#the avengers (the marvel ones not the other ones) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 2 days ago

Note

Hi rose!!

Could i request ‘Christmas Caroling (Disaster)’ from your marvel holiday special with (platonic relationship) natasha romanoff and fem!reader? just banter, fluff and laughs! If you don’t write for Nat or don’t write platonic relationships, feel free to change any details!

Thank you!

CAROLING & SNOWBALL FIGHTS

⤷ NATASHA A. ROMANOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Natasha A. Romanoff x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, platonic

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: You're feeling bored so your best friend, Natasha Romanoff herself, takes matters into her own hands and decides to make you have som fun outside the Compound.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It’s another quiet morning at the Avengers Compound, snowflakes tumbling lazily past the frosted windows. You’ve been staring at the same book for an hour, the words blending into an indecipherable blur. With a sigh, you drop it on the coffee table and stretch, looking around the room for something, anything, to do. The holiday decorations you and the team painstakingly put up last week sparkle in the soft light, but even they can’t hold your attention.

“Bored, huh?” Natasha’s voice makes you jump. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused smirk on her lips. She’s dressed casually in a dark hoodie and jeans, her red hair pulled into a loose braid. The sight is almost comical; you’re used to seeing her geared up for a mission, not looking like she’s about to suggest a Netflix marathon.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Painfully,” she replies, stepping into the room. She flops onto the couch beside you, stealing the mug of hot chocolate you’d abandoned earlier. “What’s the problem, Y/N? Cabin fever?”

“Something like that,” you admit. “I can’t take another day of sitting around here doing nothing. I swear I’ll lose my mind.”

Natasha takes a sip, watching you over the rim of the mug. She’s silent for a moment before her face lights up with an idea. “Let’s get out of here.”

You blink at her. “Out of here? Like, where?”

“Central Park,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s snowing, it’s December, and I’m guessing you’ve never seen it in full winter wonderland mode.”

“That’s because I value my extremities,” you quip, though a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. The idea is already growing on you. “But fine. If I lose a finger to frostbite, you owe me a really good story to make up for it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but grabs your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Deal. Now go bundle up, rookie.”

Ten minutes later, you’re layered up in coats, scarves, and gloves, feeling like a marshmallow on legs. Natasha teases you mercilessly about your knit hat, but you point out that at least you’ll be warm. She’s only wearing a simple beanie and claims she doesn’t feel the cold—a classic spy move, you’re sure.

The streets are bustling when you arrive in Manhattan, but the chaos is strangely comforting. The city hums with energy, a mix of holiday cheer and the usual fast-paced New York vibe. As you approach Central Park, the snow seems to muffle the noise, wrapping everything in a blanket of quiet beauty.

Natasha leads the way, her boots crunching in the snow. The paths are partially cleared, but the open spaces are covered in a thick layer of pristine white. You spot families building snowmen and kids racing each other on sleds. A few brave souls are attempting to ice skate on the frozen pond.

“This is actually kind of nice,” you admit, looking around in awe.

“Told you,” Natasha says smugly, tossing a snowball at your shoulder. It’s a lazy throw, but you still yelp in surprise, brushing the snow off your coat.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” you warn, bending down to scoop up your own handful of snow. Natasha dodges easily, laughing as your attempt sails harmlessly past her.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she taunts, darting behind a tree for cover. You chase after her, and soon you’re both caught in an all-out snowball fight, ducking and weaving like you’re in some kind of ridiculous winter-themed action movie. Natasha is annoyingly good at dodging, but you manage to land a few hits, much to your satisfaction.

Eventually, you call a truce, both of you panting and grinning like kids. “I can’t feel my hands,” you complain, shaking the snow out of your gloves.

“Rookie mistake,” Natasha says, but she’s smiling, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Come on. Let’s walk for a bit.”

The two of you stroll along the snowy paths, the playful mood giving way to something softer. The park is quieter now, the light fading as the afternoon stretches toward evening. The snow-covered trees and twinkling lights give everything a magical quality, like you’ve stepped into a postcard.

“Thanks for this,” you say after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “I really needed it.”

Natasha shrugs, but there’s a warmth in her eyes. “You’ve been looking a little stir-crazy. Figured you could use a change of scenery.”

“Still,” you insist, bumping her shoulder with yours. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve left me to rot in my boredom.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I did that?” she asks, her tone light but sincere. The word “friend” hangs in the air, and you realize just how much it means to you. Natasha isn’t the easiest person to get close to, but moments like this remind you how much she cares in her own quiet way.

