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imagine-you · 3 months ago

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and that's why I fear it won't do [Logan/Reader]

Summary: Part 5 of my Home 'verse. You're on the slow climb to recovery after finally ridding yourself of Sinister. Wade gifts you with a generous birthday present, allowing you and Logan to get some time away from the city and spend time alone together. You've started to heal, happy with the knowledge that your family has your back in more ways than one. But you never realized just how fragile your newfound peace is until a familiar foe from your old universe shows up, threatening to destroy everything you've fought for since escaping from Sinister. Word Count: 11.1k Author's Note: This chapter may contain: Fluff, Angst, A New Villain!, Surprise Cameos, An Old Friend, Familiar Faces, Kidnapping, A Tiny Bit of Spice, Healing, Reader Whump, Birthday Presents, and Wade Being the Best. Home 'Verse Read on AO3

You knelt at Sinister's side, clutching his hand tight. His smile was edged in blood and he let out a laugh, wicked and devious. "It won't be the last time you see me, Y/N," he swore, his gaze never once leaving yours even as his grip slackened. "I'll always be with you."

You shook your head, defiant and sure. "You're dead," you protested, the memory of driving your hand right through his skull coming to mind.

"Didn't I tell you that you were mine? My experiment, my toy, my weapon," he hissed, his grip tightening, painful and constricting.

Between one blink of your eyes and the next, he was standing, his regenerative ability kicking in except for the hole right through the middle of his forehead. A bit of his brain oozed out of the wound, but he didn't seem to care.

You were still on the floor, but Sinister reached down, brushing his fingers almost lovingly along your jaw.

"I'll break you after all," he promised, sure and resolute, as he pulled you up off the floor.

"Y/N, get away from him! He's--" Logan started, suddenly appearing across the room, before Sinister turned towards him.

"I've had enough of you," Sinister snarled before snapping his fingers. Logan was suddenly gone, a pile of adamantium bones and blood and viscera splattered across the floor. "I think I have someone more suited for you," Sinister continued, barely giving you a moment to grieve before another Logan appeared before you.

You knew, without having to have it confirmed for you, that this was the wrong Logan. The other Logan. The one who had left you so desolate and broken that you ended up leaving your universe just to escape him.

There was a disinterested look on his face as he reached out to touch you. You flinched away, backing up until you ran into someone else.

Nathaniel's voice was in your ear as wrapped his arms around you, restraining you.

"First we'll break you," he whispered into your ear. "And then we'll remake you. You'll be ours forever." He looked up at the other Logan, sharing a grin with him, before the other Logan stepped forward. His hand was outstretched and getting closer to you.

Panic lodged itself high in your throat and you could feel a scream building. "Go away! Don't touch--"

"--me!" You yelled as you sat up, breathing heavy and heart pounding furiously in your chest.

"Y/N?" Logan called and you looked up to see he was standing several feet away from the bed. His hand was up, stopped short by the forcefield you had erected in your sleep. The nightstand was left in a broken heap of wood on the floor, and you wondered if your forcefield had shoved Logan off the bed this time.

You dropped the forcefield, bringing your knees up to your chest and curling your arms around them. You were aware of Logan cautiously approaching the bed before he sat down on the edge of it.

"Another bad one?" He tried when you didn't say anything, watching you from a distance.

You shook your head, finally looking over at him. There were so many things you wanted to say.

He was there again.

He killed you.

The other Logan was there.

Will it ever stop?

What you settled on was: "I need you."

You suddenly desperately craved the touch and reassurance of your Logan. You wanted to be consumed by him. You wanted your thoughts to be a blanket of love, want, need, and Logan. Just Logan.

Logan watched you for a moment before he nodded his head. He crossed the distance between the two of you, pressing himself to your side. "I'm right here," he assured you before pushing gently at your shoulder.

Logan was being so careful, but you didn't want that. You needed to feel the pull of him, drawing you in until you had nothing else but him.

"C'mon," you urged, tugging at his t-shirt. "C'mon already. I need you now."

Logan seemed to get the hint, because he covered you with his body, letting you pull up his shirt while pushing down his pajama pants. He managed to get his shirt up over his head before he started kissing down your neck. You gave up on his pants, since they were already halfway down his thighs, and grabbed the hand that had been clutching your waist.

You placed it on your stomach before encouraging it to dip below the waistband of your shorts. Logan hardly needed any more encouragement to press lower, his fingers ghosting over you, leaving you aching and wanting. His other hand traveled up until it was curled lightly around your throat. You usually loved just the slightest pressure, the reminder that Logan held you so completely in his hands, but there was a buzzing at the back of your mind that gave you a momentary pause.

You pulled at his hair, prompting him to direct his kisses back towards your mouth, letting his tongue sink in and taste you. His hand was still at your throat, the touch firm, but still easy and unrestrictive. You were more aware of it than you usually were, and you tried to throw yourself into the kiss, wanting to ignore anything that might make you stop.

It wasn't until his thumb swept over your pulse that you realized why it felt wrong.

"Wait, wait, stop," you breathed as you turned your head to the side, breaking the kiss. You felt all twisted up inside, knowing that the moment you were sharing with Logan was meant to be full of the love you shared, but all you could think about was Nathaniel holding you, constantly analyzing you.

"What's wrong?" Logan asked, immediately moving to sit back, taking his touch away.

"When I was...away," you tried, knowing that Logan would understand, "he just, and I, I just can’t..." You offered Logan a helpless look, not sure how to convey what was on your mind.

Logan knew you, though, which was why he gave a determined nod of his head and then suddenly you were on top. You felt a rush as you adjusted to the new position, a surprised laugh startled out of you.

Logan smirked up at you, outright pleased with himself. "Do whatever you want to me," he proposed, arching an eyebrow at you. "I trust you."

You shook your head, overwhelmed with how much you loved Logan.

"Use me however you want," he added, his voice low and dangerous, making heat pool low in your belly. You felt yourself began to tremble as he grabbed one of your hands, placing it at his throat. "I'm yours."

You let your fingers briefly dig in before you replaced them with your mouth. You ran your tongue along his flesh before following with your teeth, delighting in the way it made Logan moan. You gave him all your attention, making a path from his neck to his chest.

When you started lower, he shook his head, bringing you back up towards his mouth.

"Tonight's about you," he rumbled before pressing his thigh between yours. "You go first."

You felt yourself flush before you nodded your head. You brought one of his hands up to grip your hip, steading you as you writhed on his thigh, chasing a release you had only started to pursue. His other hand came up, his nails scratching lightly along your back. There was pure adoration and worship in his gaze, and you didn't know how you had gotten so lucky. Logan gave up control to you like it was nothing, but you knew it was everything.

He had spent time as a lab subject for Stryker. If anyone knew how you felt, then it was him. He knew exactly what you needed, and the fact that he was providing it for you only turned you on more.

You were close, but you knew you wanted more. Logan didn't protest when you rose on your knees, but he shot you a bewildered look when you grabbed his hand and tapped his knuckles.

"Rip them," you commanded, pulling his hand to rest at your waistband. You knew that you could just as easily get up and take off your shorts, but you were desperate. You wanted Logan now. Any second that passed between the two of you where you weren't sharing the same breath, space, body just wasn't worth it.

Logan easily obeyed and it took you no time at all before you were finally seating yourself, sinking down to feel the full weight of him inside you. Logan's hands were gripping your hips. He didn't urge you to move, but you could feel the way he was practically shaking beneath you, pent up energy begging to be released, letting you know that he was just as gone as you were.

You pressed yourself closer to him, enjoying the feeling that had started to build low in your stomach. It was warm, molten, and spreading through you, begging to be set free.

Logan let you set the pace, his hands wandering from your hips to your thighs and then lower back. You could tell he was beginning to lose himself, his head was thrown back and he was panting up at the ceiling. His fingers were now clenched tight in the bedsheets and you could hear the fabric begin to rip.

"C'mon, let go," you urged, chasing your own end. “I want to feel you.”

Logan was stubborn, though, and refused to fall without you. He brought one of his hands up, drifting his fingers around your knee, before slipping between your thighs. You felt pleasure shoot right through your core and you could feel yourself ascending higher, faster, with each sweep of his fingers. You rocked your hips into his touch, and it only took one look at his face, the way he bit his lip as he watched you lose yourself on him, before you tipped over the edge.

It was a freefall, dizzying and breathtaking, and as you grasped at Logan, you knew he was right there with you.

Awareness teased you in little moments as Logan took you in his arms. He put you on your side, facing him, carefully slipping free. He trailed kisses along your jaw up to your lips, waiting for you to come back to him. When you responded in kind, you felt the pleased rumble in his chest and couldn't help but laugh into the kiss.

"What's so funny?" He asked, barely pulling back to look at you, his breath ghosting across your lips.

You reached up to tug at his hair, delighting in his growl of protest. Sometimes, the line between Logan and Wolverine was blurred, and you loved him all the more for the distinctions between the two. "Next time," you whispered, brushing your lips against his, "you should wear the cowl in bed." That thought wasn't what made you laugh, but just the idea of it had a little thrill shooting through you, and you pressed your thighs together, savoring the feeling.

Logan let out a low chuckle before he wrapped an arm around your waist, encouraging you to move closer, as if you weren't already pressed together. You let your right leg come up, hooking around his calf, before you pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

Silence drifted between you, and you were half-torn between staying in the moment for as long as you could or finally letting yourself drift back to sleep.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Logan sounded cautious, unsure, and you knew he was worried about breaking the contentment between the two of you.

"Not right now," you answered, shaking your head. "I don't want to think about him or any of them right now."

Logan didn't press you for more details. He simply swept his hand up and down your back, doing his best to comfort you. When he stopped, his hand resting at the small of your back, you chanced a glance at him to see that he was asleep.

You let your head rest on his shoulder before you stared at the wall opposite you, trying and failing to forget about Nathaniel and the fear he had instilled in you.

It was going to be a long night.

The next couple of months were spent with your family. You had never felt so indulgent with your time, and while you had stepped back from being a hero, you knew that day by day, you were healing. Sinister had nearly succeeded in unleashing a much darker part of yourself, and while you knew you couldn't simply sweep the feelings he had evoked away, you were going to have to learn how to assimilate them.

You let yourself do anything and everything you never had the time for before. You took Laura to the movies and amusement parks and on picnics. More often than not, Logan and Wade joined you, along with random guests. Wade was slowly but surely making progress with Vanessa and had opted to bring her along when you went to an arcade. You noticed their flirting, but when they disappeared for half an hour, clothing rumpled and Vanessa's hair tousled upon their return, you knew that they were back together. You had offered Wade a high-five, laughing in delight when he pushed your hand to the side and barreled forward with a hug, practically lifting you off your feet.

It had been easy to add Vanessa to your little family. Once you got to know her, you knew why Wade was so in love with her. Lovely wasn't enough to describe her. She was gorgeous, clever, generous, and a whole host of other attributes that summed her up.

She quickly became one of your favorite people and you knew without a doubt that the nightmare reality Nathaniel had painted for you would never come true. Wade had been right, Vanessa accepted you and if you were ever in need, she would never let Wade turn you away.

You also set about giving Laura as much of a childhood as you could give her within a few months. She had been forced to fight practically her whole life, and while she acted like the family outings were stupid half the time, from the little delighted smiles on her face or the way her eyes lit up when you dared her to go on rollercoaster after rollercoaster, you knew that she was having fun. You supposed, in a way, you were also reclaiming a part of your past you had never gotten to experience.

You had manifested at a young age, and it wasn't long before Charles and Erik recruited you for the X-Men. You had felt like you had been poured right into the hero role from birth and missed a lot of milestones on the way. Now, facing another birthday, you were glad that you had taken time away from saving people. It had given you the time to realize that you were the one in need of saving and you had your own team of superheroes who were all willing to rescue you from your own mind.

Logan had also decided to bench himself, no longer caving when Wade came to him with a new problem that needed his claws. With time, Wade seemed to even understand, even if he didn't think it was a good idea.

"I get you want to take a break," Wade said, letting his shoulder bump against yours. "I think this needs to be higher," he grumbled before climbing back up the ladder, helping you adjust the banner he had made for your birthday party. It was pink and sparkled with glitter and you knew that Wade was proud of it. "Look, all I'm saying is I took six years off after I lost Vanessa, got her back, got rejected from the Avengers, and then lost Vanessa all over again. And I was fucking miserable, even though I convinced myself I was fine. I don't want that for you, baby bird," he continued before jumping down from the ladder, steadying himself by putting a hand to your shoulder.

"It's not forever," you protested, knowing that even to you the denial sounded weak. "It's only been a few months."

"And that'll turn into years," Wade pointed out, turning back towards the table to grab streamers. "I swear to God, if I see you so much as look at a job application for Drivemax, I'm going to throw you at the nearest villain and let you fight it out of your system. That really did wonders for me." When you didn't respond, Wade sighed before throwing an arm around your shoulders, the streamers slipping to the floor. "I know you're scared after what that fuckbag did to you, but he's not coming back. And I don't want to see you suffer because of him."

