was just your boyfriend and looking out for you. But he wasn’t and you didn’t know what he was to you anymore. 

“Yeah, well, it’s going to wear off at some point so I might as well get ahead of the curve here.” 

“Y/N-” He stepped. The steps creaked. 

“Don’t.” You held up a hand. “Don’t come anywhere near me, Matt Murdock.” 

He flinched at the sound of his name like it was a blade you held against his throat. 

“Stay where you are,” you said and twisted off the bottle top, grasping so hard the rigid edge dug into your palm. “Shit.” It sliced your skin and your blood dripped onto the wooden floor. 

You didn’t watch him descend the stairs or cross the space between you. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see his hand grab yours, wrapping the small but deep cut with gauze he carried with him. You yanked away the moment his hold lightened. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Y/N-” He said again, your name hurting more than his own. 

“You’re dead!” Your scream filled the apartment. You knew it filled his head. Everything always did. Good. Let it. 

Matt didn’t step away, but he did let his hand fall back to his side. 

“I know.” 

You tried your best not to shake, not to cry and show the weakness you’d felt for the last weeks. Then again, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to feel everything you’d felt. 

“Tell me you were trapped somewhere. Tell me you tried everything you could to get back to us and you just broke free,” you pleaded. “Tell me a lie, Matt, because I’d rather hear that than whatever bullshit reason you can give me.”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak, reading his face before he could say it. 

“I swear, if you say something about ‘protecting me’, then you should have just left me to those creeps because that would have been better than listening to that broken record again.” You turned your back and for that second, you let yourself crumple, but only for a second and completely silent. 

“It wasn’t about you.” 

You straightened up again. “It never was.” 

Now, with you facing away, it was his turn to break. Matt sucked in a sharp breath to keep himself together as you continued. 

“It was always about you, Matt. About your insisted martyrdom.” You didn’t try to stop your tears now, tasting their salt as they flowed past your lips. “Your city. The rest of us just live here, right?” You turned around, stepping towards him. “But at least we live.” With your hands on his chest, you pushed him back. “Which is a hell of a lot harder than hiding.” 

You pushed again and again and again and he just stood there and took it. Your flattened hands turned to fists, hitting harder and harder until you were sure you’d leave bruises on his chest. 

It was when you collapsed that he finally moved, throwing his arms around you before you could hit the floor, your legs giving out under the weight of your utter, complete agony. Your sobs choked you and rattled through Matt like gunfire. You kept fighting him, even as he held you, the pain of your injuries was nothing compared to what you felt in your soul. Like the shattered pieces were being forced back together, but didn’t fit anymore. 

Matt wanted to make it stop. He wanted more than anything to take all of the pain away and tell you it was going to be okay. He was here now. But he was the cause of it all and there was nothing he could do to change it. 

And while there was still a dark part of him that wanted to leave you here, to shield you from him entirely, Matt knew if he tried to walk away now, he wouldn't survive it. Daredevil or Matt Murdock, it didn’t matter. He was yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. 

“You were dead,” you said again, this time with broken words blending together with your sobs. “I tried to go back. I tried to get into Midland Circle, but they dragged me out. I tried, Matt, I-”

He cut you off with a kiss on the forehead and held you closer. 

“I know.” He could still hear your screams, your pleas to give up your life to try and save him. He’d thrown it away, everything you’d tried to make of him. Of the two of you, together. 

You’ll get her killed too. Fisk’s voice in his head pierced his skull like a blade. I will crush her. I’ll tear her apart piece by piece, Matthew, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. 

“She’ll put up a hell of a fight first,” Matt muttered. 

“What?” You pulled back to look up at him. 

He shook his head and held you closer still until the lines between you blurred together. 

“Nothing.” 

Even though every part of him now screamed to get away, he couldn’t move. Even as you knelt in front of him, pulling his lips down to yours, he didn’t fight it. A shock worse than any punch went through his system the moment you kissed him. Like every nerve was finally waking up. 

Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. 

Matt cupped your cheek with one hand and slipped the other to the small of your back, urging you to stand and walk with him to the bed neither of you had slept in in weeks. 

He’d decide in the morning.

[cultven]

Hi!

I was wondering if you can do a Deadpool x reader x Wolverine fic where reader is like very shy. They find her in the void with the other hero’s from the resistance. They both are immediately smitten but since they both are pretty loud and bickering a lot, it makes the reader nervous. Maybe once they win the fight against Cassandra Nova, the two of them confess to her at Wade’s apartment.

Hope you having a wonderful day/night

No pressure or rush

-W.P 💚

Founded Love

Deadpool X Reader X Wolverine

Content: Some cursing, Deadpool’s humor, Wolverine being so done with Wade lol, Self-conscious Deadpool

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Spoilers for Deadpool 3

a/n: First request done! Hopefully, you like it, I tried following the best I could. The reader may seem a little more timid than shy, however.

You were walking around the ruins of The Void, kicking away the dirt and small rocks that lay in your path. Despite always being on edge, you’ve found yourself at peace with your life in The Void. As long as you stayed away from Cassandra Nova and kept to yourself things were just fine. You had even found a family of your own in The Void, superheroes like yourself who were forgotten with time. It wasn’t the life you had imagined for yourself as a child, but you were happy all things considered. As you stumbled around the woods not looking for anything in particular when your eyes spot a blue minivan in the distance. 

You hum to yourself in confusion, taking in the state of the vehicle. It was battered and bloody, the liquid still visibly fresh. It looked a hell of a lot like Nicepool’s car, another trashed variant that lived in The Void. You hoped it wasn’t his car, he always seemed kind enough, hence his not-so-creative name, and you didn’t want any trouble finding the man. Besides, Nicepool was one of the only other people in The Void besides your family you could comfortably talk to. You have always been the shy type, even back in your everyday life in the real world. Casual conversation didn’t come naturally to you, leading you to feel incredibly awkward most times. You were never fond of most other people anyway, so your reserved nature didn’t bother you. 

As you shuffled closer to Betsy, you remember Nicepool always insisting you call the car by her name, you catch a glimpse of two people. The first was notably tied up in various seatbelts, seemingly asleep. He was another Deadpool variant, thankfully not your befriended one, and was bloodied similar to the car. The second man was a Wolverine variant, something that isn’t usually seen in The Void and was also quite beaten. By the looks of it, they had a pretty hefty fight and weren’t going to join consciousness anytime soon. Making a swift decision on what to do with the newfound characters you sigh and try to start up the car, planning on taking them back to your crew.

Much to your surprise, the car runs quite well considering the damage it’s withheld. The drive back to your hideout was quiet with some soft snoring from the back seat. Some music would have been nice but you didn’t want the pair waking up before you got them to the rest of your family. You could handle the transportation, but the questioning was something better fitted for Elektra or Eric. Eventually, you turn the car and park it next to the house you have been calling home for almost a year now. You debated bringing the two men inside by yourself before quickly realizing there was no way in hell you’d be able to move their large figures. 

“Guys, I’m back.” You quietly announced walking through the door. You saw Remy and Laura sitting at a table playing cards while Elektra was making some sort of food in the kitchen. 

“Hey, glad to see you made it back ok.” Elektra smiled, plating five portions of her cooking. “Did you see Johnny while you were out there?” 

“Nah, unfortunately not. But, I did find some new guys. A Deadpool and a Wolverine.” That caught everyone’s attention, especially Laura’s. You and her were quite close which led her to entrust you with her past, most importantly the bits of Logan. You felt uneasy with all the attention now suddenly on you, but continue your thoughts with fiddling fingers. “They’re, um, in a car unconscious just outside the house. I drove them here. I probably can’t move them inside so…” You let your stream of thoughts trail off, noticing Remy stand up from his space at the table. 

“I’ll go get them, eh?” His accent never failed to amuse you, causing you to smile and nod at the man as he went out the door. Blade soon entered the room and began talking with the others, speculating what the hell was going on with the two men outside. You took this as an opportunity to hide away in your room, allowing yourself to decompress after everything. 

After some rustling outside your room, it eventually quieted, likely meaning the two men were still asleep and the others wanted to give them space. You took this as an opportunity to sneak around to the kitchen, the starvation of not eating all day finally catching up to you. As you tiptoe down the hallway and past the living room you hear an inaudible grumble. Turning your head slightly you see the Wolverine stir. Not realizing you had completely stopped to stare at the man, his narrow eyes met yours with a questioning glance. 

“What the hell are you looking at? Where are we?” His accusatory tone and spew of questions caused you to become flustered. You begin to tap your foot on the floor, a nervous tick you’ve developed over time. 

Realizing you have yet to answer his questions you spoke up, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were awake. Or I guess you just kinda woke up, huh?” You get out an awkward laugh, avoiding eye contact. You hated this with everything in your body. “I, uh, found you guys in that old banged-up car so I called for backup to take you here just to make sure you guys were alright.” When you didn’t get a response you turned back to the Wolverine who was previously throwing questions at you to find him much calmer now. Maybe he finally gauged that you weren’t a threat to him, and even if you were he could easily take you down. You find his eyes scanning your body and finally meet your eyes, causing you to shrink. His frown lines were less prominent than before, adorning a more relaxed expression. 

“Mhm, well thanks for that then.” It wasn’t the kindest thank you in the world, but it was nice he was at least a little grateful for your efforts. As you watched him examine the room you took in his appearance. He adorned the iconic Wolverine suit, the one that Laura insisted her Logan never wore, so it’s likely that this isn’t her Logan, but you figured that much considering ghosts didn’t make it to The Void. He seemed to have a permanent frown on his face, which oddly suited him. There were small tufts of hair on the top of his head, ones that resembled ears. It was cute. Little did you know, when you finally turned away from admiring the man he took his own turn to take you in. You could tell there wasn’t a version of you in his world, but he still felt comforted by your presence in an odd way. Perhaps it was because you saved him and his stupid sidekick. No matter the reason, the gentle look on your face when you hadn’t realized he was awake yet was enough to draw him towards you. 

“What’s your name?” He wanted the conversation to continue and was becoming increasingly interested in you. 

“Y/N. I already know yours, you’re the notorious Wolverine. Also known as Logan.” He seemed shocked you knew his real name, especially by the disregard of how you said it. Noticing his reaction you hastily begin explaining yourself. “Well uh, it’s just Laura told me, if you even know who that is, um I’m not sure if you have her in your universe.” Your speech comes out in an anxious jumble, before deciding just to shut your mouth altogether, wanting to hide away. Wolverine chuckled to himself slightly, finding your skittish behavior quite endearing.  

You felt yourself blushing, wanting to hide from the strong eyes following your figure. Just as you were about to mumble out an excuse to leave the room Logan responded to your earlier ramble, “I’m not sure what all that means bub, but thanks for letting us crash here.” You watched him take in the room, mostly staring at Remy’s impressive stash of alcohol. He stood up from his place and chose a bottle of booze to open and take a swig. You knew Remy wouldn’t appreciate this action, but you were too shy to speak up about it. 

“Yeah, of course.” You rocked back and forth on your feet, something Wolverine took notice of. The whole time you spoke to him he picked up on your small fidgets and mannerisms. Despite finding them precious he didn’t want you to feel so nervous while talking to him, he wasn’t all that scary. Besides, he doesn’t hurt people without reason. “Was that Nicepool’s car you were in?” Before Wolverine had the chance to open his mouth a loud gasp followed by “Thor!” is heard from the bed. Upon seeing the Deadpool variant spring up from his sleeping position you hide yourself half behind the wall. Other than Nicepool all of the other Deadpools you have encountered were aggressive to say the least. But if this one was traveling with the nice Wolverine then maybe he couldn’t be so bad? 

Noticing your caution Wolverine decided to speak up, “Morning, jackass.” 

“Well, good morning to you too, honey bear.” Deadpool took in their surroundings before settling his gaze on you. “I see a beautiful woman has kidnapped us. Not how I was planning for this trip to go, but this could be a pretty hot porn set-up.” You could practically hear the smirk oozing from his speech. Maybe not an aggressive Deadpool, but it didn’t make him any less intimidating. 

You didn’t know what to say, so Wolverine said what you were practically thinking. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. She helped us here and now you’re creeping her out.” He took a swig before slightly positioning himself between you and the Deadpool. 

“I’m not the one with a permanent scowl! You look like the stereotypical villain of every cartoon.” Deadpool stands up before sauntering his way over to you. “What’s your name, pretty little thing.” 

“Y/N.” You managed to squeak out, ready to go lock yourself in your room forever. All of the sudden attention made you increasingly nervous. Deadpool just patted your head and looked over at Wolverine. 

“Dibs on this lovely lady.” He began smushing your cheeks like you were a child. He was quite the character, oddly charming in his weird ways, although you were getting overwhelmed with the physical touch. “I would be okay with sharing with you though Wolvie. Maybe divorced parents' style, I get weekdays and you every other weekend, hm?”

Wolverine growled, “She’s not an object, dipshit.” He pulled Deadpool off of you, clutching the fabric of his suit in his hand. As they begin to argue over you, you feel yourself shrink. Their booming voices and increasingly violent demeanors made you nervous, wanting to flee from the scene as soon as possible. Noticing their attentions were solely on each other you took the chance to sneak out of the room and back into the oasis that is your bedroom. You enjoyed the conversation you had with Logan, but once Deadpool woke up it was clear the two characters didn’t seem to mix well. Once they were caught in each other’s warpath it was like you weren’t even there anymore. 

