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lucygxybaird · 2 days ago

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billy x reader - time traveler billy

Everything happens so quickly that you don’t have time — at first — to realize how odd the situation is. The man’s clothes make him look like a refugee from a Western, and everything about him, from the curl of his hair to the way he stands marks him out as someone…different, somehow. Not to mention, of course, that he’s standing in the middle of the street, looking about as out of place and freaked out as a squirrel dropped into the middle of the ocean.

But even if you could put your finger on it, you don’t have the time to consider what makes him so strange.

First, you’ll have to get him out of the path of the oncoming car.

You have, in point of fact, never actually tackled someone before, let alone someone who seems to be quite a bit taller than you and undoubtedly heavier. But you take your best shot, leaning in and diving at his waist, hoping to make him fold like a lawn chair. Maybe it’s just the shock, or maybe you actually find the right angle — you have no idea, but it doesn’t really matter. You manage to knock the guy sideways, both of you stumbling toward the safety of the sidewalk as the car screeches past, the driver laying on his horn.

You watch as the guy flinches at the noise, actually clapping his hands over his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s praying with all his might that the noise will just stop. Fortunately for him, the car turns the corner up ahead, and the sound of the horn fades as it goes. You watch it go, wondering absently how long Speed Racer is going to keep honking, and then you look back at the guy whose life you’ve saved.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a stupid question, considering what little information you already have, but you don’t know what else to say. The guy lowers his hands and squints at you, staring as if you’re the one dressed like an extra from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. “Hey — are you alright?”

He shakes his head, more like he’s trying to chase away a bothersome gnat than answering you.

You’re starting to worry that he’s hit his head, although you can’t see a cut or a bruise on his temple. Now that you’re looking at him properly, it’s really rather difficult to keep from noticing how…well, how hot he is. It’s probably — definitely — inappropriate to even think about it, you’re well aware, considering he’s either injured, intoxicated in some way, or just going through it, but you can’t ignore the fact now that it’s quite literally staring you in the face.

His eyes are large and blue, framed by thick, dark lashes as long as your pinky finger, set above a strong, straight nose that reminds you of a Greek statue, as perfectly sculpted as if it’s been made from marble. His lips are astonishingly full, his jawline and cheekbones each as defined as the dictionary, and you think there just might be the shadow of a dimple in his chin. And he’s tall, too, topping you by nearly a foot, his broad shoulders tapering to an angular waist. You realize, belatedly, that you’re staring, but then again, so is he.

“Are you okay?” you say again. “Is there something I can do for you? Someone I can call?”

He swallows, giving another shake of his head. “I don’t…I dunno where I am.”

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice brings to mind sage brush and sunsets, the smoke that swirls over a campfire as it crackles with life, warm and husky, with a twang that makes you think of the bite of whiskey.

“Okay,” you say, and without thinking about it, you take his hand. It feels natural, like trying to guide a lost child, or trying to make sure you don’t lose him in a crowd. As soon as his palm touches yours, you feel a shock race up your arm, and you have the strangest sensation of a door closing, separating one moment from the next as definitively as an axe splitting wood.

His fingers curl around yours, his expression almost pleading.

“Okay,” you repeat. “Okay. Just…come with me. I’ll help you.”

You can tell, if not just by the expression on his face — half-hopeful, half-bracing, as if he’s expecting a blow to fall any second — that he’s not used to asking for help, especially not from strangers. It makes your heart hurt just a little bit. You give his hand a gentle squeeze, and you’re softened — or maybe melted — by the way he smiles at you, shy but appearing more heartened than he did just a moment ago.

Then another car whizzes by, and he winces like someone has taken a shot at him. He ducks down, his eyes so wide that they look like a pair of full moons, their cornflower centers the only source of color in his face. “The hell is that?”

You stare at him. If he didn’t look so terrified, you’d think he was joking. But if he’s not joking, then he’s either on an incredible cocktail of drugs, or he’s from that weird isolated cult town in The Village. “It’s…it’s a car,” you say.

“A car,” he repeats, as if you’ve just told him the secret to life in Mandarin.

“Yeah,” you say. “You know…a horseless carriage.”

For some reason, this seems to impart some understanding to him, but you can tell he’s still plenty freaked out. “Carriages don’t go that fuckin’ fast!”

You try very, very hard not to laugh, but god, it’s hard. You’re having to draw on nearly every ounce of compassion you have. It helps that, really, he’s not wrong. Not that you’ve ever ridden in a carriage, because you’re not Keira Knightley in a period film, but you don’t think they’re capable of speeds like that.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you say, “you don’t have to worry about getting into a horseless carriage with me. I hate driving.”

Now that it’s just the two of you standing on the sidewalk again, the road mercifully free of cars, he seems to relax a little, at least enough to consider your words. “Well,” he says. “That’s something.”

Not entirely sure where to go, you decide the police station is as good a place as any. It might be a little Hallmark movie of the week, but maybe someone has already filed a missing persons report on him. With that thought, it occurs to you that you need some information first.

“Do you remember your name?” you ask.

The look he gives you indicates he has never been quite so offended in his life. You can’t help but laugh this time. “Well, I don’t know!” you say. “You don’t know where you are, you’re walking around here looking like a puppy at the start of an ASPCA ad — maybe you’re suffering from some kind of amnesia.”

He doesn’t look any less nonplussed, but something about your laughter has loosened the muscles in his face. He smiles at you. You try to ignore the way your stomach flips to focus on his answer. “Billy,” he says.

You fight the urge to repeat his name, rolling it around in your mouth like candy. “Come on,” you say, his hand still in yours. “We’re not gonna get anywhere just standing here. Do you trust me?”

He smiles again, though this time with a bit of a razor’s edge to it. “Not like I got much choice, honey,” he says, and then pauses, softens. “Yeah. You’ve been nicer to me than most people would’ve, findin’ a stranger in the middle of nowhere, actin’ like he’s been dropped on his head. I wouldn’t have blamed ya if you’d run the other direction.”

You have no idea why, but what springs from your mouth before you can help yourself is: “I couldn’t do that to you.”

He studies you for a minute. His gaze feels as physical as a caress, and just as intimate. If not more so. You both do and don’t want it to stop.

“Come on,” you say again, at least in part to break the silence. “Follow me.”

The two of you start walking, following the weathered gray slabs of cracked, uneven concrete that your small town calls a sidewalk as it winds its way into town.

After a few moments of quiet, he says, “You never told me your name.”

When you introduce yourself, he smiles again. “That’s nice,” he says. “Pretty.”

Your stomach flips again, and you have to remind yourself that you don’t know anything about this guy, except — only just now — his name. The fact that he’s tall, gorgeous, and really does give off a hurt puppy sort of vibe doesn’t matter. And it definitely doesn’t matter that his smile spreads across his face like a sunrise coloring the sky with ribbons of pastels. He could be a serial killer, or if not that extreme, some kind of —

The two of you are still, for reasons not entirely clear to you and probably not much clearer to him, holding hands, so you’re jerked out of your thoughts by the fact that he’s gone stock still.

“You’re takin’ me to the sheriff?”

If the dread clinging to his voice like a weed choking out a weaker plant wasn’t bad enough, he’s frozen still on the sidewalk, looking at you as if you’ve…well, as if you’ve betrayed him somehow. The pit of your stomach turns to ice.

“The sheriff?” you repeat. You feel oddly, stupidly, disappointed. A guy with nothing to hide doesn’t act like this when someone brings him to the authorities. The disillusionment washing over you makes your tongue sharp. “Who the hell are you, Barney Fife?”

He frowns. “I told you my name.”

“Yeah, I — never mind.” You shake your head and let go of his hand. The bare skin of your palm feels oddly cold. “What’s the matter? I thought someone might be looking for you. Maybe someone filed a missing persons report.”

“I don’t think so, darlin’.” He glances at the police station again, his throat bobbing. A pause, and then, softly, like he’s making a confession: “Nobody left that cares about me that much. Unless they wanna cause me some hurt.”

You feel the strangest mixture of sympathetic and prickly, as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong by someone who has been directly and seriously hurt by your actions. “Well…” You clear your throat, trying to find the right words to defend yourself. “I mean, listen, what kind of hurt? Are you a criminal or something?”

One corner of his mouth tilts up in a bitter approximation of a grin. “Or somethin’, honey,” he says. “I got a reputation I never wanted and that I’m not proud of, an’ not one person reads about me in the paper or sees my name on a wanted poster—”

Wanted poster? But something about his fierce, stung expression keeps your mouth shut.

“ — ever gave a damn about the truth. About why I did all that stuff. I didn’t want to!” When his voice rises, equal parts angry and hurt, you can’t help yourself. You reach for his hand again. He takes a deep breath, his fingers grasping yours. “I didn’t want to do any of it. I just wanted…I wanted things to get better. Every time I thought they would, they just got worse.”

You know it would make sense to ask what he actually did, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to put the words out there. He looks ashamed and angry, but defiant, too, as if daring you to do it. Or, worse, to pass judgement. But you just press your lips together.

“I wanted to go straight,” he says. “I wanted a good job for a respectable boss, so I could keep a roof over my head and food in my belly. Damn it, I just wanted some peace—”

When his voice breaks, you feel it in your chest, as if a fissure has opened up in your collarbone. Your own eyes burn, a reaction as instantaneous and out of your control as a burning red welt raising up around a bee’s stinger. It hurts you, to see him hurt, and you can’t even begin to explain to yourself why that is.

“Well, I…I…” You fumble your words, not even sure what you’re going to say. But you know you have to say something. “I…okay, so, we’ll…we’ll go somewhere else. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks about as shocked to hear you say that as he was by the car burning rubber on the road leading into town. “You mean it?”

You swallow down the stupid feeling that you’re going to cry, and you nod. “Yeah, come on,” you say, and you hold out your hand again. He takes it. “We’ll go back to my place.”

He offers you another crooked smile, but this one is more surprised, almost tender, like you’ve shown him something sweet and unexpected hidden in the palm of your hand. “You sure about that, sweetheart?” he says. “You don’t know me all that well. I’d understand if you didn’t want a strange man in your home.”

Forget not knowing him that well, you don’t really know him at all, but you just tell him, “I’m sure.”

Because you are. In what seems to be the theme of the day, you can’t explain why, but it just feels…safe. Despite the little Dateline-themed voice in your head telling you otherwise, you can’t ignore the certainty, heavy and inexplicable, that you’ve been here before. He’ll step into your apartment and feel at ease, because this isn’t the first time he’s been your home. It will fit like an old coat, comfortable and soft and easy.

It’s insane, but you can’t turn your thoughts away from it.

His fingers lace with yours, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckle. The way he’s looking at you, so intently, his gaze never wavering from yours, makes you feel as though you’re being turned inside out, exposed. The moment when he froze with fear as the two of you approached the police — sheriff — station seems distant in both time and space, like you’ve gone forward many miles and many years in time in the space of just a few minutes.

“No cars, right?” he says, his crooked smile widening. The word cars sits in his mouth like he isn’t quite used to the shape of it, but you’re so charmed by the fact that he’s trying to make a joke. That the two of you have a joke to share.

“No cars,” you say.

You’re walking again. Now and again you pass other people, who look at Billy the way you must have looked at him when you first saw him — eyebrows furrowed, pushing down over their eyes, glance flicking over him as if a quick look will make any more sense than a lingering one. Billy doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. He’s too busy looking around at everything else; it all seems to shock him to varying degrees, whether it’s the buildings around you, the streetlights and the power lines silhouetted against the sky, the concrete beneath your feet and the asphalt of the road running beside you.

As another car zooms by, Billy lets go of your hand, dosey-do’s behind you, and takes your other hand. Now he’s standing between you and the road. “I don’t like those things,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “But I like you near ‘em even less.”

Your apartment building is a brick rectangle studded with windows, a pair of double doors set in the middle at the top of a wide set of concrete steps. You lead Billy inside and he stops as you reach for the elevator button.

“What the hell?” he says, again speaking under his breath.

You push the button, watching Billy’s face as the call button lights up. He flinches at the ding, looking around for the source of the noise; you squeeze his hand gently. You wonder again where the hell he came from, that every piece of modern technology seems to make as little sense to him as ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. “It’s okay,” you say. “Just trust me.”

Implicit in your voice is this: I won’t let anything happen to you.

He seems to hear your silent promise, or maybe the words you actually say are enough. Billy smiles thinly and nods.

When the doors slide open, though, he balks. “Are we supposed to go in there?”

“Yes. It’ll take us up to the floor my apartment is on, without us having to go up all those stairs.”

He swallows. “Okay.”

You step into the elevator and he trails after you with the air of a child who is expecting a switching out back. When the elevator starts to rise upward, Billy stares at you incredulously. “It’s okay,” you say again. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

He has a white-knuckle grip on your hand, and he jumps a little at the ding from somewhere above your heads as the elevator comes to a stop. When the doors slide open, he relaxes a little. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you confirm, and you lead him down the hallway. He waits while you fish your keys out and let yourselves inside your apartment.

As soon as the door closes behind you, Billy’s shoulders soften. You watch him as he looks around, feeling oddly nervous. As if it matters whether or not he likes your place.

Your building is old — you think from the 1920s or thereabouts, if you remember what your landlord said when she showed you the place five years ago — and it shows in the way it looks. Wooden parquet floors the color of honey are softened by rugs that you found at a flea market, a brown velvet couch slouching in front of a square, red-brick fireplace, framed by a mantle scattered with knickknacks. Billy smiles as he wanders over, picking up a little statuette shaped like a cat, wearing a collar of flat chips of glass.

“Cute,” he says, offering you another smile, and you feel inordinately pleased.

His gaze roams around the living room. To his left, a doorway hung with a beaded curtain leads into the kitchen, and in front of him, a hallway runs to the back of the apartment, with your bedroom on one side and a bathroom on the other. His gaze turns back to the mantle, lifting to the wall above it, where a flatscreen TV is fixed.

“What is that?” he says, leaning forward to inspect this dim reflection in the screen. “A mirror?”

Despite yourself, a snort works its way out of your mouth, and he shoots you a wounded look. “Sorry,” you say, putting your hand over your mouth. “Sorry. No, it’s my TV.”

You have another, smaller one in your room, but you decide one television might be enough for him to deal with right now.

“A — a T…V?” he says, repeating the two letters distinctly, as if they have nothing to do with each other. “What’s that?”

Your lips part, and you stare at him for a second. “Billy,” you say. “Where are you from?”

His brow furrows, like he doesn’t quite understand what you’re asking. “Well,” he says slowly. “Most recently I’ve been livin’ in New Mexico. Why?”

New Mexico. That really doesn’t answer your question. “Where in New Mexico?”

His puzzled frown deepens, but he doesn’t ask why you’re pressing him. Maybe he figures you deserve to know, after saving his life and bringing him back to your apartment. “Lincoln, right now,” he says.

You don’t know much about Lincoln — or New Mexico, for that matter — but you don’t think it’s some reclusive community where they wouldn’t know about elevators or cars.

The next question you have is crazy, totally insane, really — but you think you’ve seen doctors on TV ask concussion victims the same thing. And that’s definitely all it is. Because there’s no way this could actually be the problem.

“Billy,” you say again. “What year is it?”

Now it’s his turn to huff out a laugh through his nose. “What year is it? It’s 1881.”

You’re so floored by this statement that you blurt out, without much — or any — tact: “No, it’s not.”

He looks like he’s on the verge of arguing with you, but maybe everything hits him all at once. The cars, the technology he doesn’t understand, the very world around him that looks so different from what he’s used to. “What…what year is it, then?”

You blink. “2024,” you say.

This time, when he laughs, there’s no humor in it, only a sharp incredulity. “You’re crazy,” he says, but without much heat. It’s almost like a plea, as though he’s offering you the opportunity to take it back. To say something that actually makes sense, because — and you have to give it to him, he’s not wrong — this doesn’t make sense at all.

And yet, unless he’s been severely brainwashes or he’s just putting you on, it’s also the only option.

“How did I get here?” he says, and he sounds — and looks — like he might cry again. “What do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” you say. Then you reach for him, and even before your hands find his face, he’s moving closer to you. He holds onto your waist, like you’re a lifeline. “I don’t know. I don’t know how you got here, or why, but you’re not alone, okay? You have me.”

It doesn’t even register with you at first that this is an incredibly strange, if not downright dangerous, thing to say to someone you met not even two hours ago. Especially considering you’re saying it to a man who is bigger and undoubtedly stronger than you. But you don’t feel like you’re putting yourself at risk.

Billy, though, says what you’re thinking, except he says it with a sense of wonder. It almost sounds like a prayer. “I don’t even know you,” he murmurs.

Yes, you do.

The thought seems to come from outside of you, as if someone has turned to a fresh page in your mind and written it there in their own hand.

Billy says your name, still in that awestruck voice. It feels as though there is a web spun between you, gossamer-fine but indissoluble. The fact that he could be an honest-to-god time traveler makes more sense to you than the idea that you only met him today.

“1881,” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“2024,” he returns.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Oh,” you say, relieved. Although technically if he’s twenty-two and from the year 1881, that means he’s around 165 years old, but who’s counting? “Me too.”

He smiles, an uptick of the corner of his mouth that nonetheless makes your heart skip in your chest. You decide that you want his hands on you, always, his gaze on you, always, but then you remember something else you have to show him.

“Come here,” you say, taking his hand again. You lead him down the hallway to the bathroom, the sight of which earns you another look at his stunned, disbelieving face. “Okay. This is my bathroom.” You point. “That’s a toilet.” You try to remember when toilets were invented. “It’s like…an outhouse. But inside.”

Billy snorts. “I know what a toilet is.”

You hum. There’s that, at least. “This is definitely new,” you say, and you point to the shower. He nods. You have one of those with a glass door, which you — a little embarrassingly, now — have declared with decals of cartoon sea creatures, including a whale, a puffer fish, and a little scuba diver. “Right. This a shower.”

You push the door open, reaching inside and turning the knob so the water comes pouring out. Billy jumps at the sudden noise and stares as steam fill the room. “It’s hot?” he says uncertainly.

“It can be,” you say. “If you twist this knob here, it can get cooler, though. But it won’t hurt you.”

“What do you do?” he says, peering at the shower. “It’s for bathin’?”

You nod. “You just…” You blush and gesture vaguely at his clothes, before gesturing equally vaguely to the floor. “And step in. There’s soap and shampoo for your hair.”

He smiles crookedly. “Are you tryin’ to tell me I don’t smell like roses, honey?”

You laugh a little. “I mean, well…”

He grins again before looking resolutely at the shower. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

You give him privacy, shutting the door behind you, though you hover nervously in the hallway in case he needs you. You’re worried about him slipping and falling, so you have to resist the temptation to press your ear against the door. Finally, you hear the water shut off — you’re proud of him for figuring out how to do that, without dousing himself in ice water or boiling himself alive — and you realize, just then, that you have to get him fresh clothes.

“Hold on!” you call through the door.

You hurry into your room and find an old college t-shirt that you “borrowed” from your dad, along with a pair of pajama bottoms that are advertised as unisex but absolutely swim on you at the cuffs, so you hope they’re long enough for him. You knock on the bathroom door, and when it opens a crack, you hold out the clothes while carefully turning your head away. “Here,” you say. “These should fit.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice muffled by the door, and then he takes the clothes and the door shuts again.

You perch on the couch in the living room, waiting for him. The bathroom door opens fully, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam, and you smile encouragingly as you see Billy standing in the doorway. The pants do indeed fit, although the t-shirt hangs on him a little.

“What did you think?” you ask. “Of your first shower experience?”

Billy chuckles, coming to sit next to you on the couch. You’re so aware of his proximity that it makes the air between you sing. There’s something about the sight of him, freshly showered and smiling, seemingly more relaxed now, that makes you want to lean into him.

“It was nice,” he says. “Warm.”

You’ve lost count of how many times today that it’s happened, but once again, he takes your hand.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me,” he says softly. “You’re a sweet girl. I’m glad I met you.”

Coming from anyone else, being called a sweet girl would make you feel like a toy poodle. But coming from Billy, in his warm, molasses-slow drawl, it just makes you feel warm, like you’re bathing in sunshine.