As you continue your walk, you can’t help but laugh at the sight of Natasha sneaking marshmallows from a street vendor selling hot chocolate. She insists they don’t count as stealing since she bought a drink, but the grin on her face says otherwise. You both sit on a park bench, steaming cups in hand, and watch as the first stars begin to appear in the darkening sky.

“This is perfect,” you say softly, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping into your gloves.

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees, her voice equally quiet. “It is.”

The two of you sit there for a long time, the world around you fading into the background. For once, there’s no mission, no chaos, no looming threat—just you, your best friend, and the peaceful beauty of a snowy December evening.

You’re mid-sip of your hot chocolate, savoring the warmth, when something smacks into the back of your head with a dull thud. You nearly spill the drink in surprise and spin around, only to see a rogue snowball disintegrating against the back of the bench. Natasha freezes mid-sip, her eyes widening slightly, and you catch the faintest twitch of a smirk.

Before you can react, a chorus of giggles erupts from somewhere nearby. A group of kids stands a few feet away, their faces half-hidden by scarves and hats, but their mischievous intent is clear. One of them holds up another snowball like it’s a trophy, daring you to respond.

Natasha, ever the professional, turns her head slowly toward you, her expression unreadable. “Well, Y/N,” she says, setting her cup down with deliberate care. “You’re not going to let them get away with that, are you?”

You blink at her. “What? They’re just kids—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Natasha has already scooped up a handful of snow, molded it into a perfect sphere, and lobbed it with expert precision. The kid with the snowball barely dodges, letting out a shriek of laughter.

“Natasha!” you hiss, horrified and impressed in equal measure.

“They started it,” she says with a shrug, but the gleam in her eyes tells you she’s fully committed to this impromptu war. Another snowball flies past her head, and she ducks, motioning for you to follow her lead. “Come on, rookie. Don’t make me fight this battle alone.”

Reluctantly—and with a ridiculous amount of glee—you scramble off the bench and join her behind the nearest tree. Snowballs fly back and forth in a chaotic flurry. The kids are surprisingly coordinated for their age, and you’re pretty sure one of them is an aspiring pitcher with how fast their throws are.

Natasha, however, is in her element. She moves like she’s on a battlefield, dodging snowballs and retaliating with almost supernatural accuracy. You’re not sure whether to laugh or be concerned when she starts calling out tactics like, “Flank left!” and “Suppressive fire!”

“Nat, they’re children!” you gasp between laughs, barely dodging another well-aimed projectile.

“They’re ruthless!” she counters, narrowly avoiding a snowball to the face. “We don’t negotiate with snowball terrorists.”

Before you can respond, one of the kids sneaks up behind you and pelts you square in the back. You yelp, spinning around to see a tiny figure bolting back toward their group. Natasha cackles, actually cackles, at your expense.

“Oh, you’re going down,” you mutter, grabbing as much snow as you can carry. You charge toward the kids, who scatter in every direction, shrieking with laughter. Natasha follows close behind, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

The battle rages on for what feels like forever, until finally, you and Natasha call a truce—mostly because you’re both out of breath and can’t feel your fingers anymore. The kids cheer in victory, clearly declaring themselves the winners, and you wave a white scarf in surrender.

As you and Natasha trudge back to the bench, covered in snow and utterly exhausted, you can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe I just went to war with a bunch of eight-year-olds.”

Natasha collapses onto the bench beside you, brushing snow out of her hair. “Hey, they were formidable opponents. You held your own.”

“I think I got frostbite on my dignity,” you joke, shaking your head.

“You’ll live,” she says, smirking. “Barely.”

You’re about to retort when a new sound catches your attention—a sharp, metallic clunk followed by a muffled curse. Both of you whip around, instinctively alert. A man in a Santa suit has somehow managed to get his foot stuck in a trash can, and he’s hopping around trying to free himself, looking utterly ridiculous.

You and Natasha stare for a moment before bursting into laughter. It’s the kind of uncontrollable, tears-in-your-eyes laughter that leaves you gasping for air.

“I can’t—” Natasha wheezes, clutching her stomach. “This is too much.”

The man finally notices the two of you watching and glares. “What? Haven’t you ever seen Santa in distress?” he snaps, still hopping. That only makes you laugh harder.

