#this will take a long time but. so does learning new things :)

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex? 

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending. 

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears. 

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how. 

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback. 

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you. 

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help. 

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of. 

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.” 

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.” 

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters. 

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby. 

“I thought you might.” 

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long? 

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to. 

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory. 

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other. 

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own. 

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real. 

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore. 

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it. 

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him. 

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink. 

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you. 

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you. 

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful. 

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would. 

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same. 

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing. 

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so. 

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you. 

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you. 

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again. 

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again. 

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look. 

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off. 

 Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him. 

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone. 

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again 

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you. 

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable? 

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.” 

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change. 

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life. 

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?” 

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable. 

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t. 

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence. 

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you. 

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home. 

-

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned. 

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool. 

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws. 

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad. 

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day. 

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least. 

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him. 

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration. 

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it. 

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA. 

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already. 

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you. 

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever. 

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date. 

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him. 

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned. 

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was. 

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so. 

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night. 

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right. 

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight. 

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips. 

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes. 

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed. 

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy. 

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right. 

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.  

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent. 

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him. 

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

[gatorbites-imagines]

I’m SO in love with your Dick x Wally x male Thanagarian reader HCs! I’ve read through them multiple times, and they’re stuck in my head 🥰🥰💖💖💖

I wasn’t the one who requested it, but would I be able to ask for more from them, with a mix of SFW and NSFW HCs? 🙏

Dick Grayson x Wally West x Thanagarian male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been stressing about my job situation since I quit my internship, as I still need an income, and all job postings around here I can do start in April. So, like any healthy person, im ignoring these feelings by writing.

You guys dating wouldn’t change too many things, as you guys were already close and spent a lot of time together. You guys become a lot more affectionate, which is new for you but not for Dick and Wally as they had already been dating for a long time.

They plan most of the dates in the beginning, as you are still trying to figure out what would work for your human lovers. Thanagar has different traditions and habits, so humans being so lax and creative is new even after this long.

Dick and Wally are both giddy when you decide to plan a date all on your own. You end up stressing yourself way too much, wanting it to be perfect, that you get help from some of the other titans.

I think your boyfriends would be happy with anything, even just going to your hideout and sitting around eating pizza and watching a movie. But seeing all the effort you put into it makes them happy.

On your guys one year anniversary, you give them rings made out of nth metal, possibly even made from small pieces of your wings, so you are always with them in one way or another.

This makes Wally and Dick both pout as they now think their gifts arent good enough. Of course, you don’t think so, anything they’ll give you is good, but they want to do something as meaningful as you did.

Expect something personal and sweet in the coming days. It doesn’t have to be expensive or anything, but its something that means something to all of you. You just feel flustered about it, but accept the pampering.

They of course don’t go beyond your boundaries, something you return as well, since you love your boyfriends as much as you can and they love you in return.

You don’t have any family on earth, there’s Carter and Shayera, but they aren’t really your family and you guys have different values. Luckily for you, your boyfriends have active families. It takes longer for the bats to welcome you, but at this point you’ve been on earth long enough to be trusted.

When it comes to the bedroom, Wally and Dick are much more comfortable than you are in the beginning. They already know each other inside and out, literally, and the first times you feel almost like an outsider.

They obviously don’t allow you to feel left out, and the first times you guys sleep together is a lot of just learning each other, figuring out what feels good and what you are all comfortable with.

I like to think Wally asks about you wearing your wings at least once when you guys are doing it, and you counter it by saying he should keep the flash suit on then. You hadn’t expected him to do it, but he does. Dick ends up doing it too, wearing the Nightwing suit. And who wouldn’t love that.

It lets you live out a couple of fantasies you’ve always had but never allowed yourself to indulge in, since you didn’t want to disrespect your friends and their relationship.

It’s pretty lethal to not have just one boyfriend with a lot of energy, but two. And one of those boyfriends has little to no rest between rounds. I could imagine Dick jokes about how its good that you came along, so you can switch out who’s fucking Wally so the other can rest.

They both love hickeys and you leaving them on them, since the whole being marked by you gets their blood pumping. They both love leaving them just as much though, so you end up starting to wear a high-collar outfit when you go out as your crime fighting persona.

It can be hard to find time where all three of you can spend personal time together. Theres always something going on in your personal cities, so there is a lot of one on one time. But I can imagine you guys make a habit out of calling whoever isn’t there, and letting them listen through their earpiece, if possible.

It gets kinda awkward for Dick a couple of times where the other bats, mostly Babs, checks in on his comms, only to hear Wallys needy gasping and whimpering and your deeper grunts and groans, as you describe in crude detail what you are doing to your shared boyfriend.

Babs might even be a bit impressed that Dick can keep up with his usual flips and kicks, taking out criminals like usual, and not letting what hes hearing distract him.

When he finally finishes up and gets back to wherever you guys are, Dick would dive right in, even if you and Wally had already washed up and were cuddling.

Luckily Wally is always raring to go, and it’s easy to get you worked up, just watching and listening to them. At the end of the night/early morning everyone is satisfied and happy, even if Wally has to be the one doing all the cleaning and morning cooking.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

Okay, but can you imagine a world where Jason comes back and decides proper punishment is an eye for an eye?

Bruce may not be perfect but boy does he know how to torture himself.

Bruce might not have killed the Joker, but he went off the fucking rails after Jason died.

If Jason came back--if he told Bruce that his sweet little boy was back? There's no world in which Bruce wouldn't welcome him back with open arms.

So he plans it: he'll show Bruce he's alive, cry a bit over Tim as Robin, and make Bruce send the kid packing. Then, he'll push. He'll tell Bruce how unsafe he feels knowing the Joker is still alive. How that man needs to be delt with in the same way Jason was delt with.

He'll push Bruce closer and closer to his breaking point and then, to freshen the grief, he'll kill Tim.

Do it as the Red Hood.

Remind Bruce what happens when he puts people in the suit.

Imagine that's his plan.

Then, imagine how surprised he'll be when he announces his revival and Tim gets him somewhere private.

"You know, Placeholder, I don't really like you that much. Forgive me for not wanting to talk to anyone who's not family right now, but--"

"No," Tim interrupts, "no, I know. And I'll make it quick." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you must have gone through to die and come back and see someone else in your suit like that. If I knew you'd be back, I'd have found another way to hold him back. I just...wanted to give a formal apology before going home. I know that nothing I do could ever rectify what my taking your place must have felt like to you, and I'm sorry for that, but if you ever need anything, I'll be right next door."

Jason furrowed his brow. He was planning on waiting a couple days to plant the idea of Tim leaving in Bruce's head. He didn't anticipate Tim cornering him the first day he was back. "What?"

"I mean, I know I don't really have anything unique to offer, but the offer still stands." He watched Jason for a moment, hoping, most likely, for some reaction of 'no, please, stay in my suit, in my house, where you don't belong' or 'i don't entirely hate your guts'. Tim looked away. "Um, right, so--I'm going to leave while it's still light outside. It's--I'm glad I got to talk to you," Tim said, with something nauseatingly genuine in his eyes, "goodbye."

Good manners be damned, Jason didn't say 'goodbye' back. He let Tim leave without a word.

He expected Bruce to comment on it, but he didn't even bat an eye, just kept staring at Jason like he was something precious.

After it goes on for long enough, Jason finally asks, "You good, B?"

And all he can say is, "You're home."

And he is.

Bruce announces him as alive again on the grounds that it's Gotham and weirder things have happened. Since he's seventeen, he gets to go back to school.

Since Tim is fifteen, he's there too.

"Placeholder," Jason calls him, whenever he sees him--tries to torture him with the word.

And Tim looks at him sadly, "I'm sorry."

Every fucking time.

Tim doesn't even try to justify it or anything. Just apologizes. Agrees that he is a placeholder and apologizes for it.

And it pisses him off, but Jason doesn't lay a hand on him.

Not yet.

He keeps hinting to Bruce.

I'm not safe with the Joker alive.

I can't stay in Gotham if the Joker's alive.

I'll leave you if the Joker's alive.

I'll make sure everyone will.

And he does.