"It's not that I'm scared," you started, unsure if that was even true. "I just don't trust myself." The confession lifted a bit of the weight on your shoulders, but you knew it wasn't everything you were holding back. "How do I know that what he did to me, what he convinced me I was capable of, won't show up the next time I'm trying to play the hero?" You were worried that you would flash back to that moment in Sinister's reality where you had been ready to strike down someone innocent. When you had been ready to kill a little piece of yourself because he had gotten so far into your head and convinced you it was okay.

"Allow me to paraphrase the ever-wise words of Chumbawamba. You get knocked down, you get up again, and you'll never let them keep you down. That Sinister fuck might've knocked you down, but you've got to get back up again. And as long as I'm around, you're never going to get knocked back down. I'll run every motherfucker through with my sweet katanas if it means you don't fall back down again. And maybe you don't trust yourself right now, but you can trust me. Hell, trust the munchkin and angry bear too. We've got your back."

You turned to consider Wade, knowing that he was right. All three of them had been incredibly attentive, barely letting you get a moment alone unless you asked for it. Even then, they were close by, ready to back you up if anyone decided to attack. You knew you had family, and you knew you weren't alone, but you were still waiting for the other shoe to drop. You still expected to see Nathaniel again, but you just weren't sure when he was going to hit again, despite the fact that you had literally been covered in his guts at one point.

"Now," Wade said, clapping his hands together, "I know technically you're supposed to wait for the party before giving out presents, but this one is just too good to hold back. And it's only so long before all the other fuckers get here or the munchkin and angry bear show up with food, so I should do this now."

"Wade, you didn't have to get me anything," you tried to protest, but Wade shushed you.

"Here, baby bird," he said, reaching out to grab your hand before depositing a folded-up piece of paper in it.

"Uh," you started, staring down at it in confusion. "What is it?"

"Fuck's sake," Wade groaned before reaching for it and unfolding the paper. "Ta-da!"

You read the words on the page before quirking an eyebrow at Wade. "How the hell did you even pay for this?"

Wade waved a hand at you. "Details don't matter. Let's just say Gambit knew he owed you one and he put his thieving ways to work to steal 'ol Chuck's credit card."

"Wade," you admonished, but you couldn't help the laugh that broke free. "A B&B in Vermont?"

Wade shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, you and Logan can commune with nature, do some meditation, get the angry bear to give it to you real good without the munchkin overhearing, and I'll babysit so you don’t have to worry she’s run off into traffic. And when you get back, we'll be a team again, right?"

You realized then that Wade might have had more than one motive for getting you back into hero shape again. "We're always a team, Wade," you assured him. "But thank you, this is sweet," you told him before leaning forward and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Your lips were still on Wade’s cheek when the door opened, and Laura and Logan walked inside carrying bags of takeout from your favorite restaurant.

Wade gasped, pretending to be shocked to see them. "You weren't supposed to see such a blatant display of our love affair," he groaned at Logan. "Now he knows about us," he hissed at you, grabbing your shoulders and putting you in front of him facing Logan. "If you're going to get claw happy, you're gonna have to go through Y/N to get to me."

Logan rolled his eyes before setting the food down on the table. "Bub, if Y/N ever left me for you, then hell must've frozen over, because there's no fucking way that's ever happening."

Wade acted hurt, bringing a hand up to clutch his chest. "Oh, that really stings." Wade suddenly turned you around, gripping your shoulders and making eye contact. "I'll have you know I'm a very generous lover and I give good cuddle. Just ask Vanessa," he continued, ignoring Logan's irritated growl.

"Ask Vanessa what?" Vanessa questioned as she stepped inside the apartment. She had an envelope in her hand and didn't look concerned at all that her boyfriend was completely in your personal space.

You shook Wade's hold off and turned towards her. "Does Wade give good cuddle?" You caught Logan's eye roll, but you couldn't help the grin on your face. It felt so good to have your family in one space, and knowing that there were even more people on the way, all to celebrate you, gave you a nearly giddy feeling of anticipation. You loved your little fucked up family and you couldn't believe that they were all yours.

"Oh, he's fantastic," she answered, reaching out to give you the envelope. "You should give him a try some time." She stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. "Happy birthday, by the way," she told you.

You shot Wade a devious smirk before pulling Vanessa into a tighter embrace. "You know what, I think I'll trade in Logan if you trade in Wade, and then we'll get together."

Vanessa laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I think I'm onboard with that," she mused, turning a thoughtful look on Wade, pretending to consider the offer.

Wade strode forward, hastily separating the two of you. "You get your own goddamn girlfriend," he uttered with a scowl, ignoring your amused laugh as he pointed a finger right at you.

Wade pulled Vanessa away towards the food and Logan approached you. He stood at your back, winding his arms around your waist and tucking his chin over your shoulder. You brought a hand up to rest over Logan's arm, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"I like seeing you like this," he whispered, making sure his observation was just for the two of you.

"Yeah?" You asked, turning a smile over your shoulder at him. "Well, you'll really like this," you told him, showing him Wade and Remy's birthday gift.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a bemused look on his face. "Just the two of us?"

You nodded your head, shivering when he brushed his lips against the back of your neck.

"A little romantic getaway," you mused, bowing your head to give him better access.

Logan placed a kiss just beneath your ear, following it up with another at your jaw. "Just the two of us," he repeated, sounding pleased.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Is that what you're so excited about?"

"No Wade showing up at the worst fucking times just to talk our ears off about inane bullshit? No responsibility or worries or having to worry about anyone else but us for a couple days? Yeah, I'm fucking excited to get you all to myself," he rumbled low in your ear, his grip on you tightening.

"Hey, I'm about ready to stab myself in the eyes," Laura called, disrupting the two of you. There was a look of near disgust on her face, and you knew it was only because she wasn't completely fond of seeing her pseudo-parents ready to make out. "Want to get over here and cut this cake, or what?"

It was then that you noticed the rest of the guests had arrived. Most of them were talking and laughing while Vanessa lit the candles on the cake. Alex Summers had arrived with Piotr, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio. You and Alex had managed to bond over how much Nathaniel had truly managed to fuck over your lives and you were glad that he was another person to add to your little family. Blind Al, Dopinder, and Shatterstar had also shown up, even though you didn't know them as well. Dopinder had handed you a pair of airpods with a wink, prompting Wade to swipe them, muttering something about banning gifts covered in stranger's earwax.

They were an odd group, but so full of love and understanding, that you felt honored they had let you slip in so seamlessly, as if they had been leaving a place for you all along.

"We've been summoned," you muttered to Logan, delighting in the soft huff of his laughter against your skin.

"Then let's not keep them waiting," he said, pressing a hand to the small of your back to urge you towards the group.

Later, as everyone stood around the table and sang, wishing you a happy birthday, you couldn't understand how you were so damn fortunate. You were surrounded by people who had all shown up for you. Even if most of them started out as Wade's friends, you knew that they were now your friends too. You felt so complete, so involved, that you didn't know how Nathaniel had ever managed to prey on your own insecurities.

By the time you were going to bed that night, ready to embark on your getaway with Logan in the morning, you felt so wholly loved. Everyone had stayed well into the night, sharing laughter and stories and memories. Once everyone had trailed out and Laura went to bed, Logan had pulled you into his embrace.

“Let’s go to bed,” he suggested, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “We’ll clean up the mess in the morning.”

You readily agreed, leading him into your bedroom and shutting the door behind you.

"I'm exhausted," Logan grumbled once he was lying down, throwing at arm over his eyes to block out the light.

You reached out to turn off the lamp on your nightstand before crawling into bed. You rolled onto your side, throwing an arm over Logan's waist.

"You're sure you're going to be ready to go in the morning?" You asked him, running your fingers lightly along his stomach.

"I'll be ready," he assured you, stilling your hand with his only to lace your fingers together.

"Good," you breathed, soaking up Logan's warmth. You felt your eyes slip closed, exhaustion creeping up on you. You wanted to tell Logan so many things like you were proud of him and you loved him and you couldn't have done any of this without him. Instead, you pressed a brief kiss to his chest, hoping he would get the message.

From the way his fingers flexed around yours and the pleased sound he made, you knew he did.

It was just before you were going to traverse the space between awake and asleep when another thought came to mind. "Logan?"

"Hm?"

"Make sure to pack the cowl," you told him, feeling a grin tug at your lips when he let out a surprised laugh.

You didn't realize how much you truly craved having a couple of days carved out for just you and Logan. You arrived at the B&B feeling lighter than you had since everything that happened with Nathaniel. You were eager to check in and spend the next few days fully emersed in him.

The B&B was beautiful and somehow Wade made sure that no one else would be there to bother you. The owner had left a key hidden in the mailbox for you and no other guests had rooms booked.

The B&B was secluded, with trees backing the property and land spread out in every direction, unblemished by other buildings or people. A pond sat off to the side with a bridge that crossed the middle of it, before the grounds spread out into several walkways, encouraging guests to either take a nice stroll through pastures or trek through the woods. The air smelled clean, fresh, and you took in deep lungfuls of it once you stepped out of the car, disbelieving that you were getting the opportunity to have the run of the place with Logan for a weekend.

There was only one winding road that approached the property, nearly a mile long and offering you something you never really got living in a big city.

Privacy.

One space that was only for you and Logan.

You shuddered to think how much Charles had inadvertently spent on the getaway.

You assumed you wouldn't even leave the bed the whole time you were there, but you ended up spending most of your time outside.

You explored the woods with Logan and spent a night enjoying the sight of the night sky, content to simply lie on the ground and gaze at the stars. You watched as Logan took morning jogs around the property, sitting out on the porch in a rocking chair and grinning whenever he passed by.

You even enjoyed a picnic by the pond with him as well. You made out with Logan on the grass, making a mess when you accidentally rolled over onto the pasta salad. You teased Logan, slowly pulling off your shirt before letting your pants follow, throwing them to the side. Logan tensed up before practically pouncing, sharing laughter and kisses before he grabbed you by the hips and trailed his mouth lower and lower until you were gasping and clutching desperately at his hair, using him as an anchor to keep you tethered as you fell apart.

After, you pushed him into the pond, just to see him come up out of the water. His shirt was clinging to him, and his hair was a mess, and you had never been more in love with him. He growled, playful yet undeniably sexy, before chasing you back towards the B&B. You felt light, free, and you let Logan take you apart again and again, knowing that when you crashed back into your body with his touch guiding you, you would feel complete.

You spent your last night at the B&B tangled up with Logan, so desperately enamored with him that you felt like you could hardly breathe with how much you felt for him. He had so wholly consumed your mind and your body and you didn't know what to do when he wasn't touching you, worshiping you with reverent kisses.

In the morning, you knew that Wade had been right. You did need the time away with Logan, and thinking about going back and playing hero again didn't feel so terrifying anymore. You felt like you were ready to conquer anything as long as you had Logan at your side.

The car was all packed up and Logan was waiting for you in the car. You locked the front door, before walking down the stairs towards the mailbox that was positioned just beside the porch railing. You left the key along with a thank you note inside before snapping it closed.

You turned and took a step towards the car before you froze in your tracks.

There was someone else watching you from just a few feet away.

"Apocalypse," you breathed, terror climbing dizzyingly fast through you, sending your heart racing.

Apocalypse merely regarded you with a cool expression, but you felt like you were about to lose it. Logan was already out of the car, but you didn't want him anywhere near Apocalypse. You instinctively raised a forcefield, cutting him off, keeping him safe.

"I've been awakened years before my time," Apocalypse stated, studying you with interest. "My followers have informed me that Sinister has fallen and the world needs me now more than ever."

You weren't sure how to process seeing Apocalypse again. You thought of the last time you had seen him, back in your old universe. He had left Scott crumpled on the ground, never to get up again, and Jean had unleased the full force of her Phoenix power, ending Apocalypse with Erik's help. Apocalypse had killed not only your universe by destroying its anchor being, but your old life as well. You knew the power he wielded, and you knew you weren’t nearly strong enough to combat it without a team.

But now, it was just you against the one villain who had managed to take out the leader of the X-Men. He had killed countless others in your old universe and you would be damned if you let Logan become one of his casualties.

"Why are you here?" You found yourself asking, knowing that Apocalypse must need something.

It was when his gaze drifted towards Logan that you felt like your world was about to slide to a halt all over again.

"I came here for my Horseman," Apocalypse claimed, not bothering to look at you, even as you shifted on your feet, readying yourself for a fight. "My Death," he continued, setting off a sinking feeling in your gut.

"You can't have him," you snarled, beginning to form another forcefield. You were starting to panic, indecision weighing heavy on you, urging you to get Logan far away from Apocalypse. You let the forcefield begin to form around Apocalypse, intent on either collapsing it and hoping it left him a broken heap on the ground like he had done to Scott, or maybe using spikes to impale him.