You heard them eventually quiet, likely realizing you had left the scene a while ago. The arguing also caught the attention of the rest of your roommates, who were all very curious to see what the deal of the two new arrivals was. You opted to stay in your bedroom and listen to some music to help calm you down. As much as you loved your found family, large crowds were still unnerving. As it got later in the night you quickly realized that you couldn’t hide out forever, needing to eat as humans do, so you snuck out of your room. Luckily it seemed everyone had retired for the night early. It was odd considering the new arrivals but maybe they all wore each other out. 

Walking into the kitchen you notice another figure already standing at the toaster, patiently waiting for his food to pop up. “Hey, cutie.” The man in red purred, wiggling his fingers in your direction. 

“Is your whole personality just being a creep?” You half-joked, grabbing a box of cereal. You typically wouldn’t say things like this is strangers, but you could tell that this was certainly Deadpool’s type of humor. He seemed to appreciate the joke as he only giggled at the comment. 

“Maybe.” He said, playfully dragging out the E at the end. You just roll your eyes in return before fixing yourself a bowl of cereal and sitting at the counter, back turned towards him. Realizing that the conversation was over you heard an uncharacteristic sigh from the mercenary. “Sorry for kind of ambushing you there earlier. It’s just fun to watch Wolverine get his panties in a twist. He was sooo flirting with you back there.” It seemed he genuinely felt bad for making you uncomfortable back there, which was sweet. However, his one comment stuck about flirting. There was no way, right?

“I don’t know, it seemed like a normal conversation to me.” You shrugged despite feeling your entire body heat up at the suggestion. 

“Maybe he wasn’t flirting with his words, but he was definitely flirting with his eyes.” Deadpool moved back into your line of vision, waving his hand in front of your eyes. “Just know I’m batting my eyelashes under the mask right now.” You must say, despite the sheer amount of annoyance this man can bring, he is quite funny. 

Giving in to the stupidity you don’t hold back your small laugh, which plainly pleased Deadpool across from you. “Where is Wolverine now anyway?” It was strange to see the two apart seeing as you found them together. 

“He’s talking to your feisty friend out there.” You could tell right away he was referring to Laura. It made sense why they would be talking. You wonder if he had a Laura in his timeline. Suddenly you heard the pop of a toaster and Deadpool’s demeanor pop up. “Oh, fuck yes!” He clapped vigorously before reaching into the toaster and pulling out a freshly made Pop-Tart. 

“Hey! Is that my last Pop-tart?” You question, eyeing the familiar-looking treat. 

“How mad would you be if I said yes?” Deadpool looked at you with fake innocence. 

“Very.”

“Then, no.” He patted your head once more before situating himself across from you, Pop-tart on a plate. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance. It was strange to find yourself so comfortable with the man in such a short amount of time. Admittedly, you felt this way about both of the new arrivals. They were quite friendly, to you at least, and were easy to talk to. You were grateful you stumbled upon them in those woods, and they seemed to feel the same way. 

“Did you hear about the plan for tomorrow?” Deadpool questioned. Your downcasted eyes looked up in confusion. 

“Plan?”

“Yup, we’re gonna rock Cassandra’s shit tomorrow,” Deadpool said with a grin. “Can’t wait to see the look on that egghead’s face when she realizes she got fucked by a Looney Toons squad.” You just shook your head, smiling a bit before noticing the plate still soundly sat in front of the man. 

“Hey, your Poptart is getting cold.”

“Shit! Cold Pop-tarts are the worst.” He groaned, throwing his head back. “I guess I was just too distracted by your beauty to notice, among other things.” He makes motions with his hands around his chest. He’s talking about your boobs, classy. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You just giggled. “Eat you idiot.” Deadpool grinned under his mask before looking down at the plate. He seemed hesitant about something, but you didn’t know what. It was only a Pop-tart, all he had to do was lift his mask and eat it. Speaking of which, you actually can’t recall ever seeing him without his mask. 

“I might actually take this one to go, baby girl. Don’t wanna ruin your appetite.” He motions to his mask before nodding his head and turning to skip out of the room. 

“Hey, wait!” You’ve seen some pretty nasty stuff in The Void, surely it couldn’t be that bad. “Eat here, with me. I’d appreciate the company.” Seeing you want him to stay Deadpool couldn’t just dent you, so he conceded and sat himself back down. Tentative fingers made their way to his mask, pulling it up only slightly. Under you get a glimpse of scar tissue, textured and wrinkled. After taking notice of your lack of reaction he continues slowly, his prominent cheekbones revealed, and then his dark brown eyes. Finally, his mask is completely off, revealing a bald head underneath. You admit it wasn’t what you were expecting, but it wasn’t horrible in the slightest. 

“You grossed out yet?” He asked with a forced-sounding laugh. His appearance was clearly a sore subject for him. 

“Not at all.” You smiled at him. “You made it seem like your face was going to be melting off or something.”

“Eh, it kinda is.” By the tone of his voice, you assumed you put the man in much better spirits.

“Well, I still think you look quite charming.” Surprise painted Deadpool’s face, and then a face of appreciation. Not many people thought he was good-looking with his deformation, he constantly got berated for it, joking and not. He ended up using his humor to seal the pain, it was a nice break to have someone see him other than his skin. “Besides, I know it’s not the same but I had like major acne as a teen, so my skin was basically as bad as yours.” 

“Probably worse if I had to guess, them hormones be crazy girl.” Deadpool had a wide smile before biting into the, now freezing cold, Pop-tart. Gross. You two sat and talked, picking away at your respective meals before Deadpool, who you learned was named Wade, suggested you both head to bed. Claiming you need your energy for tomorrow because he’d hate to see you skinned and popped like a bloody zit, his words, not yours. 

He already ran off somewhere when you were taking the trash out. As you hauled the giant trash bag behind you, a person grazed your shoulder. “You know tomorrow is a suicide mission, right?” The gruff voice from earlier, Wolverine. He sounded concerned. 

“We’ve been her prisoners for so long, it’s about time we did something for ourselves.” Wolverine seemed to accept your answer with a curt nod, turning away so you couldn’t see the worry etched in his face. 

“Just be careful, bub.” That was all he said before walking inside, leaving the door slightly open for you once you’re done. 

To put it bluntly, the mission was a success. Logan did end up assisting you and your family in effectively taking down Cassandra. This was not surprising to you, despite his rough demeanor you could tell he’s a caring person on the inside, he just doesn’t know how to verbalize it well. What you didn’t expect, however, was to be pulled into the portal with Logan and Wade, transporting you back to Wade’s dimension. This was where you took down Cassandra for good this time, watching Wade and Logan heroically sacrifice themselves for Wade’s loved ones. It was heartwarmingly sweet and incredibly anxiety-inducing. But you all made it, not without a few scratches but regeneration came in clutch. What you were most grateful for was learning the rest of your family got to return to their timelines, something you had all longed for for so long. 

After the chaos, you and Logan figured you had nothing in your old worlds and decided to stay in Wade’s timeline. He graciously offered you a place in his apartment and, after sleeping on a not-so-comfortable couch for months, you finally saved enough money to rent your own apartment which was conveniently next door. This meant the three of you hung out all the time, whether it was an ambush hang-out or a planned movie night. Wade’s family became yours and you were happy.   

“Wade! Don’t burn the popcorn this time!” You yelled from across the room, feeling entirely comfortable in the company of your peers. 

“Please. I can’t handle the burnt smell any longer. It’s a miracle you haven’t burned this place to the ground yet.” Logan grumbled, resting his arm around you. 

“I’m wounded, you guys think I’m that horrible at making such a simple dish.” As if on cue, smoke begins to ooze out of the microwave. “No! Not towards the smoke alarm not again!” He rushed over, hastily fishing the bag out, and dropped it as it burnt his hand. Quickly putting it in a bowl he hops over the back of the couch you settle on your other side, offering the bowl to Logan. 

“I’m not eating your fucking popcorn ash.” Logan mumbles, still looking for a suitable movie. 

“More for me and cutie over here then.” Wade smiles, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth and instantly regretting it, resisting the urge to spit out the popcorn. “Mhm, delicious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Logan berates as you just giggle. After much bickering, mostly between Logan and Wade, you finally settle on a movie, The Proposal. Halfway through Wade unexpectedly turns in your direction. 

“You know, I’m really happy you found us gutted in that shitty excuse for a car.” It was sweet, in Wade’s own way. 

“Me too, bub,” Logan says, squeezing your shoulder where his arm still rests around you. You look between the both of them and smile brightly. 

“I’m the happiest, I got to meet you guys. You really broke me out of my shell, you know that?” You squeezed Wade’s hand while patting Logan’s thigh. You truly were grateful for them, the other group may have been your family but these two felt different, even closer in a way. “I don’t think I ever want to leave.” 

“We’re glad,” Wade says sweetly before frantically shushing both you and Logan as his favorite part of the movie begins your play. The rest of the night is spent in comfortable silence, much to your surprise with Wade, as the three of you cuddle closely on the couch, thanking the universe for connecting you. 

[waywardxrhea]

Matthew

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 2.5k

In the midst of your mourning of Matt after the events of Midland Circle, you decide to visit Clinton Church to feel closer to him. 

Content: angst and lots of it, canon typical violence, guns, language (in a church, whoops), mental breakdown. 

Now playing: Matthew by Hey Violet

“Matt… He didn’t make it out before the building collapsed. I’m sorry…”

Those words had haunted you every day for months now. You remembered feeling your whole world crashing down around you as your heart shattered into a million little pieces. Your knees had gone numb and you collapsed into Karen’s arms as she told you the horrible news. You had felt pain before, sure, but the worst of it didn’t even touch that of what you felt when you were faced with the fact that Matt had been in the middle of a building collapse and they hadn’t even been able to recover his body. 

The cloud of insurmountable grief hung low around you ever since, and today its burden felt heavier than normal. So you decided to go to the one place you felt you could be close to Matt: Clinton Church. You hadn’t been there since the funeral and as you walked from the train station, you were tormented with the memory of the night Matt left. 

You were in the middle of cooking dinner for you and Matt when he entered the apartment in a rush, tossing his glasses and cane away quickly before following them with his suit jacket and tie. Sensing the urgency in the way he moved toward the closet to grab his Daredevil suit, you placed the spoon on its rest and asked tentatively, “Everything okay?” 

Matt shook his head as he began haphazardly stripping out of his court clothes, telling you, “The Hand. We’re taking them down tonight.”

Closing your eyes and letting out a quiet sigh, you said, “Matt, please. Please don’t go, I… I just don’t have a good feeling about this. Ever since you told me about what’s been going on with them I’ve been having these nightmares and-”

You were cut off by Matt placing a gentle kiss to your lips, one of his hands holding your chin in place as he did. When he pulled away and released his grip on you, he kissed your cheek before saying, “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry, but I really have to go. This could be the only opportunity we get to take them down and I’ll be damned if they keep on ruining lives because I didn’t step in to stop them. I can get through to Elektra. And when I do, this will all be over with.”

You opened your mouth to protest once more, but knew that it would fall upon deaf ears because once Matt had his mind set on something there was no stopping him. It was something you both admired and were terrified of. So you shut your mouth once more and nodded, trying desperately to hold back the sob building in your chest as your emotions began to well up in your eyes. 

Matt was suited up in record time and gave you a quick hug before heading up the stairs that would take him to the rooftop access. He was nearly at the door before you could even clear your throat and calm your shallow breathing enough to whisper, “I love you. Be safe.” You weren’t even sure he heard it as he threw open the door and flew out of it, not acknowledging the statement in his state of hypervigilance on the sounds of the city. 

Walking into the church felt odd and you offered your best tight-lipped smile to a kind looking man who held the door open for you on his way out. As you walked into the beautiful sanctuary, a new wave of emotions hit you and as your breathing became shallow, you felt light headed and nauseous. Your mind was bombarded with flashes of that night. Of screaming your throat raw in both anger and sadness. Of the funeral. Of the image from your nightmares that had plagued you ever since: Matt’s bloodied and lifeless body. 

A sharp gasp left your chest as a hand was placed on your shoulder and startled you back into reality where you realized you were now leaning most of your body weight onto the back of a pew, trying not to collapse. Through a feeling of cotton in your ears, you heard your name being called softly and you looked up to see the kind eyes of Father Lantom looking back at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. 

Are you okay? 

The stupid question everyone kept asking you. Of course you weren’t okay. In what version of reality would you be okay after losing Matt? You couldn’t tell most people what really happened, your story always landing on the lie that he had been in the financial building on late night business for the firm when it collapsed. It felt like a disservice to Matt’s memory to lie about what he was really doing in there trying to save lives, but it was what you had promised him when he first revealed to you that he was Daredevil: you weren’t to tell a soul. So you didn’t. It was a secret you would take to the grave with you. 

Are you okay? 

As stupid as the question was, and as obvious as the answer was, you were never able to answer because every time someone asked you ended up crying and unable to speak. So just as it had happened every time before, you choked on a sob before the floodgates opened and your vision became blurred by tears, your knees becoming too weak to hold your body weight. You were barely even aware of Father Lantom and a nun guiding you around the edge of the pew and into the plush seat as you slipped off into the depths of a breakdown. 

When you came back to your senses, a small water bottle was being coaxed into your hand and you glanced up to see a stern looking nun gesture for you to take a drink before she got up and left you with the Father. He patted you on the back before telling you, “I have a feeling you’re here to be close to him. Take the time you need. I’ll be nearby if you need me.” You nodded as he got up, watching as he wandered over to someone else to offer his presence in their own time of need. 