“I’m glad, too,” you murmur.

It would be crazy to kiss him right now, right? You know the answer is yes. You know that. Still, ever since the moment his voice broke outside the police station, you’ve felt…protective over him. More than that, you’ve felt connected. It’s as if seeing him break down, even if it was only for a moment, in turn broke down something between the two of you.

You remember that sensation when you first took his hand, as if a door had slammed solidly shut between this moment and the rest of your life, and you think maybe there wasn’t so much of a barrier up in the first place.

Billy touches your cheek with the very pads of his fingertips, as if he’s afraid that you’re a bubble that will burst from rough contact. “What the hell?” he says softly, and you laugh, because you know it’s not really a question you’re supposed to answer. “We just met today?”

You nod.

“And some way or another, I’ve traveled…” A pause while he does the math. “140-odd years in the future?”

You nod again.

“Alright, then,” he says mildly, and he kisses you.

It feels like the world turns inside out from a point centered around the two of you, spiraling and twisting outward until it forms again, entirely new, bigger and grander, humming and buzzing like a live-wire. Your hands grasping his shoulders feel like the only reason you aren’t just floating away, and the way he grips your waist makes you think he feels the same. You press closer to him, his arms encircling you as he pulls you onto his lap.

A hoarse chuckle comes from somewhere around the fireplace. “You kids usually take longer than this.”

You jump out of your skin, and before you can blink, you find yourself sprawled on the couch cushions, Billy on his feet in front of you. One hand goes to his belt only to grasp at the air. He scowls and brandishes his fists instead, and then—

“Old Moss?”

You sit up. “You know this guy?”

An old man has his elbow propped on the mantelpiece, a tattered hat perched on his head. He’s shorter than Billy, stockier, but their clothes are much the same, along with the weathered tan on their faces. The old man, though, has a beard covering the lower half of his face, spilling over his chest like dirty cotton.

“I…” Billy shakes his head, seemingly just as flummoxed — if not more — than he was before. “I knew him when I was a kid. He helped my family cross the country.”

The old man — Old Moss — chuckles. “I’m not Old Moss, son,” he says. “I took on this form to make you more comfortable. Otherwise you would have tried to wallop me, I bet, and that wouldn’t have been good for you.”

Billy stiffens, and he puts one arm behind him, to keep you behind him on the couch. “Who the hell are you, then?”

Old Moss (you don’t know what else to call him) shrugs. “A representative of the universe,” he says, waving his hand to underscore this grand sentiment. “My speciality is helpin’ lovers find each other in every lifetime.”

A shiver dances down your spine. “Every lifetime?” you murmur.

“Oh, sure,” Old Moss says. “You two have found each other in every life since your souls first came into being.” He smiles crookedly. “Thanks to me. You’re welcome.”

Another grin creases his face. “This time, I thought I’d try things a little bit differently,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve never pulled one soul from a different point in time before. I wasn’t sure if it would work, to be honest with you.”

He grins again. “Judgin’ by the way you were treatin’ her face like an ice cream cone, though, I’m guessing it did.”

Despite yourself, you giggle.

Out of the corner of his mouth, slanting a glance at you, Billy murmurs, “What’s a—?”

“I’ll get you one later. You’ll like it,” you assure him, and now you do stand next to him, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, though, you kiss better than that.”

Old Moss chuckles. “You guys got any questions before I go?”

You think for a second. “How many lives has it been?”

“Mmm…” The old man tugs on his beard thoughtfully. “I’d say this is your…I dunno, I lost track. Somewhere around 200, I think, maybe a little north of that.”

Your hand creeps into Billy’s, and he squeezes gently.

“And we loved each other in all of them?” you say.

Old Moss’s expression is almost unbearably kind. He nods. “All of them,” he says.

Billy’s shoulder presses against yours, and you feel the contact from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. Somehow, over 200 lifetimes of loving him doesn’t seem like a surprise.

“An’ I…I get to stay here with her?” Billy says now. “I don’t gotta go back there?”

Buried in the snowy tangles of his beard, Old Moss’s mouth twitches. You can’t tell if it’s a smile, or if he’s trying to swallow tears. “Yeah, son,” he says. “You get to stay.”

Billy’s hand tightens around yours, as if he’s worried — despite Old Moss’s confirmation — that someone is going to take him away from you. You grip his hand tighter in turn. Like you’re going to let that happen.

You look over at Billy, and he turns his head to meet your gaze. You can see every one of those lifetimes in his eyes, caught in his gaze like snowflakes on his lashes, and you hope there’s going hundreds more, going on until the world itself ends. Nothing else will be enough.

By the time you can turn your eyes away from him, Old Moss is gone. You look over at Billy again, and he grins at you. “I guess representatives of the universe favor Irish goodbyes.”

You grin back at him, winding your arms around his neck. “It seems like I’m stuck with you now,” you say, and he chuckles.

“Seems so.”

He leans down to kiss you. The world turns inside out and spirals again — and again — and again — and…by the time it’s settled again, and Billy breaks the kiss, you think that you’d be happy if you spent this lifetime and each one to come just doing this.

“So…” Billy smiles crookedly. “About that ice cream cone?”

You laugh. There’s a thousand things to set him up with — how the hell does somebody get a Social Security number at twenty-something years old? — but you can figure that out later.

For now —

“Let’s take you to get one,” you say. “And I’ll introduce you to the unbeatable combination of gummy bears and ice cream.”

“What are—?”

You laugh, taking his hand and rising onto your toes to peck his cheek. “Just trust me. You’ll love it.”

#billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fan fiction #william h bonney fanfiction #tom blyth

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wadewnstonwilson · 2 days ago

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housewife wade wilson headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: wade wilson (deadpool) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

the minute you leave for work, wade starts bombarding you with text messages. It starts out sweet—“hope you have a killer day, sugarplum!”—but quickly turns into a series of selfies, random thoughts, and (usually chaotic) updates about what he’s doing at home. it’s part of his way of staying connected, even if you’re in a boardroom meeting.

wade clings to you in the morning, draping himself over you dramatically and whining about how you’re “abandoning” him for corporate life. he might even joke about chaining himself to your briefcase just to keep you close. he knows it’s ridiculous, but it’s his way of getting a few extra minutes of affection before you leave.

knowing how particular you are about cleanliness, wade makes an effort to keep the house pristine. he wears a pink apron with “kiss the cook” emblazoned on it, vacuuming and dusting with the same enthusiasm he has for a mission. but he’s still wade, so sometimes you’ll come home to find him balancing on the couch trying to clean the ceiling fans or experimenting with “creative” cleaning solutions that smell way too strong.

even if you prefer something professional and sleek, wade insists on packing you a lunch every now and then, filled with your favorite snacks. he’ll sneak a little love note or even a crude drawing of the two of you, knowing it’ll make you smile when you find it at work.

wade is in awe of your polished, expensive style. every time you’re about to leave the house in a sleek suit or designer outfit, he goes over the top with compliments and jokes. “who needs a superhero when you’ve got this hot-shot executive look going on? can you even handle the power you’re radiating?”

when you get home, wade is the first to greet you at the door, practically tackling you into a hug. he refuses to let you go, playfully clinging to you while peppering your face with kisses. you’ve learned that, once you’re home, wade is glued to your side for the rest of the evening, practically following you around the house.

wade’s idea of romance involves surprising you with homemade dinners—even if they’re a bit chaotic. sometimes it’s a full, fancy setup, complete with candles and flowers, and other times, it’s just pizza with your favorite toppings. either way, he’s thrilled to play “perfect spouse” and waits eagerly for your reaction.

wade “borrows” your wardrobe regularly, despite the sharp contrast with his usual style. he’ll strut around the house in your blazers or designer coats, doing his best CEO impression. “look at me, babe, i’m ready to fire people and make millions!” it’s all in good fun, and he knows it makes you laugh.

wade’s clinginess reaches its peak at night. he wraps himself around you like a human octopus, insisting it’s for “optimal cuddle coverage.” if you try to roll over, he’ll grumble and pull you back, claiming you need his warmth to survive the night.

wade takes pride in being the stay-at-home husband. he jokes about being your “trophy spouse,” but he’s honestly thrilled to be there for you however he can. he wants to make your life as comfortable and happy as possible, even if he’s not the conventional choice for a high-powered CEO’s partner.

#wade wilson #wade winston wilson #my work #my writing #my headcanons #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson fanfic #deadpool #deadpool & wolverine #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool x reader #wade wilson headcanon #deadpool headcanons

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greendest1ny · 3 days ago

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here you go guys have a preview of the fic that's been taking all of my attention away from beautiful boy (darling boy)

tw: grief, injury description, smell of a corpse described... freshly revived garmadon himself should be a warning /hj

preview

Lloyd sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sat on the stairs leading up to the temple, his dao sword perched beside him. The surrounding canal chilled the already freezing early January air, and the remaining dampness on Lloyd’s skin and hair didn’t help that, gooseflesh rising on his arms.

It was over. His father remained to enjoy his eternal rest in the Departed Realm, and the Sons of Garmadon were on their way to be interrogated and then locked away in Kryptarium Prison for the foreseeable future.

Then, why did he feel like it wasn't over? There were no more loose ends to tie up, and there was nothing left to account for except where they should hold the celebration party for their victory. It was finished, and onto the next villain, wasn't it? That’s how it had been for the past five years of Lloyd’s life.

Lloyd jolted upright as Kai gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. His face flushed a light lavender as he stood up and turned to face his brother in all but blood.

“You coming with, buddy?” Kai asked, his lips upturned into a small, sympathetic smile as he gently squeezed Lloyd’s shoulder. “We're gonna go back to the bounty, get some food from Chen’s, freshen up, and hopefully sleep if the Sons of Garmadon decide to go peacefully.”

Lloyd opened his mouth to reply. It sounded like exactly what he needed; greasy food, his family, and his bed. There was nothing left for him here, these villains had been successfully thwarted just like the rest. But something still felt so indescribably wrong here. “I just... I need to make sure that he's definitely not here. I know we stopped the ritual and everything, but..” Lloyd paused, rolling his shoulders and making a vague gesture. “You know?”

Kai nodded. “Well, I’m not going to let you go alone.” The brunette told him, rising to his feet and already walking in the direction of the temple of resurrection. Lloyd could tell from Kai’s relaxed gait that he knew that Garmadon couldn't return. He was probably only doing it to soothe Lloyd’s worries like he had a thousand times before.

“Wait, Kai.” Lloyd blurted, walking to be beside Kai as the man stopped to listen, an eyebrow cocked. “This is..” Lloyd’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s as he searched for what to say. “This is something I think I need to do alone.” He finished, busing his hands by messing with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Kai scrunched his nose and pursed his lips. “Kid, what if there are any Sons left in there? I don’t want you to be ambushed. And I know what you’re like with your communicator.” Kai said, not unkindly.

It was true, out of all the ninja, Lloyd had broken and lost his communicator the most. Lloyd shifted his weight from foot to foot, fixing his gaze on the floor. He knew he was right, he just didn’t want to admit it. “I was irresponsible back then, Kai. I can take care of myself for the most part now.” Lloyd reminded him. Maturity and responsibility were important qualities in any ninja, but especially the green ninja. He couldn’t continue being chaperoned by his big brother his whole life.

Kai sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s… True.” The fire elemental admitted, looking down at his little brother again. “But you promise your communicators working, and if anything goes south -- and I mean anything -- you’ll haul ass and get out and call me?”

Lloyd nodded dutifully, reaching a hand up to his ear and tapping the small communicating device that sat there. “You can hear me through this, right?” Lloyd tested, to which Kai nodded.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kai hummed, and then poked his brother in the chest “Just don't do anything stupid, okay? And be back before half-ten. This place is way too creepy.” Kai groaned, cringing at the temple looming before them

Lloyd couldn't help but chuckle, a small grin plastering his features. “Okay, Mom.” Lloyd rolled his eyes playfully, yelping a little and then relaxing as Kai pulled him into a bear hug, wrapping his arms around Kai’s torso in return.

Kai huffed humourfully, and then pulled away, ruffling Lloyd’s hair. “I’ll bring the bounty ‘round, just let me know when you’re coming up.” Kai said fondly, walking back to join the other ninja.

Kai was right about one thing, the temple of resurrection was pretty off-putting. Lloyd sighed, and he walked into the temple again. The strange, spinning floor mechanism had long since stopped, and the portal to the departed realm had shut before his father could pass through.

There was no reason to be here, not unless he wanted to wallow in his sorrow, which in all fairness, maybe he did. Once he reached a place secluded enough, where none of his fellow ninja could catch him, he let his emotions run wild for the first time since his father died. His hands balled up into fists, and a shuddering breath left his chapped lips as his face began to dampen with hot, salty tears.

First master, he missed his father. He missed his father so much. Some part of him had hoped that the Sons of Garmadon would have succeeded in bringing his father back, just so Lloyd could be with him again. Even if he truly was as evil as the Sons claimed he would be, Lloyd would've been able to bring him back to the light. He’d done it before, and he’d do it a hundred times over again if it meant he could have his father back.

He thought he was over it. Over the constant emptiness and rage and misery that consumed him whenever he thought about his father and the fate that had befallen him far too soon after Lloyd had gotten him back. Though, in all honesty, even if his father had to sacrifice himself after an eternity spent with Lloyd, it still would’ve been far too soon.

But Lloyd wasn't over it. He never really would be. The grief would never leave him. It had just become a part of him, like being a ninja had, like being a student at Darkley’s had.

It was a vicious cycle with seemingly no end in sight. He’d be fine, doing something mundane and insignificant, something totally and utterly unrelated to his father, and then he'd think of his dad, and he'd be crippled by grief.

It was hard to think of the good memories, not because there weren't many, but because every time Lloyd thought of his father he'd just drown in his sorrow, in his eternally persevering love that had nowhere to go.

Worst of all, some part of him, the childish, idiotic part of him, was angry. He was angry that his father wasn’t selfish enough to let another serpentine war play out, because Lloyd would’ve fought that war again and again and again if it meant that his father could be by his side. He was angry that his father was so willing to die, to leave him behind again, even if he was sacrificing himself for not only the world at large but his son. He was angry at Destiny for the shit hand it had dealt his family.

He was angry at Chen for instigating the first serpentine war, and the traumas it must’ve caused his father. Lloyd may have been a child at the time, but he knew that his father didn’t wake up screaming some nights because of any normal nightmares. He knew that normal nightmares didn’t leave you shaken for the next couple of days and unable to return to sleep until exhaustion caught up with you and forced you to. He knew that these traumas, Garmadon’s ineffable love for him, and his unending desire for redemption were what made his father so determined to stop another serpentine war from occurring.

But mainly, Lloyd was angry at himself. He’d said such horrible words to his father, just moments before his father condemned himself to the cursed realm. He’d wasted precious time reminiscing on the past when he should’ve been focused on the present. He was angry at himself for not finding another way to stop the rampaging anacondrai cultists.

Just that last gripe alone had left him with countless sleepless nights, thinking up a thousand alternative ways to defeat them. A reforged flute? A technique they still needed to learn? Setting the cultists against each other?

Some part of him also knew none of it would work. Destiny doesn’t compromise nor stop for anyone.

Lloyd didn't know how his uncle did it. He'd known Garmadon for his entire life, he’d grown up alongside him. But he supposed that living thousands of years made you rather experienced in grief, didn’t it? But still. No matter how many times he'd asked Wu how he was so okay, his only response was ‘It gets easier.’

Yet, it felt like it never would.

After a moment, Lloyd unclenched his fists and wiped his tears away, taking deep breaths in a useless attempt to soothe himself enough to focus again. He sniffled and stood up straight. Lloyd opened his eyes again and tried to ignore the searing misery.

The temple was far colder than the rest of the remains of the palace. It was freezing to the point that Lloyd could see his breath, and Lloyd was genuinely unsure if it was so cold because it was so close to water, or if it was because it was night, or even because of the dark magic that had been committed there. He continued to walk around the temple grounds, his eyes flitting around to search for anything that might just look like his father.

He still felt that hope. That incessant desire for his father's return. Lloyd knew there was no point in feeding into it, into the wishes of a selfish child who was not acting like the ninja master he was supposed to be. There was no point in being here.

His father was dead, and it was going to stay that way.

Lloyd turned to leave, but the sound of rocks falling caught his attention. He looked around before he spotted what had made the noise. The pedestal upon which Harumi had placed the necessary items for the ritual, had been cracked open, leaving it in two halves. Lloyd’s hand drifted to the hilt of his dao sword from where it hung from his hip, cautiously approaching the area.

The smell of rotting flesh swiftly assaulted Lloyd’s nose, and all he could do in response was rest his hands on his knees, hunch over and gag involuntarily. He didn’t know how he knew it was rotting flesh, but he supposed that was the sort of thing you knew as soon as you smelt it. Lloyd sucked in a few deep, shuddering breaths and swallowed back the spit that had accumulated in his mouth. He continued over to the stone table, his sneakers tapping quietly along the stone floor.

The teenager peered down at the broken pedestal, looking inside of it and placing a hand on one half of the stone to brace himself. The hollow base of the pedestal was stained with ash and pebbled with debris, but most concerningly, purple blood was splattered across the stone and left in a puddle within the rubble. An uneasy mix of hope and terror settled into Lloyd’s bones. Lloyd only knew of three people whose blood was indigo: himself, Master Wu, and his father.

It was then that the Lloyd smelt the wafting smoke, seemingly coming from every direction, as the canal’s air did little to negate it. It clouded his vision slightly, adding to the overwhelming sense of dread that pooled in Lloyd’s stomach. Any smoke from any fires that the Sons of Garmadon would’ve lit would not be this thick after so long.

Lloyd backed up, adrenaline rushing through his body as his hands began to tremble. He turned to run, only for him to run into a wall that seemingly hadn’t been there before.

It didn't feel like a wall. It felt like metal. Cold, hard metal. But metal didn't breathe, metal didn’t stink of the ozone-like stench that clung to one's skin after travelling between realms, and rotting flesh.

Lloyd took a step back, and then another, and he looked up from the stone floor.

Grassy green eyes were met by fiery red.

Garmadon was frozen where he stood, and Lloyd was in a similar position.

His father was wearing the garb of a samurai, locks of white hair peeking out from beneath the kabuto. His visage was almost identical to how he’d appeared while the Great Devourer’s venom was infecting him. He looked like an oni, the villains in old Ninjargon folktales. He had four arms again, along with those unnaturally long and curved canines that never left no matter what form his father took. His skin was stygian with ivory markings along it. Just from a guess, Garmadon was easily eight feet tall, as he looked like he’d tower over a fully grown Master Wu with ease. A tail with a large tuft of white hair on the tip whipped around behind him, and his legs and feet were more like that of a feline.

Most concerningly to Lloyd however, there was a gaping hole in his father's chest. It oozed violet blood and ran so deep into the oni’s chest that Lloyd could easily see the alabaster of his father’s ribcage, and the porous, mauveish-grey of Garmadon’s lungs, and how they shuddered, expanded, and then deflated cyclically with the effort of breathing.

Garmadon was dead silent, staring down at Lloyd as if he were nothing. Like he didn’t even know who the boy before him was.

Lloyd gazed up at his father, eyes wide and full of love, longing, and uncertainty. “Father?” Lloyd uttered quietly, almost reverently. This had to be some cruel, demented fever dream. He must’ve collapsed after the Sons of Garmadon were arrested, and this was some sort of delusion. This just.. couldn’t be real. Could it? His father was standing before him, alive and breathing. His father.

Garmadon seemingly snapped back to reality, his eyes narrowing as he pushed past Lloyd, nearly knocking the boy over. “She... Calls... Me...” He hissed out, his voice gravelly and low. It was devoid of any warmth or affection his father used to regard him with when he spoke, it sounded more like he was talking to one of his many incompetent lackeys from his time as a villain, or even to one of their enemies during his time as a ninja master.

Lloyd quickly recovered and his confusion only grew. “What do you-” Lloyd paused. Harumi. Harumi was calling him, wasn’t she? She just couldn't leave his family alone, could she? “Father, wait! Don't listen to her!”