You didn't even get to figure out what you wanted to do, because suddenly you were on the ground. There was a forcefield surrounding you, pressing you into the walkway. You turned your head to the side, struggling to pull in a breath as it kept descending. You could feel it pressing into your ribs, feeling like they were going to crack at any moment.

You cast a panicked glance over to see that both your forcefields were gone and Apocalypse held his hand out, obviously casting the one that was moments away from crushing you.

"Stop!" Logan pleaded, rushing towards Apocalypse. Apocalypse easily threw Logan to the ground. Logan cast a fearful look at you before turning his attention back towards Apocalypse. "Let her go and I'll go with you."

"No!" You cried out, but it came out weak and strained. You could hardly breathe, and you couldn't even move anymore. But you would rather die than let Apocalypse take Logan away from you.

You felt one of your ribs give way and you didn't even have the breath to scream. You knew it wouldn't be long before the others followed suit, likely puncturing your lungs and killing you. You imagined your sternum cracking before piercing your heart, leaving you just as broken and lifeless as Scott had been.

Logan was trying to get at Apocalypse, relentlessly attempting to attack him, but when he realized it wouldn't work, he rushed towards your side. He slashed and swiped at the forcefield with his claws, but it stayed intact.

"Leave her alone!" He roared, panic in his eyes when he realized he couldn't save you. "I'll go with you. I'll be your Death. But you spare her!" He demanded, turning a wild look over at Apocalypse. "Let her live and you can have me."

"No," you tried to deny, but it only came out as a wordless whimper.

Logan stared down at you, terrified and heartbroken, and you couldn't believe how unfair life was being to the both of you. Logan was so willing to sacrifice himself just to see you live, but you didn't think you would live without him. You didn't think Logan would live without you either.

"Very well," Apocalypse allowed before he dropped the forcefield.

Logan was quick to try to scoop you up in his arms, but you hissed in a pained breath, every movement sending fire through your chest. He settled for letting his hands hover over your side and chest, as if he could simply will you to heal with only the power of his mind.

"Don't go," you begged, attempting to sit up, even though it caused little black dots to dance across your vision. "Don't leave me," you reached out to grab his hand. "Please stay with me."

Logan held on tight as Apocalypse reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll find my way back to you," he promised just as he shuddered. He threw his head back, gasping for breath, before he trembled. His head dropped back down and when he met your eyes, there was no recognition.

His expression was blank, and you had never managed to realize that Logan always looked at you with longing, want, love in his eyes until it was gone.

"Come with me," Apocalypse ordered, prompting Logan to stand.

You reached out for him, your fingers only just brushing against his calf before he was gone.

You stared at the spot where Logan disappeared, hoping he would somehow materialize again. But you remembered how Apocalypse operated. First, he found his Horsemen, and then he wreaked destruction on the world.

You knew you were in shock, and you knew you needed to get up, but you couldn't move. Injuries aside, you couldn't believe that Logan was being ripped away from you again. You had just gotten back on track and now you had stumbled off again, directionless and getting farther away from where you wanted to be.

A raindrop broke you out of your stupor and you turned your head to look at the sky. You didn't even notice the approaching storm, but even with the threat of rain, you couldn't bring yourself to get up.

All you could think about was Logan. Logan, who now didn't remember you and was going on Apocalypse's crusade to rule the world. Logan, who had held you so lovingly in his arms just hours ago, telling you he loved you. Logan, who had promised to return, but with each second and minute that passed, you knew he wasn't coming back.

By the time it was pouring and your clothes were soaked and you were in so much agony that you were shaking, you finally forced yourself to stand. You stumbled over towards the covered porch, a hand pressed to your side, and climbed the few steps that would take you to the rocking chair you had favored since arriving. You let yourself fall into it, sucking in an unsteady breath. You made yourself slip your phone out of your pocket, the screen cracked from Apocalypse's forcefield, but still working.

Your fingers were numb and didn't want to cooperate, but you finally managed to scroll through your contacts and stop at 'Papa Deadpool.' Wade had been the one to enter his number in, but you never thought to change the name he had given himself.

You listened to ring after ring, terrified that he wouldn't pick up. Your mind was spinning and you couldn't land on any sane thought that wasn't Logan or fear or heartbreak. But one thing was so ingrained in your brain by now that you were glad it had stuck despite the panic you were feeling.

When your back was against the wall and you had nowhere else to go, you could always count on Wade.

"Y/N, what the fuck are you doing calling me?" Wade asked, his voice playful and such a relief to you. "I thought I gave you explicit instructions to let Logan fuck you stupid, so this better be a butt dial. Although, if it is and you're doing what I think you're doing, then I don't want to know why your phone is anywhere near your ass. Unless it feels amazing, and you think I should try it on Vanessa. You know, I've always wondered, if you and Logan are fucking and you go invisible, then can Logan see--"

"Wade," you whispered, heartbroken and desolate.

Wade fell silent on the other line. "Y/N?" He tried, his tone now serious. "Where are you?"

"At the B&B," you managed, wishing that you could stop shaking. You could feel your teeth begin to clack together, and you weren't even sure if it was because you were now freezing and soaked or the shock of losing Logan that was affecting you. "Logan, he's--"

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Wade asked, turning away from the phone to shout something at Piotr. He sounded cautious, a bit disbelieving, but you knew that if there was a world where Logan hurt you and you told Wade, he would have your back without a second thought.

"No," you got out, having to choke back a sob. "He's gone, Wade. He was taken. And now I can hardly breathe, and I can't drive like this, and I just need your help. I have to find him."

"Piotr," you heard Wade snap. "Put that down and get us wheels up in ten," he commanded, tone brooking no argument. "Because it's the baby bird and she needs wings," he barked, before turning his attention back to you. "Who took Logan? What happened?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Every pull of breath stung, and it felt like your chest was constricting, running out of air.

"Y/N?" Wade tried again, his tone nearly pleading. "C'mon, baby bird, you're scaring me here. I'm gonna need to hear you talk."

"Apocalypse," you breathed, feeling another swell of anxiety threaten to drown you. "Apocalypse took Logan. I couldn't stop him. He's too powerful. Last time I fought him, I had a team. I had...," you trailed off, not wanting to admit that it had taken Jean unleashing all her fury on Apocalypse to take him down. Erik had helped, but you knew Jean had dealt the brunt of the damage. She had been blinded with rage and kept at Apocalypse until he was nearly reduced to ashes. Erik had helped contain Apocalypse, but you were sure she would have been the one to deal the killing blow no matter what.

"Shit," Wade groaned. "Alright, listen, I'm going to get Piotr to steal the X-Jet and we'll be there soon, baby bird. Hold on tight for me, okay?"

You nodded your head, knowing Wade wouldn't be able to see the reaction, before hanging up.

You weren't sure how long you sat there, watching the storm unfold before you. You tried to take steady, even breaths, ignoring the pull of pain and the way you were wheezing. You would need someone to help make sure your ribs could heal on their own and you would need to make sure more damage hadn't been done. Your thoughts were on Logan, so you didn't realize you weren't alone until Wade was kneeling in front of you, his hands on your knees. You realized he had been calling your name, trying to get your attention for a while.

"Ah, fuck, what the hell happened to you?" He stood when he noticed you were finally looking at him and not through him. He reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet.

You cried out in pain, clutching your side. "Broken ribs," you gasped, letting yourself lean on Wade.

"Let's get you out of here," Wade said, nodding at Piotr who was at the car. He was getting into the driver's seat, intent on driving it up the ramp that had descended from the back of the X-Jet. "And once we get you inside, you can tell me what happened."

You let Wade lead you into the X-Jet. It wasn't until you were in a seat, Wade fussing over you, that you realized there was a stranger sitting in a seat on the opposite side of the plane.

"Uh, Wade? Who's that?" You asked, pointing at the guy in a red and blue spandex suit with a black spider on the chest.

"Huh? Oh! I picked up this kid in Queens. Thought we might need reinforcements," he claimed, glancing over at the guy.

"Hey," the stranger said with a nearly bashful wave of his hand. "I'm Peter?" His voice sounded unsure, and unmistakably young, and you were starting to suspect he was a teenager.

"Wade," you said, shooting him a disappointed look. "Did you kidnap him?"

"What? Tony Stark did it in Civil War," Wade argued, gesturing at the kid. "We needed a team, right? So, I scooped up the little rugrat and brought him just in case we needed a little, y'know," he said before holding out his wrist, his middle and ring finger tucked under his thumb as he made a soft whistling noise.

"Take him home," you demanded, shooting the kid an apologetic look. "He shouldn't be here."

Wade groaned in frustration before nodding his head. "No, you're right. He's more sequel material, anyways."

Once Peter was dropped off back in Queens, the kid even yelling out a ‘thank you’ with a wave of his hand, it wasn't long before Piotr was landing the X-Jet at the mansion. Wade helped you inside, and you were surprised to see Alex pacing in the foyer, obviously worried.

"What's going on?" You wondered, knowing that it couldn't have anything to do with what happened to you. You had gotten closer to Alex, but you didn’t warrant nearly the level of concern he was showing.

"Two of the X-Men were taken yesterday," Piotr explained, shooting Alex a wary glance.

"Who?" You couldn't help but wonder, thinking it must have had something to do with Apocalypse. Had he already found his Horsemen? How long until you were all doomed?

"My brother," Alex snapped, not bothering to stop pacing. "And his girlfriend."

"Jean?" You had only seen this universe's Cyclops and Jean once and it had been enough for you. They were young, barely in their early twenties, their whole lives still ahead of them. They weren't nearly as powerful as the heroes you had known in your universe, but you hoped that they might have been able to help a little with the Apocalypse situation.

"We have no idea where they are," Alex growled, visibly distraught. "The Prof has been trying to reach them, but he hasn't been able to yet."

"Fuck," Wade moaned, glancing around the foyer as if he would find an answer to all of your problems somewhere. "We can't just catch one tiny break. It's like the author wants us to suffer."

"Logan was just taken from me," you admitted with a wince. It was half from the pain and half from the thought that you would have to explain the situation to Laura. "Where's Laura?" You asked Wade, letting him start to lead you into the sitting room just off the foyer.

"When I left her, the little munchkin was kicking Blind Al's ass at Mario Kart," Wade assured you, pressing a hand to your lower back, attempting to help you settle on the couch. "Do you guys have a medic or something? She's got some broken ribs that might need to get looked over. Make sure she doesn’t pop a lung or something."

"I might be able to help with that," a voice volunteered.

You froze at the voice, recognizing it as one of the last people you wanted to see at the moment.

"Remy," you greeted, not even bothering to turn to look at him.

He rounded the couch before sitting on the coffee table, ignoring Piotr's noise of protest. "Hello, chérie," he drawled, smirking at you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You asked, glaring at him. "I thought you would've been long gone by now."

Remy shrugged his shoulders, studying you. "Now that I'm free, I need a place to stay. Somewhere Sinister's friends won't bother looking for me."

You scoffed, grimacing when pain shot through your side.

"Let's get you fixed up, hm?" Remy asked, standing and reaching out to help you off the couch.

Wade went with you, keeping an eye on Remy, as if he didn't trust him.

"You know how to fix some broken ribs?" You checked, skeptical that Remy had any sort of medical training.

"I've been injured enough times to know how to mend a few things, yes," Remy allowed with a grin. “It’s really not as bad as all that.”

Wade helped you follow Remy, his arm gently wrapped around your waist, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs.

"Why are you helping me now?" You couldn't help but wonder. Wade was your best friend and you knew that he was fiercely protective of anyone he considered part of his family. But Remy had kidnapped you and left you to become Sinister’s experiment. You couldn’t trust Remy just yet, but at least you could trust Wade to shoot him if Remy so much as looked at you funny.

Remy shot you a glance over his shoulder, his eyes flaring red, before continuing to lead you downstairs. You knew he was heading for the infirmary, and you wondered just how long Remy had been staying at the X-Mansion. "Because of you, the Gambit works for no one but the Gambit now."

You heard Wade snort. "Someone's still full of himself," he muttered, keeping his voice low.

"Because of you," you snarled, wishing you weren't injured and worried about Logan, because you would have certainly been ready to fight Remy. "I can't get Nathaniel out of my fucking head. Because of you, I feel like he's always in there, ready to tear my mind apart all over again. Because of you--," you cut off with a whine of pain, agony flaring up from your side into your chest.

"Easy now, chérie," Remy warned, stopping at the door to the infirmary. "You'll be of no use to your Logan if you hurt yourself even more."

You wanted to argue and tell him that it was none of his damn business, but the fight had drained out of you. Now, you were exhausted and starting to ache from keeping yourself as still as you could, not wanting to aggravate your injury.

So, you submitted to Remy's exam, aware that Wade refused to leave your side. When Remy lifted your shirt to get a better look at your ribs, Wade slapped his hand away, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"You keep your damn hands to yourself, buddy. She's taken," he snapped, staring Remy down.

Remy rolled his eyes before holding his hands up in surrender. "Do you want me to help her or not? I'm sure your friend would love that you let his girlfriend suffer."