Praying had never been your strong suit, so instead of doing that, once you found your voice, you just began talking aloud to the ceiling as if Matt were there. “Hey Matty… I uh… I came here because I’m really struggling right now. I miss you a lot.” You quietly cleared your throat as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “I don’t really know what I’m doing so I guess I’ll just tell you what’s been going on.” 

Feeling your keys poking into your thigh reminded you of a little keychain you had on there, so you sighed and said, “They decided to close down Fogwell’s… Not enough members coming anymore.” A quiet huff of laughter left your lips before you added, “Sometimes I feel like you were the only one keeping them in business, but now…” 

Your voice broke again, so you changed course, telling him, “Oh and that piss-beer you drink is more expensive now. It tastes like shit and you know I hate beer, but I keep buying it because it reminds me of you… Dad likes it enough so it doesn’t go to waste.” Sighing, you chewed on your lip before adding, “That reminds me. I moved out of the apartment and back to Hamilton Heights with my parents. I just… I couldn’t stand the quiet of you not being there. God, I would take a million changes though if it meant that you’d still be here…”

The metallic taste of blood suddenly flooded your mouth and only then did you realize that in your minutes of regaining your composure after that statement you had bit into your cheek to keep from completely losing it again. Cringing at the taste, you swallowed it down before telling Matt, “I’ve been really lonely since everything happened… I had to get a new job closer to Mom and Dad’s and it’s hard opening up to anyone so I haven’t really made any friends there. I… I haven’t talked to Karen or Foggy since the funeral either. They remind me too much of you. I know it sounds selfish but…” 

More tears began falling from your eyes and a quiet sob escaped before you said, “I miss your voice so much. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it and I regret ever deleting your voicemails because now it’s getting harder to remember what you sounded like…” Taking a shaking breath, you added, “And I regret stopping my daily journaling. Every time I think of you I just get bombarded by horrible flashbacks and it’s hard to remember the little things. The good things. Those entries from the start of our relationship are all I have left of you and I and it kills me that I don’t have more…”

With your breathing beginning to become shallow again, you opted to finish up before you ended up in another breakdown. “And I know I couldn’t save you from yourself Matthew, but I’ll hold you inside.” Your throat was tight with emotion and you had to swallow hard to even get out your last question to Matt, “Will you haunt me until the day I die?”

“The bastard isn’t gonna have to haunt you for long,” came a deep voice from behind. You froze in fear as you suddenly felt the cold metal of the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of your head. There was a momentary battle in your head between logic and your nagging hopelessness before the latter won out and you let out a slow breath as you accepted what was about to happen, closing your eyes and readying yourself for the Reaper to come get you. 

The shot never came though. Instead, your eyes sprung open when you heard someone near the front of the sanctuary scream. There was a scuffle behind you and you heard fists pounding into flesh and the voice of the man with the gun pleading for mercy before he stopped and you assumed he passed out. You turned around and blinked hard at the sight in front of you. You held tight to the back of the pew, your knuckles turning white as you tried to steady yourself and your spinning head to concentrate on the sight in front of you. Your mind had to be playing tricks on you because there was no way you were looking at Matt Murdock with a piece of fabric haphazardly tied over the top half of his face to hide his identity from the parishioners in the church. 

“Matt?” you asked in disbelief. 

“Get her to safety, I’ll deal with him,” he said, directing his immediate attention to the stern-looking nun who made a reappearance after ushering terrified church-goers out of the building. 

“Follow me, please,” she said as helped you up from the pew. 

Your head was spinning as you were forced up to your feet and into the basement of the church where you were placed on a messily made bed and told that you would be safe there. A flurry of confusion, fear, sadness, and betrayal swirled around in your mind as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Clearly it was real because the nun responded to what Matt had said and the man wasn’t able to kill you. But how? How did he-

“Are you okay?” came Matt’s gravelly voice as he entered the basement, ripping the fabric from his head as he approached and kneeled on the ground in front of you. 

Are you okay? 

This time you weren’t sure if you should be upset or happy or angry in response to the question because there he was, kneeling right in front of you. Alive. Matt wasn’t dead. 

You decided on throwing your arms around him in the tightest embrace you could muster as you shook your head and whispered, “How could you? You bastard…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he replied, voice breaking as he returned your hug, his fists clutching onto the fabric of your top. “I messed up. I thought that you would all be better off without me. Without the danger of being close to me. So when that building collapsed and I somehow made it out alive I decided that Matt Murdock was dead.”

“You slipped like sand right through my fingers, did I not love you enough? If you didn’t want to live as you anymore?” you asked, your voice muffled by his shirt.

“No. Never,” he told you firmly. “I did this to protect you.”

“That isn’t your decision to make for me,” you said, your voice breaking again. 

“I know that now and I’m sorry. I just… I thought that you’d be safer without me. But now Fisk is sending his men after you and you still aren’t safe.” Matt finally pulled away from your embrace and tentatively caressed your cheek with a small smile on his lips. “I missed you. And I love you. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, wiping away a stray tear that escaped your eye. 

Matt made his way onto the bed beside you and the two of you just held each other for a few minutes before he cleared his throat and said cautiously, “Right…right before I stopped that man from shooting you, your whole body relaxed and your stress levels dropped… What was that about?”

You stopped breathing for a moment when he asked this. After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, you replied truthfully, “I…I was ready to die. At least then I would have been with you instead of here suffering without.”

Matt had never pulled you into his embrace faster than he did when you admitted that. As he held you close, you could feel him shaking as he cried and you ran a hand up and down his back, trying to calm him down in turn. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he managed to get out between broken breaths. 

You too were overcome with emotions, so you did what you could and held Matt impossibly closer until you were able to come back to yourself. “I meant everything I said up there by the way. Those were the most miserable months of my life.” You pulled away slightly and hesitantly kissed his cheek before telling him, “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “We’re going to make sure you’re safe and I’m going to take care of Fisk then everything can go back to normal.”

A huff of laughter left your lips before you told him, “Matthew. Your life is anything but normal.”

“Well as normal as it can be. And when the dust clears I hope you’ll still be willing to be by my side,” he said. 

“Forever and always,” you told him, leaning in for a kiss which he reciprocated in the most tender way he could. When the kiss ended, you rested your forehead on his and mumbled, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

And somehow in that moment, even after everything that had happened, you felt okay.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

a/n: okay ngl y’all i cried when i wrote this whoops 😅

anywho! likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

oh also shoutout to those who beta read this! 🫶🏻🐠

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

[farfromstrange]

GOOD MORNING DAREDEVIL GANG! I am once again coming to you with thoughts, and they are SCRAMBLED because I’m still reeling from that fucking shower scene. Lord help us all. These thoughts are not as well articulated as I wanted them to be, but it is what it is.

Buckle up. Spoilers for episode 7 Of Daredevil: Born Again ahead.

Matt washing the blood off him and Heather coming in, and him pinning her to the fucking wall to distract her from the fact he’s bruised was not how I thought the shower scene would play out, but it worked, and if it had been me, it would have worked too because holy shit, the way he kissed her. I am unwell. He’s always used his sexiness to avoid answering questions and honestly, good for him.

Sorry, let me just crash out real quick: I want him to grab my face and fuck me against the shower wall like an animal to distract me from the fact he’s bruised and bleeding, and I want him to bite me so hard I start bleeding, too. Fuck. FUCK. FUCK ME MATT MURDOCK. Why’s he so hot I don’t understand. I’m supposed to give an in-depth review, but here I am wetter than the Pacific Ocean, begging to God to make him real so he can kiss (and fuck) me like that, too. Oh well.

Matt seemed so annoyed when she asked him about what was going and what happened to him, and I get it. Not just that he was annoyed but that she was asking him all these questions (that any normal girlfriend would if she thought her boyfriend was just a really traumatized lawyer) because she’s worried and desperate. Who wouldn’t be desperate with Matt ‘I hate therapy talk’ Murdock? Let’s be real here. He sucks at this.

She doesn’t know him the way the people who also know about Daredevil do, and that’s the problem, I think. I mean, I do get that Matt was annoyed because he himself is grappling with what he did, with all that’s happened and did happen a year ago, and he is basically trying to hold up two lives again, which is exhausting, but a lot of his problems would be remedied if he just talked about them and didn’t push everyone away. But we’ve known this.

Him calling her ‘sweetie’ took me right out though, and the fact Charlie’s accent slipped made it ten times better. Like, I can’t be the only one who noticed that?

I love LOVE that he finally admitted that the life he has now is so different from what he had before and it feels fake—because it’s not him. It’s not the life Matt had and was happy with before Foggy died. I mean, we saw how happy he was in She-Hulk, and he was doing good for himself with friends who knew and loved and understood him. He was getting back on track. Now that that’s gone, and he has seemingly loads of money and a girlfriend who doesn’t know about his darker half, it’s not going to work out, and we know it won’t. Marvel is doing this on purpose.

That’s why that relationship seems so dysfunctional and wrong and inauthentic the closer we get to the finale. Because it is dysfunctional. It’s supposed to be dysfunctional because Matt doesn’t want to be alone. He was trying to be normal, and Heather is part of that, but that no longer works for him. It was never going to, but he’s only realizing that now. That’s not who he is, and that’s why they have so many issues. It’s not Heather’s fault.

He said ‘I love you’, but the smile before he said it feels forced. Now, that doesn’t mean I think he lied. I do think he loves her. I think, he loves her in a different way than we’ve seen him love Elektra or Karen, but he does love her. And he cares about her. She matters to him. So, as dysfunctional as they are, he does have feelings, and if he ends up losing her, I think it will be the last nail in the coffin.

I love that he said “Dr. Glenn” after she gave him that therapy talk, and that he brushed away her tears, trying to reassure her. He’s a little shit and we love him for that.

But him feeling her face? The forehead kiss? What the fuck. Somebody fucking sedate me.

Heather was right though, the things he does border on self-harm because he pushes it too far. And we know what happened in Season 3 when he was so willing to die. One does not just let go of that. He’s always had this tendency to self-destruct, and I love that she finally pointed it out to him.

That’s what makes him such a complex character. He has different facets, and just when you think you’ve seen it all, there’s more. That’s why he needs someone who understand and accepts all of him, and this whole thing with Heather is just a ticking time bomb that is bound to backfire.

(I typed all of this after pausing that scene because I had to get these thoughts down. The rest will be written after I finish watching.)

I have three words: what. the. fuck. I mean, I knew Muse was going to be a problem for Heather. He seemed pretty obsessed with her the first time he talked to her, but the fact he tied her up in her own office in broad daylight, ready to bleed the shit out of her kind of came unexpected.

Matt knowing he was going after Heather by feeling the drawings Muse had made of her face… I said earlier how sweet it was he felt her face, BUT THATS HOW HE COULD TELL IM CRASHING OUT if he hadn’t done it who knows what would have happened

And he really put the suit on in the middle of the day. That fight scene was amazing, but I have to admit, those new Billy Clubs are definitely made to fit the new Matt and not the old one. What do you MEAN they have blades attached to them? What do you mean he impaled Muse and didn’t give a fuck? Oh, that man has lost it. Foggy was the last thing tethering him to sanity, and now that he’s gone, Matt is just saying ‘fuck it’ to everything, and I am so here for it.

I kind of thought Muse was going to kill Heather, but she actually killed him?? I didn’t expect that because we got him for what, two episodes? I kind of liked him. Muse was an incredible villain! Sure, the symbolism of him lying like a mural on that sheet was great, but I’m sad he died so soon.

Anyway. Marvel is doing a good job at presenting Matt and Heather’s relationship as ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’ at first, with the flirty dates and Kirsten setting them up so they’d both get a little action, but also at the same time slowly presenting all the ways in which it is flawed. Matt jumping into a relationship with her after not dealing with his grief, her being a therapist who knows the signs and is starting to suspect things, Matt putting the suit back on without her ever knowing about Daredevil, him not even acknowledging the fact that he was a hostage in a bank robbery, and now she’s also traumatized without knowing the man who saved her was actually her boyfriend, the same man who’s been lying to her all this time about his alter ego. Matt is so caught up in everything, he’s just continuing to build that house of cards until it’s ultimately blown away.

And don’t even get me started on Fisk and Vanessa. Therapy seems to have done nothing because that woman was ready to have her husband killed because she misses her power as Queenpin, and honestly, good for her. I just think it’s fucking hilarious that happens right after their therapist is incapacitated (because let’s face it, Heather won’t be able to go back to that office for a while). Like, we knew it was never going to work out, but her affiliation with the Fisk’s is another thing that might put Heather into trouble again and possibly lead to more tensions between her and Matt because he has a history with them, too that she doesn’t know about.

I love how Fisk partly doesn’t want to believe Matt went back on his promise but he also does believe it because he’s mad at him for ruining everything in the original show, which, let’s face it, is the only reason he’s doing it. That man is holding a grudge, and when he does that it gets dangerous. Anyway, I’m curious to see what he’s going to do because he was pretty quiet about possible actions against Daredevil in the episode, but we know shit’s gonna go down, so we’ll see.

All in all I am screaming crying throwing up. He was so soft but also so fucking dark and dangerous in that episode. And the fight scene in the middle of the day was definitely something else, something different, especially with all the light we usually don’t get, but I’m not complaining.