It's laughably easy to make his way into Drake Manor.

Tim seems surprised to see the Red Hood.

He's less surprised when he learns it's Jason.

Jason beats him into the fucking floor and the kid whimpers and wines, but doesn't call for his mommy or daddy.

Jason leaves happy.

He's still happy the next day when he doesn't see Tim in the halls. The boy's absence is expected, even if the lack of news about his placeholder being found beaten and bloody is, for lack of a better word, disappointing.

It's a full week later when Jason is scrolling through news articles and the whole world stops around him.

The Drakes Set to Return to Gotham after Seven Months in Iran

His brain lets him process the smaller realization first.

How he came back six months ago and how Tim has been alone for half a year and his only familiar face was Jason in the halls.

Placeholder.

I'm sorry.

And then, he pukes.

Because Jason beat Tim halfway to hell, but, as long as someone was there to see him in the morning, call an ambulance and make sure he'd get help, Tim would have been fine.

A week, Jason thinks, and then he's running to Drake Manor. It's all too easy to break in, again. To find Tim, again.

Laying where Jason left him.

Jason swallows before kneeling next to Tim.

He moves Tim's hair out of his face and--

And he's still warm.

A quick check confirms that, yes, yes, there's a pulse, and then everything happens in flashes.

Call 911.

Get in the ambulance.

Sit in the hospital waiting room until Bruce bursts in.

"I was worried sick," Bruce says, "what happened?"

"Tim was attacked," he says, quietly.

Bruce nods, "And you? How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." I attacked him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Guilty.

Bruce waits over him until the nurse finally reports that Tim's out of his first round of surgery and is, for the most part, stable.

Jason asks to see Tim and is denied.

"Only family can visit," the nurse says, and Jason looks to Bruce.

In Bruce's ear, he whispers, "Tim was under your guardianship while he war Robin, right? Can you get us in?"

"I can't," Bruce says, "He's not mine. He never was. Tim has always lived with his parents."

Listen... "Placeholder" is a way more fucking tragic nickname/title than "Replacement," and thus this is the name Jason should use for Tim if ya want to max out the angst.

Because there is value in being a replacement. They aren't the original, but a replacement has their own identity. They could be better or a newer model or simply different. There's no expectation for the replacement to be traded back either (though a replacement might get traded for the next replacement). A replacement is compared to the original but they are also accepted as their own identity.

A placeholder, on the other hand, "occupies the position/place of another person." That place isn't theirs. That place is temporary. There's no value to their own existence/identity, and they don't bring anything new to the table as they are. They are a stand-in for something else. They aren't wanted or desired as they are but rather for who they are standing in for.

"Placeholder" is certainly worse :)

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 13

AN: Whoever recommended Glimpse of Us, I'm sending you my therapy bill. /lh IT WAS SO GOODDDD OH MY GODDD Also, yeah Im convinced I have the Ao3 curse bc like I was doing okay and now my g.gma is dying and there was a bomb threat at my school like GIRL STOP IM NOT GODS STRONGEST SOLDIER

So, I have a confession. I lowkey-highkey hated part 12 of this, so it put me off writing for a while, but I was on the bus today and Indigo by Sam Barber and Avery Anna came on and yeah. I decided to hurt today.

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2 -> Part Seven -> Part Eight -> Part Nine -> Part Nine 1/2 -> Part Ten -> Part 11 -> Part 12

Warnings: idk I'm sad, take that as you will, mentions of past abuse (Ooh, Ciara when we catch you Ciara-), Mentions of being turned into a twisted/ past mentions, Reader lowkey does not have a good time, angst, but with comfort, mentions of vomit

☁ Cosmo had known you a long time. A very long time. He had known you far before Astro and Sprout had entered the picture He had been in love with you far before he had known what the feeling was.

☁ The first time Cosmo had met you, he knew he wanted to know you. Just just know of you, but know you inside and out. How you started your mornings, or how you handled your anger, watch you settle down for the night. He wanted to be apart of those aspects of your life. To understand your little habits, your isms, and know your ways of speech enough that he finds himself saying them.

☁ If you knew you would've called him a hopeless romantic while pinching one of his cheeks with that same cheeky grin you always wore to hide when you were too flustered to think straight. He had no reason to really hide how long he's had a 'big, stinkin' crush' on you, but it felt nice to keep it to his chest for now. Close and safe and a happy little secret.

☁ Watching you now, he knows that the feeling has always been there, but where it was one an electric thing that lit up his nerves and made his stomach flutter with butterflies, it's now a softer comfort that eases his mind and soothes his weary soul.

☁ He doesn't really remember when it happened, nor does he care to know. It's always been you for him, only bolstered when he got to know Astro and Sprout. But you were first.

☁ He remembered more than most of the other toons of the pre-break. Nothing large or substantial, but small moments. Moments spent with you that he would ache to remember fully during his time as a twisted, clawing at his bad eye as he yowled at the pain blooming from the thought of loosing you.

☁ He remembers learning to bake with you, way before he was worth any nickel with his baking and hearing you laugh over his failed attempts. He remembers the hum of a tune you made while you took great care in placing new sprinkles in his icing every other day. He remembers the weight of your hand as you pull him into another adventure, sneaking past Ciara to pull some sort of prank.

☁ He remembers the quiver of your back as you sobbed into his chest, burrowed into his sweater to muffle to sounds of your cries as he soothed you to the best of his ability.

☁ They sit in the back of his head, a constant prodding at him if the quiet lasts too long. It was why he needed the reminder of the several blankets if he went to bed earlier than the rest of you. He needed to be grounded, to have that weight around him to remind him that he was no longer left ambling uselessly, half-blind and doing nothing but thinking, and thinking, and remembering and thinking.

☁ He groans, rolling his shoulders back before switching his stretching position, laying on his back and pulling his left knee to lay on his right side- feeling at least four things crack, making him groan. You were across the way, headphones on and your feet pounding on one of the treadmills. You were keeping good track of your improvement as a runner since distracting, moreso since your recovery. It seemed almost manic the way you would track every minute, every second, timing yourself and the distance you could make.

☁ It was both uplifting to see and oh so disheartening.

☁ it was no secret that Sprout had the most stamina out of all of you, it was a fact you all were very well acquainted with, however it seemed recently you had taken that as a personal challenge. You kept pushing yourself whenever the two of you went on jogs, always yearning to not only be faster but out last Sprout, even if he shot you worried glances.

☁ Cosmo knew that Sprout had no interest in becoming a distractor. Astro knew this. Sprout had made this explicitly clear to everyone when Vee had tried mentioning that he could do more than the brief save should a twisted become lose. He had no want or interest in becoming a distractor. That would be taking resources from you, he would say. You knew this as well. So none of them could understand this sudden need to just...outdo him.

☁ Sprout had brought up his concern about this one night while you all were doing your weekly check in and while you gave him a smile that seemed to ease his worries, Cosmo caught the flicker in your body. The shift of your weight. So miniscule and quick, a true blink and you miss it moment, he himself only caught it due to his years of learning you, your body, your reactions.

☁ It stuck him then and there. It may have been unconscious, but something was bother you. Maybe it had yet to fully manifest, but it was something that your hindbrain was already raising as a red flag.

☁ But you were so determined to be what you once were, pushing yourself further and further. Anything to be more than what you are. That determination burned so bright, sparking like it's own personal show.

☁ Ginger had once compared you to a phoenix. He wasn't sure she knew the entire legend of the phoenix, but every time that same scene flashes behind his eyes, of your gaping features as your side was hit, he wonders if she actually knew more than she let on.

☁ Phoenix's burned out, even if they came back brighter than ever. There's a part of Cosmo that whispers you won't. That you are as ethereal as ever and that turning was a flickering in your smoldering flame.

☁ Switching sides, he knows better than to believe that something as easy as being turned would make you burnout. No, it would be something much deeper.

☁ He clocked it in the elevator as well, watching your anger bubble and burn even when they all thought he wouldn't notice. He did. He does. He notices.

☁ He notices the little things in all of you. Astro refuses to extend all of his arms at the same time and when he cries, he hides his face. He doesn't drink anything unless it has a straw. And he absolutely refuses to touch his own cheeks. The only ones really who are allowed are you, Cosmo and Sprout.