"Wade, it's fine," you sighed, inching your shirt up yourself. Your side was already bruised and even though the movement sent a blinding white light shooting across your vision, you were ready to let Remy help. The sooner you had a better range of movement, the sooner you could set about finding out how to get Logan back.

Later, after Remy felt along your side, confirming that your injury was serious, but not fatal, he grabbed you an ice pack, advising you to press it to your side, and some pain medication. “You’ll need rest,” he warned you, “but seeing as your Logan is missing, I’m sure you’ll ignore that. Try, at least, yeah?” And then he was gone, leaving you to lean into Wade’s side.

"Some help he was," Wade muttered, kicking his feet lightly before jumping off the exam table. "I could’ve figured that out by checking WebMD. Let's get you upstairs. Maybe we can figure out what the fuck we need to do to get angry bear back."

When you got back upstairs, total chaos had descended on the mansion. Tensions were already high with two X-Men missing, but now there was yelling and Alex was cursing before something shattered.

Wade led you into the sitting room from before and you froze just inside the doorway, staring at the five new people who were now there.

"Cable?" Wade laughed before moving forward, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Where the hell you been, loca?"

Cable shrugged off Wade's hand, ignoring him.

Your attention had been caught by the man lying on the couch. He was cradling a broken arm and littered in cuts and bruises. There was a deep gash along his side that was still bleeding onto the towel that had been placed under him.

"Erik?" You called, cautiously approaching him.

You had never seen him look so defeated.

Charles was now situated near Erik's head, watching him with concern. There was also a boy and a girl, who looked like they were no older than twenty, sitting in armchairs by each other. The girl had red hair and the boy's hair was silver. The boy was angled in his chair, as if trying to shield the girl from the strangers in the room.

Erik glanced up at you, frowning. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm--," you started, before realizing it was useless. He wasn't your Erik and he wouldn't know you. "Never mind," you waved off the question. "What the hell is going on now?" You directed at Cable, growing weary of the questions piling up without receiving any answers.

"En Sabah Nur," Cable answered, his voice gruff and irritated. "Or Apocalypse, as others might know him, has risen and taken a Horseman."

"My daughter," Erik supplied, struggling to sit up, despite Charles' worried glance. "He took Lorna away from me, and when I tried to stop him, his beast did this. I needed to find somewhere safe for my other children," he added, nodding at the girl and boy. "I couldn't risk them either."

"Apocalypse took Logan from me," you commiserated, "and broke my ribs in the process. He would've killed me, but Logan stopped him. He let Apocalypse take him in exchange for letting me live." You knew without a doubt that Logan had been the one to hurt Erik and you hated that Apocalypse was using him as his puppet.

You felt your lips twist to the side, an instinctive reaction to the lump you felt forming in your throat. You wanted to cry and scream and throw a fit, because life was well and truly throwing you back towards rock bottom after you had worked so hard on clawing your way free.

"Why is Apocalypse taking people?" The boy piped up, ignoring the girl's hiss of 'Pietro.' "He forming his own team or what?"

"Something like that," Cable allowed with a nod of his head. "He finds his Horsemen and uses them to accomplish world domination. Apocalypse, if left unchecked, will rule well into the future. First, he'll take New York, and then he'll take the world. He'll set off an evolutionary pattern in which mutants are the ruling class and humans are merely subordinates. We have to stop that from happening."

"How do you know so much about him, huh?" Pietro asked, tilting his chin up, defiant. "You two buddies or something?"

Cable smirked, but he wasn't amused. "Apocalypse kidnapped me when I was a baby and infected me with a virus that was meant to kill me. In the future, he will slaughter millions, humans and mutants, just to ensure that he's holding the reigns. He's obsessed with the ideology of survival of the fittest and he'll do everything in his power to adhere to that, despite the body count he'll leave in his wake. So, no, we're not buddies."

Pietro simply nodded his head, letting out a soft 'oh,' before going quiet again.

"We know why Erik is here," you started, nodding at Magneto. "But why are you?"

"He saved us," the red-haired girl chimed in. "Apocalypse was about to kill us all when Cable showed up and got us out of there."

"And you knew somehow? That he was back?" You couldn't help but wonder, shooting Cable a questioning glance.

"Yes," Cable answered. "Apocalypse wasn't set to wake for several more years. I wanted to find out what caused him to rise early."

"When he took Logan, he mentioned that Sinister's death triggered it, because his followers woke him early. He wanted Logan for his Death, and now he's taken Lorna, so if he's using her as a Horseman, then he only needs two more. And if he's got Scott and Jean, then he might be ready for the next stage of his plan. It won't be long after that until he gets the power he's seeking. That's all he really cares about, right? Power and mutant supremacy. Once he has that, it'll be nearly impossible to stop him."

Everyone was watching you with interest, including Wade, but it was Cable who spoke.

"Apocalypse hasn't woken in over a century," Cable started, taking a step towards you. "How do you know so much about him?"

"We faced him in my original universe," you confessed, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest, knowing it would only hurt. "He...," you trailed off, shooting Alex an apologetic look. "He killed Scott in my universe. And then that Jean Grey and Erik Lehnsherr killed Apocalypse." You shared a look with Remy, forgetting for just a moment that he was in the room. He would have known all about you and what happened in your universe with Apocalypse, since he stole your TVA file. "Apocalypse might not have succeeded, but he still destroyed my universe."

"Fuck," Alex snarled, turning to hit the wall, his shoulders drawn tight with anger. "We have to get my brother back."

"Well, how the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Wade wondered, gesturing towards Erik. "Jean's kidnapped, Magneto's useless, and Apocalypse, in case you haven't been paying attention, is powerful as fuck."

You took a moment to consider Erik where he was on the couch. His face was twisted up in pain and Charles leaned over to murmur something to him. You could try to defeat Apocalypse with the team you had now, but you were terrified that it wouldn't be enough. This Erik wasn't in any shape to fight Apocalypse, but you hoped that you knew an Erik who could. If you missed the mark on this, then Logan might be lost to you forever.

You couldn't let that happen.

You turned to face Cable, knowing that you had already made up your mind. "I need a favor," you told him, knowing that if he refused, you would have nothing else. "I need you to contact someone from my universe. Magik," you added when Cable didn't reply, simply staring at you with an unnerving intensity. "Tell her that Y/N needs her. And to bring Erik, <i>my</i> Erik, with her. He stopped Apocalypse once, he can do it again."

"And Jean?" Cable suggested, raising an eyebrow at you in question. “It sounds like she also had a hand in destroying Apocalypse.”

"Leave her homewrecking ass at home," Wade scoffed, shaking his head. "We'll do this without her, right?" Wade asked, bumping his shoulder companionably into yours.

You did your best to keep the wince off your face, both from Wade's words and the pain that shot through your side.

"Tell Magik to bring anyone willing to help," you conceded, knowing there was no way in hell Jean would care enough to get herself mixed up with Apocalypse a second time. You never wanted to see her again and you were sure the feeling was mutual.

With any luck, it would just be Illyana and Erik, and you hoped that was all you needed. Illyana was incredibly powerful in her own right, and you knew that if you got the chance, you would ask her to get Logan away from Apocalypse, since she could simply grab him and teleport him away. Multiversal travel, while potentially dangerous, might just be the answer you needed to save Logan.

Cable finally dipped his head in a nod. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said before stepping back, giving himself enough space to consider the device strapped to his wrist. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back," he shot at Wade, ignoring Wade's indignant snort, before he disappeared.

"Well, this just got anticlimactic," Wade muttered, nudging you towards the only free armchair. You shot him a grateful look as you dropped down into it, careful not to bend your torso too much.

Wade left you with a pat on the shoulder, moving over towards Piotr. Erik and Charles were locked in a heated discussion and Remy seemed content to stand with his back to the wall, observing everyone as if he thought someone might attack at any moment. Alex had already stormed out of the room, but you knew he would come back. He wasn’t going to pass up any opportunity that might save his brother.

"You mentioned Sinister," Erik's daughter pointed out, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned to look at her, seeing that she was already watching you with interest. "I did," you confirmed, wondering why she had latched onto that.

"We knew him," she admitted, with a wry twist of her lips. "He experimented on my brother and me." She brought her hands up, palms facing each other, before slowly pulling them apart, a red glowing ball of energy appearing between them. She let it dance between her fingers for a moment before she waved it away. "Our father found us in a lab and took us away."

"The Maximoff twins," you remembered, thinking of Nathaniel listing his greatest experiments when he had you strapped to a lab table.

"Wanda," she introduced, gifting you a small smile. "I take it you were acquainted with him as well?"

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. "You could say that. He was a fucking psycho."

"And he's dead? Truly?" Wanda insisted, leaning over in her chair to consider you.

"Killed him myself," you assured her, meeting her relieved grin with one of your own.

"Good," Pietro piped up, sporting a pleased expression. "That fucker was sadistic."

Your laugh was cut off by Cable reappearing in the room.

You stood, disregarding the twinge of pain, as you faced him. "Well? Did you find her?"

"He found me," a voice called from across the room. You turned to see Illyana standing there, her portal still open behind her. "And I brought company."

Erik stepped through the portal next. His expression was grave, and you knew he had been clued in on Apocalypse's emergence in this universe. He spared a brief glance for Charles and the other Erik, who were both watching him in fascination and wariness respectively, before he approached you. He drew you into a hug, gentling his touch when you went stiff in his arms.

"So, Apocalypse is back and your brute has been marked for Death," he murmured, leaning back to get a better look at you. "And you're injured. I don't know why I ever let you come back here."

"Because I'm happier here," you reminded him, "most of the time. I just need to get Logan back," you added, knowing that you weren't going to be able to stop until you were dead, or Logan was by your side again.

Erik frowned at that, and he grew tense. "Listen, I need to warn you--"

Erik's words were cut off when the portal rippled and a woman walked into the room. She was wearing a yellow and green suit with a brown leather jacket. Her hands were covered with yellow gloves and there was a black 'X' emblazoned on the chest of her suit. But the most distinctive part of her appearance was the white strands of hair that framed her face, a shocking contrast from her natural brown hair color.

"Rogue?" You wondered, shooting Erik a questioning look. "You had to warn me about Rogue? We weren't exactly friends, but it's not like I hated her either. She'll be a good addition to the team," you mused, already thinking of ways she might be useful in the upcoming fight with Apocalypse.

"No, not Rogue," Erik allowed with a wince and you suddenly knew why he had tried to alert you about what was about to happen. "Cable said you were looking for volunteers and I don't know why, but they both were adamant about joining us."

You wished Magik had closed the portal after Rogue, but you knew she was keeping it open for a reason. You had been stupid, naive, to think that it would be so easy. You had never once been fully granted a wish without multiple strings attached and as the air around the portal rippled, signaling another newcomer, you knew your plan was about to come crashing down around you.

You felt your breath leave you all in a rush when Jean stepped through the portal. She was no longer pregnant, and she had her shoulders squared, as if ready for a fight. You hoped, prayed, that the portal would seal itself, but it allowed one more person through.

The other Logan stepped into the room, coming to a halt at Jean's side. Magik closed the portal, sealing them off from their universe and effectively trapping them in yours. You felt yourself freeze, as if trying to evade a predator's sight, but both of their gazes unerringly found you. Jean looked nearly disinterested, but the other Logan's eyes flashed with something you didn't want to name.

"Damn," Wade sighed before he whistled, shooting you a disbelieving look over his shoulder. "Now that's a cliffhanger." Author's Note: So, there's a very real chance that this fic is going to end after this current arc. I'm not sure if that means the sixth one will be the last or if there will be an epilogue, but I'm sure this will have a sequel eventually, so I might nix the epilogue idea since it would be pretty final for this 'verse. That being said, I am working on mini fics based on the idea that the-gentle-spirit had with each Logan having their own Y/N. I'm hoping to post the first one (Old Man Logan) for my actual birthday later this month. I also have a Wade/Reader/Logan fic planned and I'm excited about that one. If you would like to be tagged in the sixth (most likely final chapter), let me know! If you want to be tagged in all my future Logan fics, let me know! I've got ideas, y'all, so this won't be the last time y'all see me posting about Logan. I think I just need a break from this 'verse since reader engagement has waned a lot since the first couple chapters. That being said, thank you to everyone who has shown this love and left me all types of amazing support and feedback. Y'all have really kept me going. Taglist: @wonderfrost @mrsyixingunicorn10 @blackbleedingrose @arrozyfrijoles23 @elianamarie-blog

@sarahskywalker-amidala @whiskytoast @shizzybarnaclee @zbeez-outlet @halepack2011

@facelessfionna @i-left-my-cat-on-the-stove @whyam1heree @serendippindots @janilovecookies

@4ria790 @lollipopsandstuff @jtthompson @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth @the-gentle-spirit

@hazel2928 @gothicknightz @mkay33 @bibblesdiscordkitten @albiofay

@songwizard // @kailera // @zeeader // @amandarobertsboyce // @shilohh28

@astudyoftimeywimeystuff // @whatthefawk-isthis // @loonalockley // @newromantics98 // @cherrypieyourface

@gigabitemyass // @yyhdl // @lunaticgurly // @starbuni // @quinnlyyy

@i-wear-wet-socks313 // @itsspiderluv // @slightlymediocree // (I just checked my tag list form, sorry y'all)

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #deadpool #deadpool 3 #wade wilson #logan howlett imagine #imagine #reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #wolverine imagine #logan x reader #my fic #when i'm with you i'm home 'verse

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broidobe · 2 days ago

Text

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔰

requested! this is a sequel to "the silence between us" so please read that first!