Garmadon seemingly ignored him, continuing to walk in that stilted, off-kilter manner. Like the reanimated corpse he was. His movements were unnatural and stiff. He smelt almost like chlorine bleach and rotting, burning flesh.

“Just wait a minute! Let me talk to you!” Lloyd pleaded again, grabbing one of Garmadon’s lower arms. “Please, father!”

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lord garmadon #garmadon #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #emperor garmadon #sons of garmadon #ninjago season 8 #ns8

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drabblejester · 3 days ago

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Dan Heng, Sampo, Gepard, Ratio and Mr Reca react that reader has a chaotic little sister like Klee from genshin impact

how VARIOUS HSR GUYS would react to your SUPER COOL BUT MILDLY INSANE LITTLE SISTER!!

requested by: gachaclubideas !!

pairings: dan heng, sampo, gepard, ratio, and mr reca & gn!reader and little sister :3

content warnings: none!!

comments: the first post after brief hiatus is chaotic.. as god intended<3

GEPARD:

ouuh he LOVES her!!! doesn’t like how crazy she is though. but still loves her

goes and pinches her cheeks like a grandma and gets scared because she growled at him (“whys she in timeout?” “because she growled at me” reference)

tells her some lovely stories about all of his cool adventures only to find out that she REALLY wants to go on those adventures too

you just kinda laugh it off until she comes back with a diy cardboard suit of armor just like gepards…. okay now youre debating on letting her go or not

gepard just sits her down and talks about it, telling her why she cant go on Death Expedition Number Three Thousand. she gets upset so he bakes her some cookies or fixes her a snack. hurray! peace restored <3

SAMPO:

and unlike gepard, he will HAPPILY treat her to crazy explorations and little ‘quests’ he makes up.

they’re either just a way to get your sister to do work for him OR genuinely for fun. no matter what, he makes sure that she’s safe and sound and tucked into bed at 9 pm

constantly talks to you about how GREAT of a fool she would grow up to be.. indoctrinating elation early. he’s good at it too… you’re a bit worried that she’s going to end up even crazier if she does wind up to be a fool

eeeeeh but she knocks out too early to do anything TOO crazy. nearly 99% of the time after sampo and her come back from their adventures, shes knocked out on his shoulder FAST asleep.

at least you can sleep at night knowing mr cold feet has your little sister in (somewhat) good hands, albeit probably a terrible influence on her.

DAN HENG:

he’s scared. he’s genuinely scared at first. it’s like having a miniature and even WORSE version of caelus or stelle in the express

and he’s vowed to never let her end up like those little trash-eating baseball-wielding raccoon dweebs… so the first thing he does is teach her some manners!

they have a LOT of tea parties, and he uses it as an excuse to teach her basic manners and polite words. and she does learn well!

sadly it comes at the cost of him coming out of the room in a pretty pink dress and makeup and so much glitter. he’s even got stickers on his tail that he can’t reach far enough to get off

you and march take SO many photos. damn the lessons, you just think its funny that he comes out as a new princess every time

DR. RATIO:

he also tries the approach that dan heng has, aka teaching her some manners and such. she learns well from him, but constantly calls him a cranky old man. much to your amusement

he gets annoyed and overwhelmed by her very very easily, so its hardly 10 minutes before he’s handing her off to you again.

don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t think that she’s a lost cause or anything. he just doesn’t do too well with hyper kids, and doesn’t really know how to fix that

he tries a new method, bribery! giving her a small piece of fruit every time she gets a question right. which goes very well! at first!

eventually your little sister is begging to go to ratio because he has yummy fruits, and ratio is begging you to NOT hand her over because she will terrorize him (you hand her over)

MR. RECA:

dear GOD he loves her. adores her so much. kisses her cheeks and pats her head so very much its like he was MADE to work with kids

his energy and her energy work surprisingly well together? much more than you expected. he’s frantically taking photos of her in cute little outfits and in the most insane voice hes like “yes.. YES.. MY LITTLE ACTRESS!! MY DARLING SUPERSTAR!!! YOU’LL CRUSH THE WORLD SOMEDAY!!!!”

it’s kinda concerning now that you think about it because they enable each other SO hard. they’re both hyper maniacs who love doing things! which is cute until you think about it for more than 3 seconds

she gets to feature in so so many productions (with your consent), even playing a major role as a super cool villain. she loves it so much that she refuses to get rid of the costume, which now sits proudly in her closet

after each film, he showers her with love and praise and treats her to a little bit of ice cream. you lecture reca about sugar, and he winds up going the veggie route. your baby sister now refuses to work with him </3

apolocheese for the absence my lieges

#writing blog #honkai star rail #ask blog #hoyoverse #headcanons #sampo #sampo koski #mr reca #dr ratio #veritas ratio #gepard #gepard landau #dan heng #hsr

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kimmie2me · 2 days ago

Text

# 04. Crossed Lines

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

note: hey hey!! sorry for the late chapter!! needed time to write this + a request ill post later!! enjoy!!

.....

After the short interaction wrapped up, you found yourself glancing over at the two other detectives standing beside Midoriya. Both were new faces to you, but the contrast was instantly noticeable—Ashido Mina, with her bright eyes and bubblegum hair, radiated an unshakable optimism, while Sero Hanta’s casual smile and relaxed posture somehow balanced the energy Bakugou’s relentless intensity brought to the room. Midoriya himself, ever the polite one, caught your gaze and offered a small, friendly nod.

You decided that if you were all going to be dealing with a case this serious, a little rapport wouldn’t hurt. But the moment you opened your mouth, Bakugou’s eyes cut toward you, a warning practically glowing in his glare.

“Is this a damn tea party?” Bakugou barked, arms crossed tightly. “We got places to be, people. Let’s. GO.”

“Lighten up, Kacchan,” Midoriya replied with a smile that was almost too casual for the tension between him and Bakugou. He pushed up his sleeves, looking genuinely unfazed by Bakugou’s attitude. “We’re all working together on this one. And a team that’s familiar with each other works better, right?”

Bakugou shot him a glare, muttering something about “wasted time” as he stormed past, but he didn’t outright shut you down again, so… small victories.

“So, you’re the new partner, huh?” Sero asked, flashing a grin as you all walked toward the bullpen. “Must be tough, dealing with Mr. Sunshine over there.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the groan slipped out before you could stop it. “You have no idea. Half the time, I feel like he’s about two seconds away from throwing me out of a moving vehicle. Or into a boxing ring.”

“Oh, trust me,” Mina giggled, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s all bark… and bite. But he only goes full ‘attack mode’ if he respects you. Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya, clearly having overheard every word of the conversation, nodded with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, Kacchan... has a unique way of motivating people. If you can even call it motivation," he added, trailing off as though unsure of how to phrase it. And this was the same guy who'd gotten away with calling Bakugou a semi-affectionate nickname—in public!

You were still processing that when Mina gave you a friendly tap on the shoulder. “So, don’t take it personally if he’s a little extra harsh. You’d have to screw up pretty bad for him to really lose it on you.”

Sero grinned. “Yeah, we’ve all been on the receiving end of his ‘motivational speeches.’ Right, Midoriya?”

Midoriya again nodded, a hint of nervous laughter escaping him. “He’s been like that since high school. But he’s a good detective. If you stick around long enough, you’ll see why.”

Just as you were starting to relax into the conversation, Bakugou’s voice sliced through it like a razor. “Oi! Enough chitchat. If I wanted a damn pep talk, I’d ask for it.” He shot you a glare, then pointed toward the door. “Move it. Now.”

You exchanged quick, sheepish glances with Mina and Sero, who both gave you a silent “good luck” nod as Bakugou led the way out, practically radiating impatience. Even Midoriya’s friendly wave didn’t fully shake off the weight of Bakugou’s intensity.

As you moved into the hallway with Bakugou just a few steps ahead, you couldn’t help but think: that getting to know these new teammates was going to be a marathon in itself. And given Bakugou’s lingering glare, you were pretty sure he’d do his best to make sure you wouldn’t forget it.

.....

The air between you and Bakugou was thick with unspoken tension as he pushed open the door to a quieter side room, away from the chatter and energy of the other officers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as you stepped inside, the soft thud of the door closing behind you magnifying the sudden silence. Bakugou’s back was to you, the crisp lines of his navy-blue police detective uniform sharp under the bright lights. The tailored fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, the insignia patch visible on his sleeve as he crossed his arms and let out a deep, controlled breath.

“Alright, listen up, rookie,” he started, voice low and rough but without the usual edge that could cut through concrete. His eyes met yours, stormy and electric, a mix of begrudging seriousness and irritation. It wasn’t quite the barking tone you were used to, but it sure as hell wasn’t gentle either. “This isn't some simple patrol. We’re dealin' with a syndicate—real, organized scum who’d sell their own mothers for a payday.”

You nodded, feeling the pressure coil tighter in your chest. He took a step closer, and you resisted the urge to flinch. He wasn’t intimidating by accident; he was all sharp edges and raw energy, a wildfire trying to behave like a controlled burn.

“I know you’re green, and I know you’re not ready for half the shit we’re about to face.” His eyes narrowed, watching for any sign of disagreement. “But that don’t mean you’re gonna slack off. This is your chance to prove you can handle bein’ my partner without draggin’ my ass down.”

You opened your mouth to speak, maybe defend yourself or say something witty to cut the tension, but he didn’t give you the chance. His hand flew up, pointer finger raised in warning. “No. Shut up and listen."

Great. The infamous Bakugou Katsuki motivational speech, part two.

“We’re runnin' recon. Stakeout. The works. This ain’t the kind of gig where you can afford to blink and miss somethin’.” He started pacing, his boots hitting the linoleum floor with a steady rhythm. The room was just big enough that his movements seemed to fill every inch of space, every stride of his reminding you that he was not just a man, but a force. “We watch, we wait, and we don’t move unless we have to. You don’t make a sound unless I tell ya to. You don’t play hero, you don’t get curious, and you sure as hell don’t run your mouth if things get tense.”

He stopped in front of you again, eyes flickering over your expression like he was reading every doubt, every hesitation. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually tone it down. Instead, he leaned in, the intensity in his eyes nearly crackling.

“I’m sayin’ this once, so get it through that head of yours: the second you act like this is a game or hesitate when things get messy, we’re done. Got it?”

The room felt a few degrees hotter, and it took everything in you not to shrink under his stare. You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves. “..Got it.”

His gaze lingered, scanning for any cracks, any sign that you were bluffing. Whatever he saw must have passed his test, because he straightened, arms folding back across his chest as he nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk but something less hostile. “Now, don’t screw it up.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment, the words sinking in like lead. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or more anxious. You took a breath, the reality of it all pressing down on your shoulders.

“So, when’s the stakeout?” you asked, trying to mask the nerves in your voice with a false bravado. It worked well enough in theory—maybe not so much in practice.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened with the glint of a man ready for battle. “Tonight. Gear up and meet me by the west gate at 1900. And remember what I said, rookie—‘cause one slip, and we’re both screwed.”

You nodded again, the weight of the next few hours pressing like a vise on your chest. As you turned to leave, the thought flared back in your mind: Yeah, you were definitely doomed.

.....

The hours between the briefing and 19:00 were a special kind of hell. You sat at your desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as your nerves twisted into knots that no amount of deep breathing could undo. The department buzzed around you, a chaotic orchestra of voices, footsteps, and the static crackle of radios. But all of it was muffled, like cotton was stuffed in your ears. Your mind was on one thing: tonight's stakeout.

Kaminari, bless his soul, had tried to lighten the mood, sauntering over with that boyish grin and the kind of confidence that only came from blissful ignorance. “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know, if this was a horror movie, you’d be the one who gets possessed first.”

“Thanks, Kaminari,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as your leg bounced under the desk. His joke didn’t help, but at least it was something.

“And then Bakugou would probably shout at the demon until it left you alone,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. That earned him a snort from Kirishima across the room, who was busy checking his gear. Even so, the tension in your chest didn’t let up.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the demon just possessed him instead,” you said, only half-joking. Kaminari barked out a laugh before leaning in.

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Just, you know, don’t do anything Bakugou said not to do,” he whispered conspiratorially.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But instead, all you could do was glance at the clock, counting down the hours and minutes until you’d have to face Bakugou’s exacting standards—and hope that you wouldn’t be the reason this mission went sideways.

…

By the time 18:30 rolled around, you were a bundle of frayed nerves. Every glance from Bakugou during prep was a silent challenge, his sharp eyes catching the tiniest missteps—your holster that wasn’t clipped properly, the radio you checked twice just to be sure it was on the right frequency. He didn’t even have to say anything; the weight of his disapproval was enough to make you sweat bullets. You could practically hear him in your head, shouting, “Rookie mistakes get us killed.”

The room felt like it was closing in, the anticipation coiling tighter with every second that passed. It didn’t help that the murmured conversations were peppered with glances in your direction. Even Kirishima, who’d shown up with a reassuring clap on your shoulder and a grin that promised camaraderie, couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had settled over you.

“Alright, everyone!” Chief Yagi’s voice cut through the room like a warm, steady beacon. The tall man stood beside Chief Aizawa, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his eyes half-lidded but sharp. The room quieted instantly, officers shifting from casual banter to focused attention. Even Bakugou, with his constant underlying intensity, straightened his posture.

“This is it,” Chief Yagi began, his voice even and calm, resonating with the kind of authority that settled nerves—at least a little. “We’re up against a syndicate that’s been one step ahead of us for too long. Tonight, we change that.”

Chief Aizawa’s eyes swept the room, pausing on you for a fraction longer than you’d have liked. “Stay sharp. This isn’t your average stakeout. Everyone needs to be on point. One mistake, and they’ll be gone before we blink.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze like an iron chain. Your heart drummed so loudly, you wondered if anyone else could hear it.

“Bakugou, you and your team are the first line,” Yagi continued, eyes shifting to the explosive blond. Bakugou’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk but was probably just his battle-ready scowl. “Be ready for anything.”

“Damn right,” Bakugou muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes flicked to you for half a second, a warning and an assurance wrapped into one.

You swallowed hard as the chiefs finished the briefing, a collective shuffling of boots and gear following as everyone moved out to their positions. The air crackled with anticipation, every officer a tightly wound spring ready to snap. The hallway buzzed with activity, footsteps echoing as your team gathered near the entrance.

And then it hit you, hard and cold like a wave crashing over your head: you were absolutely fucked. All the pep talks, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t quell the gnawing anxiety that twisted in your gut as you stepped into the night, the sky darkening into a canopy of shadows.

“Let’s move, rookie!” Bakugou’s voice cut through, snapping you back to the present. You glanced over at Midoriya, who shot you a small, nervous smile that did little to settle your nerves. Ahead, Kirishima flashed a thumbs-up, his own excitement barely contained.

The night was just beginning, but one thing was clear—you were in for the fight of your life.

.....

You, Kirishima, and Bakugou took up positions in the dense cluster of shadows outside the syndicate's hideout. The abandoned industrial park loomed like a hulking beast, its rusted metal structures catching the eerie glow of the moon. The cool night air should have been refreshing, but it only added a biting edge to the tension coiling in your stomach. Bakugou was already a taut wire, vibrating with his usual mix of impatience and adrenaline.

“Eyes open, no screw-ups,” Bakugou hissed under his breath, the snarl barely masked behind clenched teeth. His glare cut through the dark, landing squarely on you. Great, you thought. Just what you needed—his full, undivided wrath.

“Got it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of night insects.

Kirishima, bless his eternally optimistic soul, shot you a reassuring smile. “Hey, we’re gonna be fine, yeah? We’ve trained for this. Just remember the plan.”

You nodded, trying to channel even a sliver of his confidence. The plan was simple on paper: observe, gather intel, wait for the signal. But reality had a funny way of chewing up simple plans and spitting them out as complicated messes, and with Bakugou as the lead, nothing was ever just simple.

Bakugou shifted beside you, eyes narrowed and posture coiled tight like a predator about to spring. “Stop movin' like you’re an amateur on a school field trip. You make one wrong move, and they’ll hear us from miles away.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from snapping back. He wasn’t wrong, but damn if the delivery didn’t make you want to throw your boot at his head. Instead, you adjusted your stance, focusing on steady, measured breaths. Kirishima’s eyes darted between the two of you, his smile faltering slightly. He opened his mouth as if to say something encouraging but quickly shut it as Bakugou shot him a look that could’ve seared paint off metal.

“Focus, Shitty Hair. We’re not here for a group hug.”,” Bakugou growled.

Kirishima winced, but to his credit, he nodded. “Right, right. All good here.”

The quiet stretched out, an oppressive blanket that made every creak and rustle sound magnified. You kept your eyes trained on the entrance of the building, fingers flexing nervously at your side. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple despite the chill. You wanted to be calm, composed, the officer Bakugou didn’t feel like he had to babysit. But under the weight of his scalding gaze, the pressure sat heavy on your chest.

Suddenly, a small sound—a metallic clink—broke the silence. Your eyes darted to the source, and before you could register what it was, Bakugou had whirled on you, eyes blazing with fury.

“What the hell did I say, rookie?!" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper but fierce enough to make your pulse leap. “You tryin' to announce our presence with a goddamn megaphone?””

“I didn’t—” you started, but Kirishima interjected, trying to diffuse the escalating tension.

“Whoa, whoa, guys. Let’s just—”

“Stay outta this, Kirishima,” Bakugou snapped, never taking his eyes off you. "I swear, if you cost us this op—”

“Bakugou, I get it,” you interrupted, your voice sharp enough to slice through the static in the air. “I’m not here to mess this up.”

“Then act like it.”,” he shot back, voice dripping with impatience. His eyes were unreadable in the dark, but you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing against you. Prove yourself or get out of my way.

Kirishima shifted awkwardly, clearly torn between stepping in and staying silent. His fingers curled, the tension evident even in his usually relaxed frame. He gave you a small, apologetic look, but there wasn’t much he could do. Bakugou’s word was final.

You swallowed hard and nodded, steeling yourself. The sting of Bakugou’s criticism burned, but it fueled you, sharpening your focus. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking under his scrutiny.

The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as the quiet hum of the night settled once more. The weight of the mission, of Bakugou’s piercing gaze, of your own hammering heartbeat—all of it coalesced into a single, suffocating realization.

You were in it now, with no room for doubt or error. As Chief Yagi’s voice crackled softly through the comms with the final “All units, prepare to engage,” you exhaled shakily. The stakeout had officially begun, and there was no turning back.

This, you thought as you scanned the perimeter one last time, the shadows shifting and stretching like specters. Is the worst year of my life.

.....

The first half hour of the stakeout was suffocating in its monotony. Every creak and groan of the old industrial park seemed amplified, stretching the seconds into an eternity. Bakugou hadn’t taken his eyes off the building for a second, muscles taut and ready to strike at the slightest hint of movement. You tried to match his vigilance, forcing your breathing to remain steady as the cold air bit through your jacket. Kirishima shifted beside you, the only sign he wasn’t made entirely of stone.

Suddenly, a low whistle over the comms cut through the night: the signal. Movement at the side entrance. Your pulse spiked, locking eyes with Bakugou, who barely gave you a glance before snapping, “Stay close. Don’t screw this up.”

“Right,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. This was it. Time to prove you were more than just some rookie Bakugou had to babysit.

The three of you crept forward, Bakugou leading with steps too silent for someone with such a loud personality. You mirrored him as best you could, even as adrenaline threatened to unsteady your footing. Kirishima brought up the rear, eyes narrowed and focused.

Just as you reached the door, Bakugou’s hand shot up, signaling a halt. He glanced back, mouthing, On my mark. Your fingers flexed, nerves wound tighter than a spring.

Then, a figure darted out of the building, faster than expected. Panic flared as you reacted just a beat too late. Your foot grazed a loose pipe, sending it clattering against the concrete like a symphony of mistakes.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed with molten fury. “What the hell did I just say?!”

The figure froze, head whipping toward the noise—then bolted, vanishing into the maze of the industrial park.

“Move!” Bakugou roared, his voice slicing through the night.

All three of you burst into a sprint, boots pounding cracked pavement. The cold bit harder as you tore through tight corridors and rusted structures, Bakugou’s curses driving you forward.