“Should we help him?” you manage to ask between giggles.

Natasha shakes her head, still laughing. “I think he’s got it under control.”

As if to prove her wrong, Santa trips over his own feet and falls flat on his back with a loud oof. Your laughter dies instantly, replaced by a mix of horror and concern.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, rushing over to help. “Are you okay?”

The man groans but waves you off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just…bad day, you know?”

Natasha joins you, her amusement giving way to a more subdued grin. “Do you need a hand?”

Santa looks up at her, then at you, and sighs. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope,” Natasha says, offering him her hand. “But I will help you up.”

Between the two of you, you manage to get him back on his feet and free his boot from the trash can. He mutters a thanks before trudging off, still grumbling under his breath.

As you return to the bench, you and Natasha exchange a look and burst out laughing again.

“This is officially the weirdest day ever,” you say, shaking your head.

“Just another day in New York,” Natasha replies, her eyes twinkling. “Admit it, though—it’s been fun.”

You smile, brushing a stray snowflake off your coat. “Yeah. It really has.”

As the last of your laughter fades and the chill starts to settle back in, you hear something unusual over the faint hum of city noise: voices raised in song. You and Natasha exchange curious looks, both craning your necks toward the sound.

Down the path, a group of cheerful carolers bundled in scarves and hats stands beneath a lamp post, singing their hearts out. Their harmonized rendition of Jingle Bells drifts through the snowy air, lifting the spirits of passersby. It’s such a quintessentially wholesome scene that you can’t help but smile.

“Should we join them?” you joke, nudging Natasha with your elbow. “Spread some holiday cheer?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You? Singing? I thought you said you didn’t do public humiliation.”

“Funny,” you deadpan, though you’re smiling. “I could totally out-sing you.”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge,” she says, her smirk widening.

Before you can retort, one of the carolers—an older woman with a kind face and an almost suspicious amount of holiday cheer—spots you both watching. Her eyes light up, and before you can bolt, she’s heading your way, flanked by a few other singers.

“Hello there!” she says, her voice warm and inviting. “You two look like you’re having a wonderful evening. Care to join us? We’re spreading some Christmas joy around the park.”

“Oh, we’re just here to—” you start, but Natasha cuts you off.

“Absolutely,” she says, grinning at your look of betrayal. “We’d love to.”

The woman beams, clapping her hands together. “Wonderful! Come on, we’ve got songbooks for you.”

“Natasha,” you hiss as she pulls you along, “what are you doing? We can’t sing.”

“Speak for yourself,” she replies, her tone light but teasing. “Besides, it’s not about being good. It’s about having fun.”

You groan but let her drag you toward the group. Someone hands you a songbook, and before you know it, you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Natasha, surrounded by cheerful strangers belting out holiday classics.

The first song is Deck the Halls, and to your surprise, you’re not entirely terrible. Natasha, of course, sings with the kind of confidence that makes you wonder if she’s secretly been trained in covert caroling as part of her spy work. She’s not half bad, though her occasional exaggerated vibrato earns some stifled laughs from the group.

When the carolers move on to Silent Night, the vibe softens, and you can’t help but get swept up in the moment. Snow drifts lazily around you, the lights of the park twinkling like stars. Natasha glances at you mid-verse, and the rare softness in her expression makes your heart swell.

“See?” she whispers when the song ends, her breath misting in the cold air. “Not so bad, huh?”

You roll your eyes but smile. “I guess it’s kind of nice.”

The next song is Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and that’s when things take a turn for the hilarious. The carolers encourage everyone to get a little animated, adding silly gestures and sound effects. Natasha, to your utter shock, fully commits. She even throws in a dramatic point to herself when the lyrics mention “reindeer games,” earning a round of applause from the group.

“Who are you and what have you done with Natasha Romanoff?” you tease between verses.

“What can I say?” she quips, shrugging. “I thrive under pressure.”

By the time the group launches into Frosty the Snowman, you’re both fully immersed. You try to outdo each other with increasingly ridiculous antics, from fake tap-dancing to over-the-top hand gestures. The carolers laugh and cheer you on, and soon even passersby are stopping to watch and join in.

At one point, Natasha grabs your arm and twirls you around like you’re in a ballroom dance. You stumble, nearly knocking over a poor guy carrying his dog, and the entire group erupts into laughter.

“I’m blaming you if I fall,” you warn, breathless from laughing so hard.