☁ Sprout's are harder, but no less there. He keeps his right side angled to the other toons and favors said side. He went from a rather ambidextrous individual to right exclusive and keeps the end of his scarf tucked into his sweater- that is, if he wears it at all. Some days it's too much and he simply leaves it behind. He also compulsively watches where he steps and is exceptionally anal if one of you trips.

☁ But you? Cosmo can see you desperately clinging to the life you previously lived, refusing to let even the smallest part go, even if he sees your hands shake every time you reach for one of the toons.

☁ Breathing out the last few seconds, he gives a final pull to his stretch before sitting up. You upped the speed, he noticed. It's higher than it's ever been, even at your peak. You look like your struggling but keeping your footing. If barely.

☁ He should stop you. But the way you're running is desperate. It's like your back in that run and rushing at Vee. You aren't crying, but the visible distress on your face pushes Cosmo to stand and approach, carefully knocking on the control panel. You barely glance his way, waving slightly before continuing. He glances at the clock.

☁ You've been at this for his entire workout, already on it by the time he came in.

☁ In the second it takes for him to read the time you've been on the blasted machine, you lose the little control you had. Your hand slaps the arms of the treadmill as your foot falls too far back, the safety key pulling itself free and slowing the equipment as you place your raised foot on the side part.

☁ Cosmo's right there right away, catching you from collapsing. You lean your weight onto him, and sobs are already choking you before he can even ask.

☁ Your mumbling an assortment of things too fast for him to really comprehend, but he tries, picking select things out to focus on. You're angry. You're upset. You're frustrated about your lack of progress. You're...scared.

☁ One thing he manages to pick up is the continuous of "Not again, almost did it again, not again-"

☁ In a practiced habit that's practically muscle memory at this point when he picks you up, sinking to his butt with a dull thud and crossing his legs to properly cradle you. Your head is tucked into his shoulder, close enough you can cling to the soft notes he hums.

☁ It's a slow process to ease you back to a state where you can articulate how you're feeling, but one Cosmo is, unfortunately, well acquainted with. Rubbing your back, he waits for your hands to retract from his sweater before daring to utter anything.

☁ "What's your color?" Is all he says.

☁ You pause, hiccup, sniffle and wipe your eyes. "Yellow."

☁ He nods, taking this into account. "Okay." Is what he begins with before taking your hands in his and flipping them so your palm is facing up. One by one, he prods each of your paw pads, gently counting. One he counts all of them, he starts over and does it again. Then again. And again. Then, you join in. You skip a number every now and then, but when you're able to keep up smoothly, he finishes with a kiss to your temple.

☁ "Color?"

☁ "...Green." You mutter with a deep breath. He nods at this again, gently rubbing his thumbs into the flesh of your thighs. The muscles are tight and tense, unrelenting which will make you sore tomorrow. "What're you feeling, pudding?"

☁ You take a moment to collect your thoughts, fiddling with your sportswear. "Frustrated." You finally say. "With myself."

☁ It isn't a surprising revelation, but still makes Cosmo pause. Before he can even think of something to say though, you're pulling away and scrambling to the trashcan, ducking your head deep enough he worries you'll fall in. He's by your side in a heartbeat, gently pulling anything that gets in the way back with soothing hums and rubbing your back. He'll make a note of this trashcan and take it out later, but for now, he lets you do what you need to do. He's honestly surprised it's taken this long given how long you were running, but he's guessing your internal systems were waiting for your adrenaline to crash.

☁ It leaves you sobbing again and he picks you up this time, cradling you to his chest as he makes his way to your room. Sprout and Astro are supposedly in there and if nothing else, Cosmo knows the extra people will help him help you, if not help you directly.

☁ They're cuddled up in the bed with Sprout laying on Astro's chest, playing with two of the celestial's hands while the other flick through Sprout's leaves. Both immediately sit up at the sight of you, easily making space for Cosmo to sit between them. Astro's already brushing a hand along your forehead while Sprout grabs one of your hands. "What happened?" The berry asks, noting the scrapes on your one knee.

☁ "Hard day." Is what Cosmo responds with, settling enough he can hand you his pillow. You cling to it, holding it to your chest. It takes a moment before you let out a shaky breath. "I-...I'm not-..." You struggle to articulate your words properly for a moment, hiding in the pillow for a long moment before returning. "I am frustrated with myself. I-...I don't think I'm getting better in the way I want to."

☁ Astro looks at Cosmo for a moment, trusting the cake roll to take the lead since he seems to understand how to help you best. But Cosmo simply let you be, letting you explain exactly what was going on without speaking for you.

☁ Sprout opens his mouth, not quite having the same manners, but stalls as your own voice cuts through. "I understand it takes time, but I think I'm taking steps backwards. What happened with Teagan the other day, I-" You stall, eyes glazing over for a second. "I shouldn't have done that."

☁ You all have gone over this situation a number of times, explaining the feelings that were happening during that time, but there was the sense that there was always some piece missing. You weren't quick to anger, and even while the situation was scary, you admitted you felt your reaction was...a lot, even after Astro had been placed in a much safer area.

☁ "I didn't...feel like myself. I felt like I did when I was-...When I was a twisted. Like I was back in that mind frame and focusing on nothing but the anger." You hold your hands out in front of you. Your nails need to be trimmed. They've been growing differently since. "I think I'm going about this in the wrong way, but I don't know any other one. I'm not... the same. That much is obvious-"

☁ "Bud," Sprout begins, but your shake your head. "It's not just that. It's a whole selection of things. I still can't see Astro like I used too, seeing Brightney in dark rooms irks me more than I like to admit, I can't even sneak up on anyone anymore!" You exclaim before deflating. "I'm more twisted than any of you. And I hate it. I want to be like I was before."

☁ You're crying. You're crying heavy, full tears, but they don't seem to be of anguish. They seem to be of relief as you finally explain the heavy stones that seem be a common partner in your gut these days.

☁ Cosmo continues being a heavy support for you, hushing your wails softly. The pieces begin to click into pace, one after another. You don't feel you are progressing since you were so hyperfixated on being a twisted all over again. It hurts his heart, deeply, and judging by the faces Sprout and Astro are making, they feel the same, but flounder on how to help.

☁ Cosmo has known you a long, long time. He's known you isms, your dreams, and your biggest fears. Back then, he was the only other one you went to for support other than yourself. You two could only find solace in each other, clinging to each other like loosening your grip would take the other away entirely.

☁ But this isn't then. It's not longer just the two of you.

☁ So he looks at them. They look at him. He nods to you. They can't just be him when it comes to supporting you. They need to figure out their own way to support you.

☁ Sprout opens his mouth again. "I did...notice your eyes, when that whole thing with Teagan. I worried, but trusted you had it under control. Which you did. I'm not...scared of you becoming anything more than who you are now." He explains softly, bringing his leafy tail over so you can play with it. "Nothing ever stays the same. And I don't think we can expect it to. So I think it's unfair to yourself to think it will."

☁ "I think you've done remarkably, personally." Astro adds, now mindlessly smoothing down your fur. "Honestly, I probably would've done worse."

☁ "And he doesn't even have the excuse of being turned twice." Cosmo scoffs making you sniffle as you giggle. Astro takes this as a good sign, giving a faux affronted gape as he throws two of his hands up. "If that's what it takes to put Teagan in her place!"

☁ "You cannot hit Teagan, oh my god-" You snicker, dragging your hands down your face. You can't lie and say you don't feel a little silly about how easily they defuse feelings that have keep you laying away and staring at the ceiling at night. At least now you know there are 49 glow in the dark stars on the roof that you had put up there as a surprise for Astro. You thought there was more.

☁ With a final breath, you sit up, and Cosmo lets you, smiling as you lean back onto his chest. Normalcy has settled again, even if he's sure there's more that'll come. But just as he was then, he'll be there for you again.

☁ Still, just to ensure your mind gets off it, he pokes a sleeping bear. "Did you guys hear what Glisten did?"

☁ You take the bait, eagerly turning to Sprout and Astro, happily exclaiming, "HE KISSED GOOB-"

☁ Cosmo hides his chuckle in your back at the gasps ring out and the other two are immediately demanding details.