Twisting around corners, feet pounding, shadows shifting erratically in the flashlights’ beams—you misstepped, just a fraction too slow on the slick ground. Your ankle twisted, and the world tilted. You yelped, slamming into a metal crate with a clang.

“Split up!” he barked, and you veered right, legs burning, lungs heaving to keep pace. You caught a blur of movement—a flash of dark clothing.

“Contact, west side!” you gasped into the comms.

But as you turned the corner, your target slipped into a corridor cluttered with debris. You leapt over a pipe, skidding on loose gravel, arms pinwheeling. Before you regained balance, a second figure shoved past, slamming you against the metal siding of a container.

“Dammit!” you choked, disoriented. The clatter had already alerted the team, but it was too late. Bakugou appeared from the opposite end, just in time to see them vanish through a gap in the chain-link fence.

He spun to you, fury sparking in his eyes. “Are you serious? One damn job, and you blew it!”

Kirishima came running, breathing hard, eyes darting between the exit and your crumpled form. “We can still—”

“It’s too late, Kirishima.” Bakugou spat, words cutting like glass. He yanked you up by the arm, not gentle. “Lost our best lead ‘cause of you.”

You winced as he let go, the cold fury in his eyes stinging more than the rough grip on your arm. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by harsh breaths and the distant hum of the city.

Then Chief Yagi’s voice crackled over the comms. “Teams, return to base. We’ll regroup and assess.”

You couldn’t look Bakugou in the eye as you trudged back, the walk a slow march of shame. Kirishima tried a comforting shoulder pat, but it only made the sting worse. Bakugou’s words echoed in your skull, sharp as broken glass.

.....

Back at the precinct, Bakugou wasted no time, cornering you in the hallway, slamming a fist against the wall by your head with a sharp crack. You flinched. His eyes blazed, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. His jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to shatter, and you could feel heat radiating from him, even in the frigid night air. This was beyond bad.

“What. The hell. Were you thinkin’?” he ground out, each word heavy with fury, barely contained. He was close enough that you noticed the scar slicing across his right cheek—a jagged reminder he was built for chaos. Right now, though, he looked like he was about to snap—and you were the reason why.

Honestly? You didn’t even know. No idea, and that was the worst of it. You didn’t know why you kept screwing up. Or why you couldn’t just…stop.

You swore you wouldn’t cry. Never. But after everything, you could feel it creeping up, your gaze dropping to avoid Bakugou’s glare, which burned with something harsher than anger—disdain. It was like fuel to the fire, but for your tears, if that even made sense.

The weight of his glare felt like it might crush you into the linoleum. Bakugou’s presence filled every inch of the hallway, every jagged line of his rage pressing in on you until even breathing felt like a mistake. But you forced yourself to hold it together, swallowing hard, refusing to crack under his gaze.

"Chief Yagi told me you had potential," he sneered, voice dripping with venom. "Thought I was wastin’ my time watchin' your back, but I guess you’re set on provin' him wrong." His eyes raked over you, assessing, but you could tell he wasn’t finding anything worth the trouble.

Your fists tightened, knuckles white, but you bit back any retort that threatened to slip out. You didn’t have a defense. You’d failed, and he was right to be angry. Still, the weight of his disappointment—and the sting of his words—cut deep.

"I fuckin' knew you'd be a shit partner, if I can even call you that," Bakugou spat, voice low and venomous. He stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. "You're not even worth the time I wasted, dragging your ass through this mess."

Your chest tightened, but you kept your jaw set, refusing to back down or give him the satisfaction of seeing your frustration boil over. You could feel the heat of his words, each one like a slap to the face. But you weren’t going to let him break you.

Kirishima rounded the corner, his face a mask of concern. He caught Bakugou’s shoulder, halting him mid-step. “C’mon, man, go easy. You know we all slip up sometimes. We were all green once, right?”

Bakugou shrugged him off, his glare flicking between you and Kirishima. "Green’s one thing. Getting a lead ruined ‘cause they don’t know left from right? That’s another."

Kirishima's jaw tensed, but he turned to you with a softer look, one that almost undid all your efforts not to crumble right there. "Hey, everyone messes up at some point. Even Bakugou’s had a few rough starts. Right, Bakugou?" he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Bakugou’s eyes flashed, jaw clenching tighter. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima didn’t back down, meeting Bakugou’s fierce gaze head-on. “But you’re the one who’s always telling everyone to learn fast, right? And they will. They just need—”

“Need to toughen up, yeah,” Bakugou snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to you, his voice low and lethal. "Next time you so much as breathe wrong on a case, I’ll make sure it’s the last time."

With one last, withering look, he stormed off, footsteps echoing down the hall. Kirishima stayed a moment longer, his hand landing on your shoulder, firm but reassuring.

"Look," he murmured, lowering his voice. "Bakugou’s tough on everyone. Hell, he was even worse with me when I started. But he’s all bark, yeah? Don’t let it get to you. You’ll learn. Just…keep at it."

You managed a shaky nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “Thanks, Kirishima.”

He gave you a reassuring pat, his smile kind despite everything. "Hang in there. If you stick around long enough, even Bakugou’s gotta acknowledge you eventually." He offered a wink, trying to lighten the mood, before heading down the hall after his friend.

The quiet that followed felt hollow, the fluorescent lights humming above as you stood there, replaying every step of the mission in your mind, every slip and wrong move magnified a hundred times over.

You barely registered the footsteps approaching until a soft voice spoke.

"You okay?"

It was Chief Yagi, his tall frame looming gently over you, eyes soft and compassionate. The chief was a man of few words, but each one seemed to carry weight. He’d been the one who vouched for you, vouched hard enough to get Bakugou’s reluctant approval. You didn’t know why he’d stuck his neck out, not when there were dozens of rookies more deserving.

“Yes, sir. Just…reflecting,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Yagi’s gaze didn’t waver, his sharp eyes searching yours as if reading every thought that crossed your mind. “Mistakes happen,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “They’re not what define you. It’s what you do afterward that counts.”

You nodded, hearing the wisdom in his words but not quite feeling it. The shame still burned, Bakugou’s words still echoing like a scar. You couldn’t shake the image of his furious glare, the way his words cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had one job. That’s all he’d said. And you’d screwed it up. Badly.

You weren’t cut out for this, were you? Maybe Bakugou was right—maybe you were just a waste of time. Everyone around you seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but you were fumbling through every step, like a toddler learning to walk. You could still feel the sting of his disappointment, his anger, like it was still seeping into your bones.

You weren’t good enough. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

A pit of self-loathing twisted in your stomach, deeper than it ever had before. You’d come into this job with so much hope, with the idea that you could prove yourself, that you could be something more than just another rookie. But every time you tried, it felt like you only dug yourself deeper. Every mistake you made seemed to stack up, making you a bigger target for Bakugou’s wrath.

Was this the best you could do? Stumbling through every opportunity, letting your partner clean up your mess?

You should’ve known better. You should’ve moved faster, been more careful, not tripped on that damn pipe. You shouldn’t have let the pressure get to you. But here you were, a failure in the eyes of your mentor, your team, yourself.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously. You didn’t cry. Not over something like this. But no matter how hard you tried, the ache in your chest didn’t fade. What if this was it? What if you just weren’t built for this kind of work? Maybe you didn’t belong here at all.

You pushed a hand against the wall, feeling the cool surface beneath your palm as your breath grew shallow. What if you just gave up? What if you walked out the door, out of this damn precinct, and never came back?

You’re not good enough, the thought whispered. And you never will be.

For a moment, you stood there, weighed down by that voice—by the truth of it. And in the quiet of the hallway, with only the distant hum of the building and the haunting echoes of Bakugou’s fury, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe it.

The silence stretched on, the oppressive weight of your own thoughts bearing down on you. The anger that had been bubbling in your chest before was now buried under a thick layer of disappointment—both your own and what you imagined Bakugou’s to be.

But then, a soft voice cut through the dark fog of your mind.

"Hey." Chief Yagi’s voice was gentle, but firm. You didn’t even realize he had entered the hallway until you heard him say your name. "You doing alright?"

You flinched at the sound of your name, dragging your gaze up to meet his warm, steady eyes. Chief Yagi wasn’t like Bakugou—he wasn’t harsh, wasn’t blunt or demanding. His presence was a quiet kind of strength, and it was that quiet strength that seemed to settle over you like a blanket.

“I… I don’t know, Chief.” The words came out like a confession, raw and hesitant. You couldn’t meet his gaze for long, instead focusing on the floor as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "I screwed up. Big time. I… I don’t think I’m cut out for this."

The words tasted like ash in your mouth. They were the culmination of all the doubts you’d been carrying, every mistake you’d made, every misstep that felt like a chasm between you and your teammates.

Chief Yagi sighed softly, taking a step closer, his expression kind but knowing, like he’d seen this before. "Hey," he repeated, his voice reassuring. "Everyone messes up. Especially when they’re starting out."

You shook your head, unable to shake the feeling that you’d let everyone down. "I let everyone down, Chief. Bakugou was right. I—I had one job, and I blew it. You gave me a chance to prove myself..and I failed."

"Yeah, you made a mistake. But you didn’t ruin everything." Chief Yagi’s voice was calm, but it carried the weight of experience. "We’re not in this alone, you know? You don’t have to carry the burden of every single slip-up on your own."

His words were a balm to the self-inflicted wound that had been festering. But they still didn’t feel quite enough to wipe away the guilt. "But I keep messing up," you said softly. "Over and over again. I’m just... holding everyone back."

"No," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "What you’re doing is learning. You’re learning, and you’re pushing through. That’s all anyone can ask of you. I see it, you know? The way you push yourself. The way you don’t back down, even when it’s tough."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to feel that tiny spark of hope flicker back to life inside you. But it was hard to see through the haze of failure that clouded your mind. "But what if I’m just not good enough? What if I’m just... a mistake waiting to happen?"

Chief Yagi let out another soft breath, and when he spoke again, it was with the kind of patience only someone who’d been through it all could have. "You know, no one gets everything right the first time. Or the second. Or the third, for that matter. It’s not about getting it perfect; it’s about getting back up every time you fall. And you will. I’m sure of it."

His words sank into you like a stone into water, rippling through the doubt and frustration that had been swelling up inside you. Chief Yagi wasn’t trying to erase your mistake, he was just reminding you that it didn’t define you. That you didn’t have to be perfect to be worth something.

"I’m not saying it’ll be easy," he continued, his voice steady, "but I’m here, and your team’s here. You don’t have to be alone in this, even when it feels like you are."

You swallowed hard, fighting the lump that had formed in your throat. For the first time that night, you allowed yourself a breath, a small sigh that felt like a fraction of a weight lifting.

“I won’t give up,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him, but they still felt like a promise. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep going.”

Chief Yagi smiled, a small but warm curve of his lips that sent a little spark of hope through your chest. “That’s all anyone needs to hear. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

He turned to walk away, but before he did, he gave you one last, reassuring glance over his shoulder. "And if you ever need to talk, I’m around. Don’t forget that, okay?"

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Maybe you weren’t a lost cause after all. Maybe you could get better. Maybe you were learning. And with that, you allowed yourself just a sliver of hope—enough to push through to the next day.

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wyattjohnston · 23 hours ago

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the winter fic exchange 2k25

important dates

sign ups close Wednesday November 27 at 11:59pm AEDT (what time is that for me?)

you’ll receive your match no later than December 2

the final day to post your finished fic is January 31 at 11:59pm Anywhere On Earth

guidelines & sign up link below

this is a hockey imagine exchange, meant for reader insert or OC fics (not player/player)

if you signed up for the summer fic exchange 2k24 and did not finish a fic you are not eligible for this exchange without chatting to me first

if you signed up for the summer fic exchange 2k24 and did not reblog the fic written for you, you are not eligible for this exchange. you can go reblog said fic and show your appreciation right now, and then sign up

the minimum word count is 1500 words

no multi-chaptered fics allowed. whatever you do with the fic after (i.e. if it becomes a series) is fine, but the fic posted for the exchange must be a standalone fic.

there’s no requirement to have written x number of fics prior to signing up

if you change your URL at any point after you’ve signed up, please let me know so that your sign up doesn’t get lost. this ideally includes letting me know if it changes before the masterlist goes up

you do not have to be following me, but please check back occasionally between sign ups opening and matches being sent as there might be changes/updates

this is supposed to be fun. if you are going to be overwhelmingly stressed out about the writing process, due date or what people’s response will be to your fic then this isn’t for you. know your own limits.

any updates will be tagged with ‘the winter fic exchange 2k25’

you will need to allow anonymous messages once matches have gone out so that you can be asked questions. if you are unsure about how to change these settings, please let me know

i’m doing this by myself so don’t be a dick.

my DMs and ask box are always open (anons welcome!) if you have any questions.

you can sign up here.

explanation

this functions like secret santa/kris kringle, where people sign up and are then provided a person they will be writing a fic for.

on the google form linked above, you will fill in a bunch of information including players and genres/themes you like to read about and players you like to write about—i then do my absolute best to match these up with each other so that people are receiving what they want and writing within their comfort limits.

there are also spaces to tell me genres and players you want nothing to do with, so that i won’t pair you up with a person who exclusively writes things you aren’t interested in.

after you’ve received your match (the person you’ll be writing for), you can then head into their inbox anonymously and really drill down into what your match would like to receive.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the winter fic exchange 2k25

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thunderon · 10 months ago

Note

as a purveyor of chicken breast, do you have tips on how to cook it? I have failed so many times and it is the only cut of chicken i can eat for texture reasons. save me chickens georg save me chickens georg

tbh im a shitty cook so im allll about finding easy recipes that require minimum handling from me so i can limit how much i can fuck up a recipe

just for general chicken breast cooking, my two favorite ways is either on the stove top or in a slow cooker. here’s a good stovetop tutorial that’s pretty straightforward and she gives a ton of good tips. and if you’re looking for a general recipe to try out, highly recommended this one i talked about here before!

if anyone has any tips or recipes for anon definitely drop em!

#asks #hopefully this is what you’re looking for?#you’ll have to let me know how it goes!#my roommate airfries her chicken and she seems to enjoy it that way #so that’s another option

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thevaudevillescene · 1 year ago

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Yesterday, while talking about my serving job, my office coworker said, “You ever feel like you’re in a Broadway show, like it’s just the same thing repeating night after night?” I said, “Absolutely. There’s a song in the Beetlejuice musical where he goes, ‘I do this bullshit, like, eight times a week,’ and I swear I think of it every single day on my way to work.”

A couple of weeks ago a woman at one of my tables asked if I’m “in the theater” and I said no, and she was like, “oh, you just seem like you have that personality.” I don’t need to join the local theater, ma’am, I already act for a living at this job. You’re simply seeing through the cracks in my carefully crafted but summer-worn worksona. I said to my coworker, “I was just assigned theater kid by this woman,” and they said, “She probably clocked that you’re gay but she’s too straight to realize it so she was like, ‘She must…do theater.’”

#so don’t be freaked. stay in your seats. i do this bullshit like eight times a week.#so just relax; you’ll be fine. drink your $50 wine and take a breath.#<- truly me whenever customers start getting pissed about fucking anything #my patience is wearing SO thin which is how i know it’s august #last week i let a table know their food was on its way and asked if they needed anything before it came out #and the guy goes ‘yeah when’s our food coming?’ i was like ‘..AS I SAID-’#last night a woman asked if she could sub out pasta for a vegetable and i said ya the options are blah blah blah #she was like ‘a veggie sauté? what’s that?’ i said ‘it’s a mix of vegetables.’ ‘but what’s in it?’#i just flipped her menu over while holding eye contact with her and pointed to the description on the menu #my other favorite: can i get you anything else to drink besides water? coke diet coke sprite iced tea lemonade club soda?#‘can i have a root beer?’ ‘do u guys have dr. pepper?’#……#COKE. DIET COKE. SPRITE. ICED TEA-#‘oh okay i’ll have a pepsi’#AND I HOPE YOU DIE. I HOPE WE BOTH DIE.

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kamiversee · 22 days ago

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Big ruby shaded eyes, matching that of her father’s, have this adorable thin layer of gloss over them as she pleads with her parent for the millionth time.

“Daddy pwease?” She has the cutest little pout on her face, one that’s worked on her mother time and time again that’s sure to work on her father too—

“No.” Sukuna says yet again.

The child is tired of asking and receiving that same answer over and over. She doesn’t understand one bit why but she hates hearing that word. Folding her arms, she lets out an annoyed puff, “Mommy would never tell me no…”

One statement and there’s already another vein bulging in the right corner of Sukuna Ryomen’s forehead. “Go away, brat.” He breathes out in an overly irritated tone.

The child, unable to take no for an answer and more like her father than she even realizes, takes her foot and brings it down on the curse’s foot in frustration.

If he wasn’t ticked off before, he damn sure is now. “You little—“

“Sukuna,” And there it is, the voice of the sole human in this reality who could ever even dream of cutting the king of curses off mid-sentence. Not only is it you, the mother of his overly insolent child, but you have the nerve to give him that scolding tone he hates (loves).

He scowls for a long moment before looking down to the smaller human who carries more of your features than his. “Fine, child.” Sukuna drawls out after a long roll of his many eyes.

Then, with a big smile plastered all over her small face, her hands are shooting up and she’s making a grab motion with her hands.

Sukuna stares down at her and sighs, “You really are a spoiled brat, y’know…” He grumps while leaning down to pick his daughter up with one out of his two pairs of hands. “…Just like your damn mother.”

The child’s smile fades for a moment and she tilts her head, “Damn?” She repeats in a confused tone, making Sukuna’s heart spike.

“Wait-, don’t… don’t say that.” He’s been down this road one two many times—having taught the child how to say ‘fuck’ the moment she began spewing words. He received an earful from you that he didn’t care for so, here he is now, “That’s a bad word.”

His daughter blinks, “But, Daddy said it.”

Sukuna groans lowly in irritation, “Daddy can say whatever the hell he wants.”

“Hell?” Oh she had to be doing this on purpose, knowing her mother was only a room away.

“Child.” The curse scolds, “Are you trying to irritate me?”

She shrugs playfully, “This is what you get for telling me no.”

“You asked me if you could draw on my face.” He deadpans.

“And you should’ve said yes,” You suddenly chime in, entering the room, “Instead of teaching her more curse words.”

The little girl snickers in Sukuna’s arms and he swears he has an image of the child being flung across the room for just a moment. That image is interrupted by the girl speaking again.

“Like fuck?” She says loud and clear. “I heard Daddy say it again earlier today—“

A big hand goes over her mouth (practically her entire face) and she’s cut off by her father who’s innocently smiling at you, his darling wife.

“Ignore her. I was just about to let her draw on my face so,” He glances down at his daughter who’s giggling victoriously beneath his palm and then sighs, “If you’ll excuse us.”

You’re left smiling at the two as Sukuna turns away with his daughter and exits the room—the sound of them bickering as soon as they’re out of sight heard moments later.

And the next time you lay eyes on the two, Sukuna’s got a face full of stickers and marker and his little mini-me has a mocking face full of her father’s markings. To which you just had to take a million and one pictures of.

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neo-nomatrix · 5 months ago

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HAWK TUAH !

jjk men during a bl0w!e

MULTIPLE X READER

-> GOJO, SUKUNA, CHOSO, GETO, NANAMI, TOJI

cw: bj stuff. cum play (kinda idk) rough characters. dirty talk. degradation. choking

GOJO SATORU AKA HEAD PUSHER

Soooo needy it’s insane. He’s so desperate to feel every inch of your soft warm mouth. he promises to let you do your thing but as soon as you wrap your lips around the tip his hands fly to your head and his hips snap. he’s muttering apologize as he pushes you down until your nose touches his skin. he throws his head back and moans open mouthed like a slut.

he’ll get so caught up in the moment he keep you down there for like 30 seconds just grinding his hips into your mouth. let’s you up when you pinch his thigh. you will be coughing and your face will be covered in spit by the end. he lovess facials and always rubs the cum in using his tip. he keeps a photo of you with his cock on your face and cum in your mouth as his wallpaper.

“s-shit baby… deeper, little more”

“you can take it, i know you can baby”

“just make me feel good okay?”