⁎⁺˳✧༚the silence between us

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

months had passed since that morning at the diner, but the weight of those final words lingered, heavy and unrelenting. life didn’t stop, though. the world outside moved on, indifferent to the pieces of your heart that axl’s temper had shattered. you’d left the city, settling in a quieter place where the nights didn’t hum with the sound of his voice echoing from crowded venues.

but even here, in this borrowed stillness, memories of him found you. it was in the songs on the radio, in the way the rain drummed against the roof, in the dreams that never quite faded upon waking. axl’s face was a ghost haunting the spaces between the mundane moments of your days.

you told yourself you were healing. maybe you even believed it sometimes.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

axl’s world had changed, too. the band was busier than ever, their shows selling out night after night. but fame didn’t erase the ache of loss. if anything, it amplified it. he buried himself in the music, in late-night sessions with his guitar, in lyrics scrawled on napkins and crumpled pieces of paper.

even so, he felt you everywhere. in the crowd’s faces when they screamed his name. in the empty hotel rooms after every show. in the way his bandmates stopped asking about you but still cast him worried glances when he’d retreat into himself. axl rose was larger than life to the world, but in the quiet of his own mind, he was just a man with too many regrets.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

it happened by accident, as these things often do. you hadn’t meant to be at the same venue where axl’s band was playing. a friend had dragged you to see the opening act, swearing up and down that they were the next big thing. you’d tried to leave before the main set, but the crush of the crowd had kept you pinned in place.

and then he was there. axl, stepping onto the stage, larger than life and painfully familiar. your breath caught as the spotlight hit him, and for a moment, you thought he saw you. but his eyes swept over the crowd, distant and unreadable.

you tried to leave again, but your feet wouldn’t move. his voice filled the room, raw and unyielding, and it was like no time had passed at all. the songs were the same—fierce, unapologetic—but there was something else now, a sadness woven through the notes. it was unmistakable, and it felt like he was bleeding out every unspoken word between you with each verse.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

against your better judgment, you waited outside the venue. the night air was cold, biting through your jacket, but you couldn’t leave. not yet.

when axl finally emerged, flanked by security, his eyes found yours instantly. he stopped, his expression shifting from shock to something softer, something fragile.

he waved off his entourage and walked toward you, his steps hesitant. “you’re here,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“so are you,” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

he laughed, a short, humorless sound. “i didn’t think i’d see you again.”

“neither did i.”

you stood there, the silence between you filled with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. finally, axl spoke.

“i’ve… i’ve been trying to be better. i don’t know if i’ll ever be good enough, but i had to tell you.”

tears pricked at your eyes again, but you blinked them away. “i know you’re trying, axl. but we… we can’t go back to what we were.”

his face fell, but he nodded. “i know. i just… i needed you to know i’m sorry.”

“i know,” you said softly. “and maybe someday, we’ll find our way back to something. but for now… take care of yourself, okay?”

he smiled faintly, the sadness in his eyes still there but tempered by acceptance. “you too.”

as you walked away, you felt lighter somehow. the pain wasn’t gone, but it was quieter now, like a wound finally beginning to heal.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you didn’t turn back, but for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to smile. life would go on, and so would you both—separately, but with the echoes of what you’d shared lingering in the spaces between your steps.

#axl rose #angst #axl rose angst #axl gnr #axl rose x reader #guns and roses #gnr #guns n roses #broidobe

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after-witch · 2 years ago

Text

That Great Triumphal Arch [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

Title: That Great Triumphal Arch [Yandere Sephiroth x Reader]

Synopsis: Sephiroth took you. And now all you know is pain. FF7R-verse.

Word count: 2096

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, physical abuse and violence, noncon and sexual abuse, unwanted pregnancy for reader

You’ve been hurt before. You’re not some dainty thing, kept in a tower all your life. You knew the streets. There were arms broken in alley tussles, noses bloodied through a drunken bar fight, and lately--far more lately--cuts from blades and the edges of Turk bullets and all those aching wounds that come with willingly signing up for a fight far bigger than yourself. You were under no illusions, when you joined with Cloud, what might lie ahead.

Though perhaps, being kidnapped by Sephiroth was not in your visions for the Could Happen in the Future. Getting hurt, yes. Being wrapped up in some insane plot to save the world, sure.

Being targeted by Sephiroth? Not so much.

Yet it happened. It happened so fast that if you were asked to recall the specific details, you couldn’t say. You remember the blow to your stomach, the blow to your head. You remember looking up and seeing Sephiroth staring down at you, a smile on his face, the grayness of your vision blurring with the glimmering silver of his hair. You remember, or at least you hope it’s a memory and not just something you imagined, hearing Tifa shout out something, hearing the clash of blades.

But then there was nothing but grayness and fog and an awful, dreamless sleep.

When you woke up, he was there.

Smiling.

Speaking words that felt like black tar in your ear. How you were his. How you were a gift. How you were meant to be there.

And he hurt you.

So, so much.

He hasn’t stopped.

The pain is relentless, fresh, raw. You can’t get used to it, not like you might eventually get used to the ache from a broken rib from a single ill-timed bar brawl. It’s ever-changing, day by day.

Maybe that is why it’s taken you out so completely over the past few days (and just how long has he had you, in all?); got you weak and speechless, barely able to breathe much less think much less fight back much less--

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

The voice from above you is grating to your ears, like gravel being rubbed right into your bleeding, sore kneecaps. You’ve heard that damned voice so often lately, and sometimes you swear--you swear--that his lips aren’t moving when he speaks.

But why is he above you, again? You remember him hitting you this morning, you remember the kick that broke your ribs. You remember spitting in his face. And then, quite clearly, you remember the tip of his sword puncturing right through your wrist, leaving an almost disgustingly clean wound behind.

That was the last clear memory before all this.

So why is he above you, hair almost shimmering, eyes bright and piercing--what is that sensation, that awful, awful sensation? Like being pierced from the inside out.

“Beautiful… when you’re bleeding for me.” His voice is just a little breathy. A practiced sound, you think, because he doesn’t break so much as a sweat when he spends hours hurting you. It’s not like sex was going to knock the wind out of him, like his boot connecting solidly with your stomach once or twice or umpteen times did to you so readily.

Unwillingly, reality finally comes back to you, sore and sticky and painful, with his gloved hand tapping at your cheek; with the realization that he’s inside you, again, thick and intruding and insistent. It’s like a drum beat in your lower body, a rhythm you’ve come to understand after all this time--and it makes you feel sick, still, no matter how familiar it’s become.

A gloved thumb runs along your lower lip, catching on a scab healing over.

“Everything you do is for me… bleeding… breathing… your very existence.” There’s a sticky coolness to his voice that makes you want to peel your skin off even more than the ever-present sensation of his body above yours.

His voice continues, no matter how much you wish it would not.

“When will you come to accept that?”

You ignore the content of his words (you so often do, when you can get away with it) and merely squint your eyes, desperate to make sense of things despite your aching body. But you still can’t tell.

Did his lips move… or not?

His thumb presses down on the scab. And it’s such a small pain, really, compared to what you’ve been through. But you groan nonetheless, and squeeze your eyes shut to block out the stinging sensation spreading across your mouth.

“Answer me, and I may grant you mercy.”

You laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. A hoarse stuttering sound that wheezes out of your used and abused chest. In response, he thrusts harder, and your fingers curl on the sheets underneath you, desperate to gain purchase.

Above you (and inside you)-- there are signs that he is human, that he is not some infallible granite creature. Sweat on his naked chest. The movement of his hair, tickling your skin, as he begins to thrust quickly enough to signify his end.

A soft, low sound as he pushes inside you so deeply that it hurts, and then warmth--a burning warmth that shouldn’t feel like it does, stinging and slick. Is it because he’s fucked you so often, creating tears? Or is there something wrong with him, to make his seed more unpleasant? Or--the thought comes, unbidden, awful--something wrong with you?

His gloved hand taps your cheek again. It’s like being chided by a friend for dropping off in the middle of a conversation, but nowhere near as lighthearted.

“Where did you go, I wonder?”

You can’t answer him right away. Not without sacrificing dignity. So you keep your mouth shut and wait until your breath isn’t coming in so hard, and your heart rate has regained some sense of normalcy.

You look straight at him, at the eyes that seem to glow from within now, something awful inside them. You wait until he’s raised an eyebrow, just a little, a sign that he’s expecting you to speak.

And you do.

“I’ll never accept whatever delusion you’ve created about me.”

Yes, your voice is tired and hardly filled with the bravado you might have spoken with before he took you. But at least you got the words out. At least you know you spoke them with your own damn mouth.

His thumb returns to trailing gently on your lips. Almost soft, almost kind.

“But you’ve already accepted so much…”

You don’t ask what he means, exactly.

Later on, you’ll wish you had.

Your head lolls side to side. The pillow underneath, damp with your sweat, does nothing to ease your discomfort or the gnawing ache inside your chest.

“Do you really think they’ll come for you?”

Yes, you want to say. They are my friends. We would never give up on one another. But you press your lips tight.

“Don’t you know how long it’s been? How far they’ve traveled? They haven’t even tried to retrieve you.”

He’s lying. They would never just give you up, let you stay in his clutches. If they traveled, it was out of necessity, to find help or create a plan or get a better vantage point. Yes, that would be it. He’s… lying. Isn’t he?

“They’re concerned with far greater things than you, aren’t they? Do you think they’ll choose you over this world’s pretended sanctity?”

Yes, you want to say. Yes, yes, yes! But even you can’t pretend that wouldn’t be a bold, ridiculous lie. One life--or the world? Even if it was you… Even if it meant you were trapped here, with Sephiroth.

His voice continues to drip honeyed poison straight into your ears--straight into your mind. Soft whispers in the dark, over and over, reminding you, taunting you, telling you things that you must surely admit (deep, deep, deep down) are likely the truth.

But he can’t be doing this to you. It’s impossible. Because he’s not speaking. You’re staring right at him, right at his detestable face, a face you could now describe with uncanny certainty… and his lips are not moving.

You weren’t sure, before; you’d wondered at the way his whispers seemed to squirm right into your ears, no matter how far away he was or how fuzzy your vision got from pain.

You let out a confused groan that covers up whatever vile thing he blows into your ear next, though it doesn’t stop the awful sensation that comes with hearing him inside your skull.

“I don’t understand.” You practically moan the words out, like a sick child on a feverbed. The damp sheets and your clenching fingers, rubbing the sheets raw, are much the same. “How are you doing this?”

“Oh, darling.” He says--but doesn’t say--as his hand skims down your chest and rests on your stomach. The feel of the leather is cold and harsh, like a ragged seam dragging down your skin. “Don’t you know?”

You don’t know. You don’t know what he means, or why he’s doing this, or how the fuck he’s talking inside your head.

His hand doesn’t move, exactly, but presses down in a remarkably gentle gesture.

“Don’t you know what I’ve put inside you?”

There’s a terrible, long moment where the world drops out from underneath you. And then you’re back above with no air in your lungs, because you’ve screamed--you didn’t even know it.

He stares down at you with a patient smile until your breathing comes back, ragged and uneven.

“You’re lying.” Hot tears prick at your eyes, because you’re not stupid and you know what he means now, and you know that it’s the awful truth. You can deny a lot of things (and have done so at every opportunity) but this? This was real. It was sick and real.

“I never lie to you,” he says, lips still unmoving.

You know. You know. The calmness in his tone terrifies you more than any of his sweet poisons, than any of his bruising grips or swift strikes to your vulnerable body.

“It’s remarkable, what her cells can do. And you took to them so quickly.” His smile has an almost edge of ecstasy to it that turns your insides sour. “It’s destiny. Even you must admit that.”

You think the word “no” comes out, but you can’t be sure you actually said it. Maybe you’re talking without opening your mouth now, too. Maybe you’re losing it, like frayed edges of an old blanket, just waiting to be pulled out.

Sephiroth, if he notices your growing inner hysteria, chooses to ignore it. Instead, he leans down, taking a moment to rest his cheek against yours. He inhales softly through his nose.

“I thought you were at your most beautiful before, but this?” The hand on your stomach trails up until he’s grasping your chin, keeping you in place. “This might be preferable…”

“Stop.” The words come out soft and perhaps pitiable to anyone but the man above you.

He doesn’t even acknowledge them. Maybe you didn’t say them at all.

There’s something determined in his eyes now, as he stares down at you. You’re almost afraid to find out what it is.