[dumbgoondog]

One sundae from TransFem!Reader, cherry topping on cookie dough ice cream, in a yellow bowl, for Yuta and Rika please!

Heian!Yuta+Rika Sundae

Transfem!Reader. Cherry on cookie dough in a yellow bowl. Yuta was put in an arranged marriage and while he has his wife Rika, he has his new wife, you, now too! You get along really well with Rika and Rika really likes you! Things start getting out of hand when Rika wants to show her love for you in public and Yuta keeps watch.

Cw/Tw - Public, gender dysphoria, transphobia, light blood, big size difference, murder mention, 3some

Collection of thoughts might make a fic on this later tho!

Yuta thought you and Rika might fight, it’s not like when the clan tried before it didn’t result in Rika killing them. For some reason tho Rika wasn’t threatened by you but curious. It took Yuta embarrassingly long to learn why his girls got along so well.

Rika didn’t kill you because when she started to say “no girl can take Yuta from her” you responded with “it’s okay I’m hardly a real girl.”

Rika and you bonding over how society has this idea of what being a woman means and how neither of you fit it. Rika deciding that from there on though, you’re HER wife. Rika loves going on little dates with you where you write poems or sing or playing in the clan’s gardens.

Yuta who appreciates that you’ve been becoming really close to Rika and that the political marriage between you and him isn’t cold or tense. You two bond over your love do Rika and have nice talks about life!

When Yuta does learn why you two hit it off so well in the beginning he feels SO dumb and embarrassed. He’s curious about being trans as it’s not something people really knew about. He also wants to make sure he’s being respectful and supportive even if your marriage is political he’d like to at least be friends.

Yuta and Rika who’ve made sure you know they view you as a woman and as their wife. That they’ll defend you from anyone who says otherwise including yourself. You wouldn’t say any of that to Rika so you can’t go yourself either!

…

You’ve heard Yuta and Rika in their room, the thumping, the moans, the sounds of claws on the mats… you’ve certainly listened in and touched yourself to the sounds and thoughts a few times. From how wild it sounds you can never guess who’s on top.

When Rika comes to you one night tho, when you were having some personal time to yourself to relieve some stress… it’s certainly startling! But she’s got your thighs on either side of her head and her tongue is around your length, quickly.

She’s praising you saying how pretty you are, her lovely lovely wife. Yuta also comes in later and you’re so embarrassed by how indecent and exposed you are but he starts jerking himself off to the sight of his wives touching each other so lovingly. He’s praising you and Rika and that has to be such a wonderful night, one you’ll never forget.

…

You’re out shopping with Yuta, he needs to get adjustments to his yakuta and montsuki. Rika also had been feeling cooped up so going out is nice! Yuta tells you to wait because he saw something he wants to get and you can’t see.

He leaves Rika with you and she’s happily playing with your hair giving you little kisses here and there. Rika when her hands start to wander more and tracing along your sides and hips. She gives her little purrs starting to kiss your neck her teeth grazing lightly pricking you and blood beading lightly.

You’d tell her to be careful but she’s got her tongue in your mouth now with a feverish kiss her hands squeezing and pulling at your hips.

How excited Rika gets when she feels you poking against her and the little noises you’re making that she’s forgetting you’re in public just barely in an alleyway. She’s pulling up your kimono and parting the fabrics to pull you out to rub against her slit. She’s wet and warm, so so much bigger than you.

Rika when she’s holding your hips and moving them to have you fuck into her cunt, skin smacking and squishing the more aroused you both become. You’re trying to stay decent and hidden trying so hard to stay quiet and telling Rika to be a good girl and stay quiet too.

Yuta who’d gone to get you girls these beautiful bracelet he’d seen in a stall just a bit back. Coming to see you both filthily fucking like animals in the alleyway. How flush you both were and how pretty you looked pushing in and out of Rika.

Yuta who can feel himself getting hard and immediately turning to stand guard while you two have fun but he’s trying to not just turn around to join in. His pretty pretty girls in so much pleasure, moaning, playing with each other and trying so hard to stay quiet…

Yuta who comes over finally no longer able to hold it in and instructing Rika to lay on her side.

Yuta who joins beside you pulling himself out of his robes and lining both you and himself up with Rika’s slit. He’s praising you for being such a good girl, how he loves seeing his wives touching and making each other feel so good.

Yuta and You fucking into Rika as he turns to start kissing you while Rika whines and moans. How you both finish inside her and are panting messes very ready for a bath. Yuta who reaches his fingers down to push back in the cum slipping out to keep Rika so full.

How you three weren’t caught you don’t know, but people probably were too scared to interrupt. Oops.

[dreamy-guardian-angel]

:) oh buddy I'm about to be your new best friend. I am the Delta anon. I come from mainly @/howlsofbloodhounds inbox (also Howls if you're somehow seeing this. I'LL COME BACK SOON I PROMISE).

RANT IT IS!

I find that Delta usually has very complex relationships with a lot of people, especially based on his reputation around the Multiverse and Omega Timeline. Bad guys know him as a threat who will stop at nothing to kill, good guys know him as a bit unhinged but their heart is in the (mostly) right place (aside from the murder). Anyone who poses a threat will be treated as such by them with no hesitation.

However, that being said, if a stranger approaches with caution and strikes up a conversation (asks for directions, for him to translate something, etc.), they will actually he extremely polite and patient with them. He won't be aggressive if they approach nicely, which can often confuse the ones who view him as a threat waiting to be unleashed. They know if he's around, a fight will most likely soon follow.

Does Delta know this? Absolutely. I'd imagine that they actually kind of enjoy the fear that comes from others - if they're bad, then they have everything to lose. If they're good, they're safe. He will only attack bad people and it is very well known.

And like most of the talk about Delta and Color's relationship, the headcanon of Delta being Color's roommate and protector (and semi-caretaker while he's in recovery) is usually adopted.

For me personally, I like to imagine that Delta had to reteach Color everything from day one - not to say Color was helpless whatsoever during recovery, just needed a bit of help, love, and routine to get their life back in order. They are very close friends, even though they argue on occasion and blow up at each other due to their explosive natures.

With that being said, I also like to think that Color taught Delta a LOT about so many things, opened their eyes to a lot more possibilities than they realized before. Because before Color really came around, Delta kinda only had himself, Beta (the collective nickname that was chosen for the Bravery Soul), and whoever they encountered.

Some of these things could be about the patience and time recovery takes. Delta is usually a get-in-get-out sorta guy I think, so if he gets injured, he heals himself quickly and rushes to the next AU or fight. But Color practically forced him to realize that what he can survive with ease is not the case for everyone else - he may be able to heal himself without thinking about it, but others sometimes don't have that luxury.

Another thing I'd like to imagine Color taught them more about is patience (ironic, i know). Healing takes quite a bit of time, even if it's done instantly with magic. Color had to be rehabilitated, taught the things people would just know, and Delta was a big part of his learning process. But when things got hard, he practically forced Delta to learn that instead of fighting it (usually physically or verbally), they needed to be patient, take a breath to calm down, and keep trying while keeping their cool.

I also think that Color would help them to actually accept the things they need to do in regards to their neurodivergency (I hc that Delta/Beta have ADHD and probably a few other things, but right now ADHD is the main thing I'm talking about here). Color was taught by pretty much everyone around him that he was allowed to express themselves however they wanted, as long as it wasn't hurting anyone or themselves.

I feel like Delta would be the type of guy to refuse himself stims or breaks, not wanting to be seen as 'weak' or 'vulnerable' by their enemies. I'd imagine that they mask often, causing them only more frustration the longer they do it - hence why they get so excited when they can fight. They get to release all that pent-up stress and energy, and use it to protect people that they care about, including themselves. What better coping method could a neurodivergent with anger issues ask for?

But Color taught him that they don't have to resort to fighting to get out energy, and don't have to mask in order to feel safe - don't have to view themselves as weak for allowing themselves the comfort of stims and all that comes with it.

And that's not to say Delta didn't know about these things before - just that he didn't think of it. Color obviously taught him much more than just these things, but these are the first ones that come to mind. They undoubtedly have the closest bond that could be, no matter what happens.