RYOMEN SUKUNA AKA THROAT DESTROYER

uhm yeah… what did you expect. does not give a shit about you when his cock is in your mouth. keeps you at the edge of the bed with your head hanging off and his fucking your mouth like a fleshlight. goes so deep his cock is showing in your throat. your gags make him want to go another round. plugs your nose when you’re deep throating so you can’t breath.

“until my jaw locks” yeah he took that as a challenge. loves tying you up with a low vibrator on your clit while he fucks that mouth as torture. you honestly don’t know if you love it or hate it. Sukuna loves it though, that’s for sure. cums deep in your throat, every time. will face fuck you again if he sees you didn’t swallow it all.

“fuck gag on that dick, bitch”

“i can see my cock in your throat! but who’s surprised?”

“you better swallow my seed… it’ll probably reach your stomach with how deep i am”

CHOSO KAMO AKA WHINY B!TCH

again, who’s surprised. he thought handjobs were great… but this? whole different level. you start but sucking on the tip until he’s sensitive. then you lick stripes up and down his veins. you use soo much spit and he loves it. he loves it when you press kisses to his cock and then deep throat it.

hes mesmerized by the way your head moves, the way your lips look. he has to force himself to not throw his head back so he can see you. one time he got ahead of himself and snapped his hips up and you choked on him, best day of his life. when he found out your throat felt like that? no going back. he begs you to deep throat him all the time.

“more… more more more. please baby!”

“remember how good i eat you out? please treat me good”

“i know it’s too deep! im sorry i can’t stop baby”

SUGURU GETO AKA NICE N SLOW

just into good old fashioned blowjobs. your hand kept at the base and your lips move up and down his shaft. he wants your tongue swirling over it like a lollipop. he brushes your hair out of your face to see your expressions. he’s so gentle and nice when it comes to blowjobs.

let’s you grind on his leg while you suck him off. mostly uses it as foreplay and not a main way to get off. likes for your spit to act as lube for him to slide in. if he was gonna cum from a bj it would be on your tits. he loves that.

“fuck keep that up and i’ll cum”

“let it get hard in your mouth… that’s right”

“don’t give me those innocent eyes, slut”

NANAMI KENTO AKA UNDER THE DESK

oh you’ll support your working man, from under the desk. he’s so stressed about work these days and you have just the solution! you showed up to his home office in skimpy lingerie and without saying a word you crawl under his desk and get to work. he gets so flustered so fast, blushing and stuttering about how his report is due.

grips the chair so tight when you start working your magic. he doesn’t want to thrust up because he knows he’ll bruise your throat. uses his belt to wrap around your neck and guide you instead. pulls your hair an insane amount. cums in your mouth but likes to watch it pour out onto your body.

“i’m working baby… you’ll get me too distracted”

“wrap that belt around your neck, be a good assistant”

“is this you saying thank you for being my sugar daddy?”

TOJI FUSHIGURO AKA TWO HANDS

he’s so big you need to use your hands or else he might pop out on the other side of your neck. you’re moving your hands and your mouth at a similar pace. he definitely teaches you how he wants it. he guides your head to a good rhythm and then lets you do your thing.

maybe he’ll have a cigarette hanging out his mouth when you suck it. blowing smoke in your face to tease you. definitely makes fun of the fact that you can’t take all of him. your jaw has to be open so wide to get him in. cums everywhere, your face, throat, tits. doesn’t matter, if it’s you he’ll cum there.

“don’t just move your hands up and down baby, turn em”

“your face looks so fucking small next to my dick!”

“c’mon, try harder to take it or else i’ll force you to”

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wild-jackalope · 3 months ago

Text

NSFW links

Including :: Satoru, Choso, Kento, Toji, Sukuna, Yuji, Megumi, Toge, Yuta.

warning :: everything sex.

note :: can you guess who my favs are? All characters are of age.

Satoru Gojo

how he moans — He’s so damn cocky and breathy. Gasping whenever you brush over his sensitive spots, deep chuckling at every cute face you make. You couldn’t make him shut up even if you wanted to, he’s always going to be in your ear telling your what a good girl you are and letting you hear just how amazing your pussy feels.

he just won’t latch off your tit — when you’re riding him he has perfect access to your beautiful tits, how could you expect him not to suck them? He knows you love it when he can feel your cunt flutter around his cock.

he can barely control himself when you first have sex — he’s been waiting so long to have you like this, sitting naked on top of him. He might usually be smooth but now all he can think about is making sure he gives you a good fuck.

vanilla — sometimes vanilla sex is the best kind. He just loves the sight of you riding him with he idly play with your tits. So what if he wants it all the time?

videos — Satoru knows how flushed your get when he sends you videos of him jerking off and moaning your name. He’s away all the time, so he knows it’s the best reminder that he’s coming back to fuck you soon.

joining the mile high club — you’ve fucked almost everywhere. Almost. A plane now happens to fall upon that list.

Choso Kamo

how he moans — chanting please and curses. He’s a sensitive man, so they come out easily when you fuck him. Even when he’s the one on top, driving his cock deep into your soaking chasm, he still moans sweetly. He just loves you so, so much and you make him feel so fucking good. He can’t deny you the sound of his pleasure even if he wanted to.

treating him well — he goes so red in the face when you kiss him while palming his dick. Each time your lips reach his neck he shivers, so happy to have someone treat him so well it’s almost euphoric. Of course he’s stuttering “W-What about you?” Just make out with him until he sees stars.

foreplay — feeling your naked body against his, having his hands slide through your hair and lips move fluidly against yours makes him yearn for you in ways he didn’t know was possible, sure he was already hard the moment you touched him but now he’s aching and twitching for you, leaking pre cum.

he’s so big, but you take him — Choso is always slow, making sure you adjust to the feeling of him being inside you. He kisses your cheek and neck, mumbling praises. ‘You’re too big, Cho.’ You grunt, holding onto his arm. He shakes his head, disagreeing. ‘You’re the perfect size for me, my love, you take me in so perfectly. So well.’

Kento Nanami

how he moans — so lazy and deep. He just can’t stop praising you, loves to tell you how perfect you are between aimless grunts and breathy exhales. He’s a composed man, always aware of how good he’s making you feel so he’s never too lost in his own pleasure to moan so loudly, he’s quiet (unless you’re sucking him till he cums down your throat, then you’ll hear the best of his grunts).

he knows exactly how to get you crying for him — He might never openly admit it, but Kento is obsessed with your meek little moans and he knows playing with your pussy is the best way to squeeze them out of you.

perfect house wife — domestic life makes his heart truely happy, so when he comes home to you wearing nothing but an apron it makes his dick happy too. He just has to touch you and tell you you’re the perfect wife.

playing with you in front of a mirror — he enjoys seeing you quiver and your face scrunch up when he toys with your pussy, in front of a mirror means he can see it all perfectly.

Toji Fushiguro

how he moans — you have to be doing one hell of a good job to get this man to shut his mouth and moan for you. He’s a dirty talker, not a moany little sub. Still, his grunts are quiet and gruff. He’s most loudest when he slides into your gummy pussy for the first time and when he cums inside you.

favourite position — he just loves to pull you onto his cock. After a while, your legs begin to shake so he has to hold you upright and that’s how he knows you’re about to cum. Missionary comes in close second, just because he loves to feel you claw his back.

hate sex — you’re both pissed at each other, so what better way to rid yourself of your anger than to fuck it out? Straddle him, don’t give him the chance to top you, slap and ride him till he cums. Then maybe he’ll learn to respect you more.

when he tells you to ride his face, he means ride it — his lazy ass still wants you to do all the work, rolling your hips against his stunted tongue. He’s grinning, loving the moans you work out of yourself.

the only time he begged for it — you had been sending him some pretty saucy picture whilst he was away. It had been weeks since the two of you fucked and he wanted to see more of you’re perfect body. ‘I want to hear you beg’ you sent, then received a video from him.

Sukuna

how he moans — deep, deep moaning. The type of moan that hides a growl in the back of his throat as it rumbles against your chest. There are times he can get a little breathy, but he’s confident and never loses his cool. He mostly talks you through sex, so you’ll mainly hear grunts between his filthy dirty talk. Sometimes you swear you can hear a bit of Yuji coming through when he moans.

learn to shut your mouth while he fucks you — he calls you brat for a reason, because you love to talk back. When his hand wraps around your throat, you only have room to gasp for breath which is how he prefers you.

gently touching you after sex — post-sex is often when Sukuna is the sweetest. He admires your body, gently grazing his sharp nails over your skin and watching you retract at the tickling touch.

messy sex — there have been times where Sukuna burns for you, needing you in every possible way. He needs your scent, your skin, your hair, your body, your voice. He craves you, leading to a rough and messy quickie that’ll leave you utterly raw.

he has no patience — sure, he might like the idea of watching your fuck yourself on his cock, but in practice you’re much too slow. He needs to fuck you at his own pace, not let you work yourself off agonisingly slow.

keep quiet, brat — you need to learn to control your voice, but no matter how many times he tells you off you just keep hollering his name. So he decides to smack his hand over your mouth to cover up the noise.

even when you’re on top, you’re still a bottom — you were so excited when Sukuna agreed to let you top him. Although you were suspicious that he grunted a ‘yes’ so quickly, you didn’t read too much into it. Only when he had your hands bound behind your back, fucking up into your cervix did you understand he would never let you dominate him.

Yuji Itadori

how he moans — loud and messy. Once Yuji feels your cunt sucking him in the rest of the world disappears. All he can babble out are swears and compliments on how hot you are, how good you make him feel, how much he loves you. If the sex is softer (which is hardly the case), he can maintain composure a little better. He still grunts and swears, but at least the neighbours won’t hear.

favourite position — the way your ass collides with his hips and the defined arch of your back is like a work of fucking art. The sound of your moans muffling into his pillow is something he thinks about all the time. He just hates that he can’t see your perfect face, so please look back at him while he fucks you.

He waited all day to fuck you — you had been riling him up since the early morning; grazing your hand over his thigh and crotch, texting him lewd things, whispering sweet things in his ear. The moment you two got home he cornered you from behind, pressing lustful kisses to your neck and stripping you of your clothes until you both were naked and he had laid you over him.

cant get enough of your butt — he just loves your curves, flat or fat he admires you either way. Planting sweet kisses and mumbling how you were ‘built to make him hard’, whatever that means. He just runs his mouth when it comes to your body.

loves seeing you have fun riding him — the way you playfully hold his hand while you grind into his hips, or the way you break into a laugh when he grabs for your boobs, he just loves to see you have fun, especially on his dick.

no condom? — he’s always forgetting to buy condoms, you guys fuck like bunnies, how is he supposed to remember how many you two use up? You refuse to have a pregnancy scare, so you’ll just fuck him over layers of clothes.

Megumi Fushiguro

how he moans — Megumi starts off pretty balanced, but when things start to get intense he fluctuates between high and whiny to low and gravely (he’s especially embarrassed about moaning so high, so he tries to hold it back). He also doesn’t particularly enjoy being vocal, but a few physical and verbal prompts from you will get him in your ear.

you asked so nicely — he tells you he’s close and that he’s gonna cum, and how could he resist the urge to fill you up when you ask him so kindly to cum inside you? He’s surprised, but when you beg again he knows he can’t deny your sweet request.

nervous to touch you — he isn’t used to much physical affection, but he wants to touch you so badly. He loves to hear your gasps when his hands start to wander, so despite not being exactly sure what to do he’s eager to learn and memories the feeling of your body.

so kind to your cunt — the way he drags his tongue across your wet lips, making his saliva mix with your slick and creating a sloshy noise each time he repeats the motion. His narrow eyes gaze up at you, watching you throw your head back before closing and letting his sense of taste take over.

fucking you slowly — he’s never ruthless, especially when you want him to be. He moves his hips at his own pace, playing with your clit and enjoying the way you squirm for more.

Toge Inumaki

how he moans — He makes up for the lack of talking by grunting deliciously each time you make him feel good. The louder he is, the better you’re doing and the closer he is to cumming. Even when the focus is on you he’s still making noise, grunting each time you grind against his tongue, or tighten around his fingers.

sucking you sweetly — it’s pretty clear Toge has an oral fixation by the way he sucks your neck, your pussy and especially your tits. He especially loves your boobs, so they get special treatment.

pause your game — ‘I’m busy’ you say, that is until he’s parted your legs, hot breath patting your clothes sex. You try to keep playing, just to tease him further but his mouth feels so good that you can’t help moan and watch him eat you out. You’ll finish the level another day.

payback — you come over to spend time with him, only to be met with the back of his gaming chair. You’ll just have to give him the same treatment he gave you when you were too busy for him.

helping hand — leaning against his naked chest, going weak against him as he rubs your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers inside your pussy.

Yuta Okkotsu

how he moans — loud, weak moans. He’s so sensitive, he can’t help but whine in your ear as you fuck him. It’s not like he’s embarrassed either, Yuta loves to lose himself in your pussy and let you know how good it feels. You tell him he deserves to feel this good and it makes him sob pathetically.

shivering underneath your grip — he’s just too sensitive, you might go slowly for him just so he can relax but your skin is so soft, you’re gripping him so firmly and your breath hits his cheek. It’s all too overwhelming that he can’t help but tremble.

next best thing — you weren’t planning to end up fucking Yuta, but the two of you had gotten so heated whilst kissing. Neither of you had brought any condoms, so you decided to give him the next best thing and grind your pussy onto his cock whilst he moaned your name.

you fit perfectly on top of him — nothing else can compare to your lips moving like honey against his whilst his cock sits safe and warm in your pussy.

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not-neverland06 · 3 months ago

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you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

a/n: really wanted to write for the worst logan so I found a streaming site so I could finally watch the new Deadpool movie (yay pirating) (this is totally hypothetical and a joke to the feds lurking) I was going to just read the wiki plot but I don’t think that was going to cut it Again, using the same superhero name/powers. It’s not an OC I swear, it just makes sense in comic book movies to have some alternate name and I’m not creative enough to come up with multiple different supe names. Summary: You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day? I feel sad because I don’t think I did the angst justice with this one. But if I keep staring at it trying to fix it, then I’m never going to post it. (This is a long one guys) Angst with a happy ending (because I’m a little bitch) Makeout scenes and smut towards the very end 18+ MDNI

You don’t know how you got here, but you know you’re mad at whoever dragged you into this shit. You don’t think it would be wild to assume it was Wade’s fault. Usually, when something goes wrong in your life it’s on him.

What you do know; you look like shit. Wade and Wolverine are both standing over you in their awesome ass uniforms and you’re still in your fucking pajamas. How are you supposed to be badass and save the world in pants that have Spiderman’s face plastered all over them?

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Wade,” you growl at him.

He places his hand daintily on his chest and waves you off, “Save that for the bedroom, pookie.”

You grit your teeth and glare up at him, Wolverine gives him a similarly disgusted look. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you grumble under your breath. You get to your feet and brush yourself off, finally looking around and taking in wherever the fuck he’s dragged you. “Where are we?”

“The void,” Wade responds, voice ridiculously dramatic. You look around and throw your hands up in defeat.

“What the fuck, Wade? Why did you drag me with you into this?” You look over at the Wolverine beside him. He hasn’t stopped glaring at you both and his claws are out, clearly ready to just eviscerate you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Okay, wow, language, Flux. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Eat me-”

You’re cut off by the knock-off Wolverine standing a few feet behind you both. “Flux?” He demands, voice so low you almost can’t hear him. Both you and Wade’s heads whip around to face him. Thus far he’s been relatively silent, you nearly started to wonder if he was mute.

“It’s her X-Man name,” Wade tells him, gushing like it’s some big deal. “Impressive, huh?” You don’t bother correcting him that it was your X-Men name. Can’t exactly call yourself that if they booted you off the team for being a crappy superhero.

Logan snorts and shakes his head. He stalks towards you and you nearly fall over in your attempt to scramble back from him. “You,” he demands, claws pointed at you threateningly. “You’re Flux?”

Wade hisses, watching as Logan swipes out at you. “Alright, peanut, let’s put the claws away and take a deep grounding breath.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps at Wade. He turns to glare at him and you take the opportunity to scramble behind your friend for protection. At least if he gets stabbed, he’ll heal. “You,” he scoffs and it trails off into a laugh. There’s no humor behind it, he's just a dick. “You are a fucking joke compared to my Flux.”

The ground underneath you rattles, pebbles bouncing off the cracked desert and ricocheting off their boots. Wade quickly moves away from you, shoving you forward so he’s not in the line of fire. “Yeah, well you’re just an alcoholic fuck who could never hold a candle to my Logan.”

You can feel energy brewing at the tips of your fingers, waves, and waves of hate building up within you. The man across from you feels the shift, the static suddenly permeating the air around you both. You let your power build and build…

The pebbles drop back to the ground and you stumble back from Logan, nose bleeding from overextending yourself. “Shit,” you mutter, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and shaking your head.

Logan laughs again, it echoes through the stormy sky and you wish you had any control over your powers so you could just send him flying. Or, better yet, turn his bones into liquid and flip him inside out. “Oh,” he lets out a long exhale, glaring at both of you. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” The faux smile drops from his face and he raises his voice just loud enough to make you jump, “Just one big fuckin’ joke!”

You have about five seconds to dive to the side before Logan is lunging at Wade. “Wait, wait, wait we can talk about this!” Wade shouts, but it’s too late, he’s already on the ground getting his head caved in.

You let out a rough sigh, stumbling off to the side. You’re drained from that shitshow of powers. You barely made a few rocks levitate and you feel like you’re going to pass out. You walk away from the two men and throw yourself on the ground, trying to reorient yourself while they fight like wild animals.

You can hear them in the background, stabbing and shooting like they’re aiming to kill. Too bad neither of them can die. It’d save you a hell of a headache. They run past you, Logan’s got his claws buried in Wade’s gut while Wade’s desperately firing off his gun into Logan’s chest.

Your head rolls weakly to the side and you mutter out a pathetic, “No, stop. Don’t kill each other.” As expected, neither of them listens to you. They keep fighting, showing no signs of stopping.

There’s a moment of silence after about ten minutes of nothing but grunts and insults. You peak your head up in interest. Logan got his claws posed over Wade’s throat. You wonder if decapitation would actually kill him or if he’d somehow manage to survive that.

Wade doesn’t seem interested in testing out the theory, “They can fix it!” Wade shouts, “They can fix your timeline. I just need your help saving mine.”

Your eyes widen and you meet Wade’s masked gaze over Logan’s shoulders. The white slits widen and he minutely shakes his head, telling you not to say anything. Like, maybe, that neither of you has any fucking clue if the TVA is capable of even fixing timelines like that.

You know Wade is desperate when he makes that promise. It’s the only reason he would say something so stupid. It’s a blatant lie, one pulled so far out of Wade’s ass you’re genuinely surprised that Logan can’t smell the bullshit. Whatever happened in his universe must have been horrible for him to ever believe anything that comes out of any Deadpool’s mouth.

It’s a long moment before Logan finally pulls his claws out of Wade. Your friend slumps forward in relief as Logan stalks away from him. You glare at Wade from where you are on the ground, “That was fucking stupid,” you snipe at him. He gets to his feet, walks over to you, and forcefully yanks you to your feet.

“Not a goddamn word,” he warns, but you aren’t exactly threatened by him when he's got three holes in his head from Logan’s claws. Still, you hold your hands up and acquiesce, following after him as he chases down Logan.

Your mind is still fuzzy when you are captured by Cassandra. You're recovering from overextending yourself, eyes blurring and limbs going limp like jello when her army of henchmen circle you all.

You finally feel yourself starting to come back to your body when you wake up tied to Johnny. “And,” Wade draws the word out, waiting until you lift your head to finish, “there she is! Happy you could join us, princess. Mind turning these ropes into dust for me?”

You groan and let your head slump onto Johnny’s shoulder. He smirks and glances down at you. “Oh fuck off, both of you. I can’t do shit right now and you know it, Wade, I’m drained.”

Logan is glaring at you, but there’s less hate in his glare and more confusion now. “Can you do anything?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips screwed up while you try to decide if he’s being an asshole or genuine. “Hard of hearing or something old man? I’m drained,” you reiterate, your tone a little too bitchy.