“You’ll be fine,” Natasha replies, smirking. “You’re more coordinated than you look.”

The impromptu performance ends with a rousing rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, complete with clapping and stomping. By the time the carolers disperse, you’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“That was ridiculous,” you say as you and Natasha walk back to the bench, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots.

“Ridiculously fun,” she counters, her grin matching yours. “Admit it, you loved it.”

“Fine,” you concede, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “It was fun. But don’t expect me to make this a regular thing.”

“Noted,” she says, her tone light. Then, after a pause, she adds, “You’ve got a decent voice, though.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she replies, smirking. “Now, come on. Let’s find something else to do before you start getting bored again.”

As you walk off together, snow falling gently around you, you realize that this has been one of the best days you’ve had in a long time. And it’s all thanks to Natasha—and her unexpected knack for turning the mundane into something extraordinary.

By the time you and Natasha return to the compound, the warmth of the interior feels like heaven. You both stomp the snow off your boots and shed your damp outer layers near the door, collapsing onto the couch in the main living room like you’ve just run a marathon.

“Remind me to never carol in the snow again,” you groan, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

“You loved it,” Natasha counters, stretching her legs out on the coffee table. She looks just as tired as you feel, though her smirk suggests she’s still riding the high of the day’s events.

Before you can retort, the sound of footsteps pulls your attention. Steve strides in, looking every bit the curious big brother. His eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you both sprawled out like overworked elves.

“Rough mission?” he jokes, folding his arms.

“Worse,” Natasha deadpans. “We were ambushed by snowball terrorists, then conscripted into a caroling group.”

Steve blinks, his confusion quickly replaced by amusement. “Snowball terrorists? Caroling? Is this some kind of inside joke, or—?”

“Oh, it’s very real,” you cut in, sitting up. “I’ve never seen Nat throw snowballs with such precision. It’s terrifying.”

“She’s a trained assassin,” Steve points out, chuckling. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Before the conversation can continue, Sam and Bucky wander in, followed closely by Wanda and Clint. Within minutes, the living room is buzzing with questions and laughter as you recount your afternoon adventures. Natasha, surprisingly, doesn’t downplay any of it, even going so far as to mimic your disastrous attempt at dancing during Frosty the Snowman.

“I swear, she almost took out a guy and his dog,” Natasha says, barely holding back her laughter.

“Did not!” you protest, though you’re laughing too.

“Okay, okay,” Clint interrupts, grinning. “This sounds like the most ridiculous thing I’ve missed all week. But since you two had your fun, what’s the plan for tonight? Because I’m not letting you hog all the entertainment.”

“We’re exhausted,” you point out, slumping further into the couch. “Nat and I earned a break.”

“Perfect,” Wanda chimes in, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s have a movie night. Something fun and festive.”

“Yes!” Sam agrees, already heading for the kitchen. “I’ll make popcorn. But I’m not watching any boring black-and-white Christmas movies.”

“Don’t knock It’s a Wonderful Life,” Steve says, looking mildly offended.

“Let’s take a vote,” Clint suggests, grabbing the remote. “Majority rules.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone to agree on a lineup of holiday classics, starting with Home Alone and ending with Elf. The team scatters briefly to grab snacks, blankets, and other essentials, and when they return, the living room feels like the coziest place on Earth.

Natasha claims the corner of the couch, gesturing for you to sit next to her. You oblige, pulling a blanket over your legs as Sam passes around bowls of popcorn. Wanda curls up in an armchair, while Clint takes the floor with a pillow he’s clearly stolen from someone’s room. Steve and Bucky settle in on the other couch, and even Bruce makes an appearance, looking relaxed for once.

“Ready?” Clint asks, remote in hand.

“Hit it,” Natasha says, smirking.

As the first movie begins, the room fills with laughter and commentary. Sam and Clint provide running jokes during every slapstick scene, while Steve occasionally tries (and fails) to explain the historical inaccuracies of certain films. Natasha, to your surprise, seems to enjoy herself the most, her rare laughter ringing out at the most unexpected moments.

During a particularly chaotic scene in Home Alone, where Kevin sets up traps for the burglars, Bucky leans over to Steve. “Why does this kid remind me of Nat?” he asks, deadpan.

Steve snorts. “Because she’d do the exact same thing, only with way more efficiency.”

“I heard that,” Natasha calls out, not even looking away from the screen.