[stormyelliotwritez]

do u think that like dating poolverine would you meet one over the other first or both at the same time and like how would that happen like omg the thoughts in my brain are thinking so hard rn. like. who falls first. how do yall get tgt. that kinda stuff.

i feel like theres so many ways this could go but i wanna hear your opinions… c:

okay okay okay, i have thoughts and thanks for this!!!

so if you’re a merc/hero like them and you meet after dp&w:

you meet deadpool first and you guys playfully flirt and you against your better judgement find yourself falling for him

hes oblivious af coz he can’t stop thinking about wolvie

he invites you over for like dinner and some drinks coz he wants wolvie to make friends

logan can smell the want and the affection on you and he can hear your heartbeat racing when you talk to them

he tells wade and it clicks for him and he realizes wait he can like you too so he falls for you and then logan does too

you get together by play flirting and then it becoming real flirting and then they’re inviting you to stay the night and soon enough you’re moving in and being cuddled all the time

if you’re in the void and you’re like a hero ig

they meet you in the building with elektra and gambit and blade and laura

you’ve been there so long that you don’t even care about romance and all that coz who has the time when smoke tries to eat you

wades so taken in by everything that he doesn’t really notice you but logan does and hes like damn that guys hot and emotionally dead so just his type

he starts initiating conversations and flirting with you like an old man by offering you a beer and teasing you

if you die at cassandra’s, he asks b-15 to bring you back and them wade falls for you when he sees how you and logan are so good for each other

if you go with them to go to wades home, wade falls for you when you help them fight the other hims (totally not mostly coz you’re hot when you fight)

you three get together after the events of the movie when you and logan have moved in with wade and it just kinda happens

If you’re their neighbor:

wade sees you around and mentions you to logan every so often

they kinda stalk you, well normal people would call it stalking but they just make sure you get home safe and nobody annoys you

after a while, you start noticing them around and you end up with a crush on them

so if you make it look like someones scaring you, then that’s your own business

they save you and then Wade immediately starts flirting with you and logans just like wanna have a beer and like any slightly not sane person, you say yes to the two men who’ve technically been stalking you

you guys get together by just the normal way of talking, then going on dates and then dating

those are what i can think of at the moment but if anyone wants to know my opinion of how you’d get with them in other scenarios, please ask me!!!!

[rebelliousstories]

Shadowy Past

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Mentions of Death and Alcohol

Word Count: 1,221

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: One after another, he lost her. Maybe this time will be different?

Consider Donating: Here

Gambit sat in the hideout messing with a playing card between his fingers. On the chair in front of him was her coat draped over it. Not his version though, rather another version that got sent to the Void. This version he had lost just like the others that came before her; taking on Cassandra alone to find a way out. Each time he tried to warn her, but she never listened to him.

Which is why when this new version came, he did not have high hopes for her.

She came in the middle of the night. Dumped in the Wasteland like some many others. It was by pure dumb luck that she had been dropped near where their little hideout had been placed. Sneaking in, she began to look for anything familiar, but only found lamps burning brightly in the night. Taking a bag of chips, the woman began looking around as she was eating. Muffled voices were heard, which sent her on edge. Before she could hide herself, a man stumbled in; and he was heading right to where she was. However, he stopped when he saw her.

“Chere, dat you?” Remy asked, wondering if he had finally found his lover.

“Remy?” Her voice was thick with bewilderment. ”You’re dead. How are you here? What is this sorcery?”

“No, chere. Ain’t dead yet. I’m assumin’ your Gambit is though.” He was dejected as he realized that this was just another variant.

“Yeah. He is. I’m assuming you have a me in your world then?” Remy nodded, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and began to leave.

“Ya welcome t’ stay, chere. Just try not to go after Cassandra this time. It’s startin’ to get old.” With that, the Cajun left as soon as he had entered. But she still had questions that needed answering.

“Wait,” came her call as she caught up to him. “Where am I? Who’s Cassandra? How are you alive?”

“Chere, it’s been a long day, yeah? Jus’ wanna enjoy a drink without you deciding to go all hero on us. But if you promise not to do dat, you can come meet the others.”

“Others?”

Before her, surrounding the fire that blazed ahead, were four other people. Each one looked worse for wear, and held a somber expression. She tried to place their names to their faces,but she was just drawing a blank.

“Who’s this?” The older woman inquired, with her hand resting on the hilt of something on her hip.

“Who else? Seems like the universe wants t’ punish me for somethin’. Gotta say though, this one seems much calmer than the others.” Remy grumbled, uncapping the bottle and taking a long swig. Afterwards, he passed it to Johnny, who eagerly downed the liquid.

“Hi. I’m not too sure why I’m even here. Or where here is exactly.” She muttered, feeling shy as everyone’s eyes were on her.

“It’s called the Void,” Johnny started, passing the bottle to the woman in red. ”It’s where you go to die, or if you don’t play well with the multiverse. Welcome, again.”

“Well is there any way out?” Suddenly, she noticed how tense everything had gotten. The Cajun that was in front of her rested his elbows on his knees and drew in a shaky breath.

“Cassandra Nova would be the only person to get you out. But it’s a suicide mission. Trust us, we know.” Elektra stated, passing the bottle back to the Cajun who looked like he really needed it now. Without hesitation, he downed several gulps extraordinarily quick.

“So we’re stuck here?” She asked, feeling her heart drop with each second.

“‘fraid so.” Elektra stated once more. She watched what the new person was going to do for a few minutes as she processed the information.

“Is there anymore room, and anymore alcohol?” Coming over, she sat on the same log as Remy who passed her the bottle.

The rest of the evening was filled with introductions, and explanations about what was going on. She was not familiar with the concept of a multiverse, which Johnny was all too happy to explain to her. Throughout all of this though, she could not help but notice how distant Gambit was being. He was hesitant to get involved with any of her conversations, but did keep throwing her looks all evening.

When it came time to sleep, Remy offered her his bed, while he could lay on the ground. But she quickly shot it down. Instead, she offered that they could both sleep in the bed. It was certainly large enough for the two of them. But even with her that close, he could not sleep. Remy could feel the warmth seeping from her body through the pillow wall they had constructed. And that also meant that he could feel when she eventually rolled out of bed in the middle of the night.

She had stumbled through the unfamiliar territory and made her way outside where she could feel the cold seeping into her body. It felt refreshing after she tried to sleep near Gambit. She was constantly telling herself that this was not her own. Her’s had died years ago. This could not be him.

“Chere, whatcha doin’ out here?” He whispered, walking out into the moonlight that they found themselves in. It was so bright that they could have mistaken it for the sun.

“Nothing, Gambit,” came her reply. “Go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

But he did not listen. Remy came, and plopped himself right next to her on the stone steps. Taking a deep breath in and out, he placed his hands behind him and leaned back.

“Ya know, when I was with my version of you, she would always tell me dat she was fine. Even when she knew dat I definitely saw through it. She always did it because she didn’t want me t’ worry ‘bout her. But it jus’ made me worry more.” He confessed. The evening was pulling from him things that he was sure he had not been able to feel in a long time.

“My Remy, he, um-” she stammered, “he would make me write when he couldn’t get me to talk for whatever reason. Going mute was always a warning sign. I don’t trust easily, and he knew that. When he died, I kind of lost it. I lashed out. But then a little voice popped into my head, and it sounded just like him. It brought me back, and has kept me sane since.” She admitted to the man that she had known for less than a day. But there was something about this Gambit that made her feel safe like her own.

“You travel t’ da Shadowlands anytime recently?” He wondered aloud, looking over at the woman who was watching the moon quietly.

“No, my Remy wouldn’t like it if I did without something or someone to pull me out.”

They got quiet as they allowed the moment to pass over them. Gambit was still staring at her as the night went on. Scooting closer, he pressed his shoulder against her own in a little bit of comfort. Thankfully, she leaned her head against his body, just like his had done. Maybe this was how they always functioned, in every universe.

[unspeakable-imagination]

Second Chances do Happen|| Worst Logan

This was a request!!

My asks are open and my masterlist is here

Cw: Fluff, eventual smut, Void! Mutant! Reader, Worst! Logan, canon-typical violence, Wilson’s cannon stupidity, Soulmate! Au/Destiney reader is based off of Yennefer from The Witcher P in V, Oral, F receiving, unprotected sex, 5.3k words

“It’s unbelievable,” You said, leaning against the wall for support as she spoke to Laura.  “He looks different.  Where did you find him, again?”

“In a stupid car in the woods,  it was totaled, and I think they caused it.” Your purple eyes scanned over the sleeping men and then she turned back to her adopted daughter. 

“Mi querida,” she cooed to the teen before flicking her on the head.  “Are you stupid? they could be violent.  Or worse, they could be stupid.” 

“But he looks just like dad, well, he is dad.” Laura rubbed her temples with her thumb and first finger.  “I couldn't help it, It felt wrong to leave them there.”  Your eyes fell, and you stared at the booths on your feet.

“I know,  I wouldn't have left them either. That doesn't mean I'm happy with you, Hija.”  

“I know, mama.” Laura turned on her heel and went to another room, leaving you behind. You stepped down from the raised floor and looked at Logan and the man in the red suit. 

“What would cause a Wolverine to show up in the void?” you looked them over once again, waving your hand and using your magic to ensure they stay asleep just a bit longer. 

You and Laura were eating when you noticed Elektra and Blade begin to make a ruckus in the other room.  You and her looked at eachother and muttered a small “Fuck,” before scooting out your chairs and look around the corner of the doorway.  Red was standing, actually talking to Gambit, and logan was guzzling a bottle of whiskey.  Remy said something to logan about his liquor and Logan barked back, saying he didn't ‘give a fuck,’ before Remy threw a card.  It flew into the bottle and it shattered, the drink falling to the floor.  He threw the shattered bottle to the side and grabbed another, cracking it open as Red mumbled about he was embarrassing him.

“Alright now that thats settled, we came a long way to find you three,” he said.

“There is five of us,” Elektra said. 

“There’s five? Wait wai- uh, Magneto and Mystique? Dear sweet lords above, let it be Magneto and Mystique, because with them-”

“Theyre dead,” blade cut off Red.

“Fuck,” Red yelled, bending down, holding his head. “Now Disney gets cheap? It’s like pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

“Oh you nasty, Mon petit rouge, laissez le bon temps rouler, Huh?”  (oh you're nasty, my little red.  Let the good times roll.) Gambit’s accent had always been challenging for you to understand, but whatever just rolled from his mouth was impossible for you to decipher.

“Not a single word, what do you do exactly,” Red asked, eyeing Remy.

“Just the playing cards, i make them go boom!” You put your hand to your head and leaned into Laura.  

“Does he not know the word for explosion?” you were missing what other parts of the conversation was going on while talking to her. 

“I don't think so.  I don't even know how he got that accent if he's been in the void since he was born?”

“Now who- who brought us here?” Red asked. You bristled and looked and kept your eyes on laura.  SHe shook her head and sighed, stepping out,

“That would be me,” She said, turning out the doorway. You tried to grab at her wrist but she was too fast, already walking down the stairs and platform. “Don't make me regret it.”  Red lifted his hand and stared at her for a moment of pause.

“Holey shit,” he looked to Logan.  “Logan, that's her, that's X-23.  She's the one I told you about.” Laura stared at Logan looking him up and down and you stepped out, following her to stand behind her. Logan stilled and his eyes met yours.  You're purple eyes that he couldn't forget.  They were duly glowing, and he swore it was like a red string connected him to you.  “How, how did you all get stuck in the void,”Red twisted, looking at everyone and absorbing the fact that you were here too.  “Logan’s wife too? Everybody thought you were dead.”

“There was a knock at the door,” Blade said.  “Next thing I know, the TVA sent me here.”

“Me too,” Elektra seconded Blade's comment.

“Maybe I was born here.  It's- it's  hard to know for sho’,” Remy piped in, fiddling with his cards.

“The TVA decided our universe was dying.” Blade smacked his lips.  “I never got the chance to fight for it.” laura walked around following the walls to inspect Logan and Red,  

“People like us don't go quietly, The TVA knows that, so they took us out.” Elektra looked solem when she said that, and Logan looked away from you, absorbing Elektra's words for a moment.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Laura’s head snapped to Red’s direction and her eyes nearly bulged, as if she knew what was coming.

“In what,” Blade had sat down, tilting his head.  He sounded apprehensive.

“A team, me you,” red started motioning to everybody,” You, me, all of us together. Lets get the fuck out of this place.”

“Dont listen to him, hes a fucking liar,” Logan sloshed the bottle towards him as wade turned his head around  Logan bristled.

“It was an educated wish,” Red shouted. Logan lifted his hand to take another swig of the already half gone bottle.  He leaned back and released a fake laugh, mocking Red.

“Hold on,” you finally said.  “It just clicked, you’re a fucking deadpool.” you raised your hand and Wade’s body went still. He was frozen in place, his muscles tensing from your power.  Your eyes began to glow a vibrant violet, and again, Logan’s eyes were on you.  “How do we know you're not from the corps? You could be one of thoes rotten- headed, homicidal, bullet spewing, fucking freaks.” you stepped forward as Wade tried to squeeze out words and his limbs began to crumple inwards as you turned your open palm into a fist.

“He’s not,” Logan said. Your hands went slack and Wade fell to the ground, catching his breath,  “Don't pop him like a balloon, as much as I'd like to see it.”  

“Look,” wade panted from the floor.  “Despite whatever suit-squeezing tension you two have im talking.”  she shook his head, shaking off his sudden shock and stood up.  “We’ve Been inside Cassandra’s lair.”  everybody’s head snapped to him.  Laura’s, Remy’s, Blade stood up, and Elektra tilted her head, looking at him with uneasiness, “The only way out of the void is through her.  She can get us home.  She told us.”

“Wait, what do you mean you've been inside? You made it out alive?”

“Bullshit,” Elektra cut them off. “Nobody’s ever done that.”