Logan narrows his eyes, grunting something foul under his breath. Wade interferes before you can piss each other off anymore. “She had an accident, her brain’s a little broken now. But it’s fine! Whose isn’t?”

You huff and throw yourself back against the cage you’re all being transported in. You feel eyes on the side of your head and slowly look over to see Johnny grinning at you. “Hey, you know I’ve met one of your variants-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” you interrupt. You hear Wade snicker under his mask, giving you an encouraging thumbs up even with his hands bound. You were both a little disappointed it wasn’t Captain America lurking under that cloak. But at least this guy isn’t such a prude he won’t cuss.

For the next five minutes, you’re on the receiving end of a very enthusiastically vulgar rant about just what a cunt Cassandra Nova is. He’s still not even finished by the time you reach the gates to her lair.

Your eyes widen when you see all the people lurking around the walls. Most of them you recognize as people you’ve put away or killed in your world. But there’s something just minutely different about them than the version you faced in your timeline. Their eye color or outfit is always just slightly off.

The familiar faces are almost a relief. But there is nothing comforting about knowing you're outnumbered two hundred to four. The cage is tipped over and you go rolling out, you grunt as Johnny’s elbow digs into your ribs.

Before you can even attempt to shove him off, the ropes are whipped off of you and you’re dragged by an invisible force across the ground. Rocks and sand scrape across your tender skin and bury themselves deep in your pores. You hiss in pain when you finally come to a stop and your body is your own again.

A groan slips through your parted lips unbidden as you struggle onto your knees. Your pajamas are ripped practically everywhere and you feel like you might as well be naked at this point. You really wished that you at least had a chance to change before you were kidnapped to another universe.

The woman you presume to be Cassandra Nova is currently fucking Wade’s skull with her freakish telepathy fingers. Johnny’s a pile of guts and bones on the floor and you have no fucking clue where she flung Logan to.

You get to your feet, shaking your head and reorienting yourself. In a second she’s in front of you, head tilted to the side while she regards you curiously. “Woah,” you jump back, glaring at her outstretched hand.

“Careful,” Wade warns her breathlessly, still clutching his head. “Flux here has a pathological fear of bald people.”

You nod, “It’s true, you can imagine how strained my relationship with your brother was.” Cassandra circles you, a devious tilt to her lips. Your eyes track her, unwilling to take your gaze off her for even a second. You feel like a rabbit, facing down a fox that’s made its way into your burrow.

“Curious,” she mutters. “I’ve seen quite a few of you down here before. But,” she chuckles and before you can move her hand is shoving its way into your brain. You scream, there’s an agonizing burn as her fingers probe under your eyes and dig through the deepest part of your subconscious. It feels like someone’s taking a shovel and ripping up your worst traumas. “None of them have been so weak.”

Wonderful, even she wants to insult you. You can feel the way she’s plucking through your thoughts, tossing aside the ones she doesn’t like. Images of your childhood are flashing across your vision. You can no longer see the world around you, it’s like every one of your worst memories is being played on a projector.

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue and jerks your neck around until you’re looking at something you’ve tried to forget for years. “Here it is. How easy it would be for me to simply unblock those powers of yours.” She smiles, her face appearing before you and blocking out the bloodshed. “It would make this far more entertaining for me, what do you say?”

Your teeth are clenched so tightly you’re surprised they haven’t cracked yet. It’s hard to get the words out when her fingers are still dancing through your skull. “Fuck you,” you finally spit out. She releases you suddenly, and you surge forward with a gasp, clutching at your skull desperately.

You half expect your brains to begin leaking from your nose and eyes. But nothing happens, despite feeling incredibly violated, everything is still in its proper place. Cassandra walks past you like everything is fine and dandy in the world. “Well, as much as I would love to see those powers of yours in action again, Flux, I’m afraid Alioth must eat.”

Before you can ask what she's talking about there’s a loud rumble. Like thunder cracking through the sky and land, the ground underneath you shakes. Cracks form under your feet and the henchmen around you all start desperately racing for cover.

You turn around, staring wide-eyed at the purple cloud of death and destruction steadily moving across the sky. A face breaks through the clouds, grinning down at you. Purple lightning hits the ground and the villain next to you explodes into nothing but dust.

“Shit!” You shout, turning around and running to try and avoid getting zapped up next. There’s no coming back from this one. Once this monster gets you, not even god could save you.

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you off your feet. “No time for consent, we’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Wade shouts in your ear. Logan is standing next to some robot leg, ripping out cords until a jet on the back fires up. Wade leaps onto the boot, wrapping an arm around Logan’s legs as you’re all shot into the sky.

You’d scream if you weren’t trying not to throw up. You hurtle through the sky at speeds that have your skin nearly ripping off your skull. The rocket on the back of the leg starts to sputter out. The flames flickering out and then back to life. It steadily begins to drop until you’re plummeting headfirst towards the ground.

Wade wraps himself around you, tossing himself off the boot so he can brace your fall. You hear and feel nearly all of his bones break under your weight. For a moment it feels like you’re laying on warm jello as you try and catch your breath.

“Nailed it,” he mutters weakly. You’re pretty sure he can’t breathe, a rib having pierced his lung in the fall. A shadow looms over you and you glance up to find Logan glaring down at you. You stare at him apprehensively, half expecting him to unsheathe his claws and just end you right here.

Instead, to your surprise, he holds a hand out. You look at it with suspicion, glaring back up at him. “Fucks sake,” he mutters. He reaches down, roughly grabbing your hand and jerking you to your feet. You feel the warmth of Wade’s blood on your back and grimace.

“Thanks,” you mutter, still not entirely trusting of him.

He purses his lips into a thin line, backing awkwardly away from you. He just nods and starts surveying the land around you. It feels less like trying to figure out where you all landed and more like awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

The whole interaction leaves you feeling odd. “Well, that was as awkward as two virgins on prom night,” Wade loudly announces as he jumps to his feet. You whip around and send him a dirty look but his attention has already been snagged by something else. Lately, you’ve been considering grounding up Adderall and slipping it into his breakfast, you think it might do him some good.

What’s got to be the fugliest dog you’ve ever seen in your life bounds towards Wade. He drops to his knees, ripping off his mask and opening his arms wide to the mutt. You grimace, taking a step back when she starts licking his face. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”

Thankfully dogless, you steal Nicepool’s Honda Odyssey - much to Wade’s chagrin. Logan’s in the front seat, Wade beside him. You’re sitting in the back, rubbing your temples and trying to get rid of the raging migraine you’ve had since Cassandra finger blasted your brain.

You’ve been zoning in and out of the conversation happening in the front seat of the car. But Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and you go hurtling forward. Without even looking at you, both their arms shoot out, blocking you from flying through the windshield.

Your face scrunches up as you look at both their arms, it feels like being saved by an overbearing soccer mom. “Buckle up, princess,” Wade tells you. He shoves you back into your seat and you look between the two men suspiciously.

“Did you just say if?” Logan growls, glaring at Wade. Your face drops, finally realizing what you’d missed.

Wade lets out a weak chuckle, “Slip of the tongue?” Logan growls and the claws come out. Wade raises his hands, “Okay, let’s put a brake on the crazy train. I wasn’t lying it was just an educated,” for the first time in your friendship Wade is actually speechless. You’re shocked by the silence. Until, of course, he runs his mouth again and comes up with the lamest cop-out you’ve ever heard. “It was an educated wish that they could fix your timeline, alright?”

Logan doesn’t give much of a warning except a low growl before he shoves his claws deep into Wade’s thigh. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey!” You shout, jumping forward and ripping Logan’s claws out of Wade’s leg. “Look, we’re trying to save our whole fucking universe. Can you blame him for lying?” You regret opening your mouth pretty much immediately.

You should have just stayed out of this, it wasn’t any of your business. And if they wanted to be two dumbasses and fucking tear each other apart then so be it. But you never should have drawn attention to yourself.

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan shouts at you. It’s so startling, coming from him. You’re still associating him with the man you’d looked up to growing up. Your Wolverine was a hero. He was the reason you wanted to be an X-Man. And they look exactly the same, it’s nearly impossible for you to separate this one from the one you knew.

But it's easier now. Because the man you’d known would never be so cruel and jaded to the world. Not like this. “Why the fuck are you even here? You’re just some watered-down knockoff of a real hero. You are nothing, you’re worth nothing. It’s a fucking joke that you’re alive and the woman I knew is buried six feet deep. If there was anything right in the world you would be in a grave somewhere crawling with maggots.”

Your eyes water without your permission. You don’t know this man. Yet, he has the face of your greatest hero and the man who you’d grown up hearing stories about. It’s like facing everything you’ve ever wanted to be and having it shout your deepest fears and insecurities back at you. He’s just confirming something you’ve known for years. You never deserved the title of being an X-Man. You never deserved the uniform or anything that came with it.

Your breaths are coming short and fast, it feels like your lungs are constricting. You worry you won’t be able to get air in but he doesn’t care. No, he keeps going. “You follow this fucking clown around and you contribute nothing to the world. You’re never gonna save your fucking timeline. You can’t even make a few rocks float.” It’s not the words that hurt you next. It’s the way he says it. “You’re pathetic.”

He spits them at you. There’s venom lacing his tone like he’s seen into you and knows there’s nothing in you to offer. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen and you hate it. Because he’s looking past the sarcasm and the faux confidence you carry yourself with.

He sees the empty husk of a woman you truly are and he’s forcing you to face it with him. It causes you physical pain, to know that everything you’ve ever feared about yourself is true. You don’t have anything to say to him, you can’t.

Your lips tremble and you feel so fucking small. You can hear your parent's voices in your head, screaming at you and wishing you were never born. They’d rather have a stillborn than a fucked up mutant for a daughter. You see the way even other kids at the school would hide from you. You were made wrong, even as a mutant you were never truly accepted.

Logan’s face drops ever so slightly at the prolonged silence in the car. Even Wade isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at you both. “I,” he starts, but Wade cuts him off.

“I’m gonna hurt you now.” Wade’s never been one to let people run over you, even when you might just let yourself fall into the background. You shouldn’t be surprised when he draws a knife and stabs it into Logan’s throat.

But the arterial spray that follows catches you off guard and suddenly your tears are dried. Instead, you’re throwing open the car door and diving out before one of them crushes you. You make it out of the car just in time, Logan having thrown Wade right where you had been sitting.

Music starts up in the car as a result of their fighting. Divorced dad rock and the sounds of their, borderline, sexual grunting are your soundtrack for the rest of the night. You curl up at the base of a tree, waiting for them to be done with each other.

Logan’s words continue to echo through your head. And the longer you linger on what he said the angrier you get. Not necessarily at him, but at yourself. You’ve let yourself linger in self-pity and wallow in regret for so long.

You look in the mirror and you no longer recognize yourself. He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a fucking joke. You toss your head back, slamming it against the trunk of the tree hard enough for it to hurt.

There’s this manic, cloying feeling tugging at your chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on your ribs, crushing you until you can’t breathe anymore. You keep throwing your head back, letting the pain distract you until you feel warm blood leaking down the back of your scalp.

“Shit,” you hiss, hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. You wince when you feel the split in your skin. The blood leaks over the tips of your fingers, running through the cracks of your palm.

You force yourself to relax, to move your head away from the tree. As you go to stand up, possibly to get Wade and Logan to quit their fighting, you notice something odd. The air around you is still, you can no longer hear them grunting or groaning as they rock the Honda.

Leaves are suspended in the air. They’re not trembling from the breeze, they’re completely frozen. You take a step forward and gasp when you hit something solid. The air in front of you has solidified somehow.

The realization dawns on you slowly but surely. This is you, you’ve done this. Manipulated everything around you on an atomic level. You’ve turned something you shouldn’t be able to feel into something you can touch. Frozen the world around you. Whatever Cassandra had done inside your head, it had knocked something loose.

You haven’t had this wide a range of control for years. Any attempt to do something like this has been met with nosebleeds and long periods of blacking out. Elation fills you, the hurt from earlier is nearly gone.

You glance through the wall of air and try to see if you can still see the Odyssey. To your horror, it’s gone. You wave your hands and the air returns to normal. The leaves drift back to the forest floor and you run back to where you’d left the two men.

There are tire tracks dug deep into the mud. You know Wade wouldn’t willingly leave you behind, not here. You don’t know if Logan’s just kidnapped him or if someone else has. Whoever was driving was clearly in a rush to get out of here.

You must have missed it all while you were having your meltdown. “Fuck,” you shout, your voice echoing into the branches above. You take in a deep breath and start walking. Hopefully, you can catch up to them before whoever has them does serious damage.

You make it to a weird cave/hideout area. The Odyssey is parked outside and when you peek through the broken windows you find the interior completely destroyed. There’s blood soaking through every surface, anything and everything has been smashed and bent the wrong way.

You don’t even know if this is from Wade and Logan or whoever had snatched them. Shaking your head you back up and slink towards the entrance of the den. You can hear shouting inside, it sounds like Wade, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

You haven’t seen action for a long time. At least not any that you could actually contribute to. It feels a bit like riding a bike. You’d practiced on your way here, making things around you float or eradicating a few trees into nothing but dust in the wind. But this is different.

Your friend (and Logan) are inside, possibly being tortured. Maybe even dead. Though, you seriously doubt the universe is going to be that nice to you. You let the energy build in your arms, it’s like a warm tingling feeling. It shoots down to the palms of your hands until you feel static in the air.

You take a step inside and spot three people. Each of them is decked out in weapons. One of them turns and spots you. “Who is-”

You don’t let him finish, throwing your hands out and slamming them all into the wall so hard the whole interior shakes. Dirt rains down from the ceilings while their faces contort in pain. You run inside, spotting Logan and Wade.

You shoot Wade a big grin but he throws his hands up and shouts, “Read the fucking room!” Your brows furrow and he points emphatically at the people you’re holding, “Good guys!”

“Oh shit,” you release them immediately, a guilty look on your face. “I am so sorry.” Logan cackles in the back, doubled over laughing while the three people in front of you brush themselves off.

You don’t want to be out here with him, but it’s better than being in that cave with the others. Laura walks past you, sending you an uneasy smile. You’d noticed her sitting beside Logan and decided they probably needed a few moments to themselves.

They were finished now, though, and he had the only bottle of liquor left in the cave with him. You trudge over to him, leaves crunching under your boots. Elektra, after that horrific introduction, had given you a uniform a different Flux had left behind.

She was long gone, killed by Cassandra years ago, but she’d conveniently been your exact size. The uniform is nearly identical to the one you have buried under your bed. Black leather with a dark purple X going across your chest and matching purple seams. You’d never wanted something ridiculously flashy. Just something that people would see and associate with the X-Men.

Because that’s all you’d ever wanted to be; a hero. It feels like a pipe dream now. If your pajamas weren’t so destroyed you would have just stayed in them. You don’t feel like you deserve this uniform, not when the woman who’d worn it before you had actually been a hero in her timeline.

“Don’t want company,” Logan snarks, without even looking back to see who’s coming up to him.

You take a seat on the lawn chair closest to him and snatch the bottle of whiskey from his hands. “Good,” you tilt your head back, downing as much as possible. It burns the whole way and you revel in the slight tickle in the back of your throat.

“Alright,” Logan mutters. He gently takes the bottle back from you, giving you an aggrieved look when he sees just how much you’ve stolen. He looks back into the fire and sighs, “Look, I’m not interested in hearing about your sob story or why you’re suddenly drinking all my liquor-”

“Gambit’s liquor,” you interrupt, not bothering to look at him. “And I’m not looking to dump my sob story on your lap. I just want to sit in silence and that’s impossible because Wade hasn’t stopped running his mouth since we got here.”

He looks a little surprised by the brusque way you dismiss him, “Alright,” he mutters. He takes another swig from the bottle and you both stare silently into the fire. It’s like that for a while, you don’t bother keeping track of time.

All you hear is the crackling of the flames. All you can feel is the way your eyes burn from staring into the fire and watching sparks pop off the logs for too long. The breeze rustles the trees, makes the leaves shake free and dance around the logs of the fire.

He breaks the silence first, to your chagrin. “About what I said,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, still refusing to look at you, “back in the car.”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice low. “Just,” you let out a long breath and shake your head. You finally look over and meet his eyes. He does actually look sorry, but you don’t want to hear it. “Just don’t, I deserved it all right.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives you a firm look that has your jaw snapping shut. “I was wrong, I don’t know you. And if my Flux had ever heard me talking to you like that she would have melted my fucking spine.” He laughs a little and you feel your lips twitch up slightly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look anything but angry.

Curiosity loosens your tongue and knocks you out of the dazed stupor you’ve been in. “What was she like?” You ask, tone earnest. “Your Flux, I mean, you make her sound so amazing. I just can’t,” you trail off, but the look on his face tells you he understands your unspoken words. I just can’t see myself as a real hero.

He groans and leans back on the log he’s resting on. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the liquor bottle placed on the forest floor. You’re surprised, you figured the thing was glued to his hand.

“Well,” he reaches up and scratches at the scruff of his chin, a wry grin on his face. “She was always giving me shit, never let me get away with anything.” You unconsciously lean forward, drawn into the endearing way he begins to describe this other version of you.

It’s not ridiculous to assume this variant meant something to him. He’s got a shine to his eye that you haven’t seen in the whole time you’ve been together. His gaze has been empty, closed off to anything and everything. But now, his eyes are crinkling at the corners, there’s an easy smile on his face that you can’t miss.

“Ah, she was fucking feisty. And strong, she was so strong. She was always a better hero than I was. She lived for that shit,” he trails off and shakes his head. You can see you’re losing him and you don’t want this to end. You’re in your own little bubble right now, getting to pretend there’s a version of you out there somewhere that actually lived up to her potential.

“Her powers,” you blurt out, desperate for something to stop him from retreating back into his mind. “Did she have, um, good control over them?”

Logan nods, eyes darting down to the bottle of whiskey before flickering back up to meet your gaze again. “Yeah, Charles trained her, she was right up there with Jean. She could have,” he stops and suddenly you feel guilty for making him talk about this. You can see the tears in the corner of his eyes, the way the whites of them go red. “She could have been great.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to pry.” But you did. You were being selfish and forcing him to talk about it even though you knew it would hurt him.

“Look, kid, she would have liked you. I’ll tell you that much,” he says reluctantly. Like the words hurt to force out. You suppose he isn’t used to being genuine with anyone.

You shake your head and look down at your hands. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.”

Logan grabs the bottle again, gulping it down like it's water. His words have a slight slur to them as he speaks again. “I think I would know, bub. ‘Sides, you made it into the X-Men, tells me what I need to know.”

You scoff and fix him with a sardonic look, he raises his brows in question and you roll your eyes. “They’ll take fucking anybody. And I still wasn’t good enough for them.”

Logan shakes his head and frowns. “If what I saw in there,” he points back to the den and you feel your cheeks warm as you remember what you’d done, “is any indication, then I’m sure you were plenty good.”

You lean towards him, elbows braced on your knees. He follows suit, leaning so close you almost want to back up. The proximity flusters you slightly but you shake the feeling off. “You don’t even know me and the first real thing you said to me was that I’d be more useful as fertilizer.”

He sighs, face screwing up at your harsh words. He runs a hand over his cheeks and groans, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You lean back in your chair and idly twirl your hand through the air. The leaves around you lift up and flutter through the air above your head. Logan watches and you turn back to him, waiting until his eyes meet yours to speak again. “Yes, you did. And you were right. I’m fucking useless, powers or not.” The leaves drop, a few fluttering into the fire. “We’re irrelevant, Wolverine, two washed-up X-Men who never looked good in the uniform.”

There’s a twinge of hurt on his face but you can’t make yourself feel bad about it. Since he’s such a fan of brutal truth, you’re sure he can handle it.

You watch as the leaves curl up at the corners, the fire burning them straight through the middle. You get to your feet and move past him. You’re nearly back to the den when he calls, “The suit looks right on you,” over his shoulder.

You pause at the threshold of the door. He’s already drinking again, staring into the fire and watching it burn. You take a few steps towards him, staring at his broad back. “What happened to her, your me?”