As the night goes on, everyone starts to relax completely, the day’s stress melting away. At some point, Wanda conjures a tiny flurry of snowflakes above the coffee table, much to everyone’s delight. Clint insists on using them as makeshift targets, and the ensuing chaos nearly derails the movie marathon.

By the time Elf rolls around, you’re half-asleep, leaning against Natasha’s shoulder. She doesn’t seem to mind, her own posture relaxed as she absentmindedly munches on popcorn.

“This was a good idea,” you mumble, your eyes growing heavy.

Natasha hums in agreement. “Told you. Sometimes the simplest things are the best.”

As the movie’s final credits roll, the group lingers, reluctant to let the night end. Clint and Sam argue about who made the best jokes, while Steve insists on cleaning up despite everyone’s protests. Natasha gently nudges you awake, her expression softer than usual.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” she says quietly. “Time for bed.”

You nod groggily, letting her pull you to your feet. As you say your goodnights and head to your room, you can’t help but smile. The day might’ve started with boredom, but it ended with something much better: laughter, friendship, and a reminder of how lucky you are to have found this family.

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crazyk-imagine · 2 days ago

Text

Small Talk and the Worst Ones

Pairing: Worst!logan howlett x Fem!reader

Characters: Worst!logan howlett, Fem!reader, Ellie "Negasonic Teenage Warhead", Yukio, Dogpool, Colossus

Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, reader has a sad backstory, worst!Logan knows the reader, wade is an idiot, wade is his own warning, wade fourth walling, you bet madonna is playing again, Colossus is the xmen movie version, wade is still bitter about not becoming an avenger, logan is a good man here, saving lives here people, move it or lose it

Word Count: 2.1k

Found this, it screams Wade

*will be edited at a later time

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

You enter the mansion and head into the kitchen, looking for your favorite emergency kit Wade stole. “Where’s Wade?” You call out.

“Somewhere disappointing Jesus,” Ellie comments.

His detectable fake laughter comes from the hallway. “You can’t disappoint what you are, it’s what you have.”

You furrow your brows. “You make no sense, Wade.” The corner of your lips twitch as you hide your wound.

“I don’t have to make sense for the readers to like me. They’re my true fans, they get me. Isn’t that right guys?” He turns, staring into the abyss.

You place your hand on the counter, lowering your head for a moment; not wanting anyone to see your pain.

“Is he okay?” You ask, pretending your stab wound doesn’t hurt.

“When is he ever okay?” She says before groaning as dogpool tries to lick her face.

Yuki giggles at her girlfriend's displeasure, finding it cute.

“Fair enough, stupid question on my part.” You shrug.

‘Bad idea.’ You don’t know how much longer you can stay here.

“You know, you’re all going to hell for making fun of Marvel Jesus.”

“Go stick your dick in your unicorn, Wade,” you hiss at him.

“My, my, my, such foul language coming from a x-force member who’s barely legal.”

“What kind of legal are you talking about? Because in my mind, you’re screaming racist burnt tortilla.”

“You see the kind of shit the author’s putting me through-”

You reach down, ignoring the pain and reach down for your favorite item.

“-the nerve of this-” He stops talking at the baby knife sticking out of his shoulder. “Motherf-”

"Nice hit,” Ellie tells you before setting dogpool on Yuki’s lap.

“Thanks, I had to do it before Colossus came down.”

“What is this I hear of hitting?”

As tall as he is, the man has the quietest footsteps, how? You’ll never know. “Nothing,” you blow a breath of air past your lips.

The others chime in before he could give you a lecture.

“Everyone, quiet.”

“Colossal tower,” Wade leans against the tall man, running his fingers up his chest before Colossus removes his hand. “She hit me,” he sticks his bottom lip out. “Heal me with the chromey goodness.” He starts to sink down to his knees.

You grab the kit and walk out of the kitchen, barely making it to the stairs as your vision blackens.

You shake your head, thinking you're dizzy but you know you’re going down.

Logan enters, setting the small stack of logs by the fireplace for the night when the scent of blood raises the hairs on his arms. He can hear the others bickering in the kitchen, your shampoo mixes with the blood.

He exits the living room and searches for you, following the scent as he goes.

He turns and finds you sprawled against the bottom of the stairs; the hand you must have been using to keep pressure, sticky from your blood and the kit beside you.

He bends down to pick you up but your mutation stops him. He groans as the waves hit him and pulls back.