And moving onto Epic now, I actually don't know how I imagine these two meeting. So I'm open to ideas on this one lmao.

But no matter how they met, they are also very very close - they enjoy spending time together, mostly because it's so different than what Delta's used to. He can feel a bit more relaxed around Epic. And, like Color, Epic encourages stimming to the highest extent (I imagine he has AuDHD). With the memes and overall chaos, though, Delta would probably need breaks of silence in their hangouts lmao.

I'm gonna be real with you, I don't have much of an opinion on him. But that isn't to say that he's not a massive part of Delta's life.

I'd imagine that he'd be the first person aside from Delta that Color was introduced to. Naturally Color wouldn't be as friendly, maybe even viewing him as a threat until he eventually came around. (You gotta introduce early post-VOID Color to people like a cat, from what I understand. It'll work, trust.)

Now, with Cross, it could be a bit more complicated. Even though it was claimed as non-canon by Jakei I believe(?), in Delta's story, he canonically fought Cross. Which obviously leaves a bad first impression for both of them.

Needless to say, when Delta finds out that Epic is friends with Cross, he is NOT happy. Things would probably be tense between the two for a very, very long time, probably involving multiple altercations and fights between the two. But I think they would eventually get on better, more neutral terms - maybe even respect each other eventually.

I do think that the longer Cross is around and the more he integrates into their group, Delta will accept him soon enough and not put up as much as a fight about it. They might even grow protective of Cross, instinctively wanting to protect him from danger, just how he does with everyone else.

And honestly, Cross would probably teach him to be more accepting of people who are trying to turn their lives around. Delta has most definetly fought this dude multiple times in the past, and will proudly admit to that. But he learned that even people who did a lot of bad shit can change, and should be allowed the time, resources, and space to do so. I think they'd be friends eventually.

Now, with Killer, it is going to take him MUCH longer. Cross is mostly acceptable because they showed genuine change and apologized for past actions - Killer, on the other hand, has not yet.

It's kinda known how Color actively saved Killer and helped him begin learning to change and recover. And he's seen firsthand how much Killer has hurt Color - they were on the front lines with them.

So naturally, once Killer tries to assimilate into their friend group, Delta fucking hates it. He is completely unwilling to accept Killer, an unapologetic sociopath with a body count higher than Delta and all his friend's combined, into their friend group. Hell no. They'd rather die (again).

It probably goes on like this for the entirety of Killer's reintegration-into-society process. No matter how hard Delta tries to bite his tongue, mask it, fake politeness and try to be patient, it is a never-ending battle between him and Killer - and in turn, with Color.

Killer being in their lives would definetly create a lot of conflict between them and Color. Delta doesn't want to let some murderer around them - especially one that worked with their literal enemies! But Color is determined to help, and not a single thing is going to stop him.

Eventually, of course, things would get better. Killer would stop being such a menace (though he'd still be chaotic) and Delta would slowly get over his pure hatred of the guy. I'm honestly not sure if they could ever be friends due to the unyielding grudges that Delta holds, but they can at least be on decent enough terms to not try to kill each other every time Color leaves them alone in a room for more than 10 seconds.

I think his relationship with Beta would be very different from all of these, though. They have quite literally known each other the longest, as they are fused together. I'd imagine that at the start of their relationship, it was pretty rocky.

Beta just got freed from his eternal chamber where he was forced to stay in the dark after being killed, and was immediately absorbed to fight and beat a demon before they left forever. That statement alone carries through some the trauma this kid endured - and now he was suddenly fused with one of the Monsters he had previously known. So of course their relationship would be very complicated at first. But with time, things would get less complicated - they would get more in sync, trust each other more.

I think that as the years go by, they'd eventually develop a brother-like relationship. They are definetly very close, always having each other's backs, ready for whatever comes next.

Now, onto headcanons about his other relationships outside of the Chromatic Crew.

For me personally, I think he'd actually get along very well with Lust! (I know a lot of people call him Plum or Sugar or whatever, but I honestly don't mind calling him Lust.) I'm not exactly sure how they would meet, though. Maybe Delta was saving him from someone? Or maybe they met in the Omega Timeline somewhere.

I think their first meeting would be a bit awkward. I don't know Lust very well so forgive me if I'm not doing him justice here, but I imagine he'd be the type to flirt slightly with people he just met (not inappropriately of course).

I personally hc that Delta is aroace, so obviously this would make a very awkward first introduction if Lust gets flirty. However, I think once they get past that (and once Delta sets firm boundaries), they would be good friends!

I also think that they would gossip together. With how involved Delta is and how strong his opinions are on about damn near anything, he definetly knows about a lot of drama happening in the Multiverse. And Lust being Lust, I imagine he'd be involved in drama, too. So I think they would definetly bond on that front.

And honestly, I think he'd be on decent terms with the Star Sanses as well. In truth though, I also don't know them very well aside from the things I see everyone else putting out here, so I may not do them justice in this topic lmao.

I think he'd be fine with Ink, honestly. He may disagree with the things Ink stands for and how he perceives the Multiverse and its inhabitants, but he can't deny that Ink has saved countless AU's - regardless of intention, morals or motive. As long as Ink doesn't try to interfere with their work, they have no issues with him.

Dream, on the other hand, I feel Delta might be a little more frustrated by. Of course Dream is a genuinely good person - that is simply who he is. But the almost foolish (in Delta's eyes, at least) belief that Nightmare can change and may come back around one day can annoy him very easily. It's obvious Nightmare isn't coming back, no matter how much Dream still loves and cares about his brother. It ain't happening. (He thinks Dream is a tiny bit delusional on that front. And also that the whole 'balance' thing is absolute bullshit. However, he thinks that pretty much everything else Dream stands for is good.)

I think he and Blue would be good friends, though! They have quite a lot in common in my eyes. I think they'd go sparring and patrol together on occasion, when they both have the time.

I also think that he and Ccino would get along very well despite how different they are. They balance each other out in a way - and plus, Delta always tips well. (He also tried to steal a cat for Color once. He felt bad and returned it the next day. Ccino has too many cats - his answer to the return was "I thought I just counted wrong. I should probably take a nap and fix that". And that was when Delta became concerned with this man's sleeping habits lmao.)

And finally, Ganz. I'm not sure if you know him or not (he's kinda unknown as well) but I imagine Delta's actually pretty close with him. Due to Ganz's depressive nature, Delta offers help at a moments notice, no matter what kind of help he needs.

All in all, they care very much about their friends.

Anyways, that's all I got! Thoughts?

(Context)

ANON I LOVE YOU, thank you so much for taking the time to answer me<33

Okay, first of all, while I was reading your answer I saw someone reblog my previous post, so @swelteringfire , sorry for the tag, but I thought you might want to read this as well

⤵️

SECOND, thanks again, it really helped and it was actually interesting!

I saw quite a few fanarts of Delta and Color and I was confused at first because I didn't understand their dynamic, but this clears up a lot of things. It actually sounds really sweet how they basically helped each other in so many different ways when they needed it. Same thing goes for Epic and Cross. I believe Cross is a really complex character, and I know he had his problems with a lot (or even the majority) of other monsters, so I'm not surprised they might've had a rough start as well seeing Delta's nature.

I'll be honest, I was particularly curious about his relationship with Killer (sorry, I love him more than anything</3), and yes, I can see how they might have their difficulties. I'm not sure if this is right, but Delta's behaviour and thoughts about Killer at first remind me a bit of what Dust or Horror might think of him too. Now, I love the found family trope for the MTT, but realistically speaking I know they both would view Killer as a sort of threat as well (which is...ironic, but understandable).

Also I didn't know about Beta but thanks, now I'm crying<33 The fandom usually tends to ignore the other souls' trauma, so it's nice to know that someone actually takes the time to focus on that sometimes. They were just kids too.

I also love how you mentioned Lust and Blue as well! Swap is basically everyone's bestie at this point, and I'm so happy about it (also he's probably the most stable out of everyone there). And Lust would absolutely love to stop and gossip after getting to know Delta!