“We did,” Wade's statement was hard, truthful.

“Every time one of us has gone against her, they die,” You said. 

“The Punisher, Quicksilver, Daredevil,” Gambit said.  He was going to say more but Wade interrupted him.

“Daredevil? I am so sorry,” Elektra shrugged, muttering that it was fine.  “Okay,” he said quietly.  There was a beat of silence. 

“Even our sweet baby angel, Johnny Stone,” Wade lifted his head, looking at Remy.  “He up n’ go missin’ like two days ago.” Elektra took a deep breath, shaking her head and looked down.  You chewed on your lip and looked at Laura.  You never really liked Johnny.  He was too vulgar for your taste.

“That is so sad,” Wade responded.  “Whoever that Johnny fella is, I'm sure he’s thriving.” Logan chuckled in the background and you thought about Johnny. He couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his life. “Look, there’s strength in numbers, alright? Us, plus you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of the void.” Blade scoffed but your heartbeat picked up a little.  The chance to go home, you and Laura? It was like a dream.  “I know what it means to feel self- doubt,” Wade started, but Elektra interrupted him. 

“I don't feel that at all,” she said, leaning towards Blade.

“I'm good,” Blade said back to her, putting his hand on his hip.

“Not gnawing at your gut like a coked up tapeworm?” Wade motioned around his stomach, questioning them.

“It's like you're holdin’ up a mirror to m’ soul,” Remy responded to him, staring at him like he finally felt understood.  Wade shifted and began marching forward to the main of the group.

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. Its what Johnny would have wanted.” 

“Wait,” Elektra said, her face morphing to one of thought.  “You knew johnny?” You and Laura looked at eachother, trying to guess what would happen next.

“O-ho, yeah,” Logan began.  A gross smirk formed on his face. “Dickhead here, he talked him into a team-up and Johnny came down with a little case of the deads.” You snorted.

“No, no, no we don't know that,” Wade tried to fight against Logan's words. “It was just a flesh wound.” 

“I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead with that filthy mouth,” you said.

“He may have survived,” Wade tried to reason but Logan was having none of it.

“If he survived that, he's trying for death,” Logan egged him on.

“Thank you, DOCTOR WOLVERINE,” Wade exacerbated.

“Spill it,” Blade said.

“What did you do to Johnny, huh? Talk or I'm gonna stop here,” Remy lifted a card between his fingers.  His cards and his eyes began to glow and he almost snarled.

“Okay, hey, okay. He ran his fat ass mouth about Cassandra.” he did a mocking hand motion. “Then she zip-zapped his skin. She left his organs to splash crudely onto the ground while the soil greedily drank his blood. It was Horrible! He was like a brother to me.  Look, he died before he could make a difference,” he rocked back and forth on his heels.  “But maybe you couldn't save your worlds,” Logan was laughing in disbelief. “But Jesus Christ,” Wade continued, “You can save mine.”

“We dont give a shit about your world,”Elektra started. She looked at Blade while pointing at Wade. “But if these two made it out of there alive, maybe together we can get back in and take her down.”

“Where i come from, we call that suicide, Shia.” Remy looked to Elektra.

“If we can block her psychic powers, we can get a leg up on her.  I know it.  Now I know Magneto’s dead, but I venture to guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere,” Wade began to motion to the floor areas behind him.

“Cassandra melted the helmet,” Blade said unenthused.

“Fuck!”

“After she killed him.”

“Fuck,” wade yelled again, throwing his head back and leaning.

“She dont play,” Blade explained.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers,” Elektra put a hand on her hip while she explained. “The only helmet that's that strong is Juggernauts and he works for Cassandra.” And so They began to make a plan. Trying to hype eachother up.  Logan gargled the whiskey in the back of his throat, but they ignored him. Wade pointed his hand towards Laura. 

“X-23, what's it gonna be?”

“My names Laura, Lets fucking go,” she said, looking to you. 

“Language,” you said,  you crinkled your nose and thought for a second.  “If we can get back home, I'm In.”

“Let’s fucking go,” wade pumped his arms. 

“Sold like chicken n’ coke,” Blade said.

“We’re doing this?” Elektra said, mildly shocked.

“Youre all fucking dead,” Logan said.

“My GOD, read the ROOM?”

Night had fallen and most of the team had settled down in their respective bunks.  Logan sat outside, nursing a bottle around a fire. You gazed at him through one of the broken windows.  You saw how he was different from your late husband, but you noticed the similarities in their personalities and gruff exteriors.  Then, you noticed Laura marching towards him. You bristled and moved away from the window sill to run through the base and towards the door.  You were going to grab her, pull her back inside, even if she was 19, she was still the child you’d cared for over eight years.  But you paused.  You paused when you heard her speak to him.

“You remind me of him,” She started. “Angry, drunk, mean.”

“Sounds like a great guy-” she stopped him from speaking.

“I wasn't Finished,” she snapped. “Showed up when it mattered the most. Couldn't help it,” there was a beat of silence as he straightened his back and sighed.  SHe stared into the fire.  “You may not know it, but you're a good man, Logan.” He chuckled and raised his brows, but avoided eye contact.

“You might not know it, but apparently, im the worst Logan.” You nearly teared up, listening to them

“I got to have a life because of you,” she looked up to him, a look of sadness crossing her face.  “I got to grow up because of you.” she sucked on her lip and looked back to the fire. “Alot of kids did.”

“Alot of kids didnt grow up because of me.  Trust me kid, i'm no hero.” She looked to him again and eyed the yellow suit he wore.

“Your suit says otherwise.”

“Yeah? I really like it.  Scott used to beg me to wear it…” he trailed off.  “So did Jean, Storm, even Hank.  All of them.  They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn't.  I kept telling them they looked fucking ridiculous. “ He mumbled and nodded his head to one side.  “I just couldn't have them thinking I wanted to be there.  Laura watched him and you slowly stepped out the door, standing behind them, Listening.  “And then one day, while i was off on my own, the humans came.”  he swallowed thickly, staring into the darkness of the night while he spoke.  “They went mutant hunting.” You covered your mouth as you watched the back of his head.  

“I can guess the rest,” Laura tried to stop him.

“No, no, let me- let me say it.” he nodded, trying to hold back the choke in his voice.  You noticed that the bottle of liquor was long abandoned at his feet and his hands were folded in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. “I need to say it.” Laura pursed her lips.  “By the time I stumbled home, shitfaced from the bar, it was too late.”  She looked away from him and you chewed on your lip.  “They were dead, every-” his lip trembled and he tried to blink away tears.  

“This suits all I got to remind me of who they were. Remind me of what I did.”  He sniffed and grabbed the bottle from his feet, taking a swig.  You stepped forward and put your hands on Laura’s shoulders.  

“It's time to go inside, Laura.” she looked over her shoulder, and sucked on the inside of her cheek, nodding at you.

“Yes, Madre,” she said, scooting off the log.  You watched her circle around and  go inside and you sat on the log next to him.  You looked at the fire and gently took the bottle from him.  He gave you a look while you took a drink and handed it back.

“Whoever you think I am, [Name], Youve got the wrong guy.” he took a drink from his bottle and you looked at him.

“You were always the wrong guy.” You looked down at your hands, looking at the scars between your knuckles.  “When I first told my Logan we were soulmates, he said the same thing.” your gaze moved to the sky and looked at the dim stars.  “He didn't believe me, not until I showed him the same scars he had.  The only scars he could keep at the time.” Logan looked at you, knowing what you were saying.  “But, the older he got, the more the adamantium- the food, the more he poisoned himself,” You took a second.  “His healing couldnt keep up.  He left us all behind.  He didn't even bother to stop and think about what he was doing when he ate that shit for another twelve years.” you brought a hand up to rub your face.  “The scars just kept coming, and coming.”  you hadn't noticed the way he was looking at you.  “And god, the pain you feel when you get impaled? Dying on a fucking stump,” you scoffed. “No wonder it fucking killed him. I waited for years, watching the scars disappear.  I hoped I'd join him.  And then Laura and I got sent here.  God knows why.”

“You seem like the only person that isn't happy with your Logan.”

“I'm the only one that truly knew my Logan.” he went silent and you looked at him.  “Imagine my surprise, though, when yesterday afternoon, suddenly the scars between my knuckles came back?” he tilted his head and you moved your hands into the light of the fire.  Right were his claws would have come out, sat shiny, fresh pink scars.  “I mean fuck, i know that Logan told me in every lifetime, but I Didnt imagine he’d truly meant it.” 

“My woman didn't make it past the engagement before she died.”  he looked up from your hands to your eyes.  “She told me she’d find me in another life, that I was worth it.”  You snorted. 

“Damn right.  Logan’s, no matter how bad, are always good on the inside.  You don't have me fooled.” you smiled at him.  “You must have been through a hell of two fights yesterday.  I've got the pain of about a dozen bullets and an unbelievable amount of stab wounds.”

“You could feel that?” his brows shot up.  “Even if we arn’t?”

“We are, must be if i could.” you scratched your collarbone.  “I guess we kept our promises?” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.  

“I guess so.”  you licked your lips and scooted closer to him.  “You can't be all that bad if you're here with an annoying ass deadpool of all things.”

“He grew on me,” he laced a hand around your back and pulled you onto his knee.  “And the idea of having my little violet back is growing on me too,” he said.  Your heartbeat paced faster at the sound of the nickname, on that you'd been called for years. You turned yourself around and looked at him, bringing a hand up to trace the lines on his face.

“I know you're not him, but you're like a second chance-soulmate.” you glazed at where his eyes were looking and noticed how he stared at your shoulder.  “What is it?”

“Every detail is the same, down to the freckles on your arms,”  He put his forehead against your shoulder and took a deep breath.  “You smell the same.  You even talk the same,” he groaned into your skin.  

“Hold on,” you murmured. You waved your hand in a circle behind him, opening a white-boardered portal into a distant treehouse.  It's where you'd go when you needed private time.  You slipped off of his thigh and over the log, turning around and walking backwards, motioning at him with a finger.  “You comin’, bub?”

He spun around and nearly tripped as he tried getting off, falling to his hands and jumping through the portal, onto you like an animal.  He pushed you back onto the floor of the treehouse, and the portal closed.  He looked around and noticed the cotton covered straw bed, then hoisted you up and threw you towards it, listening to your squeals.  When your hand touched the bed, you used your magic to turn it into a more desirable bed, and around you, candles began to light from the window sills.  

“God, look at you.” he grumbled, stalking closer to you. You looked at him and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth.  “Just as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he said.

“Logan,” you said,  “I want to show you something.  He tilted his head and got down on his knees in front of you.  “Logan, Close your eyes.”  When he did, you gently placed your hand on his cheek, cradling it as if he were a glass cup and began feeding all of the good and intimate memories you had to him.  HIs lips parted, almost gaping as he absorbed the happy memories you fed him, even recognizing a few that mirrored his own memories in his old world.

“I love you. Logan” you said, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead.  “Every version of you, every part of you, every flaw and strength.  I am consumed by you, I adore you, and I am yours.”  He groaned and opened his eyes, his arms snaking around your waist as he crawled up the edge of the mattress, climbing on top of you.  He laid you down the further up he got and you watched him in awe.  He leaned down and trailed his hands up, under your shirt. When his fingers made it to your ribs, he gently pressed the pads of his fingers over the divots in your skin.  He hummed and leaned down, dipping his face into the crook of you neck.

“I love you too, [Name],” she hummed into your neck and then gently bit your collarbone.  You whimpered and he sat up, pulling at your pants waistline,  he wanked them down with your panties and you hummed, lifting your hips to help.  Once they got around the curve of your hips and ass, you readjusted so you could sit up and start unlatching parts of his suit.  YOu managed to remove all the buttons, clasps, and belts that held it secure and pulled it over her head.  He took a moment of pause while you did, and once his shirt was off, he slipped your pants off of your ankles and threw them to a similar area in which you'd thrown his shirt.  

“Logan,” you mewled.  He rubbed his cheek against your raised knees and hummed,

“Yes, my violet?” you huffed and  wrapped your calf around him, pulling him closer.

“Don't tell me youre getting a whiskey dick?  Or worse, shy?” he chuckled.

“Absa-fucking-lutley not, baby.  Are you running out of patience?” he pushed your knees apart and slotted himself between them.  Leaning down, he placed his lips on yours.  He was trying to be gentle, but your hands flew up and threaded into his hair.  You used it as an anchor to pull him down further onto you.  He groaned and deepened the kiss, becoming sloppy as he pulled up, pushing his nose across your cheek and down, then shoving his face into your breastbone. He kissed your chest, then moved down further, kissing the area where the curve of your ribs met, below your sternum. You whimpered and it only fuelled him more.

“Lo,” You muttered, hands still threaded in his hair.  You gave it a gentle tug and he hummed against your skin before he moved further down, placing a kiss over your stomach, then just above and below your belly button, then he kissed your waistline before lifting you by your thighs.  He pushed you further up the mattress and kissed the inside of your thigh, just below your warmth. You trilled as your thigh twitched away, just opening them further.

“So fucking eager,” he pushed it down till it laid on the bed and kissed the other thigh before his tongue shot out and licked a stripe up your cunt. Your back arched and you moaned.  He grumbled, the vibrations doing another thing to you.  “You even taste the same,” he mumbled, pulling away just for a moment.  He was almost immediately back nose, nose deep, lapping at your heat.  Your hips jerked, and his face only got buried deeper between your thighs. You nearly choked when you felt his lips wrap around your clit and you stilled.  He growled at your hands tugging his hair, trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

“Lo,” you chanted, “Lo, please i want more.” he dropped his jaw and only consumed you more, devouring you like a starved man.  “Log- ah!” his teeth had grazed you and it caused your back to arch again, then he pulled away. 