He reaches closer to you, “don’t fight me, bub,” he mumbles. “You need to get help.”

The screams echo faintly in the back of his head. He isn’t going to lose another member, whether you like him or not.

He grunts at the pushing of your energetic waves and picks you up. As he balances himself, he finds himself able to breathe again.

He barges into the kitchen, everyone stops at the sight. “Is someone gonna help her or not?”

Wade pushes himself off the steel man and runs past Logan before popping his head into the kitchen, “are you gonna follow me or not, peanut?”

Logan growls at his words as everyone follows him.

“What- what are we going to be able to do?” Yuki asks, worried about you.

Wade opens the kit, searching for the right material, “aha!”

“You’re going to fix her up?” Logan asks.

“I don’t know who else is qualified to do this? The doc’s out right now trying to find more people to ally with right now.”

“You barely walk around here without fondling-”

“If one more word comes right out of that mouth that belts out glorious eargasming songs, I will kick you right out this door right now.”

You hear them giggling.

“Wade, what the hell is happening?” Logan asks.

Colossus tries to hold you down to keep you from squirming but fails as you use your mutation on him. He pulls away, falling to the floor, his arm reverting back to its human state.

You don’t know where to turn.

“I’ll go get the-”

“No,” Logan snaps at Ellie. He reaches for you and holds you in place, giving Wade enough time to finish.

You look around and find yourself back at home, the place you grew up; and where it all ended.

The giggles from your family echoing throughout the neighborhood.

The red pooling out the front door sent chills down your spine.

The giggles pick up.

“Wade, she’s losing blood,” Ellie tells him as she tries to put pressure on your wound.

“I- fuck- I know.”

“Use my blood,” Logan tells him as he feels a little more in control. You’re not fighting him as much.

“We don’t- we can’t.”

“And, why not?” The animalistic man puffs his chest, hating Yukio’s words.

“We don’t know what it can do to her,” Wade informs him. “We don’t- we don’t-”

Ellie huffs, interrupting the merc. “We don’t know if it’ll kill her or not.”

“It will work,” Colossus adds.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you came back when it was convenient for the plot.”

“Wade,” the tall man critiques him.

“What? I’m just saying we haven’t heard from you in the last ten minutes-”

“It was barely two,” Ellie comments.

“Fine, for the last TwO minutes, we thought you were dead.”

“I didn’t,” Yukio says.

“Okay fine, fine, my little princess Yukio is right. I was the only one who thought you were dead. I admit it.”

“Can you shut the fuck up for once?”

The merc turns to Logan, “no unless you show me those greasy tits so I can-”

“Wade!”

“What?” He snaps at Colosuss.

“Go to the kitchen and get a water.”

“But-”

“Now.”

“Fine,” he groans. “But I will be back.”

“You say it’ll work?”

The taller man nods.

“How did you know?” Logan asks, staring at you as the color returns to your pale cheeks.

“You did it before.”

“What?”

“The other you, this- how did you say- this timeline’s Wolverine, saved her before.” He pauses.

“And? You seem like you're holding back the last few pages of the story there, bub.”

“That is how she got her regenerative ability to become faster and she,” he stares at the ground.

“She what? Just finish the f-”

“She doesn’t know. He asked us not to tell her and the professor thought it was wise to protect her if we didn’t mention it again. She never asked anyone after.”

You can’t breathe, unable to catch your breath.

“Nobody is coming to save you."

"Get up.”

You can hear her. “Get up.”

You can’t move. “Move dammit!”

When you call my name it’s like a little prayer

You curse to yourself staring up at the dark, starry sky. The last time you saw the sky like this was when you saved- he calls out your name.

You push yourself off the ground, arms shaking as you do so; tears sliding down your cheeks and off the tip of your nose.

Down on my knees

You push yourself up, staring at- “Charles?” You call out. “I thought-”

He nods, “we are in your memory. You’re fighting with yourself and I’m afraid you may lose.”

“Why are we- why am I back here?”

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

You weakly nod. “I feel the same as I did that night.”

“Your mind is taking you back to when you felt your weakest.”

“Why?” You wheeze, the fire smoke filling your lungs. It’s getting harder to breathe.

I’m gonna take you there

“You must fight.”

“I can’t.”

He nods, “you can. You saved us that night. Protected the students, other mutants you didn’t know or why they were there.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” you cough. “I couldn’t tell who-”

“You saved them, they needed you then. And they need you now. The group who attacked you is coming... for you.”