“Mother has given me two gifts,” he says, softly, with reverence. “And I now will prove myself all the more worthy to her.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. It could be chaste, if anything Sephiroth ever did might ever be called that. The kiss tastes of his breath and your own tangy blood.

This time, when he speaks, his lips move--cruel and hot against your own.

“Do you think Cloud will be able to look you in the eye, once he knows what’s inside you?”

Hot tears slide down your cheeks and join the sweat already dampening the pillowcase.

His hand returns to your belly, cupping the skin there. There is warmth--he’s removed his gloves now--and the sensation makes you shudder.

“Do you think you can belong to anyone but me now?”

This time, his lips don’t move.

#yandere sephiroth #yandere final fantasy 7 #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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wood-white-writer · 1 year ago

Text

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun.

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day.

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you.

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain.

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?”

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are.

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp.

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher.

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek.

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face.

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it?

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?”

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.”

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay.

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you.

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response.

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening.

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence.

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day.

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you.

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying.

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin.

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges.

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time.

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back.

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough.

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound.

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns.

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements.

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command.

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight.

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep.

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down.

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable.

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

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aziraphales-library · 7 months ago

Note

Hi there everyone! Thank you so much for everything that you do~

I was wondering if you could please recommend some fics that have absolutely beautiful prose? I couldn't find a tag for it but similar to A portrait in synesthesia or The Injury Of Finally Knowing You (unpack_my_heart_with_words).

Thank you and hope you're all having a lovely day❤

Here are some fics from my bookmarks that I have tagged "beautiful"...

Strawberry Wine by GaryOldman (NR)

Human AU Ineffable Husbands one shot. "You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you." - Richard Siken

Empty and Desolate, The Air by asparkofgoodness (M)

Ever a guardian, Aziraphale kept watch. Sliver-shafts of moonlight sliced ribbons across Crowley’s face. The emptiness of it unnerved the angel. Even in slumber, his expressive face had always told stories. Syllables shifted in the corners of his mouth; sentences found themselves punctuated with the movement of an eyebrow. Now, only still silence, even in sleep. Heavenly forces decide the best way to get their once-dutiful soldier back is to slaughter his only real reason for rebellion. Their attempt leaves Crowley wounded and voiceless. Aziraphale tries his best to heal him and accept the soundlessness of this new verse of their song.

You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind) by BlackUnicorn (G)

Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself. And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn. *** Sometimes healing and moving on is the hardest part.

Exit Wounds by racketghost (T)

“At least they were together for a time,” Crowley says, staring at the lit end of his cigarette, “maybe that’s enough.” Part 1 of Strange Moons series (G-E)

l’esprit de l’escalier by seekwill (M)

l’esprit de l’escalier: that feeling you get when you leave a conversation and think of all the things you should have said With his books and his clothes and other curiosities he’d collected since beginning his time in London, Aziraphale considered himself a curator of beautiful things. He found beauty in people too, in the way they moved and spoke and laughed. This man, who was very nearly past him now, almost gone, shook him. He couldn’t understand why. There was an impulse to reach out, to wrap his blunt fingers around the man’s skinny wrist on his handlebars, say “Hello there, might you have a moment to explore why I’ve fallen in love with you just now?” An adaptation of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's 2001 film Amélie, as part of the GO Romantic Comedy Event

Not a Human AU by maniacalmole (G)

Aziraphale knows Crowley has a crush and doesn't know what to do about it. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he considered himself ‘alive’ or not. What would he do if he had to live a life? We may not be people, Crowley thought. But I do—I do want.

And the two you mentioned...

The Injury Of Finally Knowing You by unpack_my_heart_with_words (T)

Once in heaven, the angels do what they always do— a kindness. The only blessing is that without his memories, Aziraphale has no idea what he has lost. It will end, as it began, in a garden.

A Portrait in Synesthesia by DiminishingReturns (M)

In the innocent time before the Fall complicated everything, one shy, studious chronicler and one curious, chaotic starmaker fell in love. They were left with no memory of each other, but the soul remembers what the mind forgets, and their experiences together left them with a unique kind of synesthesia— the emotional state, mannerisms, and voice of one having a paired physical response (smell, taste, or color) in the other. Follow Aziraphale and Crowley from the pre-Fall times to the Apocalypse as these heightened earthly senses continually pull them back together. At first, they meet tentatively under Halley’s Comet, the last thing Crowley created as a starmaker and an excuse to keep returning to one another’s orbit. But over the millennia, their relationship deepens and they find new reasons to seek each other’s company.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #prose #beautiful #mod d

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deadbydangit · 9 months ago

Note

Was wondering if you could do a part two on an injured reader prompt with Huntress, Deathslinger, and Trickster.

Thank you in advance!

I believe I can. Please enjoy.

With an injured reader: Huntress, Deathslinger, Trickster

Huntress

Anna is used to getting hurt.

She's also used to taking care of herself.

So when you get hurt, she won't see it as a big deal unless you're seriously injured.

Even then, to her a serious injury might not seem like that big a deal.

You have to remember how she was raised.

To her, a broken arm might just be something she brushes off.

It's not that she doesn't care.

She just doesn't understand it.

Once you express and tell her how much pain you're in, then she'll understand the situation a bit more.

You might think she's not good at treating wounds, however, it's actually the opposite.

Well she might be a bit rough about it, she knows how to treat wounds properly.

Although modern medicine is something lost to her, naturalistic healing is something she's very well versed in.

Again, that's just how she was raised and how she took care of herself.

If it's a serious injury, she'll be patching you up and giving you naturalistic cures.

Even if you don't like it.

She knows which plants have medicinal properties and how to use them.

And, yes, she knows they taste bad. But you're going to eat them if you know what's good for you.

Either you have them crushed up in a soup, or she shoves them down your throat.

I'd pick the first option if I were you.

Although gentle might not be a word in her vocabulary, she'll certainly try for you.

She'll even try and spoil you while you're hurt.

Is she good at it?

No.

But she sincerely making an effort.

She might try and carry you around or spoon feed you like a baby.

Yes, she's a little rough around the edges, but you know she's trying.

And she wouldn't do it for anybody else.

Deathslinger

This man's an inventor, not a doctor.

So, safe to say he isn't exactly the best help when it comes to injuries.

Heck, he fixed his own injuries with inventions.

And look how they turned out.

His other injuries?

Caleb ignores them.

Just take a good look at his jaw.

However, he knows an injured person when he sees one.

And he knows you're in pain.

He can't bear to see that.

He might not be the greatest at caring for others, but for you, he's going to try his damnest.

However, he's smart enough to know that he can't patch you up himself.

He knows that will cause more damage than do any good.

Therefore, he'll be searching high and low for the next best person.

"I know damned well I'm no doctor. But that Doctor fellow ain't no doctor either."

He's smart enough to know not to send you to Herman.

He figured Sally is the next best person.

While he doesn't know what to do, he'll be by your side the entire time.

If you need to squeeze his hand, he'll let you do that too.

He's also very good at listening and following post care instructions.

He'll make sure you take your medicine, or we bandage your wounds.

And if that means you can't drink any alcohol for the next few days?

He'll make sure you follow through with it.

He'll even go sober with you.

That's how much he cares for you and loves you.

Trickster

Ji-Woon isn't really good at taking care of others.

Himself?

Sure.

Others?

Not at all.

So you're going to have to be really hurt for him to notice.

It's not that he doesn't care, He's Just Not That observant of others and how others feel.

But once he realizes you're hurt, he's going to freak out a little bit.

God forbid there's any blood.

He loves to see other people bleed and suffer when he's the one inflicting the pain.

You?

He's panicking.

Even worse than you might be.

And if he gets any of your blood on him?

You'll mistake the screaming for that of a little girl.

The first step is getting him to calm down.

After that, you're going to have to take charge and tell him where and what to bring you.

Soon, he'll be doing a little bit better considering someone is giving him directions.

After the initial care is done, you'll still be on your own to an extent.

He isn't good about reminding you to take your medicine if you need to take medicine, or rewrapping wounds.

And if you need anything, you'll have to be extremely specific about it or he'll get you something completely wrong.

However, he is great moral and emotional support.

He'll sit by you for hours, just checking in on you.

Heck, he'll even sing you a lullaby if it helps you fall asleep.

Sure, this isn't his forte.

But it's evident he's making an effort. And he wouldn't do that for anybody else.

#dbd imagines #dbd ask blog #dbd x reader #dbd killer #dbd trickster #dbd deathslinger #dbd huntress

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vendetta-if · 1 year ago

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With recent superhero movies like The Flash and Across the Spider-verse dealing with things like time travel and alternate univierses. I'm curious about what would happen if similar happened and the MC wound up encountering Viktor from the Dead Man Walking AU?

Oooh that's angsty 😰 It would be filled with a tearful and heartfelt reunion. For those who haven't read it, I have made the Dead Man Walking AU side story public a while back and you can read it here (Part 1) and here (Part 2). Also, I've compiled a list of all the publicly available side stories here 😀

Viktor from the Dead Man Walking AU is really a husk of the man he once was. He has become someone who's very bitter and cynical, and he won't stop at anything to make those who took his child away from him pay in the worst way possible. The only reason he's still alive is out of pure spite; there's no way he's going to die as long as the killer is still alive.

So, yeah MC would be in for a bit of a surprise to see just how different their dad is from the one they know and remember. But Viktor would be even more surprised to see his kid all grown up now. He would definitely break down and cry while hugging MC tightly, not wanting to let go.

MC would tell him everything that has been going on in their life and for the first time in years, Viktor genuinely smiles--even though it's a wistful one. At least, he feels something other than the numbing pain, hatred, and anger. Rather than telling MC what he has been up to all these years, he would rather ask more about MC and what they like and stuff, whether they still love the same ice-cream flavour, and he would carve all those little details all his heart.

Funnily enough, meeting Viktor would end up being a good thing overall for MC and Luka and Grandpa from the current Vendetta universe. Hypocritically, Viktor would make the three of them promise to stop their foolish endeavour to avenge him, saying he never wanted or expected it from them. He would tell them to live their lives to the fullest and he would also make sure Luka knows that he's not at fault at all.

Basically, he would tie up all emotional loose ends that his alternate self had tragically left, and yes, even with Grandpa as well. As much as they had beef, they still care for each other. I think that will help MC, Luka, and Grandpa heal once Viktor returns to his own universe.

But for Viktor, once he returns to his own universe, that encounter just makes him sadder, angrier, and more spiteful. How could one not when he has seen what he could've had, what could've been? While MC and Luka can continue with their lives, for Viktor, MC was his future and everything... There is no moving on for him, only more burning desire to avenge his kid. And once he somehow manages that... Honestly, he has not expected to go that far.

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ragnarokhound · 5 months ago

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can vamp Tim give Jason a blood transfusion if needed? 🤔

in your vamp/wer verse I mean

Oh, that's an interesting question! In my vampire!Tim/werewolf!Jason verse and the accompanying fic, Tim drinks almost exclusively off of Jason because a) Jason loves it and b) Tim would near-starve himself otherwise :') (and he kind of does anyway, Jason has to bully him into feeding). So the only blood inside Tim at any given moment is usually Jason's original blood anyway. But can Tim give that blood back in an emergency?

tldr: yes, under certain conditions. lol

My reply was getting long because this kind of speculating is my favorite game to play, so if you're curious about what those conditions are and how I reached that conclusion, more details are under the cut:

In this verse, Jason is the kind of werewolf who doesn't have a lot of control/retained personality when he shifts, but he DOES have a lot of meta powers. (As a treat for becoming a mindless, violent monster lol ur welcome Jay)

One of those powers includes rapid healing ala deadpool/wolverine (unless the wound is inflicted by silver, ancestral or otherwise) so it would be remarkably difficult for Jason to reach the point where he even needs a blood transfusion. But let's consider that worst case scenario, in which Jason has suffered enough silver-inflicted wounds that his healing factor breaks and he needs blood, yesterday. Wuh oh.

Tim is the #1 candidate to consider for a Jason blood transfusion because that's his gamer fuel of choice - but for Tim to be a viable donor, it would depend on the length of time it's been since Tim drank from Jason, and how much. They're on a time limit because Tim's body doesn't replenish blood on its own, he has to steal it.

Brace yourself for the suspect use of rough science facts in the middle of supernatural fantasy speculation about vampire/werewolf AUs, lmao

So supposing Jason has about 12 pints/5.7 L of blood in total, he could lose maybe 5 pints/2.4 L of blood at a time without dying (and that's a high estimate, he'd start going into shock way before that lmao), AND it would take him weeks to restore that blood - if he were human.

Luckily for Tim, he can steal quite a bit from Jason without killing him because of the handy dandy werewolf healing factor that restores Jason's blood almost as fast as Tim's dusty ass can absorb it. (Tim's veins @ Jason's blood: 𝔪𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔷𝔢 𝔪𝔢). Unluckily for Tim (and Jason), Tim has about a zillion hangups over drinking that much all at once. Aw.