“I need to get you ready, Vie, you're not ready,” He gently placed mouth kisses in the crevice where you hip meat your abdomen.  He waited for your response.  

“Lo, I trust you,” you sighed.  “I thought I'd die waiting for you,” you brought your free hand up, draping the back of it over your mouth as you caught your breath.

“You mean?” he was questioning you quietly, but you heard him.  

“I haven't been with anyone else, only you, only my soulmate,” you whispered.  Something possessive in him pushed to the surface and he snarled, biting your thigh before he quickly ducked his head back into you, snaking his hand down your leg and sticking a finger in your hole. You cried out, and it only fuelled him to suck harder, using his tongue like a magic wand.  You began to chant again, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.  You desperately tried to grind your hips on him, feeling a warm pool in your belly.  

“Please, please Logan, I need it, I feel so good,” you threw your head back and took a deep breath, trying to breathe through the pressure in your abdomen.

“What, are you trying to come already? Can my little wildflower take it?” he added another finger and latched around your vulva again.  You were sure you’d explode, becoming far too overstimulated after so long.

“No, Lo, I can't take it, please please?” you pushed your hips into him again and then distantly, you heard him mumble about letting go.  You hardly heard him over your own bliss as you fell undone.  You felt the warmth in your belly flow down and processed the sounds of Logan's frantic groans as he greedily swallowed whatever you had to give him, his fingers having gone still. He worked you through your orgasam and smacked his lips poking his head out, crawling up between your thighs.

“Tastes like wildflower honey,” he said before he pressed his lips against yours.  You whimpered into the kiss, tasting yourself and doing everything you could, practically trying to swallow him.  He broke away to breathe and you only had just taken the time to look at his slick-covered face.  It shined in the candlelight and you used your elbows to push yourself up.  He was working to remove his pants, cursing under his breath at how tedious it was to take off.  You took the time to raise your shirt over your head and threw it into the pile with the other discarded clothes.  He lost his train of action and stared up at you, his eyes zeroing on your tits.  

God have mercy on my soul,” he mumbled, completely forgetting his pants. He lunged his way into your chest and sucked one nipple into his mouth while the other was consumed by his palm, kneading your breast like it was bread dough.  You trailed your fingers down his back and swiped your fingers, undoing the remaining buckles and buttons with your magic. He leaned away from your chest, only losing contact at the last moment to slip his pants down his thighs and off his legs completely.  You swallowed thickly at the sight and raked your gaze over him before focusing in on his face.  He rotated so he was sitting on the bed, and Leaned back, balancing on his palms.  “Get on, Vie,” he said and you crawled forwards, twisting so you were straddling him.  

“You sure, Lo?” he let out a warning growl and you submitted, raising yourself and reaching down to line him up.  Tentatively you sank down, slowly and gently.  You and he both hissed and he sat up straight, grabbing your hips like handles to help you down.  You let go and brought your own arms up, draping them over his shoulders.  You heard him curse, but hardly paid attention.  You were too focused on the way it felt as his cock sheathed itself, splitting you open.

“I'm sorry for what i'm about to do,” he said it in your ear and you shivered, nodding. He gripped your hips, his knuckles turning white and he shoved you down, pushing himself into the hilt.  Your head tossed back, and you cried, a call to the gods to hear your pleasure.  Logan let out a shaky breath and pushed his pelvis upwards, and let a throaty groan fall past his lips.

He let you set your own pace, one of his arms strung under your thigh to help lift and drop you in the pattern you set.  His other hand ran across your hip, over your stomach, and his thumb rubbed down, drawing patterns against the sensitive bud.  Your hips stuttered and you keeled forwards, curling into his hold.  You buried your face into his neck and he listened to you heave.  

“Lo,” you whined “‘s too much,” he stilled his hand under you trying to give you a break, but you didn't stop, still lifting yourself, up and down, on him.  He grinned, watching you, his eyes casting down.  

“Yeah? You're not gonna give yourself a break?” you shook your head, humming a ‘ nuh uh,” and he scoffed, him arm finding its place against your ass again to help you.  

“Need t’ come, need you t’ come- come in me,” you begged.  He briefly took a double take before he felt a fire ignite, in his soul.  He licked his lips and then used his leverage to raise you quicker and drop you harder, effectively making him pound into you.  He grunted, relishing your heedy breaths and whiny moans.  He felt your walls constrict, as if you were trying to suck him dry and empty his balls in the lewdest way possible.  His thumb didn't stop its pace and instead picked up.  He heard you babble, saying unintelligible words. You placed sloppy, breathy, open-mouthed kisses over his shoulder, drooling all over his back.  He grunted and you hiccuped as you felt his cock twitch in you and he pumped his hips to try and meet your drops.  The slapping of wet skin almost echoed in the tree house, and you began to emit crude, heavy breaths that were hard to describe, as if they were a mixture of growling and panting. 

He felt your insides strangle him and you stilled, hilting him as your second release racked over your body.  You shook, almost convulsing. He groaned and his own motion stopped, the tension in his own abdomen snapping.  You felt his cum squirt, thickly covering your insides and you whimpered at the warmth.  

Both of you sat there, mostly still.  He combed his fingers through your knotty hair and whispered into your ear about how well you did, and you leaned into him, gradually relaxing.  You don't know how long you sat there.  Long enough for him to have gone soft.  He gently lifted you off, laying you on your side on the bed and hovering over you. 

“‘M sorry I don't have anything to clean you up with.” you shook your head, growing tired

“I dont need it, just need your cuddles.” he smiled and tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. “Oh god,” you groaned.  "I just remembered, we are going to Cassandra’s lair at dawn.”

“I guess we need to get our beauty sleep,” he said, climbing over you to be your big spoon.  He wrapped his arms around you and held you close, listening to your breathing and rubbing circled into your back, helping you fall asleep.

Taglist: @callsign-ember @catwomankyleslina

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 50

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,615ish

Summary: A Logan variant makes an appearance and shakes you to your core.

Notes: Welp, here we go! Please share your reactions. I'm worried that this was over hyped and will be a disappointment... Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Laura’s nerves grew as she drove the Honda Odyssey back to the makeshift home. She had seen your grief first hand, even as you tried to shield the worst of it from her. She knew that you still cried in the shower. Laura heard you call out for ‘James’ at night in your sleep. She saw the bags under your eyes during the bad days and the way you would absentmindedly play with your ring when you were thinking about Logan. Laura knew that you had gotten better as the years went on, though there were still hard days. She also knew that seeing this Logan may through you back into the worst of it. But he could also be the way out of the Void. 

When she parked the van, Laura took a deep breath. She headed inside, trying to prepare herself for the turmoil that she may have just brought into your life. 

“Is my mom back yet?” She asked the others, unable to see you inside immediately.

“Not yet,” Blade responded.

Laura felt some relief. “Good. Can I get your help bringing some people inside? I found some newbies.”

Once Elektra, Blade, and Gambit helped Laura get the two unconscious men inside, Laura gathered the others outside.

“Looks like we got ourselves another Deadpool,” Blade noted.

“That—That man in the yellow and blue, he’s a variant of my father,” Laura explained. “A Wolverine.”

“Well, that’s good, ain’t it?” Gambit questioned.

Laura shook her head. “Not for my mom. It could… set her back. The two loved each other for fifty-seven years. It was a love for the ages… She’s still not over it and I don’t blame her.”

“What do you want us to do?” Elektra asked.

“I want us to find out what they are doing here and if they can help us return to our universes.”

“Can do,” Blade responded.

Elektra stepped up to Laura and placed her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just… give me a second. I’ll be in after you.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Laura watched as Blade, then Elektra, and then Gambit entered the makeshift house. She clenched and unclenched her fists as she began to pace a little. This was hard for her too, seeing her father’s face but knowing it’s not him. There was a lot of unsolved issues between the two of them. You had stepped in and mended a lot of those, but sometimes they still affected her. 

Then there was the worry about how you would react to seeing a variant of your dead husband. Did that Wolverine have an X-23 or an Ember? If so, would he be trying to rush back to them? Laura gave the surrounding area a glance, just to check if you were near, before heading inside to regroup with the others. 

“We’re not totally fucked at all,” Laura could tell that was the voice of the Deadpool. “So who brought us here?”

“That would be me,” Laura stated, coming down into the large room. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Holy shit. Logan. That’s her. That’s X-23.” Laura glanced over to where Logan was standing in the back room, a bottle of alcohol in hand. “She’s the one I told you about.” Logan met the young woman’s gaze as he lifted the bottle back up to his mouth. “Hey, how did you all get stuck in The Void?”

“There was a knock at the door,” Blade explained. “The TVA sent me here.”

“Me, too,” Elektra said.

“Well, maybe I was born here,” said Gambit. “It’s… It’s hard to know for sure.

“The TVA decided our universes were dying,” Blade added. “And I never even got a chance to fight for it.”

Laura moved towards the back room, her and Logan keeping each other in their sights. Logan continued to drink. Wade had told him of X-23 and an Ember, whom the version of himself in Wade’s universe had saved. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but he did know that he wasn’t like that version of him.

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

Deadpool made a smooching sound beneath his mask. “This answer is yes,” he said. “I’m in.”

~~~

You sighed as you arrived back to your makeshift home. Johnny had been no where to be find, leaving you to fear the worst. As you headed inside, you noticed the destroyed Honda Odyssey. You knew that couldn’t be a good thing. The further you entered the house, you heard a familiar voice. But it couldn’t be. Wade died more than fifty years ago when you lost Logan the first time. 

“—answer is yes,” Wade’s voice said. “I’m in.”

“In what?” You asked, making it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Holy fucking shit!” Deadpool gasped. “You—You’re Ember! Like the Ember! From my universe!”

“Uh, what?”

“I am your biggest fan!” He rushed forward and pulled you into an embrace. Laura stepped closer, but you put a hand out to stop her. Deadpool pulled back but kept his hands on your arms. “I seriously can’t believe I’m in front of you right now. No one back on all the fan sites are going to believe I even got close to you! Peanut, look who it is!”

Deadpool pulled you around him and pushed you forward. You stumbled to a stop as your eyes caught sight of the familiar face in front of you. A strangled breath got caught in your throat. Uncontrollable flames weaved through your fingers as you were frozen in place. It was a younger—bit beefier— version of your Logan and his eyes… there was a different story to tell there. But it was Logan.

Logan was frozen too. Your face was one that he didn’t ever think he’d see again. Especially after the last time… when it was cold and lifeless. Here you were. Alive and well, standing in front of him. It was everything he had ever wanted. Yet he knew that you weren’t his Ember… his Y/N. He had let her down.

“I sense something intense happening here,” Deadpool whispered. “Maybe we should let you two fuck it out—“

“Shut the fuck up, Wilson, for one damn second!” Logan roared. 

The sudden anger had you tripping backwards. Laura stepped forward to steady you but you flinched away, feeling your skin growing hotter.

“Mom,” Laura called calmly.

“I— I need a— a second,” you stammered.

“I can—“

“Alone.” 

Then you rushed back up the stairs. Your heart was hammering against your chest and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had become uneven. Your shaky legs took you into the woods until you collapsed against one of the large trees. Tears began sizzling down your cheeks as a variety of emotions swirled inside. Grief. Longing. Confusion. Love. Anger. Every emotion that you had tried to push down or work through was suddenly right there, taking over your every being.

The ring that sat on your finger suddenly felt too heavy. You tore it off and held it against your chest as you sobbed. Curling in on yourself, you failed to notice that the dry ground around you began to catch fire.

~~~

Logan watched with regret filled eyes as you rushed out of the building. As soon as you were out of sight, he downed the rest of the bottle in his hand before tossing it aside and grabbing another one.

“Wow,” Deadpool exaggerated. “Hey, Peanut, are you not going to chase after the love of your life there?”

“Fuck off,” Logan muttered, before taking another swig of drink.