You can’t breathe, everything hurts; it’s like a thousand knives have been struck in you.

“Go back and fight.”

“You’ve got guts, kid.”

You remember how Logan almost smiled at you.

“Says you, old man. I bet that busted your balls for the next decade.” He huffs, not wanting to laugh.

That was the start of your almost friendship.

“I need to get Jean flowers.”

You huff, “Scott-”

“Please, you’re the only one who can tolerate me.”

“Go cry to Ororo. I have a class to teach.”

“But-”

“She’s right behind you.”

“Scott, I got your flowers,” Jean interrupts.

“Oh, well. I’m- I’m glad you like them.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Jean,” you sigh.

“It’s too much. I can feel-”

“Stop letting it control you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I am one with the waves, if I let it control me, I’d be dead.” You close your eyes and feel her energy. “Breath Jean,” you tell her telepathically. “It’s okay. I won’t let you go far.”

“Oro, bring a little lightening.”

She scoffs, “no.”

You pout, “c’mon. I need a cool photo.”

“For who? Your boyfriend?”

You scoff, “no for my wall duh. I have an empty spot I need to fill.”

She rolls her eyes, “go ahead.”

“You’re the best!”

You run, knowing exactly where you need to go.

You look over your shoulder and see everyone smiling. Scott, Jean, Ororo, Hank, Charles, Jubilee, Alex, all your friends, including your timelines Logan.

You don’t know how it happened.

You slowly open your eyes, owlishly blinking at the seemingly bright lights.

You take off the tube connecting the bag of blood to your arm, not caring at the mess as your small wound closes.

The side door is ripped off the wall as Wade crashes onto the ground, the corner sticking out of his side.

“He hath risen, baby boy, thank fuck.” He rips the piece of door out of his side and stands up. “I don’t think you should be fighting right now tho, Siren.”

You close your eyes, the fighting dies down; your eyes snap open, “my names not Siren, you burnt tortilla. I have friends who need my help and not your inappropriate gender blindness.”

He shrieks, covering his mask covered mouth. “Oh my god.”

He turns away and runs towards a tree, “she’s gonna do it. You nerds better pull out those hidden teddy cams because this is gonna be epic and a kickass montage.”

He shoves it away and rushes back to you.

You close your eyes, harnessing the energy from the earth and the emotions to expand your shield.

In the midnight hour, I can feel your power

You expand your arms as everyone stops fighting. You grit your teeth at the intensity bubbling inside you.

You take a deep breath.

“No one’s going to save you.”

The words became your battle cry.

If no one was going to save you-

“I will,” you whisper as you open your eyes.

- You would save yourself and all your friends.

You focus on the energy of the men trying to take you all, using it to feed your shield.

Logan remembers that look.

His timeline’s variant of you had that same look, before she- “No,” he whispers.

You and he hadn’t been friends then but he knew the impact of your death hurt a lot of people.

Ellie grabs Yukio and pulls her close as Colossus blocks the two.

He grabs you, pulling you in before you could step out.

At the surprise, you let go and take down everyone on the enemy team.

You take a deep breath.

“Well this wasn’t in the original plot,” Wade mumbles as he’s shoved to the side.

“Um,” you mumble. “You can let go now.”

Logan realizes how he’s holding you and pulls back, not fully removing himself from you as his hand stays on your hip. “You were gonna do it, weren’t you?”

“Do what?” You ask him.

“Sacrifice yourself to ensure everyone here and the school would be here,” he hisses, getting in your face.

“I- no,” you scoff.

“You were and you don’t know how many people would grieve over you.”

You furrow your brows, “I doubt it.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

Wade leans in closer to the other three, “is anyone else popping a-”

“Wade!”

“What? I’m lonely.”

“Gross,” Ellie shivers in disgust.

“How’d you know?” You ask him, ignoring Wade as he traumatizes the poor girls.

“I know a sacrifice when I see one.”

“Alright,” Wade taps his shoulder. “If we’re done listening to Madonna, can we clean up?”

“Wade, they’re gone.”

He turns around and sprints in the other direction. “Holy-” To the other side. “What the-” He runs back to you. “When did those little jazz fingers get so deathy?”

You owlishly blink at him. “When I didn’t want to die.”

He nods, “fair enough. Let’s go be like the newer cooler Avengers and get some shawarma.”

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