Logan looks down at his hands, his ring finger specifically. You wonder at the significance of the movement, what exactly you’d meant to him. “She married me,” he mutters, voice cold and closed off again.

“Goodnight, Logan,” you whisper, finally walking inside the den.

You miss the small goodnight he sends back to you, finally turning around only to watch you leave.

There had been a very clear plan set in place. Get Juggernaut’s helmet, put it on Cassandra, and then kill that psychotic bitch. Which is why you’re so confused when you’re standing knee-deep in guts and watching Logan and Wade leap through a portal above you.

You don’t have time to feel angry or even hurt that they left without you. Laura is grabbing your arm and you’re both running for your life, trying to escape Alioth again. You run into Cassandra’s lair ducking into one of the rooms and dragging Laura with you.

You’re both holding your breaths and praying that he’s sated by the others still outside. After a few minutes, the cracks of thunder stop and you risk peeking your head outside. The clouds have retreated back to their usual spot in the middle of the void.

You take in the carnage of Cassandra’s evil lair. Most everybody is dead. You only have to skirt around a few people to get back to the Odyssey.

You throw yourself in the driver’s seat and sink back against the bloodstained cushions. You let out a relieved breath and look at Laura, “What do you do to entertain yourself around here?”

You acclimated to the idea of being stuck in the void pretty quickly. There wasn’t exactly a lot waiting for you back home. Besides, Laura was nice enough. You had food, beer, and company. You didn’t really need much else.

You’re pretty sure if you linger too long on the thought that Wade left you behind you’ll fall into a depression that you’re never going to be able to claw your way out of. So, you forced a smile on your face and played cards. Nothing else to do but wait to die of old age or for Alioth to kill you.

Of course, your plans had to be ruined. There was an odd rush of air against your back and then a slight whoosh. Laura glanced over your shoulders and her brows furrowed, you turned around to find three armored men waiting behind you.

“Flux,” the man glanced from you to Laura, “X-23?”

“Laura,” you both correct at the same time.

The man gives an aggrieved sigh and holds his arm out, “Come with me, please.”

You stand up, energy tingling in the palms of your hands while you regard them suspiciously. Laura comes up behind you, claws out and glaring at them. “Why should we?” You demand.

Barely a second later you hear the most insufferable voice in the world. “Hiya, peanut!”

“Wade,” you hiss. You follow the armored men through an oddly shaped portal and find Wade standing beside a shirtless Logan, smiling proudly at you. “You fucking left me,” you hold up your hands and his eyes widen.

His hands quickly come up, trying to assuage you, “Hold on now-”

You throw him back, his body hurtling into a nearby building and caving in the wall. Logan watches it happen with a small smile, “Been wanting to do that for a while.”

Once Wade had recovered he filled you in on everything that happened. TVA did a general clean up and then you were standing in front of your apartment door, keys in hand like nothing had happened.

It was so bizarre, going from a mission to save your timeline and then you’re expected to just go about your life. You stay standing in that hallway for you don’t know how long before you hear someone behind you.

You jump and drop your keys when Logan clears his throat. “Shit,” you hiss, whirling around and glaring at him while your heart races. He chuckles and bends over to grab your keys for you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him, covered in blood and in a borrowed shirt. “Uh, Wade doesn’t have enough room at his place. Told me I should come over here.”

You look over his shoulder and see Wade peeking his head out of his doorway. He catches your eye, sending you a thumbs up. You almost smile but then he makes a phallic gesture with his hands, pointing at Logan and humping the air. You glare at him and he quickly backs into his apartment, but not before sending you one last encouraging shit-eating grin.

You look back at Logan and he’s waiting expectantly for your answer. “Yeah,” you take your keys from him and unlock the door. “I’ve got a spare room but there’s no bed in it right now.” Your eyes widen when you see the mess that is your apartment.

You quickly rush through, picking up empty take-out boxes and dirty laundry and shoving them into your room. He’s smiling at you when you come back and it's slightly off-putting. “Um,” you gesture towards the couch awkwardly. “You can take the sofa tonight and we’ll look at setting you up with something more permanent tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he hovers by the armrest and you engage in the longest stare-off of your life. Neither of you says anything for a few suffocating moments before he gestures at himself. “Shower?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your stupor and nod your head. “Yeah, right, of course.” You show him down the hall, “Here. I’ll go get you a towel.”

You rush towards your linen closet, leaving him behind in your bathroom. You grab a few clean towels and then figure he might want some clothes as well. You grab some pajamas that Wade’s left over when he’s crashed before. They’ll probably be a bit tighter on Logan, but you wouldn’t mind seeing that.

You walk back to the bathroom and the thought of knocking doesn’t even run through your head. It should, honestly, but you’re already so thrown off by him even being here. You walk in and immediately gasp and drop the towels.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s standing naked before you. Clothes discarded on the floor behind him. Everything on perfect display. Your eyes land on his abs, noticing a few prominent veins leading down-

You cover your face and turn around. “Sorry,” you mutter again. God, you’re such an idiot. You still haven’t even left. You’d just been shamelessly ogling the man naked and you don’t even have the decency to walk out.

You really can’t help it though. It’s been such a clusterfuck, the last 72 hours. Your brain is fried and Wade’s little show hasn’t helped you at all.

You hear Logan laugh behind you. “It’s alright,” he mutters. Something warm ghosts across your arm and you jump slightly. His hand firmly grasps your bicep, gently tugging your palms away from your face.

You risk a glance over your shoulder and nearly gasp at how close he’s gotten. He's towering over you, something in his face you can’t place. “It’s alright,” he whispers again and you find yourself nodding without really thinking.

He’s got both hands on your arms now, trailing up and down. The touch is so featherlight you can barely feel it at all. You don’t even realize how he’s gently coaxing you closer until you trip on the towels at your feet.

You startle, looking down at them and moving to kick them aside. But he stops you, his finger nudging your chip up so you’ll look at him again. There is such blatant want painted across his face that it makes your heart skip a beat. Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps an arm around your waist and drags you closer.

You can feel all of him. You can feel just how much he wants you. It catches you off guard, this sudden display of attraction. You don’t know where it’s coming from, what’s brought it on. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve been so lonely for so long. You just want to bask in the fact that he looks absolutely starved for you.

No man has ever looked at you with such heartbreakingly yearning eyes - like he’s been looking for you his whole life. He dips down, lips ghosting gently over yours. Your breaths mingle together, you can nearly taste him.

It’s unclear which one of you moves first, who pushes closer to the other. But it doesn’t matter because the second you put real pressure behind the kiss he’s all over you. One of his hands drifts down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there and dragging you closer, grinding his hips into yours.

You moan at the feeling, your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself even closer. He groans against your lips at the first swipe of your tongue. You part with a gasp when he picks you up, practically tossing you onto your sink. Your legs spread instinctually, making room for him as he slots himself between them.

It’s odd, feeling so vulnerable even when he’s the one who's completely naked. It still feels like he’s holding all the power.

His lips are moving frantically over yours like he’s terrified you’re going to disappear the second he lets go. You can taste something desperate on his tongue. Something deeply rooted inside him that you can’t identify.

One of your hands drifts from his neck, trailing over the muscles of his chest. Your fingers carve a path down his abs, relishing in how muscular he feels under your palm. Your hand reaches his pelvis, nearly wrapped around him when he jumps back.

He grabs your wrist in a grip so tight you know there’s going to be a bruise. A pained gasp slips out and he releases you immediately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I can’t.” He won’t look at you now, backing up towards the shower and shaking his head. “This was a bad idea, I can’t do this.”

You shake your head, slipping off the sink and hiding your bruised wrist behind your back. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

You feel too ashamed to meet his eye. He kissed you but you feel like you’ve forced yourself on him somehow. It’s a nauseating feeling and you want nothing more than to run back to your room and hide.

He takes a step towards you, something pained on his face. “Kid-”

You just shake your head, step out of the bathroom, and grab the handle of the door. “Sorry,” you whisper again, closing the door behind you. You lean against the cool wood, trying to catch your breath.

Your hand drifts up to your lips, still tingling from how desperately he’d kissed you. It doesn’t make any sense. He came on to you, he threw you up on the sink, and made out with you more passionately than any man ever has before. So why are you the one who feels dirty?

You rush down the hall and into your room, slamming the door behind you. You dive under your covers, closing your eyes even though you know you won’t sleep. No, your shoulders are tensed up to your ears and your bones are vibrating with an energy you need to release.

You’re completely tuned into the other person lurking in your apartment. You can hear as he starts the shower, how he talks quietly to himself sometimes. Then when he gets out you can perfectly picture what he looks like while he’s getting dressed and it only makes you feel worse.

You listen as he leaves the bathroom and pauses in the hall. You can see it in your mind’s eye, how he stares at your door. He walks towards it and lingers for a minute before cussing quietly and heading back into the living room.

You suddenly remember that you didn’t lay sheets out on the couch for him. You feel guilty, but there’s not one part of you that will be dragged from this bed and face him. Not now, at least.

He’s up for a little while longer, getting water. Turning the TV on and off. Rooting through your cabinets looking for booze you know you don’t have. Finally, he settles on the couch. You’re awake for another hour, unable to relax until you’re completely sure he’s asleep. Even as you drift off and your body finally relaxes your mind doesn’t. You keep seeing that stricken look on his face and it makes you sick to your stomach.

It’s the smell of pancakes that wakes you up. You’re not sure when you finally managed to pass out last night but you know it was late. Which is why you’re so pissed off that you’re being forced to get up at seven in the morning.

You’re used to being able to sleep in a lot later than that. You’re already in a pissy mood from last night and it only gets worse as you trudge around your room getting ready. You’ve never been more thankful to have snagged one of the rare two-bathroom apartments in the building.

You don’t want to have to share a bathroom with Logan. You don’t even want to use the other one after what happened last night. It’s too embarrassing and painful to think about. The emotional whiplash of feeling so desired and then absolutely hideous is making your head spin.

You’re sure it was all just a problem on his end, but it really doesn’t make you feel any better. When you can’t stall any longer, and you know that Logan has heard you get up, you slip quietly out of your room.

The curtains in your living room are open and he’s in the kitchen fucking around with your stove. The news is playing quietly on the TV and you’re astounded about how little he’s done and how much more homely your apartment feels.

It’s never really been home to you. Not after you were booted from the X-Men. But he’s somehow made it ten times cozier than it ever has been. You almost resent him a little for it.

“Morning,” he grumbles from the kitchen. “Coffee,” he motions behind him and you see a steaming cup already waiting for you. You silently slip behind him, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and pouring it until you’re sure it’s sweet enough to not actually taste the coffee.

“Thanks,” you mutter, moving to sit at the table. You keep your eyes trained on the TV, pretending to pay attention to the news so you don’t have to look at him. He bores his eyes into the side of your head until you feel like you’re going to have holes in your temple.

When you can’t take it anymore you finally look over at him. He doesn’t smile, his face barely even twitches, he just looks back to his pan and continues scrambling some eggs. “Didn’t know you cooked,” you offer up weakly, already growing anxious from the silence.

It feels wrong, to be walking on eggshells in your own apartment. He grunts and shrugs, “Not really cooking. You had the mix in your pantry,” he tells you brusquely. His tone borders on rude and you scoff.

The audacity of this man to have an attitude with you in your apartment. He was the one who threw a hissy fit last night. You roll your eyes and go back to the news, all it tells you is that the world is just as depressing as the inside of your apartment is right now.

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way his shoulders slump forward. He leans against the oven, seeming not to care if he burns himself. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’d just heal. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds like it pains him to say the words.

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath. You take a long sip of your coffee, slurping a little so you have something to fill the atmosphere.

He puts some food on a plate and brings it over to the table for you. You usually don’t eat breakfast, preferring to just skip the meal and eat a bigger lunch. But it feels too bitchy to say that to him, so you just accept the food with a strained smile. “Thanks.”

He sits across from you, glaring down at your table like it insulted him. You drag your fork against the plate, letting the scrape of metal against porcelain drown out your worries. Finally, he looks at you. “Look, about last night.”

You tense up. You want to interrupt him, to stop him from explaining. You know it’s just going to hurt your feelings, whatever he says. Whether he tells you it was a mistake or he just realized he’s not attracted to you, either way, you’re fucked. But, it’s also kept you up all night so you just shut your mouth and let him speak.

You keep your gaze trained on your plate, unable to fully face him. He lets out a long sigh and clenches his fork so tight you hear the metal bend. He drops it to the table and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times.

“I just couldn’t kiss you, not when I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and you finally look up at him. “What?” You demand, disbelief coloring your voice.

His eyes are boring into yours, an intensity behind the stare that leaves you feeling a little shaken. “You look like her,” he whispers, and the grief is so thick in his voice it makes your throat tighten. He pauses briefly before continuing. “There are,” he clears his throat like he’s trying not to cry. It makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your stomach uncomfortably.

“There are a few differences, obviously. You’re not a carbon copy. But your mannerisms, your attitudes, you’re so similar. And I,” he shakes his head and gives you one of the most genuinely apologetic looks you’ve ever received. You can tell he really does feel guilty for projecting on you but it doesn’t make you feel any less uncomfortable. “And I just wasn’t doing that for the right reasons. I was pretending you were her and that’s just not fair to you.”

You lean your elbows on the table, head falling into your hands. You let out a rough sigh and groan in irritation. You knew the reason would hurt but you didn’t think it would be this bad. You feel gross, icky under your skin knowing that he was pretending you were another version of yourself. The version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be; the hero.

But you also feel such a deep sadness and sympathy for him. He’d briefly mentioned that he was married to this other you. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, to see your dead wife’s face staring at you and she doesn’t even know you.

“I,” you don’t even know where to begin. You struggle to say anything for a minute and you both just stew in the tense silence. You take in a deep breath and look up at him. You do what you always do, forcing a smile and shrugging it off. “I appreciate the honesty, really.” You stand up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and busying yourself with cleaning up.

“Clearly,” you snap, your voice crueler than it should be, “It was a mistake. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Logan sits silently at the table. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but you don’t give him the chance. You can’t take it. You finally thought someone had wanted you for you, flaws and all. You’re a fucking idiot, he barely even knows you. Whatever connection you thought was there was just brought about by your own loneliness.

“I gotta get ready for work,” you tell his back because he isn’t looking at you now.

He nods, scraping his fork across the plate as he aggressively cuts into his food. “Right.” You wait for him to say anything else but he doesn’t.

You walk past him and head back to your room. You don’t even have a job, you don’t have to work. But you still grab your purse and head out of the apartment. Pretending you do just so you don’t have to look at him anymore.

You really should have let him finish, though. You should have let him keep talking to you. Let him explain how as much as he sees her in you, that’s not why he wants you. He wants you for you. Because as similar as you can be, you’re still a completely different person from who his late wife was. You’re someone strong and incredible and he genuinely wants you. But he can never really let himself be happy.

It takes a few days for you both to ease up around the other. The incident in the bathroom is never brought up again. You take him shopping for clothes after a few days. It feels wrong to keep giving him Wade’s hand-me-downs. You would have had your friend take him, but you don’t trust Wade’s sense of fashion at all.

After that and getting lunch together while you were out shopping things got a little easier. You bought him a bed for the spare room because you felt guilty seeing him all cramped up on your tiny couch.

You don’t initiate any physical contact with each other. The closest you’d gotten was your hands brushing when you both reached for some popcorn at the same time on movie night. But you hadn’t really minded that bad.

Eventually, he starts to feel like a real roommate and a friend. He lets little pieces of himself slip out. Slowly opens up about his past. You haven’t made any existential discoveries of course. But he tells you stories of what his X-Men were like.

You try not to dance around the topic of his wife, you don’t want him to think you’re avoiding asking about her. But you also don’t want him to think you’re obsessed with discussing her.

He’s right, you two weren’t carbon copies of each other at all. You might share a few things in common but the more both you and Logan learn about each other, the more clear it is how different you both are from your variants.

Sometimes you think he looks at you like he’s really seeing you, not her. But you can never be sure and you don’t want to put much strength behind the thought in case you’re wrong. You hate the idea that when you’re thinking of nothing but him, he’s just seeing her reflection on your face.

There’s nothing you can do about it but it doesn’t stop the hurt.

Tonight, at Wade’s suggestion, you’re both up on the roof waiting for a meteor shower that you’re ninety percent sure is never going to happen. You’re also one hundred percent sure that Wade just tricked you out of your apartment so he could have sex in it. He and Vanessa don’t really get a lot of time alone with Blind Al around. You’re already mentally preparing for the absolute fuck storm you’re going to have to clean up after.

There’s a light nudge on your shoulder and you glance over at Logan. He’s got the whiskey bottle outstretched towards you and you take it from him with a smile. One thing about being his roommate, your alcohol tolerance has skyrocketed. His liver might regenerate, but you’re pretty sure if you keep going down this route yours will give out in a few months.

“Think this is actually going to happen?” You ask, pointing up toward the clear night sky.

Logan chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out in your flimsy lawn chair and you try not to let your gaze be drawn to the sliver of skin peeking out from his shirt. “Probably not, but I don’t mind being out here.”

There’s an unspoken, with you, that makes you smile. You meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me either.” You lean back in your chair, pulling your legs up onto the seat and huddling under your blanket. “It’s peaceful.”

You drink together in silence for a little while longer. Then you have to tap out, you don’t want your brain getting too foggy. Tonight is nice, you want to remember it tomorrow. To your surprise, he caps the bottle and places it to the side. You don’t mention it but you do feel like you’ve noticed he’s been drinking a little less. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be easing away ever so slightly.

He looks over at you with an odd light in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably under his stare when it lasts a little longer than it usually does. You chuckle awkwardly, “Do I have something on my face?”

There’s a soft uptick to his lips as he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, looking back out at the night. “You mind if I ask you something?”

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

He still doesn’t look at you and you worry slightly about whatever it is he’s going to ask. He doesn’t ease you into it all, “Wade said your brain was broken?” A laugh springs out of your throat from how brusque that was. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiot mentioned it in the void, been wonderin’ about it.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re relaxed enough that you don’t mind answering. You don’t want to pop the soft bubble you’ve managed to create around each other. “Here,” you hold your hand out for the whiskey bottle. He gives you an apprehensive look before handing it over.

You unscrew the cap, “This,” you say and point your hand at the glass. The liquid inside lifts into the air and you freeze it before dropping it back into the bottle with a splash, a simple little party trick. “This used to be enough to put me in a coma for two days. That’s what he meant. Something happened to me and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Logan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. You laugh a little, “I assume your wife never had problems like that?”

There’s always a fond smile when you mention his wife. Whether the memory is bittersweet or not. “She wasn’t perfect, much as I thought so. When she used her powers too much she,” he trails off and looks down at the floor. You frown, ducking your head down so you can catch his gaze.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you promise quietly.

But he shakes his head and gives you a weak, tight-lipped smile. “No, I want to. And I don’t want you to think you’re the only Flux who struggled. When she used her powers too much she would deteriorate. Parts of her would just disappear, I don’t even know how to describe it. They were destroying her from the inside out.”

You let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “Well, maybe I didn't get the short end of the stick after all.” It’s quiet and for a moment you worry your humor was ill-timed.

But he lets out a rough laugh, “No, I guess not.” He takes in a deep breath before looking back up at you. There’s no distant sadness in his eyes like there usually is when you bring her up. It seems to only be a familiar ache now, rather than something fresh and bleeding. “But what happened to you? Why couldn’t you use your powers?”

“Oh,” you look down at your lap, picking at the strings of your pants. It would be unfair to have him talk about his wife and then wimp out when it was your turn.

“Um, There was this mission. A bunch of kids, mutants, were being held in this warehouse. It was actually pretty normal, just go in, retrieve them, and bring them back to safety. I must have done a dozen of these before, but, I don’t know. Something was this different this time around.”

You can still hear them screaming. In your mind, you hear the way they cried for help. And you see the look on your faces when they realize you can’t save them every time you go to sleep.

You suck in a sharp breath and almost jump when his hand lands on yours. It’s gentle, he’s barely even touching you and he’s not even acknowledging what he’s doing. But you take his hand in yours and squeeze, it’s nice, grounding.