Laura’s eyes moved from the doorway over to Logan with a sigh. “Let’s just continue with a plan,” she said. “I’ll give my mom a few minutes to cool down.”

~~~

Everything hurt. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. The flames around you had died down with your sobs. Leaving behind a whimpering, smoky mess.

“Mom! Mom!” You could hear Laura’s voice in the distance, or so your mind made it seem. “Mom!”

“Kick ass fire woman!” Wade’s voice joined. “Greatest mother of all time!”

“Shut up, Wade! This is serious. Mom—“ Laura cut herself off as you came into view. “Mom!” She raced over to you. “Mom…”

“Laura,” you rasped, looking at her through half closed eyes. 

Laura could tell that you were in pain, in every which way you could be. Wade suddenly appeared next to her, mask off. 

“Oh shit, fire starter,” he exclaimed, “you don’t look so hot.”

Laura growled and plunged her claws into Wade’s leg. He shouted out in pain before gripping his leg and hopping backwards.

“Fuck, little wolf! Just like your old man!” He complained. “I’m outta here. Need a moment to daydream for my next Emberine fic. My readers are gonna have a field day!” Then Wade skipped off.

Laura’s focus went back onto you. “Can you walk?” She wondered.

“No,” you whispered.

“I got it,” a rough voice sounded from behind. 

No one had noticed that Logan had followed. He hadn’t planned to but seeing you rush off and then Laura’s concern when you hadn’t returned after an hour, Logan felt the need to see what was up. Without truly looking at you, he crouched down beside you and slipped his arms underneath you. Your breath caught as your eyes closed and your body was moved up and against Logan’s. 

“Where to?” Logan’s voice was low and rough.

“This way,” Laura said, beginning to lead the way back to the building.

Logan kept his eyes forward despite the growing urge to look down at you. Especially as you began to tremble more with each step he took. You kept your eyes closed as Logan carried you, though tears slipped through and down your cheeks. Laura led Logan into one of the back rooms, where there was a bed.

“Here,” Laura motioned to the bed. “Lay her down.”

Logan tried to lay you down as carefully as he could. You immediately curled in on yourself further as he pulled away.

“Thanks,” Laura said as she sat down beside you.

Logan grunted in response before grabbing a few bottles of alcohol and heading back outside. Laura took her backpack off and dug inside of it for the cooling blanket she had in there. She placed it over you, making sure that everything was covered except your head. Your eyes were still clamped shut and tears were slipping through.

“Tell me this is a dream,” you begged quietly. 

“I’m sorry, mom,” Laura said, placing a hand on you, over the blanket.

“Not your fault.”

Laura sighed. “We came up with a plan though. A plan to defeat Cassandra. We leave in the morning.”

“I should be okay by then.”

“I don’t think you should come.”

“Laura—“

“No. You are not okay mentally or physically.”

“You’re crazy to think that I would let you go fight without me.”

“Mom—“

“No. I’ll be fine with some rest… Is… Is that Logan fighting too?”

Laura shook her head. “Says we’re all dead.”

You sighed. “Sounds about right… Thanks for taking care of me, kiddo.”

~~~

Night had fallen and Logan found himself in front of a fire with another bottle of alcohol. His eyes watched the flames as they flickered in front of him. It provided him no peace of mind: the silence, the fire, or the alcohol. All his thoughts drifted to you and how he had failed you, or well, his version of you.

Logan exhaled deeply as Laura came over. “Hey, hey,” he quickly said. “I’m not lookin’ for company. Get out of here.”

Laura didn’t deter, sitting down near him. “You remind me of him,” Laura stated with a found smile. “Angry. Drunk. Mean.”

“Sounds like a great guy—“

“Wasn’t finished…” Logan glanced over, an eyebrow raised curiously. “Showed up when it mattered the most. Couldn’t help it.” Logan sighed, staring at the fire. “You might not know it, but… you’re a good man, Logan.”

Logan chuckled. “You might not know it, but apparently I’m the worst Logan.”

“I got to have a life because of you… I got to grow up because of you… A lot of kids did… I have a mom because of you… Y/N survived because of you.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of kids didn’t grow up because of me… Y/N didn’t survive because of me… Trust me, kid, I’m no hero.”

“That suit says different.”

Logan grunted, glancing down at it. “Yeah. Do you like it?”

“Mhm.”

“Y/N used to beg me to wear it… So did Scott, Jean, Storm, Beast… All of them… They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t. Told ‘em they all look fucking ridiculous. I mean… I couldn’t have ‘em thinkin’ I wanted to be there…” Logan shook his head, eyes staring at the flames in front of him as they grew glossy. “And then one day, while I was off on my own, the humans came… and went mutant hunting.”

“I can guess the rest.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “let me… Let me say it.” He nodded, growing more emotional. “I… I need to say it… By the time I stumbled in shitfaced from the bar, it was too late… Her smoke and flames were everywhere. Like she had tried to protect everyone… They were dead. Every—“ Logan swallowed down the sob threatening to push its way of his throat. His bottom lip trembled as his mind replayed the horror. “She was dead… Beast had clearly tried to protect her… but they were all dead… This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.” Logan sniffled before lifting up the bottom and taking another drink. “How’s… How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine. Resting.”

“Good. Uh, I’m sorry if I triggered anything.”

“I knew bringing you here was a risk. She’s tried so hard to heal and be strong for me… I’d never known that two people could love each other so unconditionally like the way you and her did.”

Logan scoffed. “Ain’t me, kid. I screwed up with my Y/N… was never enough for her.”

“Never enough for her, or never enough for you?” Logan’s eyes snapped to Laura. “My mom says that you were perfectly enough, you just got in your own way.” He looked back at the fire. “We’re headed to Cassandra’s at sunup.”

“Have fun. Not my fight.”

“We won’t pull this off without you.”

Logan glanced at Laura briefly before returning his focus to the fire. Laura clenched her jaw as she stood up and began walking away.

“Hey,” Logan called after her. “Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy.”

Laura paused and turned back to face him. “You were always the wrong guy,” she responded. “But never to her.”

Laura walked off, leaving Logan drinking by the fire. He took another swig of his drink, his mind reeling. You were not the same Y/N that he had lost in his universe. He had yet to let you down. So by not fighting, he couldn’t. Or was he letting another one of you down? Could he live with himself knowing that he could have saved another one of you, or at least tried? Logan sighed, tossing the bottle into the fire. Maybe this was a chance to save you in a way that he couldn’t before. Maybe this was a chance to change his Worst Wolverine status. Or maybe, this was all a cruel joke and Logan would never be able to redeem himself.

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[brokensocialscone]

It's easy to hate Heather Glenn for ragging on costumed vigilantes and choosing Fisk, especially those of us who have devoted a tonne of time and energy to another ship (hellweather, karedevil, clairedevil, she devil, fratt--pick your poison) but I think we're forgetting that netflix!Matt cannot keep a relationship going if his life depended on it. Claire dumped him because she realized it wasn't going to end well (my queen). Elektra abandoned him, died, came back, died again (she matched his freak but at what cost?). When he made a serious play for Karen, someone who could have handled all of it, he fucked it up by prioritizing the *possibility* of saving Elektra's soul. The only woman he has been successful with was Jen BECAUSE she knew both sides of him *before* they started smooching.

It was never going to work with Heather because Matt was so deep in denial about the DD part of himself when they started dating that by the time he started up again they were too far along to tell her and survive the fallout. Also the man lies to his loved ones. Like, all the time. I don't know what Kirsten knows (I'm so fascinated by her, she's too smart to be taken in by the patented Matt Murdock bullshit but she goes along with him. WHAT DOES SHE KNOW??) but he lies to her as often as he breathes. Even when Foggy and Karen knew he still lied to them habitually so they wouldn't worry or whatever he convinced himself.

Heather Glenn never had a chance with that man, and it's not because she wasn't good enough for him.

[blade-is-my-hubby]

In the Void

Blade x Reader

Warning(s): blood sucking, hard ons, Reader is Blade's long lost friend, teasing, feelings? (Is that a warning??)

Summary: Somehow you managed to end up in the Void and seeked shelter from Cassandra's henchmen, that's how you meet Elektra and Gambit, little did you know that you'll see a familiar face back at the hideout.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

It's been a week since you ended up in the Void by an unknown power, or portal, whatever it's called by those TVA bastards, those bitches accused you about some shit, which involved your and Blade's friendship, good... You'll beat his ass later, if you'll ever find him.. As you've been wandering around a playing card charged at you, knocking down from your feet and onto the ground you laid, groaned in pain

"The heck??"

"Who are you and why are you here??" You heard a heavy Cajun accent as you say up.

"Jeez, you just can't do that! I'm bleeding! And I don't know who you are but this is not cool, Cajun." You groaned in pain, your shoulder was bleeding badly, the card kinda damaged your flesh.

"Why do you think that we can trust you, chére?" The man was dressed in purple and a big brown trench coat asked

"Look I'm not with that Cassandra bitch okay?? I was dragged here by the TVA���"

"The TVA? For what reason?" I heard a feminine voice from behind me, I spun around to see a woman, she was familiar a little bit.

"Wait... You're Elektra, right? Nevermind ..I have a friend...and it caused me trouble as those TVA guys knew about my situationship with said friend. And I'm wandering aimlessly for a week now."

"Looks like we have another companion now, right chére?" said the man in the trench coat and helped me up from the ground.. "My name is Remy LeBeau, but you may call me the Gambit."

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Remy and Elektra managed to patch you up and then after they told how they were stuck here too, how they were tossed into the Void by the TVA, for no fricken reason, and that they are trying to find a way to get back to Earth..

You walked through the door of the hideout, shoulder patched up, blood stopped already but it left a big patch on the bandage and Remy helped you sit down on a makeshift chair.

"Easy there, chére. Sorry for that.." said Remy apologetically.

"It's fine... I've faced worse before.." you waved his worry off as you looked around in the hideout. "So there's only two of you or—"

"We have a third. He is a little bit rough around the edges tho and kinda serious, maybe too much." rambled Remy in his Cajun accent. "I don't think that he'll be back soon."

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

As the sun started to set, you managed to make yourself a bed out of rags and stuff, so it was kinda comfortable, but not with that shoulder injury tho. The door to the hideout opened revealing the all too familiar face.

"Eric??? Is that you??"

Blade kinda froze in place and started to search for the source of the voice, and his gave fell upon you. He couldn't even say a word at first, just stood there...stunned into silence.

"What are you doing here of all people?" Asks Blade, tried to act nonchalant.

"Well, our friendship kinda fucked up everything and the TVA came for me and tossed me into the Void like I was a fricken criminal, that's how! I want to beat your sorry ass....so bad.."

Blade just chuckled, maybe even snorted too as he approached you, crossed his arms as he looked down at you.

"We both know you can never do that, no matter how hard you try." But then his eyes trailed to your shoulder, which was still bandaged up. "Which motherfuca did that to you?" He was serious...Jesus may be too much too..

"Jeez I am fine.. Remy didn't know that I was not with Cassandra so he—" but Blade interrupted you.

"That fucker attacked you?"

"Jesus Eric calm down I'm fine, see? I'll be good..and stop playing the worried friend already.." you dismissed his advances and laid down on the bed, clearly exhausted from the day's happenings.

"You're my friend, and friends look out for each other.."

"Since when do you care about that?"

"Since I am your friend. And not to mention that old fool technically adopted you." Blade sat down on the bed you made, clearly still melancholic about Whistler's death.

"Yeah.. you're right.. I miss that old fool."

"Me too.." blurts out Blade without even thinking before that.

"Yeah? And what about me? You missed me too?"

"Don't be ridiculous now, (y/n).." Blade crossed his arms and rolled his eyes under his sunglasses. "You're just a pain in the ass...but... I guess I was wondering how you've been .. or not.."

"Hah I knew it. Wait .. what are those grey hairs on the front of your hair? And the goatee? You're aging too, seems like it." Blade's eyes widened as you brought up his goatee and hair.

"That's none of your business, brat.."

"I didn't say anything about it not suiting you.." you said in a nonchalant tone as you pulled the blanket over your body, I mean struggled.. but Blade helped to tuck you in, which made you pretty awkward.

"You're still a pain in the ass. You need to recover." Blade stood up, he knew he had to make distance, he couldn't get closer to you...even if that's what he wanted the most, the truth was... He missed you, bad. But he was too stubborn to admit that. Typical Blade behaviour.

"Thanks... I guess.."

"No need to.. Sleep now, brat" Blade stood up and walked out of the hideout, clearly wants to clear his head, you changed since he last saw you, but still sassy and defiant, just like he likes you. Fuck... After the separation from you, he wasn't the same. As he wanted to get his inhalator, he realized that he lost it, he growled out loud in annoyance and started to search for it, looked at everywhere. Remy and Elektra were away, so only you and Blade were in the hideout. Fuck... He cannot go close to you, or he might snap and act on his long lost feelings. Claim you as his. He frowned as his bloodlust took over him, slowly and painfully, which was a surprise for him, but maybe it was cause he knew that you were sleeping in that damn hideout.

He made his way back into the hideout, his breathing was getting more and more raggedy as soon as he reached your bed and knelt down next to your sleeping form. But it didn't go unnoticed by you as you woke up to him, staring down at you, like a god damn five course meal you were. He grabbed his sunglasses and tossed them aside.

"Eric? Holy shit you look like—"

"Don't speak, woman .." his pained expression was evident, he was holding back. You knew what look meant. Somehow, you were immune to the vampire plague, like you want to call it. And you knew there was only one option left.

"Eric...you need bl—"

"Don't you think I know what, brat? I won't hurt you...not like last time.. you need to find my—"

"There's no time for that... Just...do it.." you pulled down the shirt, so your neck and collar bone were visible on one side, which made Blade's skin crawl in anticipation, he leaned forward and smelled your skin, your blood was pumping in your veins which nearly drove him insane. As his nose dragged along your neck, you grabbed into his bicep with your not injured arm, the contact made him stop for a second, but he felt how you squeezed his muscles, that's how he knew that you were comfortable with him.

"Look at that... All this blood, ready to be devoured..." Blade purred, which made you blush.

"J-Jeez don't say that..."

"Like what? Like I fucking want you? Like I can't stop thinking about how it'd feel to devour you whole?" That made you freeze up, holy shit he never spoke to you like that before. What changed? But Blade didn't let you ask your question as he already hoovered above you, on the bed, his body in between your legs, pressing his crotch against yours.

"W-What are you—"

"I am finally acting on my desires, (y/n), it's been so long since I've met you, and now... Since you're here, offering yourself to me willingly... Fuck feel how hard you make me, Sweetheart?" He pushed his hips forward, his bulge evident against your clothed core. The contact made you whimper, and Blade let out a breathy chuckle, which sent shivers down your spine.

"E-Eric...—"

"Looks like I'm not the only one who fucking want this, right sweetheart?" His hand went straight into your hair and gripped into it, a fistful of it and he pulled your head to the side, showing off your perfectly smooth neck for him, he moaned as he moved down his lips to your neck and kissed your skin feverishly. He pushed his body down to yours, but made sure not to put pressure on your injured shoulder.