A brief google search tells me that in an average human body, red blood cells live about 120 days. For simplicity, we'll say that Tim being a vampire and having weird vampire powers counteracts Jason being a werewolf and his blood having weird werewolf properties - so when Tim is full (and I mean full) of Jason's blood, he's good for somewhere just under that 120 days.

The blood isn't immediately starving in Tim's stupid vampire body because it's strong, sexy werewolf blood; it stays hydrated for a million years and could thrive like a dandelion in a crack in the sidewalk, let alone a perfectly good, albeit abandoned, vascular system. (Jason's blood @ Tim's veins: 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒)

That being said, Tim starts getting very hungry near the end of that time frame as the blood is used/dies, and that time frame shrinks every time he bleeds (which is often, RIP Tim). But he'd still have a solid month or so of healthy, viable Jason blood pumping through his undead ticker. (unless Tim gets REALLY beat up lol, which is not unlikely OTL)

SO all this to say: can Tim give it back?

I would say yes, IF Tim has fed recently, and he's fed A LOT. Otherwise, he just straight up might not have the blood to give anymore because his stupid husk of a body already used it all.

If he tried to give Jason blood around the time he's getting hungry again, when Jason's blood is on it's last legs after sustaining an active vampire without reinforcements for weeks to months, it wouldn't be as effective as a blood transfusion from someone who can make their own blood and therefore has a fresher supply.

tldr (again lol); Tim could become a blood donor for Jason, but only once he's regularly letting himself drink from Jason, and drinking until he's full.

#this is also how i feel in general about how vampires with magical blood solutions should work #like yeah you don't have to kill anymore because i'll sustain you and neither of us will die because my magic blood is so strong and sexy #but also if i need that back then the stars have to be in position #and you DO still need to take from me with regularity #you DO still need quarterly if not monthly blood donations to live. you are still going to feel like a burden #oh the chronic disease of it all #fjdlasfjs ANYWAY I took a zillion years to answer that question but I love speculating about the how and why so lol ty for the opportunity #i love digging into worldbuilding and what exactly the magical bullshit is capable of solving and defining the rules #jaytim #not!fic #asked and answered #deepwithintheabyss #werewolf jason #vampire tim

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dcdreamblog · 19 days ago

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Oh, man. I just realized rereading your posts. We've got one Knight of the Round Table, and one reincarnation of a Knight of the Round Table hanging around these days. To think before they showed up people were leaning towards Camelot being a myth. Have the Shining Knight or Hawkman ever stated if they believe the legend of Arthur, where he'd return in the time of Britain's greatest need?

I should note one thing, if only for my own academic pedantry. Only Sir Justin (AKA the Shining Knight) was an actual Knight of the Round table. Brian Kent AKA the Silent Knight wasn't most likely because no one was able to confirm his identity. Which is the sort of thing you'd want to know if you were going to invite someone to hang around the king everyday. Besides the fact, Kent was too attached to the lands in and around his family's fiefdom to spend time in Camelot which was at least a day's ride away.

Now, onto your question.

(Oil Painting of Arthur Pendragon, AKA King Arthur. Discovered in the ruins of Camelot with the help of the Shining Knight's descriptions)

For those not versed in English mythology/history. Arthur Pendragon was the king of Camelot, a post Roman kingdom that controlled most of Britain in around the 6th century AD. Camelot itself was located near modern day Caerleon in southern Wales.

Near the end of Arthur's life a series of events that would take far too long to get into resulted in Camelot's fall where Arthur himself was greatly wounded. Taken by the fae folk of Avalon to be healed where he would eventually return in Britain's hour of greatest need.

Both heroes have taken wildly different stances on this. In that one of them has a stance on it at all.

Shining Knight has given plenty of talks in the modern day about his time in Camelot. It's been his main preoccupation since the return of the Seven Soldiers to the modern day. As you can imagine every British scholar worth their salt wants to pick his brain. So he's been asked this question more than once.

His philosophy on it seems to be that while he takes some comfort in the idea, he is more readily comforted by the home grown heroic tradition of the modern day UK, saying that more focus and praise should be directed toward the likes of Godiva, The Hood, Knight and Square and the like rather than pining backwards towards an old fashioned monarch who was, in Sir Justin's own words "A good man but not without his feet of clay and whose past conceptions would grate against the present even stronger than my own."

Sir Justin has made it very clear that he is uncomfortable with the way Arthurian iconography is leveraged by conservative or fascist elements in modern British society and has bid the British people to look forward into a better future rather than seeking to snatch an imperfect past.

Carter Hall AKA Hawkman I is, as always, tight lipped about his past lives calling his memories "A private matter." Saying his is "Uninterested in becoming a living archeological exhibit." And directing all such questions toward Sir Justin anyway calling him "More loyal to those ideals now than I was at the time and certainly have been after 3 dozen lifetimes since."

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wifehalo · 5 months ago

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what if shen jiu came to sv-verse, like luo bingge had?

there is an accompanying drabble underneath. cw: mentions of wounds.

Yue Qingyuan is on his way to go meet with Liu Qingge to discuss something related to a mission when he spots him.

Across the pathway, staring up at Qing Jing Peak, is a rather disheveled Shen Qingqiu.

His hair is unbound, whipping about in the harsh wind. His robes seem… different from what he prefers now. When his sleeves lift due to the breeze, he spots scars and bruises littering the skin exposed by the movement. When his hair blows to a side, torn earlobes reveal themselves.

It's this sight that finally causes Yue Qingyuan to startle and immediately start making his way towards the man.

How could he have gotten hurt this way? That husband of his, half-demon or not, would never let anything even scratch him. Nor would he let his beloved come out in such a state.

"Shidi, what are those wounds? Where is…"

When he starts speaking, the man turns around. Yue Qingyuan's voice dies in his throat, words vaporizing into nothing.

Shen Qingqiu is in terrible shape. Scars and bruises litter his skin, his throat has bruises that indicate strangling, and most shockingly: his right eye has terrible, thick scarring all around it.

"Oh?" says Shen Qingqiu.

His eyes immediately shift when he recognises who it is standing before him. Venom that Yue Qingyuan hasn't seen in years seeps into his eyes. A sharp smile makes any softness on his face vanish. Yue Qingyuan feels as if he's been plunged into icy waters.

"... So it's A-Jiu–"

"Do not call me that!" Snaps the man immediately, voice cutting through the cold wind and spearing Yue Qingyuan where he stood. "Do not speak to me. Go away, leave."

"But… Qingqiu, how are you… what happened?"

"Like I'd ever tell the likes of you. You seem to be doing rather well. I was shown how this world was doing. How nice. How sweet. How sickening."

Yue Qingyuan can't even find it in him to call his name. Shen Qingqiu laughs, its cruel undercurrent cutting Yue Qingyuan's heart into thousands of pieces. Shen Qingqiu hugs himself against the bite of the wind. He looks so… small. His clothes pool around his body, his wrists are bony. What exactly had happened?

Shen Qingqiu looks up again, eyes raging infernos. "It's amazing, really. Zhangmen-shixiong, you wasted no time moving on after I died. Did you even recognise that 'I' had changed? Or were you so happy that I became nice and kind, that I had turned over a new leaf, that you didn't care if it wasn't me anymore? How nice for you. How very nice."

"Qingqiu, that isn't –" Yue Qingyuan wants to counter his words, even if he doesn't really have anything to counter them with.

He really hadn't checked to make sure who it was inside of Shen Qingqiu's body. He'd just been happy the man was alive, and that he seemed to have… forgiven him. Even if it was more forgetting than forgiving. Fortunately or unfortunately, Shen Qingqiu doesn't seem to want him to speak. He cuts in again, walking closer to him.

"This 'me' started smiling at you, so you never bothered to question it, is it? Because you got what you wanted. A 'Shen Qingqiu' that didn't go to brothels, didn't punish his disciples, didn't fight with his sect siblings. One that didn't ignore you, one that smiled at you like you'd never done anything wrong. Did you ever wonder what happened to me? Or were you too happy?"

Yue Qingyuan doesn't say anything. He can't. He can't refute those words without lying, and his shidi had always seen through his lies with ease. So he hangs his head down and holds his breath. He sees Shen Qingqiu's bare feet (he didn't have shoes on?) come into his view and keeps his head down.

"Qi-ge," comes Shen Qingqiu's honeyed, poisoned voice. "Would you like to know? What it was like? Do you want to know at least now, when your xiao-Jiu has forced you to think about him?"

A hand, bony and scarred and healed wrong comes into view. It's cold when it touches his cheek. His head is tilted up just enough for Shen Qingqiu to make eye contact with him. The smile on his face is soft now, like he'd never grown up from when it was just him and his Qi-ge, and no human trafficking ring, no Qiu Manor, no Cang Qiong Sect. But his eyes are cold and dark, like an iced-over lake.

A hand tightens around his neck. Nails press dangerously close to his jugular. If blood is drawn, he doesn't know. His entire neck feels numb.

"I'll show you. Because I'm so nice, because I like Qi-ge, I'll show you. I learned this trick especially for you."

Shen Qingqiu's other hand comes up to cover his eyes, and he's lost in the throes of visions.

#qijiu #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #scum villain #svsss #i love putting yqy through the works #he looks so good when he's hurt and pathetic and rained on #sj my meow meow

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the-kr8tor · 2 months ago

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Um... UM, UM???? SPIDER-PUNK AND LOKI VATIANT! R!!!!

Who said that, WHO SAID THAT???😰

Loki Variant! R whose Asgard is ruled by a tyrannical Odin. Who has fought for every moment you could to rid the realm of him, fighting alongside your brother Thor to free your people.

Loki Variant! R who ends up crash landing on earth after watching your brother die by the hands of your own father(at least, the man that had taken you in). He did it to protect you, the last hope for your home and people to be free. "The sun will shine on us again. Have faith and walk tall", he says with a quivering smile as he pushes you down the rainbow colored bridge, your screams of his name the last thing he hears.

Loki Variant! R who, weirdly enough, crashes right into the water next to Hobie's houseboat, almost toppling the whole thing over.

Loki Variant! R who ends up waking up to a tall man with piercings all over his face hovering over you with wide eyes and a bloody white cloth. If you weren't in so much pain and if you hadn't literally just watched your brother die, maybe you'd think the awkward grin on his face would be considered cute (for a mortal...)

Loki Variant! R who pushes him away like it's nothing as you stumble to get out of whatever small room you're in right now. Only to be shocked when Hobie forces you back down onto the bed you were in with great strength (Humans weren't always this strong, were they?)

Loki Variant! R who looks at Hobie incredulously as he tends to your many wounds and bruises. "Careful there, mate. Don't wanna open your stitches", he mumbles lowly as he holds you down easily with a hand on your shoulder. (No, seriously. Humans weren't always as strong as your brother, right? What was this mortal eating...?)

Loki Variant! R who learns the name of the one who apparently saved you from drowning to death. After sharing your own name and where you hail from, you tell him what had happened to you for you to be so injured.

Loki Variant! R who is quite surprised to see the Hobie get angry. Fuming on you and your oppressed people's behalf. "So the assholes are all over the galaxy. Lovely", he grumbles as you tilt your head at him in curiosity.

Loki Variant! R who uses the bit of strength you have at the moment to utilize your magic and find out just why this mortal was so strong. And clearly unbothered by the fact that you're considered to be a literal God/Goddess. (Not like the rest, and was that a spider biting him in that memory of his you saw just now? Looked like no spider you'd ever seen.)

Loki Variant! R who is baffled that Hobie tells you that you can go nowhere until you heal. How bold for a mortal. Then again, in your injured state, you couldn't teleport anywhere even if you wanted to.

Loki Variant! R who agrees to wait until you're better to leave. It absolutely had nothing to do with the fascination you were beginning to have with this human. None whatsoever.

Loki Variant! R who gets to know Hobie more through the days you spend together, finding a kindred spirit in the mischievous and rebellious nature of him.

Loki Variant! R who isn't too shocked to find the man crawling on the ceiling one day to get rid of a cobweb in the corner. Hobie tells you about his identity of Spider-Man after that. You pretend to be shocked, if only for his sake. (He totally sees through your sarcastic gasp and rolls his eyes. "Are all magic users as nosey as you?" "No, but, of course, none of them hold a candle to me." "Cocky little thing, ain't you?")

Loki Variant! R who spends a little more time on Earth than planned, training with Hobie so that you can build up your strength. You need to be as well versed in combat as you are in magic. Hobie is an irritating teacher, though. (Wha' you doin' on the floor, love? Hm", he chuckles as he gazes down at you, the fifth time he's successfully tripped and pinned you down. You recall your boring magic scrolls in your mind to will away the irritation and fluttering of your heart at his proximity.)

Loki Variant! R who, after a month of contacting old friends from across the realms for help and training with this annoyingly attractive human, you prepare to go back home. To finish the job and Odin.