I think he would be fine with Ink and Dream too, and at the same time it's so funny how the bad guys would be kind of scared of him

Overall he sounds like a really interesting character, I would like to see more of him!

(Sorry if it's short, but I have class now)

[hollow-lime-green]

hi, anon from "t/b discourse is dumb" ask here 👋 this conversation actually is really interesting and i wanna add a little more if thats okay. (how long is the average anon ask? im not new to fandom but i am relatively new to tumblr and its etiquette... so sorry if this is too long. ive done my best to condense it 😭 there's just too much to say and im a rambler)

i hope i didn't come off as blaming anybody for their response to harassment and such, i don't want to contribute to that. my ire is only pointed toward people who make it their business to hurt others over innocuous fandom happenings, those people who leave dickish comments on fics and send anonhate and mass qrt on twitter. but like i said, expecting those kinds of people to go away any time soon is not really something i have hope for at this point. you put it well: people get so emotionally invested --- and i too Love getting emotionally invested when it comes to fiction --- that logic stops being a factor. people all over the internet also tend to struggle with simply disliking something and leaving it there. you're allowed to dislike/disagree with something without turning it into a moral failure when it's all down to preference and the characters involved are not Real

i just wish more people saw the value in Healthy™ discourse. hell, even if someone's opinion ticks you off, that doesn't mean you can't engage in an open minded discussion with them, if you want to. but people can't do that even outside of niche online fanbases.

i would love to share my own opinions on t/b dynamics for satosugu and to learn why others may feel differently. actually, stsg is the first yaoi ship ive been this invested in, though it's been a while now, and reading fics for them has opened up a Lot of doors of thought for me that i wanna talk to someone about. but there's such hostility around the topic that opening that discussion up to the general fandom public hardly feels worth the risk, as much as i want to. that kinda leaves one floating out at sea here. so i have these conversations where i can, but i'll also block people over simple things. not because i think they're evil or their opinions are invalid, but because i really do just want to have fun, and previous fandom experiences have exhausted me with how much of the same repetitive venom i can personally handle at once

welcome back anon, and feel free to ramble away. honestly this has been a nice side quest for me during the thesis-ing, believe it or not.

if you want to have discussions/share takes on stsg (or fandom meta), then feel free to keep sending them anon, and i am happy to host that discussion in our friendly little corner. i haven't gotten anything nasty in my inbox, and i think everyone commenting and engaging with the posts on my blog is pretty friendly and level headed :)

i think it's possible that some people could get offended by your previous ask? but it's very obvious, to me, anyway, that what you are saying with "t/b discourse is dumb" is "this drama is dumb why are we doing this why can't we just have fun". you can twist the words, but that's the clear sentiment that I think 99% of us are trying to get across here.

and that also does not conflict with empathizing with and supporting people who have been targeted by this harassment. in fact, i would say out of anyone, they are probably most securely in the camp of "this drama is dumb please let's stop".

as @fushiglow pointed out, part of the reason fandom can get so vicious is due to depersonalization. none of these people would be acting so fuckin foolish in person. but across the screen, it is a lot safer and easier to be an absolute asshole than when you have to look someone in the face as you tell them that they are literal scum for your opinions on dick in ass, or something.

over the past few months i have been struggling with this in reverse, actually. one of my gaming group members almost definitely voted for trump (white women... we need to talk). i get so worked up when i think about it, because i hate her for it, especially her reasons for it (she is antichoice). and yet, when I see her in person, when we hang out, it is so easy to remember that she is my friend and she held my hair back when I was puking after my other gamer friends gave me too many free beers (blue moon isn't worth it guys).

one other thing i would like to add, and part of why i'm so happy to post this ask, is that conversations are not sentences. you get to clarify. you get to add. you get to change your mind. real 'discourse' (note: this word has lost all meaning in the year of our lord 2025) or debate is an exchange of ideas, whether it's about dick in ass or how we react socially in the situation of being attacked for dick in ass. keeping the conversation going to clarify these things, like your intent with the last ask, is important and necessary! it's what keeps us from being xitter/bluesky. we don't need to live as zingers and soundbytes on a text-based forum. we have the space to express ourselves fully, as many times as that takes. and i think that helps build back the empathy that is lost with the lack of face-to-face, voice-to-voice communication in online spaces.

so in the words of the great philosophers re: t/b discourse:

any hole's a goal

[tapenessa]

saw this and went crazy. here are my Thoughts

Henry always had a knack for making things, but even though he was praised for his skill, he found no purpose in it. He made things, and they would sit on his shelf and would never be touched again. Even after meeting William, someone with talent like his, their creations ended up in storage closets to gather dust. Henry almost considered dropping creating altogether, but then Charlie was born.

Financially struggling, still paying off student loans, Henry didn’t have the funds to buy Charlie anything outside of the bare necessities. Terrified of Charlie growing up to resent him, he decides to pick up some old unfinished pieces and makes a few toys. They aren’t anything, really, pretty much just metal with shells painted to look somewhat like animals, but Charlie adored them. She would spend hours gripping them with her tiny hands, giggling hysterically at the funny noises they made. It was the first time someone had truly enjoyed something Henry made— Charlie didn’t really care about his talent or skill, she just liked how cute the toys were, and what she could do with them. Henry spent the hours baby Charlie was asleep making her toys, each one more polished and refined than the last.

Henry doesn’t consider using his sill for anything else until William has an idea. He’s aware of Henry’s financial struggles, and he pitches an idea. Long story short, he suggests Fredbear’s. The idea seems dumb to Henry at first— imagine how dangerous those suits would be— but relents when William reminds him that soon Charlie will be old enough to attend school, and didn’t she deserve the best education money could buy? Henry relents, and starts sacrificing his time dedicated to building for Charlie to building for business.

In the beginning, it doesn’t strain much. Henry’s making decent money now, he’s gotten closer to William, and, despite his initial concerns, he enjoys being Fredbear and making kids smile and laugh and being this person they trust wholeheartedly. He’s losing time with Charlie, but he doesn’t think much of it, since she’s always been mature for her age and she’s starting school soon anyways.

Fredbear’s does so well, that William suggests they take that extra step. They begin working on new animatronics, and prepare to open Freddy’s. (During this time, this is when Vanessa is born. Henry is aware she exists, but she’s always sleeping when Henry comes over to work. He doesn’t pay her too much thought, since he knows William is a good dad.) Charlie has started school, but even when she’s home, Henry is too preoccupied with work to play with her. Charlie eventually learns to find fun elsewhere, often running off on her own, usually without telling Henry, to find her own adventures. Henry is aware of this, but he trusts that she’ll know what to do in any emergency. And it’s not like anything’s going to happen— the town is small, everyone knows each other, who would hurt Charlotte Emily, anyways?

Skip forward a couple years, Freddy’s is open and booming, but Henry is piled with work running the place, even with William’s help. Charlie is a teenager now, so Henry lets her run off to do whatever she wants, because he believe she’s smart enough to protect and keep herself safe. And since he’s barely paying much mind to Charlie, he certainly isn’t thinking much of Vanessa.

One night, however, as Henry decides to put work aside and get some sleep, he realizes Charlie still isn’t home. He checks all around the house and doesn’t find her. He phones William, going to ask if he had seen her at Freddy’s, but gets no response. Now scared, he goes out to go find her. He checks Freddy’s first, because that’s usually where she runs off to when she’s bored.

He checks the entire place inside out, and can’t find her. No one has seen her, none of the employees, or any of the few remaining parents and kids, and William isn’t there. Henry leaves Freddy’s and spends the rest of the night driving endless circles around the town, looking for the one thing that gave his life meaning.

Henry isn’t the one who finds Charlie’s body. It’s Vanessa the next morning, when William takes her to open the restaurant for the day. She runs to William in tears, sobbing over the death of this girl she barely knew. William, still keeping up his ‘perfect father’ act, cries with Vanessa, and they call Henry.

Henry falls into a deep depression after the news. Charlie dying was all his fault. He neglected her, he didn’t support her, he didn’t protect her, and she died cold and all alone in the rain with no one to comfort her. At the very least, he wished he could have been there, to hold her and tell her everything was all right while she took her final breaths, but no, even when she was dying, he neglected her needs for work. For these creations that he fell into love with making because of her.