"E-Eric...please—" a dark laugh left his lips, his mouth grazed your ear, breathing heavily whilst you closed your eyes and relaxed back on the bed, your thighs pressed together, caging his body to yours in a desperate plea.

"Feel that sweetheart? Feel how much I want you? It's fucken time I have you, don't you think? You're mine. No one else's.. you're mine...!" His fangs punctured your skin, your blood flooded into his mouth, and he didn't even hesitate to drink it, gulp it down like his life depended on it. His hips rutted to your clothed core, reminding you how hard he was for you. You buckled your hips up, cracking a moan from Blade's lips but he didn't stop feeding. You were too addictive, too perfect, and gid he couldn't wait to ruin you. That you'd only want him and no one else.

☀️

Well hi ...I am back... Kinda. I had so many things going on. I present you this fic 🎁. Here you go ❤️

[catilinas]

had a dream that i got lost trying to go to the cardiologist and ended up seeing/being involved in a production of ‘robert icke’s elektra’ which so clearly was not elektra. it was like interactive theatre where you had to sit at the dinner table with. well the main head of household guy was not aegisthus Or creon but i think he was meant to be kind of both because ??? the plot of oedipus was involved also. like at one point it was revealed that this guy had killed corrin (from icke’s oedipus) and turned him into gold powder and put him in the water and then we all (everyone at the table) drank him. which pissed of his ghost? which then materialised as a giant gooey metal hand? that only went away if you composed poetry to make it chill out. a lot of the play was about thinking uhh this play is elektra. when is elektra going to show up. then later in the play it turns out elektra’s ashes are in the Second jug of water (but maybe it is orestes? unclear) but she doesn’t get a ghost so instead a chorus of ??? amazons??? arrive to avenge her. also in this dream i ‘remembered’ a) seeing a preview of scenes from icke’s oresteia in the acropolis museum in like 2010 and b) a double billing of icke’s oresteia and this play in 2022. then on the train home i tried to buy a can of coca cola and the guy at the shop counter tried to charge me £22800 for it. good morning 👍

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

A Second Chance Is A Better Chance - Part 11

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch Reader, eventual ? x Omega Witch Reader and Alpha Steve Rogers X Omega Witch Reader

Summary: Rejected by your true mate at 21, you’ve given up on the Fates and the Moon Goddesses giving you a second chance. Being a Roamer for the last 9 years, you’re an Omega hardened by the world. You’re safe on your own because of your witchcraft, but it doesn’t stop Alphas and plenty of others sniffing around, especially when you’re an unmated Omega witch, who’s wolf also happens to be white, the rarest kind. You don’t need anyone, but why do you keep coming back to Brookville and why do you keep walking into trouble and helping people that you don’t know but for some strange reason feel like family. And where is that smell of apple pie coming from?

Series Warnings: A/B/O, eventual smut, violence in parts, witchcraft, shapeshifters

Chapter Summary: You and Agatha come face to face.

Chapter Warnings: Witchcraft, gun violence. minor character death.

Elektra stepped out the van first, followed by you, Billy on your six, with Frank and Luke quick to join either sides.

Another two vans full of Frank’s extended pack members jumped out, all heavily armed and their scents full of anger. You heard Luke confirm all the other packs had their own units in place and Billy directing a small group of their own to get out those injured in the security box.

As you prepared to move out from where you were hidden from Agatha and the Hydra agents, Frank slipped his hand around your waist and squeezed softly just like he had the first day you’d met. You looked up at him your eyes still bright as your powers simmered.

“Be careful.”

You nodded as another familiar hand slipped around your waist and a kiss placed on your head.

“I know you won’t want to and you’re not gonna like it but I need you to let me handle Agatha. She doesn’t know me, she’ll have sensed me before, from Fiona’s, but that’s all. She’ll try and turn us against each other. Let me handle her. You have to let me handle her.”

Frank and Billy nodded. You were right, they wouldn’t like it but it was clear how strong you were and you had to take Agatha down and she needed to be stopped once and for all.

“That goes for all of you.” You said firmly. You weren’t stupid and you knew Elektra and Luke, as well as the extended pack would try and get involved if they thought you were in danger. There were more nods and confirmations of your instructions.

“Now let’s snap this bitch of a witch.”

Frank gave out instructions and positions to the pack and you watched as they scattered out, silent in their movements.

“She needs to see me Frank, the shock will give me the upper hand. She’s used to witches cowering from her.”

Frank nodded, he didn’t like it but again he knew you were right. He explained that he and the others would watch your six and deal with the Hydra rogues, whilst you dealt with Agatha. They were already outnumbering the rogues so you knew that wouldn’t take long, not with their skill set. The biggest battle would be between you and Agatha.

The rogues position varied. Some stayed near the vehicles they’d arrived in and some including Brock Rumlow were near Agatha as she tried and failed to get through your shield. Rumlow barked orders for it to be taken down so they could hide the hostages. One of them, an alpha with white blonde hair, that you quickly realised was more likely bleach, than him being a white wolf, had been heavily beaten and was more restrained than the others. They lay a few feet away from Rumlow’s feet as another Hydra rogue kept a gun on them.

You shuffled along behind some crates until Frank was happy with your position. When you stepped out you’d be right in front Agatha and at some point you’d have to step out of the shield to deal with her. But first, the wolf in you decided, you’d play with her and torment her just like she had to so many others. The wolf in you wanted to see the fear in her eyes. As you went to step out you were stopped by a pull on the witch wound. Fiona.

Put your cloak on you damn fool.

You huffed and pulled it out. Frank glanced over as you put it on. He’d never seen your cloak before, he didn’t even know you had one. Even at a glance, he was quick to notice the different coloured threads along the seams.

Billy let out a sigh of relief from his position. He knew cloaks were meant to give an element of protection but he’d never seen you with one and you’d never mentioned having one either. He’d thought about buying you one himself to apologise for the whole neck grabbing situation but the witch he’d spoken to, Hilda something, had said only witches gave other witches cloaks and he didn’t want to piss you off anymore than he already had.

A crackling of the shield snapped everyone’s attention to you as you rose from your hiding spot.

Agatha’s eyes snapped toward you as she lowered her hands momentarily, from where she’d tried and failed miserably to take down your shield. She tried to hide her worried expression with one of anger but you caught it, if only for a second.

“Let me in!” She growled at you and you snorted with laughter.

“No, I don’t think I will.” And you crackled the shield again as a show of strength.

She created a ball of fire in her hand a demonstration of her own powers and you smirked in reply.

“Let me in or I’ll burn down the town.”

“If anyone burns it’ll be you.” Came your reply. Your threat was clear. When one witch threatened another with burning this was only going to go one way.

Agatha seethed at your threat and the wind picked up around her. She maddened further when she saw just how unaffected you were. She created two large balls of fire in her hands and threw them at your shield.

“Let me in!” This time an alpha command.

Frank growled in response, but you didn’t flinch and the shield stayed in tact. Billy’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I knew it.” Came Elektra’s whispered voice. Agatha’s alpha command had failed to work on you but all those months ago, Frank’s had.

Because not only were you a witch and a white wolf, you were also a True Luna. A secret you had kept since you were eighteen. A secret only you and your old Luna knew. Frank’s command that day you’d tried to get in his pants had only worked because he was a prime alpha, and your tipsy behaviour would have also had played its part. Your voice brought the attention back to you.

“Try again bitch!”

Agatha created bigger balls of fire and rose from the ground. Growling harshly as she floated above you, as close as she could without touching the shield.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with Omega.”

The disdain for your presentation clear in her voice. You smirked and rose from the ground, so you were level with her.

“Nor do you.”

“Kill the hostages.” She ordered. The one guarding them raised his gun. Rumlow raised his hand to stop them.

“Agatha, we need them. We just need to bide our time until the boat gets here. Put them back in the van.”

“No! Kill them! Unless…..”

“Unless what?”

“Unless she hands herself over.”

A new voice entered the conversation. Frank. As he stepped out he gave you a look that told you to not even consider handing yourself over.

“That’s not happening.”

“Do you want that on your conscience little Omega?” Agatha asked ignore Frank’s presence, “These poor hostages will die because of you. Won’t that break your little omega heart to know that’s your fault?”

Your brow furrowed and you gulped hard. If she killed those hostages it would be on you. You lowered yourself to the ground.

“That’s what I thought. You might be able to avoid my commands but you, you’re an omega. Weak, pathetic, it’s sickening.” She growled as she lowered herself.

You dipped your head, slumping your shoulders, pushing shame and sadness through your scent and easing it through the shield towards Agatha.

“See!!” She called out, gesturing at you “They’re all the same! Powers are wasted on omegas.”

“You don’t know me.” you sniffed, head still lowered, your hair partially covering your face.

“I don’t need to!!! You might be able to keep up a shield but you will fall just like the rest of them.”

“Is that why you’re scared? Because you can't get round my shield.” You replied quietly.

Agatha let out a choked sound.

“Scared? Of you? You’re insane.”

“Actually I’m not,” you lifted your head a smirk on your face “I actually amazingly passed the mental health test at my last check up.”

Agatha looked at you confused. Weren’t you just crying?

“I bother you, don’t I Agatha? It bothers you that I’m an omega. It bothers you that for the second time I’ve kept you out of where you want to be. It bothers you that you can’t breakdown my shield and you and I both know why you can’t. It bothers you that I’m stronger than you. I saw you Agatha, I saw the worried look and the panic in your eyes before we got here. An omega witch that outranks you in every damn way possible and it scares you.”

“LIES!!!”

“Try and get in then.”

Agatha placed her palms as close to the shield as she could and pushed her powers into it. Shades of purple flashed up the side but failed to have an effect on your shield. She tried a second time growling as she did. You purposely wound her up more by looking at your watch.

“Are you done?” You asked.

“KILL THE HOSTAGES NOW!” she yelled in the direction of one of the beta guards, an Alpha command which he wouldn’t be able to avoid. He raised his gun and fired at them but you were quicker than he was.

You lifted the shield quickly as near as possible to where they had been thrown on the floor and used your powers to pull them through at speed. You knew from Billy’s position that he was best placed to handle the beta and you dipped to the right as Billy took a shot over your left shoulder, hitting the beta right between the eyes.

Agatha lunged towards where you’d moved the shield and let Billy’s bullet through, expecting a weak point. Rumlow and the other Hydra agents followed her lead and opened fire. Your shield remained intact as the bullets bounced off. Annoyed by Agatha’s attempt to get in you tossed her ten feet backwards into a shipping container.

“How? How is she doing this?” Yelled Rumlow as he signalled for his men to take cover, spotting Frank and Billy and the rest of the pack easing forward.

You watched as Agatha dragged herself towards Rumlow’s hiding spot beside one of the cars.

“Where is the damn boat Rumlow?”

“It’s five minutes out.”

“Well tell them to make it quicker.” Agatha used the car to pull herself from the ground.

You stayed firmly in place, never taking your eyes off her. Agatha scanned the shield for a weak spot but found none. She watched as Luke and another pack member moved the hostages out of her sight, as Elektra watched their six, and then she spotted it. A weak spot. Not in the shield but in the pack.

Billy’s eyes were trained on you as he covered you but they weren’t just the eyes of a team or pack mate watching out for someone. There was something else there, admiration, love maybe and whole lot of lust.

There were clearly other ways to take you down. All of you.

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[cornerofhell]

Thoughts on Deadpool and Wolverine

SPOILERS WILL BE MENTIONED

I went in knowing some spoilers, but even then that didn't deter me from the movie at all.

I only recently watched the Deadpool movies and loved them very much, and my husband and I are avid X-Men fans so he begged me to watch it. I was not disappointed.

This movie was the perfect combination of Deadpool and X-Men that it wasn't even funny (well it was but you know what I mean) and it was so clear how much love and dedication was put into it. All the references, the inside jokes, the casting, it was all so perfect. I lost my shit seeing Sabertooth, and Pyro, and all the other villains from the 2000 movies, as someone who grew up watching them.

Hugh did so fucking well playing different variants of Logan and it was SO NICE seeing him finally able to act how he felt the character would act. Do you know how long I've been waiting to see that mask and costume? I lost my everloving mind, and Hugh ROCKED IT. His dynamic with Laura was also a huge plus, I loved it. LET LOGAN SAY FUCK.

And the other characters introduced... I am an avid fan of the Fantastic Four movies so seeing Human Torch healed something inside of me, and GAMBIT?! AN UNDERRATED GEM?! Channing you beautiful bastard. I haven't seen Blade or the Daredevil movie (weird because I love Daredevil) but it was so nice to see Blade and Elektra being represented, and from what I've heard they were played really well.

Cassandra was a character I had not heard of before this movie, it was very nice to see lesser known mutants represented so lovingly and it actually caused my husband and I to do more research about her character (super interesting btw, please go check her out).

The soundtrack, the SOUNDTRACK?! PERFECT. Every song went so hard, though one of my personal favorites was the "You're the One That I Want" scene. Though it's also hard to choose because again, it all SLAPPED. (Loved the Greatest Showman references lmao) Deadpool's story was absolutely a perfect ending to his movies, Ryan wrote it beautifully, and I wholeheartedly believe Wade and Vanessa are gonna grow old together and have a bunch of Babypools and Mary Puppins and Wade is 100% gonna make Uncle Logan babysit, all while surrounded by the perfect found family.

So yeah I dunno if you could tell but I loved this movie lmfao