Loki Variant! R whose breath stills when Hobie says he wants to come with you, fight with you. You didn't want to put him in harm's way. Not him. Not the only one who actually understands the heavy task entrusted upon you. ("Who better than me, huh? I've been where you are before. Let me help..." He whispers softly as he takes your hands in his. Has his eyes always been this pretty? Has the brown color always been this sparkly of a hue?)

Loki Variant! R who knows he's right. You know you need him by your side, to help end the oppressor of your realm. To help stitch you back together after you shatter to pieces from having to end the man who took you in.

Loki Variant! R whose eyes flutter shut as his soft lips press against yours, his hand tender as it cups your cheek. Damn him for being so convincing, so delicate with you and your wounded heart. (This wouldn't be the last kiss you two shared. Not if you had anything to say about it.)

AHHHHH LOKI VARIANT! R‼️‼️‼️ THAT'S SO COOL

I ate this up! Poor thor tho the guy can't catch a break in any universe 😔

Me after reading this:

#ask answered #chatting with moots #hobie thoughts #🫶🫶🫶

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munsonownsmyass · 2 years ago

Text

Pain shared is pain lessened

Matt Murdock x reader

Summary: In a world where you share the injuries with your soulmate, it's not easy being you. With a reckless soulmate that seems to have no regard for his own safety, you have more bruises and scars than you can count.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries: bruises, blood, scars and wounds. Mild angst, a little mild hate. One kiss. But we end on a fluffy note. You know me 😅

Notes: Okay, this one is unbeta'ed and probably full of errors. I just had to yeet this into the tumblr-verse.

This is a request from the lovely @mindidjarin ❤️

Words: 2.5K

You’re grateful you’re with your friends when it happens. The pain is there instantly, so overwhelming that you start to feel lightheaded. Another wave of pain washes over you and thankfully Jessie catches you when your legs give in, sitting you down at the nearest table. For what feels like an hour, you can’t do anything but cry, hoping the pain will subside.

Your friends get it, they’ve been there too, but none of them have gone through as much pain as you have. It seems like your soulmate are reckless, not even caring if he gets hurt. You just wish you weren’t along for the ride.

“What the hell is wrong with this guy?” Jessie tries, not even knowing what to say. And what is there to say? Ever since you were a kid, you’ve felt every ounce of pain your soulmate has gone through, gotten every injury. Your only comfort is that your wounds are lesser than his, cause if you’d have to go through this life with all this pain AND blind? You would have lost it ages ago.

You google. You always try to google. ‘Man getting stabbed’. ‘Man losing a fight’. ‘Man being an utter asshole for putting his soulmate through shit’. Okay, maybe not the last one, but you are mad. Mad at him for not even caring, mad at yourself because you care. Cause the tears you shed every time aren’t just for you. They are for him too.

Why must he go through such hardship, such sorrow? What caused him to care so little about himself? Is he a hero? Is he a bad guy? In times like this, with Avengers and aliens, you wonder if he is somehow caught in the middle of that. Surely no normal person would have so many injuries. Unless he’s just a common criminal? Underground fighter?

Okay, you have to stop. You always do this. Sit for hours wondering. Your friends tell you to let it go, but it’s easy for them to say. They’ve all met their soulmates, some of them married for years. Jessie, the newest to leave the singleton island, still has a fresh pink scar on her forehead from when she tripped three weeks ago, practically falling over the guy who just hit his head, the same scar adorning his forehead. If only it was that easy.

“Are you okay?” Carmen asks carefully, handing you something to drink.

“No, I’m not okay. I haven’t even met my soulmate, and I already want to kill him.” You bite back, downing half of the beer in one go.

“At this rate, he’s probably gonna get himself killed before you meet.” Jessie mumbles to herself. You just shoot her a killer look, not even finding it remotely funny. “What?! You gotta admit it looks like this guy has a death wish.”

“Oh, I know! I got several scars proving that.”

“You should sue him.” Carmen, bless her heart, wasn’t the smartest girl, but she always tried her best. Still, you can’t help but throw your hands up in defeat as you continue to yell.

“Yes, great idea! Just gonna walk up to a lawyer and sue my soulmates ass for pain and suffering. That bodes for a happily ever after.”

“You know-” Jessie interrupts, caressing your arm softly, “-I have a friend. Karen. She works at a law office. Maybe they have some way of doing something? Maybe they could-”

“Thanks, but no. There’s no way they could find him and even if they did, I’m not gonna sue him. I just hope I never met him, cause I’m gonna kick his ass.”

A week later, the wounds had healed nicely, and the bruises faded, but the anger is still there. No, anger is the wrong word. You don’t hate him…. that much. You just wish you could have met him years ago, maybe spared the both of you some pain and suffering. Maybe his life would have been different if you had been there.

“We’re here.” Jessie stops in front of a door, and you sigh when you see the sign next to the door. Nelson and Murdock. Lawyers. Of course. You move to protest, but before you can say anything, she stops you. “We’re not here to sue, don’t worry. Our talk just made me realize it’s been a long time since I saw Karen, so I’ve invited her to lunch.”

When you enter the office, you’re met by a man handing a beautiful blonde some papers. That must be Karen. The man, who introduces himself as Foggy, disappears into his office with a smile. The two of you walk over to Karen, but Jessie quickly excuses herself, wanting to go to the bathroom before you all head out. Karen just gives you a bright smile, as she fixes some of the papers.

“You must be y/n. Jessie’s talked so much about you. Especially about that soulmate of yours.”

Of course, she had. You’re not even surprised, your many cuts and bruises always the subject for a good conversation.

“Yeah, he likes to fight, I guess. Always making sure I got a new bruise.” You laugh in defeat, knowing how you must look to other people. “People might start to think I’m being abused soon or something.”

“Have you tried looking for him?” She asks, putting away the rest of her paperwork as she looks to you with a curious smile.

“Well, it’s not that easy. New York is a big place.” You scoff, averting her gaze. Honestly, you’re not even sure where to start.

“Sure, it is. All you have to do is look for a guy who’s always-” Karen stops, looking at a point behind you, before her eyes dart back to yours. “-beaten up...” She almost looks like she’s seen a ghost. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, Jessie returns.

“So, by Karen’s horrified expression, I guess you’ve talked about Mr. Daredevil?”

“Daredevil?” You snort, “Is that your new nickname for him?”

“Well, he’s reckless, lives dangerously and keeps getting beat up, leaving you bruised.” Jessie crosses her arms, clearly not his biggest fan. You’ve always said you’d kick your soulmates ass when you meet him, but you’re starting to think Jessie might get to him first.

“Easy there, tiger. We can’t both gang up on a blind man.” You and Jessie giggle, but Karen doesn’t, her face white as she just stares at you. From the open office door, Foggy appears with an expression equal to Karen’s.

“Okay, what’s with the faces?” You ask confused, but before anyone can answer, the door opens and in walks what you assume to be the other half of Nelson and Murdock.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I went by the police station to-” Matt huff out, but stops as soon as he turns to face you all. “I didn’t know we had company. Matt Murdock.” He walks forward, extending his hand. As you take it, you notice the red glasses and the cane, So… A blind lawyer. That’s a first.

“How did you know?” Jessie asks softly, leaving the ‘since you’re blind’ part unspoken. Matt just smiles, probably used to questions like that all the time.

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He just smirks, before gesturing towards his office. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Oh, Matt. Before you go-” Karen stops him with a grin. Foggy walks over to stop her, but she just brushes him off. ”One of the young ladies here want to sue her soulmate.”

Embarrassed, you take a step forward. “No, I don’t. They are just being dumb.” You push Jessie and Karen softly towards the door, just wanting to get away.

“What did he do?” Matt asks, tilting his head to the side with a questioning smile. If you weren’t so embarrassed by the whole thing, you definitely would have stayed, because he certainly was cute. Really cute.

“Nothing.” You lie, still making your way to the door, but Jessie just grin, turning towards the hot lawyer. “He’s reckless. So if you hear about a beaten up blind guy, let us know cause we wanna beat his ass”

You shoot Matt and Foggy an apologetic look, before pushing Jessie and Karen out the door. They just chuckle, not even apologizing for making you embarrassed. “I hate you guys.” You huff out, before walking out of the building.

Two months goes by and to your surprise, it’s without a single injury. You should celebrate, be happy over the missing bruises or cuts, but instead you worry. What happened to him? Was the last injury to much for him? Was Jessie right and maybe he’s…

You feel stupid, spending years complaining over the scars and bruises and now… You actually miss them. As painful and annoying as it was, it was a reminder that he was out there. That someday, somehow, you’d meet your soulmate.

Looking out over the neighborhood from your small window, you let your book fall, the fingers of your free hand idly tracing one of the scars on your chest. You often do that, touch the scars. It gives you a weird sense of serenity, knowing that despite all the pain, he is out there. Well, you hope he still is.

Truth be told, now that you think about it, you wouldn’t kick his ass if you met him. You just want him here, want to kiss away his pain or help him bear the burden of what troubles him. You’ve never been a believer, but ever since the injuries stopped, you’ve been praying he’s okay.

You’re jerked out of your strain of thoughts by a soft knock on your door. Looking at the clock on your phone, you wonder who it could be at this hour. You had no plans and weren’t expecting anyone. Putting the book away, you make your way over to the door. When you open, you see the cute lawyer Karen works for. But what he’s doing here, you really have no idea. “Uhm. Matt, right? You work with Karen?”

“Yes, I do. I’m surprised you remember me.” He smiles softly.

‘I remember because you’re hot’ you think but reason it’s better to keep that information to yourself. Still, you feel your cheeks flush red at the thought. But you brush it off. You shouldn’t be thinking like this.

“So, uhm… Why are you here?” You inquire, not even sure what you could help a guy like him with.

Matt sighs, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, gripping his cane tightly. He looks to you, your image reflected in his red glasses. You wonder what his eyes might look like. Okay, this isn’t the time. Mentally scolding yourself, you open the door a little wider.

“Are you okay? Do you wanna come in?”

“I-“ he begins, but then stops. Clearly frustrated, he takes off the glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I… I think I’m your soulmate.”

For a moment, it’s like time stands still. It’s like all air leaves the room and everything turns blurry. Did… Did he just say what you think he said? You don’t even know how to feel. Overjoyed? He’s finally here, after all this time and your search would be over. But instead you feel confused and angry, filled with so many questions, like why the hell would a blind lawyer get beaten up so much? Why did he let himself get beat up? How long have he known?

“When did you… How… Why…” You try, but every question dies before they’re spoken. Where do you even begin?

“I know you must have so many question, I get that and I-”

“When did you know?” You ask, looking into his eyes. His beautiful hazel eyes. Fuck, you should focus.

“That day when you visited Karen. How many blind guys do you know who fights so much?” He shrugs, laughing softly. But you don’t laugh. You don’t even find it remotely funny.

“You knew for two months and didn’t tell me?!” You yell, punching his shoulder hard, but instantly flinch when your shoulder hurts. Fuck. It really was true.

“I didn’t tell you, because I was afraid you’d kick my ass, as you friend so beautifully put it.” He tries with a soft smirk and you hate to admit, that your resolve does vanish a little. Damn, he was charming and too cute for his own good.

“Okay. Okay…” You try to compose yourself, before looking at Matt again. “Why do you fight? Who do you fight? And HOW?! I mean, aren’t you blind?!”

Your voice borders on shrill as you stare at him, so confused. Matt looks in your direction, his eyes (his beautiful hazel eyes) not really meeting yours and he takes your hands gently in his. “I am blind, but I can see more than you can imagine.”

An hour later, your head is filled to the brim. Matt has told you his entire story, everything from his accident that left him blind as a kid to his night time activities as The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. A Daredevil indeed you grin, remembering Jessie’s words.

Along with the story Matt apologized so many times, never in his life wanting to hurt you like this. The reason behind broke your heart. He didn’t think he’d have a soulmate, never believing he deserved one. The guilt he had carried with him from he was a kid, believing he was the reason his father died to the people he had hurt along the way, intentionally and unintentionally, made him believe he didn’t deserve to be happy.

“Matt, I… I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. If only I could have found you sooner, I-”

“It’s not your fault.” He rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand, maybe more to his own benefit than yours. He has exposed himself, not only his entire story laid before you, but his secret identity. He’s vulnerable, waiting for your judgement over him and the thought makes your heart ache.

“I almost didn’t come tonight.” He looks up from your hand, his eyes searching for yours. “I was afraid you’d never want to talk to me after everything I’ve put you through. I can’t even imagine what you must think of me. How much you’ve hated me over the years. I’m so sorry.”

“Matt, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. Do… Do you think you can forgive me?”

The tears in his eyes he’s been holding back, falls in a steady stream. In that moment, seeing him so broken over the hardship he’s put you through, you forget all the hatred and reach for him, cupping his cheeks. Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss him. It’s short and sweet, but it still makes your heart flutter.

Gently you pull away and hold his face softly until his eyes meet yours and right there you know. He is yours and no matter what lies behind you, is forgotten. You’ve found him and your heart have finally found its home.

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Tagging: @lucy-sky @murdock-and-the-sea @murdockswh0r3

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