Everything in town reminds Henry of Charlie. The children, the shops, the school. He doesn’t want to remember everything because it all hurts so much, so, without a word to William, he leaves. Moves far away, leaves behind his projects, and gets a mindless office job in the city. Tries to forget he even had a daughter in the first place. Forgets about William and Vanessa entirely.

Five children going missing in a small, unknown town goes unknown by the ret of the world, goes unknown by Henry.

It’s not until many years later, after the events of the first movie, that Henry is drawn back in. He keeps having strange dreams about the puppet animatronic he built for Charlie years ago that never made it to Freddy’s, since it didn’t match the theme. In every dream, it beckons him forward, before disappearing from his grasp. Unsettled, he decides to see the town again, check in on everything, only to come back and find Freddy’s destroyed, William dead, and Vanessa in the hospital. Realizing this isn’t something he can ignore, he stays with Vanessa until she wakes up and teams up with her to find out what exactly happened, and eventually learns that his daughter is not entirely gone.

i think Vanessa Afton deserves a Henry Emily in the movie franchise to be the found family father she needs to heal.

[fatedroses]

Man meets Morbol

[trainerethan]

In my imagination of red and leaf being twins and both autistic I think the only reason leaf doesn't have the same totally blank 😐 face as red is because she did the age old classic of practicing facial expressions in the mirror every day until she learned the basic ones. She also made her default expression a smile 🙂 to seem more approachable.

Unfortunately since the expressions don't come naturally to her and she had to learn them, the can come off as exaggerated/overly dramatic. Which is fine for some people but others find it equally as off-putting as reds poker face. It makes her a little sad when people dislike her because of it bc shes doing her best to fit in but can't seem to get it right.

She puts a lot of effort into masking at least when she's a kid-teenager but once she's older and has made more solid friendships she can let herself relax and not need to stress about it so much, although in social situations she may still slip back into old habits.

Red does not mask and never really has. I choose 2 believe his mom was really supportive and accommodating so he wasn't forced to hide his autistic traits unlike leaf. This is because in my au they are twins but their parents split and leaf had to stay with their dad. Who is not as understanding as their mom.

Idk if he'd be actually horrible to her but he was not as patient or understanding as their mom + leaf also just craved more friends and wanted to be able to socialize more so she eventually learned how. Red is content with the 4 people he knows (mom, oak, daisy, green) and prefered to mostly be alone so he didn't have that motivating factor to do it.

He was very content with having one friend, green, but he was def lonley during their "rival" phase when green stopped hanging out with him and was focused on trying to prove himself in some way only he understood or worried about. Along with that is green also being the master of masking for the most part. I don't see oak as being particularly accommodating and patient with him so while Daisy probably was, she's also not a parent so she couldn't be responsible for caring for green the way oak should've been.

As they got older green also craved to be seen as cool and popular amongst his peers so he started masking heavily and also distanced himself from red. Unfortunately he realizes that being accepted for a fake version of himself by mainly strangers is actually very lonley and he misses their friendship 😢 but atp he probably figures red wouldn't wanna be friends again bc of how green ignored him for so long so I think they don't become close again until After the gym challenge "rivalry"/red dissapearing/reuniting years later. So they were both missing each other a lot but both felt unable to reach out bc of the distance that grew between them when green pulled away. Anyways tldr green pro masker leaf trying very hard to mask but struggling a bit and red rawdogging his autism never masked a day in his life.

[doveshovel]

I took about a year away from my animatic when it was sitting at 75% done, even though the parts that hadn't been done yet were mechanically the easiest to do.

This is your project, on your time.

You got this. 💪

Thank you for the encouragement! I've very very quickly realized I'm out of my depth, but will treat this as a side-project and work on it when the energy to do so is available (hopefully not abandoning it like the other 300 animatics that got started and remained in a wip folder for the rest of their days)

As of now it's a rough slideshow that's about 20% complete :'D

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

[lisbonsteresa]

oh it's horrible; i love it

[arolesbianism]

There's smth rly fun abt having stories based off of dreams because you just have a bunch of dream based worldbuilding that you just sorta have to work with now. Like oh a ring of infinite dragons run through the earth eternally consuming eachother? Guess I have to explain that now. Also that's sick as hell why didn't I think of that while awake

[venomnyx]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stryker worse.

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

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

“Um, excuse me, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well. Looks like he made his choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then suit up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man in yellow hesitates. “Fix what?”

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

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

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

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

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

You could stay here forever, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You with the mouth? To fix things?”

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

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

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

“Wade.”

He twists towards you comically slow.

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

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

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

“Technically he’s not dead—”

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

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

He’s talking about your cat. Anger flares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even yourself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should’ve warned me.”

“Are we good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him, on the other hand…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?” You say with a side-eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Waited long enough for this.”

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

“Logan…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you know how that story ends.

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

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

“You motherf—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grimaces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The simmering stops, replaced by a stifling emptiness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

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

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

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

“You got no idea, lumberjack.”

You hated killing.

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

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

You hate killing. Especially this up close.

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

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

You should have meditated more.

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

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

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

Logan. Of course, it’s him.

“Leave me alone, prick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit your squirmin’.”

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

“Ow! Cheap shot, you little fucker!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fuckin’ immature. Grow up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, no— before that.”

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

“If… they can fix your world?”

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

Your eyes widen.

“What do you mean: if?”

“That’s what Wade said—”

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

“Well, I didn’t promise you shit!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You made… an educated fucking wish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

He snorts. “Oh, are you?”

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

“That all you got?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen with recognition.

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

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

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

“Yeah, why don’t you walk away!”

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

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

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

The result of a painful reunion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade,” you warn through gritted teeth.

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

He then turns to address Logan directly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you—” she says your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hadn’t realised you were being followed.

“It’s not safe here.”

“It’s not safe anywhere, Logan.”

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

“I gotta leave, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

You don’t say it back.

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

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

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

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

“Quit hogging the fire then.”

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

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

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

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

His hand runs up and down your back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go for a ride.”

“What?”

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

“But Charles said—”

“Screw Charles. You comin’ or what?”

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

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

“’Course, you don’t understand.”

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

“Since when did you start smoking?”

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

“We’re infiltrating tomorrow morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Although probably just as stupid.”

A pause. Crackling and popping firewood fills the silence.

“But, he was a hero. And so are you.”

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

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

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

“What, you like it?” He grunts.

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

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

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

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

“Did you love him?”

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

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

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

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

“He’s an idiot for leaving you.”

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

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

He hums resignedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you—?”

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

Logan takes a moment to catch himself.

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“You never liked hurting people.”

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

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

“You know, your accents thicker.”

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

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

“Maybe we got lucky,” you add flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep that to yourself.”

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he whispers.

And you believe that he does.

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

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

“Wade!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus. Pull yourself together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tick a brow. “Our favourite part?”

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

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

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

“You, ah, need a ride?” Logan offers.

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

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

He rubs his jaw. “Right.”

“I’ll… see you around?”

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

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

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

You know, though. Of course, you know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The red string knots.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ticks an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blush. You hadn’t known that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Legs up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

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

“I can take it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you—”

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

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

“I’ll show you a good time, alright.”

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

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

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

“Where’s that mouth gone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bunnis-monsters]

🕸️Legend of the Drider🕸️

Bunni’s Monstertober Event(Oct1)

Male!Drider x Fem!Reader

Oct2

warnings: light web bondage, breeding, oviposition, possessive behavior, reader is a bit insecure about her body, body worship and praise

summary: You go on a trip, hoping to build your confidence before you go back to college. When you get trapped on a mountain during a storm, you realize a legend about spider people may be real when you encounter a horny one for yourself.

A/N: I don’t know much about college so don’t kill me if things are inaccurate 💗 also don’t expect all of the halloween posts to be this long, some will be short and some on the longer side >< also guess the inspo for this story in the comments…

my ko-fi if you’re feeling generous~

If you had known how your trip up a nearby mountain would end with you in the clutches of the spider creature you’d only heard of in legends, you would have stayed home that October day.