“Long story short, they were heavily guarded and I was pretty drained from fighting off the guards. My powers were practically gone by the time we could even get to the kids. And, I don’t know, something must have gotten knocked over or hit the wrong way because smoke was filling the place and everything was on fire. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, and the kids were blocked off. There was nothing we could do to get to them. Everyone kept screaming at me, telling me to just use my abilities and get them out of there. I couldn’t,” your voice gets thick and you look anywhere but at him. “I,” your mouth hangs open and you don’t know what you could possibly say.

There’s no excuse for what happened. “I just couldn’t,” you whisper. You sniffle and your eyes flutter rapidly, trying to stop any tears from coming. “Hadn’t been able to use my powers since then. Trauma block or something, I guess,” you dismiss yourself flippantly and shrug.

Logan just squeezes your hand again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to comfort you and you’re honestly grateful for the silence. You get so sick of people telling you there was nothing you could have done. Or that the others should have helped you. Because that’s not a fucking excuse. There’s no fixing what happened, no giving those parents their children back. You fucked up and you don’t appreciate people giving you cop-outs.

You keep your gaze trained steadily on the ground, eyes going blurry while you try to slip into the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance, though. Logan is kneeling in front of you, hands slipping up your arms to cup your face.

He forces you to look at him, to stay present in the moment with him. “You fucked up,” he tells you. It's so shocking that you can’t help but let out a loud wet laugh. You sniffle and he grins, wiping the tears out from under your eyes. His grip on your cheeks tightens and he makes sure you’re listening as he speaks, “You fucked up, kid. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try your fucking hardest. And it doesn’t erase all the people you did help.”

Your eyes search him, trying to find any kernel of untruth. Trying to prove to yourself that this isn’t real. That he isn’t real. You don’t deserve this moment of such unwavering trust and faith. This is meant for someone else, for someone who deserves good things in life.

You’ve never truly believed you deserved happiness or peace like this. But right now you don’t care because he is saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. And he actually means it.

Your hand drifts up, covering his and tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his palm. It’s tentative, a test, a way to give him an out if doesn’t want this. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he shoots forward and claims your lips with his own.

It escalates quickly. You practically melt off your chair, straddling his lap while he leans back on the ground. Your hands tug at his hair while he moves desperately over your body. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do, where he wants to touch you.

You love how fully his hands engulf you, the tight way they cradle you to his chest. You’ve never felt more secure in someone’s arms than you do right now. He’s got you, and he wants you. For you this time, you can tell. You can tell from the way he holds you that this isn’t a desperation born from grief. It’s something else, something you’re not ready to identify yet.

His tongue laves across the seam of your lips, silently asking permission. You smile against the kiss, parting your lips and deepening it. He licks into you, tasting you with a low grunt in the back of his throat. You feel your hips start to move of their own volition. Gently grinding down against his lap. You moan when you feel just how bad he wants you.

You lean back, parting from the kiss and pressing a finger to his chest to keep from following. You chuckle at his eagerness, grinding your hips down again and watching the way he thrusts up to meet your movement. “Didn’t know I was such a good kisser,” you tease.

But he doesn’t return the joke or play along. His face falls slightly and he pulls further away from you, the look on his face distant. “What?” You whisper. “Do I have bad breath?” You joke, trying to keep the mood light.

He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “No,” he mutters. He repeats the word more firmly and finally meets your gaze. “I think I need to take this slow, just because of…”

He trails off but you know what he means. His wife. You don’t know if he’s still projecting her onto you, you felt so sure he wasn’t earlier. But if every time you kiss he’s gonna pull back you’re not sure that you can do this. “Of course,” you mutter with a bite to your voice. It’s hard not to feel a little rejected every time he acts like this.

You move to get off his lap but his hands clamp down on your hips and he shakes his head again. “You don’t have to get up.”

You hesitate, thighs still hovering over his. You should get up and put as much space between you as possible. But he’s so warm and you want to be held for a little while more. You nod and he looks relieved. You lean back down, pressing your chest against his and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck.

He wraps a heavy arm around your back, keeping you close while the other reaches up to stroke your hair. It makes you feel small, in a good way. Like you can just relax and he’ll take care of you.

“Goddamn,” he laughs a little and you sit up. He nods to the sky above and you turn around, gasping.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “he wasn’t lying.” For once, Wade was telling the truth. Above you, it looks like the sky is falling. Glittering stars dart across the sky, streaks of blue following behind them. You grin, “It’s so beautiful.”

Logan keeps his eyes on you and nods, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

”Wade,” you greet tightly. You shove the bottle of wine you brought into his chest and he stumbles back. “Just let us in, you freak.”

He frowns, placing a hand over his heart. “You know, it really hurts when you talk like that. I think we all need to hold hands and have a good old-fashioned jerk circle.”

You roll your eyes and flick his thick forehead. “It’s share circle, dumbass.”

”Not the way I do it,” he moves to the side and lets you both in. “Well, mi casa es su casa, especially since Vanessa and I had rockin’ sex in your bed last week.”

He walks off before you can hit him or even begin to respond to that. “I fucking knew it,” you hiss, glaring at his stupid Hawaiian shirt while he mingles with the rest of the people at the party.

Logan chuckles behind you, “How did you two ever become friends?”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I moved in next door,” you respond dryly. “This was a nonconsensual friendship because god hates me, clearly.” You shrug your jacket off and he takes it from you, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He comes back, slinging an arm around your shoulder, and leading you towards the kitchen.

You hear Wade laughing loudly in the background and he grunts, “I’m gonna need a drink for this,” he mutters. You nod your head in agreement. You don’t get very far, though, because without any warning Wade is in front of you. He’s got his ridiculous dog in his arms and shoves her in your face. You grimace and jump back. Logan abandons you and you narrow your eyes at his retreating back. Traitor

Wade says your name with disappointment. “You know, Mary Puppins is a part of my life now. As my best friend, you need to bond with her. I can’t have you two fighting like this.” He shoves the dog into your arms without any warning and you flinch away from her wandering tongue.

“If this thing licks me, I’m putting her down,” you warn him gravely.

He gasps and snatches her back. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he tells you with a snotty huff. You roll your eyes and watch him go. When he’s out of sight your lips curl up in a grin and you glance at Logan.

He’s by the sink, making himself a drink and taking a deep swig straight out of the bottle. You creep up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiles, hand coming down to gently hold your arm. “What’re you doing?”

��Come with me,” you whisper. You take his hand and lead him through the apartment. You both skirt around the partygoers, giving them vague greetings and waving them off when they give you odd looks.

Logan leans down, lips brushing across your ear as he whispers, “Where are we going?” Your knees nearly give out when you hear that low tone of voice of his. You just shake your head and lead him down the hall. You can sniff out Wade’s room from the permeating stench of his axe body spray.

You throw the door open and drag Logan inside behind you. His nose wrinkles up at the stiff socks littering the floor and the smell. Other than that, it’s relatively clean. You actually thought this would look so much worse.

“Now,” Logan demands, “are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Well,” you lock the door and turn around with a devious grin. “Seeing as Wade has ruined my favorite sheets, I feel like we need to get him back somehow.” You glance around the room, trying to figure out something of his you want to destroy.

You don’t hear Logan moving towards you. You’re too busy rooting through Wade’s desk and trying to find something good to shred up. All you’re seeing is increasingly more disturbing porno mags. He has got a serious problem with pegging. You briefly wonder if you should set up an intervention or something for him.

You nearly yelp when Logan’s hands grip your shoulders, whipping you around to face him. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do.” That’s your only warning before his lips cover your own. You melt into him immediately, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer. He grins against your lips, lifting you and placing you on the edge of Wade’s desk.

“Mm,” you moan but shove his chest back and shake your head. “Wait,” you hop off the desk and take a seat on Wade’s bed instead. “There’s no point in this if we’re not on the bed.”

Logan shakes his head with an amused huff. He walks towards you but instead of taking a seat on the bed next to you like you'd expected, he kneels before you. Your brows furrow together and you frown. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

He gives you a gentle smile, hands coming up to rub gently over your thighs. The warmth of his palms soothes you almost immediately. “You trust me?” He asks, voice a low rumble against your chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He nods encouragingly and leans forward, kissing you gently. There’s nothing expectant in this kiss. He’s doing it just to be close to you. Then you feel his hands drifting higher, fingers running over the buttons of your jeans. Your lips part, ready to ask him a question. But he just takes the chance to dip his tongue into your mouth, eagerly tasting you. You moan into it, not protesting when he presses you back into the bed.

His fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. You lift your hips to help him tug them the rest of the way down until they’re dropping to the floor quietly. You have a million questions dancing on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it in yourself to actually voice any of them. You don’t want to break the moment. This is the first time he’s seemed comfortable going further than kissing and some heavy petting.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your hips jolt as he runs a thumb over the wet spot on your panties. “All this just from kissing?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his tone. You feel your face flush, cheeks warming when you realize he’s never actually seen just how much he affects you. “Relax,” he tells you, squeezing your thighs once before slipping a few lithe fingers under the band of your panties.

He tugs them down, but the second he sets eyes on you he gets too impatient to take them off the rest of the way. They dangle off one ankle while he lifts your thighs, setting them on his shoulder and dipping down to press a gentle kiss against you. You gasp at the contact, head tilting back while you instinctually grind your hips up against him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve actually been with anyone and you already know you’re going to cum embarrassingly quick because he fucking devours you. You’ve had boyfriends who liked to eat you out before, but this is something completely different.

He drags his tongue over you, sucking on your clit like it’s his only true joy in life. You can’t even make noises, your jaw hanging slack while you cant your hips higher. He groans when you grind against his face, shaking his head and flicking his nose across your bud. You nearly come from the sight of him smiling against your cunt alone. You feel it building slowly, and it’s like your powers are swelling up along with your release.

Wade’s knicknacks are floating off the shelves, some of them rotating in the air, others fluctuating between liquid and solid forms. You can’t control yourself, you’re barely aware of the chaos happening in the room around you. You just feel a warmth at the tips of your toes, swelling over your body, making your skin feel too tight. There’s little to no warning when you cum. He dips his tongue inside you and you let out a long moan, drenching his face.

The sheets are soaking wet underneath you and you know you’ve ruined his shirt. You’ve never come that hard before and you would reflect on that more if he wasn’t still fucking eating you out. You think your brain is going to melt out of your ears, you're so overwhelmed by all the different sensations.

He dips his tongue into you, dragging out your orgasm and drinking as much of you down as he can. Your hips keep twitching, you’d be thrashing out of his hands if it wasn’t for the near brushing grip he has on your hips. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you reach down, grabbing his hair at the roots and tugging. He groans at the feeling, barely leaning an inch back. “No more,” you whisper, chest heaving.

He smiles, palms smoothing across the skin of your thighs, “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum weakly. Your head falls back against the bed with a dull thunk and you struggle to catch your breath. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?” He doesn’t answer, just laughs. You jump slightly when he presses a tender kiss on your thigh, every part of you oversensitive.

He moves slowly up your body, hands dragging your shirt up until he’s pulling it over your head. He cups your cheeks, letting you recover while he kisses your cheeks and face. You laugh slightly at the feeling of his beard tickling you.

You pull back, meeting his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before you lean forward to finally kiss him back. You can feel yourself slowly coming back into your body. Your limbs tingle back to life while you lazily make out with him.

His hands drift down your chest, squeezing your breasts. You laugh against his lips, arching into his touch. You reach back, unclipping your bra and throwing it off somewhere in the room. In the far reaches of your mind, you make a mental note to take that when you go. You don’t want to think about what Wade would do with it if he found it.

Logan pulls back from you and your lips tip down at the serious look he wears. Your fingers trace the lines of his face and you tilt your head in question. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. You’re completely naked before him and he’s still clothed, you don’t want him to leave now.

He can’t keep doing this to you. He can’t keep forcing you into these vulnerable positions and then leaving. There’s only so much rejection you can take before you start to resent him for it.

He tilts his head down, gaze dragging across your body appreciatively. He’s looking at you like you’re art and it makes you feel like you should be in a museum somewhere. Finally, his hand drags down from your chest, wrapping around your waist and dragging you onto his lap.

You brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He leans towards you, lips trailing lightly across your jaw. “You’re not her,” he whispers against your skin. Your mouth parts, a pained breath slipping through. You try to move back from him. You hadn’t expected something like that, not now, not when you thought you’d made so much progress together.

To have you naked, vulnerable like this, and then say something like that to you. It was fucking despicable. You shove his shoulders back but he barely moves. You shift, trying to cover yourself and fighting off the urge to cry. Why won’t he let you go? Why does he keep doing this to you?

He reaches out, snatching up your wrist before you can get far. “I don’t want you to be. I never wanted you to be her, I need you to know that.”

He tries to kiss you but you snatch his jaw in your hand before he can. You let your nails dig in until there’s red blooming under your fingertips. He hisses, but he’s not mad, you can feel how much he enjoys the little pinpricks of pain.

“No more pulling away,” you warn. “I’m not playing this damn game with you anymore, Logan. You want me, then commit.” You release him with a shove and his pupils dilate with want. You appreciate the gentle way he’s been treating you, but you know you’re both holding back.

He’s the first partner you’ve been with that can actually take what you give and vice versa. There’s something only mutants understand sometimes. You normally have to hold back, have to make sure you don’t scare a guy off by making the walls shake when you come.

You push him down onto the bed. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and running over the grooves of his muscles. You haven’t had a chance to appreciate just how gorgeous his body is before, but nothing is holding you back now.

You snap your fingers and the buttons rip open, he surges forward catching your lips with his while you both frantically push his shirt off. He throws it off to the side and his fingers fumble with his belt buckle while you trail kisses down his neck. You glance up at him for a second before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot.

He groans, head rolling back while you grin against his skin. You make your way back to his lips. “Don’t hold back,” you tell him, trailing your hands down to his fists and running over the spots where the claws come out.

“Sweetheart,” he starts tone apprehensive. You shake your head, shutting him up with a kiss.

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It’s like a switch flipping. Even the way he looks at you changes. You’re not something to be cherished and adored. You feel like a deer pinned by a wolf. He’s got you in his clutches now and there’s a real possibility you might not survive this.

He stands up, dropping you on the bed and dragging your hips off the edge. He doesn’t kick his jeans off, just lowers them enough for his cock to hang out. You’ll address the fact that he wasn’t wearing boxers later, you’re too worried about what’s hanging between his legs right now.

You’re no virgin, but goddamn, there’s no way that’s going to fit.

He laughs, the noise cruel and it makes shivers crawl down your spine. “We’ll make it work, kid.” He spreads your legs and you tilt your hips up, making it easier for him to just sip inside.

There’s a slight stretch, but you’re already soaked for him. You’ve been waiting for this to happen since you walked in on him naked in your bathroom. “Oh, shit,” you toss your head back, taking in a deep breath while he pushes in. It feels like he’s rearranging your insides, molding you to fit him perfectly.

You can already feel yourself clenching down, just being so close to him is enough to make that tingle in the tips of your toes start. He leans down, placing your legs over his elbows and rutting into you like a wild animal. There’s nothing gentle or slow about this.

You’re both so pent-up, tired from the weeks of dancing around each other. Your nails drag up his back, blood following your movement. Your powers are actively surging against him, pain only driving you further into each other’s arms.

You can hear his breathy grunts and groans in your ears and it’s music to you. Neither of you cares about the party going on just outside the door. You’re loud, skin slapping against skin while you loudly call out his name.

God, you hope they hear you. Hope they realize just how thoroughly you’re wrecked for each other. You can feel yourself getting closer, hips stuttering against his while you struggle to match his pace. “Come on,” he mutters in your ear. He releases one of your legs to reach down and rub your clit.

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching up and tugging at his hair while your back bows. It only takes a few more tight circles of his thumb before you’re spasming around him. He’s quick to follow behind you.

He pins your hips to the bed, dropping your legs while he thrusts faster. He loses his rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he cums inside you. It’s like a mini death, you feel like you’ve lost time when you finally manage to come back to yourself.

And when you roll your head to the side you realize just how much damage you’ve done to Wade’s bed. “Shit,” You glance up at the sound of his voice and notice little droplets of blood on your hips. Logan’s claws are out, stuck in the fluff of the bed.

You force the words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Do that often?”

“Not really,” he mutters. The claws retreat and he rubs his fingers over the blood. It’s not bad, you’ve honestly done worse to yourself. It’s like a big paper cut. When the rough pad of his fingers presses against the cut you hiss at the sting, nearly enjoying it.

“Must be special,” you tell him with a cheeky grin. He shakes his head with a laugh and takes his time pulling out. You hate the loss of him inside you but it's a slight relief. He's larger than any partner you’ve ever had and it’s almost overwhelming to be so full.

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” He pats your thighs, glancing around for your clothes.

“Uh, Logan,” he looks up and you glance at his still very hard cock. “I thought you came?”

The smile he gives you is slightly terrifying. Because there’s a promise in it. He’s not getting you dressed for no reason. He’s taking you back to your apartment so you can have more fun where there are less people and fewer reminders of Wade. “Stamina's part of the deal, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, voice breathless in shock. You wipe the cum off your legs with Wade’s sheets. You feel like you’ve thoroughly gotten revenge on him for destroying your favorite bed set. Maybe, you’ve gone a little farther than revenge, though.

You feel guilty, looking around the room and seeing everything you destroyed. Once you’re dressed, you wave your hand, putting most things back where they belong. But there’s nothing you can do about the bed. The sheets are soaked with a mixture of yours and Logan’s releases and there are six holes dug deep in the bed from his claws.

When you step out of the room with Logan, struggling to press down your hair and get it back into place, Blind Al is waiting by the door. She’s doing a line off the back of her hand when you pass by. You think you’ve almost made it scott-free when she yells, “Man, I wish I couldn’t fucking hear,” at you.

You tense up, shoulders to your ears while you run to the door. Logan laughs, grabbing your coat for you and pressing a hand to your back while he leads you to the apartment. “Weren’t feeling so embarrassed earlier,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you grumble, dragging him into the apartment to finish what you couldn’t on Wade’s bed.

You’ve managed to keep any holes out of your bed, you just have to use your powers to keep his at bay. It’s nice, not having to explain why everything around you is levitating to the person you’re having sex with. There were a lot of awkward conversations that came from that.

You’re lying on Logan’s chest, fingers idly running over the veins in his biceps. “I want to be serious about this,” you tell him.

His hand pauses from where it’d been stroking your back. You sit up on your elbow so you can get a better look at him. “I mean it, I,” there’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete bitch. You just have to rip the bandaid off.

You take in a deep breath, “I know that you still miss her,” you say, unwilling to say her name. Logan sits up, looking more serious now. “But I don’t want to be with you if you think that I’m going to turn into her. Or if you think that I’m the last connection you have to her. I’m not her, Logan, and I'm never going to be her.”

You expect anger on his face or regret, maybe. But you don’t expect him to laugh at you. You roll your eyes, lips pursed while you wait for him to finish. He notices the pissy expression on your face and quiets down, but you still see a smile fighting on his lips.

“I know you’re not her. You could not be more different” he tells you with a slight smirk, like there’s an inside joke you’re missing out on. “I was married to her for a long time and I loved her. But we had our time together. Now, I just want my time with you. You’re not her,” he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “That’s why I want you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and have to fight to keep a stupid grin off your face. “Okay,” you whisper. “Good, well as long as we’re on the same page,” you tell him, faux serious. He just rolls his eyes and pulls you back into his arms.

You’re going to cuddle up beside him when you hear your phone going off like crazy on your nightstand. Your face pinches in confusion and you reach over to grab it.

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you mutter, throwing your phone somewhere on the bed. Logan laughs again, drawing you closer.

a/n: i have a really weird tendency for masochism, idk what that’s about. I just feel like if you were having sex with this man, he’s taking you like a wild animal. also feel like I might be a one-hit wonder. the smut just wasn’t doing it for me this time guys nor was the angst, i’m disappointed in myself

I just don't think I did justice to his character in the movie, I might have made it too OOC/ if I did PLEASE let me know

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus ♡

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #the worst logan x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #hugh jackman #praying this doesn't flop

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