But you were bored, wanting to find some fun stuff to film and meet a cute stranger while you were at it. That’s why you packed your bag and left for the nearby tourist attractions.

First you walked through a big pumpkin patch, taking pictures with a 50 pound pumpkin. It wasn’t as impressive as some you had seen online, and you knew that wearing a burnt orange sweater while posing next to it would only bring on ridicule.

You weren’t thin, and if someone from your college saw that picture, you were sure they’d compare you to the pumpkin, saying it was your twin.

Well… you had never even really talked to a single in any of your classes. You weren’t the type that liked to socialize. Too many times had you been burned, finding out they were being your friends for a prank or had been talking about your body behind closed doors.

Part of you knew it wasn’t right to judge others before even meeting them. After all, it happened to you more times than you could count… but you were still too shy and insecure to take that first step into making new friends.

That’s why you took a bit of time off of college to try and build up your confidence. It was important to you, learning how to love yourself so you could truly love others.

Ever since you went through puberty you had been aching for someone to love you, to adore you with their entire being…

How would you even be able to believe them if you didn’t love yourself first?

So you laughed at the picture of you next to a pumpkin and placed it into your scrap book before packing it away in your backpack.

You repeated this at several tourist attractions, even finding the courage to speak to a few attractive men and women. It wasn’t as scary as you thought, they didn’t look at you with disgust or say anything mean. They simply spoke with you before giving a smile and going about their day.

‘Maybe there really isn’t anything to be afraid of after all?’

The last stop on your list was the Arachne Mountains, named after a certain legend surrounding the area.

“Huh… spider people have been sighted several times over the year, and there’s a reward for anyone that can catch them on camera…”

You squinted at the pamphlet in your hands, trying to read the small print at the bottom. “What does that say? It’s so small…”

With a shrug, you stuffed the pamphlet into your bag, pulling out the bug spray instead and spraying every bit of bare skin. Mosquitos just loved you, and you didn’t want to be itching the whole bus ride home.

As you walked up the mountain trail, you took many pictures, but mostly of the gorgeous scenery.

A vast forestry landscape spread out beneath you, and the mountain path winded through the forest. As you continued walking, the path worn down by several years of hikers began to become more overgrown and less accessible.

“Huh… doesn’t seem like anyone’s been this far up in a while…”

When you thought about it, the stand with all the pamphlets was abandoned and dusty, the window broken. You just assumed they didn’t have the budget to fix it… but now you were second guessing yourself.

And that’s when a storm hit. Earlier that day you had heard something about a thunderstorm on the radio, but it was supposed to be that night, not now!

“Shit!”

You ran through the rain, slipping on mud and losing your way. The rain was so thick you could barely see in front of you. Tree branches scraped against your sides and caught on your clothes, ripping your sweater and scraping you up.

By the time you were finally able to take shelter in a nearby cave, you were absolutely drenched and covered in scratches and scrapes.

You slid down to the ground, panting and taking off your sweater, now heavy with water. It plopped against the ground, and you reached into your backpack.

“Fuck…”

Your phone had no signal, and you wouldn’t be able to go down the mountain to call anyone until the storm died down.

You yelped, jumping up from your seat and backing away from the entrance to the cave when lightning struck close by.

This sent you further into the cave, nearly tripping on the uneven, rocky ground.

Most would expect a cave out in the middle of nowhere to be cold and damp, and smell of moss and dust. Surprisingly, the further you traveled inside, the more… “cozy” it seemed.

It smelled almost like cinnamon and felt pleasantly warm. This made your shivering die down, your soaked clothes forgotten at the entrance of the cave.

Little did you know, you were slowly being lured in deeper by the inviting warmth and pleasant smell…

The first sign that something was wrong was a skittering that could be heard further into the cave. The hair on your neck stood up, but you tried your best to reason with yourself.

‘It’s probably just some rat or bug…’

But as your phone battery went out and darkness enveloped you without your only source of light, the noise got louder as whatever was making it approached.

You yelped when something brushed against you, and tried to scream, but your mouth was covered and something sunk into your neck…

Darkness.

——————

When you awoke, you felt something warm yet sticky enveloping you, keeping you from freezing while trapping you in place.

You were barely awake when you heard a purr like sound coming from the dark corner of the cave. A man’s face was barely visible within the shadows.

He was handsome, his eyes a dark red and hair a soft blonde, almost platinum color. It seemed he had been the one to trap you there.

“Hello, my dear. You’re finally awake…”

As soon as you were fully conscious, you began to struggle against your bonds, finally looking down to see what was keeping you from breaking free.

“Are those… webs..?”

You felt almost faint, staring down at the whitish, substance wrapped around you. It looked like thick, velvety ropes, but they were so sticky that you knew that they couldn’t be.

“Indeed.”

The man began to move forward, the same skittering sound appearing once more. You looked on in horror as his lower half was revealed.

Below his torso was not a set of legs like a normal, no, it was the abdomen of a spider.

‘The legend… is true?’

You had been captured by one of the spider people of myth…

“You must be scared… you’re just a human girl after all, and I’ve taken you away.”

He reached out, caressing your soft cheek with his hand. “But do not fear, I’m not planning on eating you, little one.”

His hand traveled down your face to your shoulder, his fingers playing with one of your bra straps.

“Far from it…”

Your cheeks heated up as he easily cut through your bra, his eyes on your now bare breasts.

“I’m in need of a mate to carry my eggs… and you’re the only woman that’s traveled to this mountain in ages…”

He breathed against your neck, licking the bite mark he left there earlier. “God, I could hardly hold myself back the moment I saw you. Such a plump, perfect woman, you’ll carry my eggs well…”

You whines as his lower half creates more webs, keeping you suspended in air, but freeing your soft cunt.

Quickly, he tore off your panties as well, growling lowly at the sight of your pretty, fat pussy. “Oh, my little mate, already this wet? Perhaps this was fate, for me to be sent this angel from above…”

He plunged a finger into you, pressing against your gummy walls and stretching you out as one of his spider legs nudged against your sensitive clit, just enough to stimulate you and get you to cum all over his fingers.

“There we go… such a good girl…” he purred into your ear, beginning to stroke his monstrous cock. He drew out several orgasms from you, prepping your virgin hole for him.

Within seconds, you were lowered down, your hips hovering over his as he nudged the head of his cock against you.

“Gods, you’re so soft…”

He kneaded your fat belly and thighs, purring in delight. “You’ll make such a good mother… you’ve got child bearing hips, like you were just meant to carry my eggs…”

Soft nips and nibbles were left on your neck and breasts.

“Every ten years, us driders go out to find a mate that’s suitable for us. I am the last of our kind, so there are no females left for me…”

He smiled, beginning to push in.

“But you… are not just going to be the woman that carries my eggs. You’ll be my mate, and I’ll cherish you.”

It was uncomfortable and painful, the way his cock stretched you out. You gritted your teeth and he cooed, but wouldn’t allow you to close your legs, two of his spider legs kept your thighs apart so he could sink deeper into your fat cunt.

“Shh, shh… it’ll feel good soon, my love…”

And he was right, his cock stretched you in such a delicious way, hitting all the right spots and making you cry out in pleasure.

He mounted you, fucking into your needy cunt as he groaned into your ear. “Gonna take my eggs, okay? My sweet girl, you’ll be such a good mommy won’t you?”

Suddenly you felt something push into you. Was that…

He was cumming, eggs filling up your pussy and settling into your womb. Soon your belly would swell as the eggs grew and developed, but for now, you were tired…

He kissed along your shoulders and neck, nuzzling into. Slowly, he lowered you down from the webs, curling up with you in a dark corner of the cave.

“You’ll be pampered, well taken care of… never again will you worry about a single thing…”

As you began to drift off to sleep, you realized that this creature truly thought you were beautiful… it made you happy.

So you snuggled into him, too full of cum and eggs to really even try escaping. Why would you?

You were loved… you felt truly beautiful for the first time in your life.

“I’ll prepare a cabin soon, there’s plenty of abandoned ones nearby. Wouldn’t want my mate to be uncomfortable.”

The way he nuzzled into you was filled with such love and care. He must have been lonely, being the last of his species.

So you decided to stay… at least for now…

Want a part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it~

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat