#your name is probably laura

[chaotictissuebox]

there was once an old law that any series with a fandom had to have a meme of this. Anyway

[lialcross]

If Superman Had a Daughter

Something I find interesting is how often Clark was given a daughter pre-new 52, only to end up with a son, Jon Kent. I think there have been a lot of interesting depictions of daughters, but one that's stuck out to me is the depiction of Laura Kent, an imaginary(?) daughter of Lois and Clark who didn't develop powers until her teenage years introduced in the eighties. And, while I do not mind Jon, I think Laura's short-lived backstory is leagues more interesting to me.

Of course, there have been more daughters, and for me, who likes the idea of the Supers being a relatively small family compared to other superhero families, I think Lois and Clark should only have one child (Kon is still a constant, but he is more or less the child between Clark and Lex).

It explores the relationship of how a superpowered father would react to his powerless half-Kryptonian daughter navigating the world around her. And, as all children do, their daughter would 100% yearn for the cape. It's a normal parent-daughter conflict despite the absurdity of involving superpowers, and curiosity about a world you're actively being told not to join, natural childhood rebellion. Naturally, if Superman and Lois Lane had a 'powerless' child, the line of dialogue, "Are you Bat-Training our daughter?" was a forethought in combining the various scraped daughters of the Supers. The Supers are close with the Bats, and she'd be the same age as Damian, Supersons hijinks would ensue despite everything.

[flowersforbucky]

by the end of the night

logan howlett x reader

word count: 7.2k words

summary: reader is a mutant with emotional regulation powers, who frequently helps logan through nightmares - without him even knowing. what happens one night when he wakes to find you in his room?

warnings: 18+only mdni, smut, ptsd, nightmares, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, oral, fingering, pet names, language, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly angst but mostly fluff! implied age gap as logan calls reader "kid" but reader is 21+

a/n: written with worst!logan in mind. reader lives in the x-mansion and is a long time friend of wade's who let's logan, laura and wade move in when al's place gets too cramped.

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You had lost track of how long you had been standing under the hot, harsh stream of the showerhead. You had yet to wash your hair or scrub the sweat and grime from your skin, allowing yourself the well-earned luxury of letting the water beat down on the aching muscles of your back while you rest your forehead against the emerald colored porcelain tiles. By the time you've finally finished rinsing the last two days down the drain, the water runs cold.

You secure a towel around your midsection and swipe the side of your hand across the foggy bathroom mirror to take in your appearance. Hollow, peaked eyes and more fine lines than usual - you definitely need the full twelve hours of sleep that calls your name.

You brush your teeth with one hand and pick up your phone with the other, checking the time - 11:22 pm. You probably have a few hours to get some shut eye before –

A distinct, deep roar interrupts the midnight silence and echoes off the walls of the mansion, startling you. Your phone falls out of your hand, bouncing off of the linoleum flooring.

Before that.

It would be your luck for it to happen hours earlier than usual tonight, of all nights. When you’ve just got off of a seven hour flight from Ontario, after two days of helping people who had been wounded in severe flash floods. Not only healing their physical injuries, but calming their nerves with your powers. And, of course, when you’re fresh out of a shower, naked except for the large, white fabric that covers the middle part of your body.

You don't even bother to pick your phone up before you're stepping out of the bathroom, clutching the towel to your chest. The door to the room directly across the hallway opens, revealing a wide-eyed Laura, donning pajamas and sleep-ruffled hair.

“You're back,” she exhales. The relief she feels at the realization that you're home radiates from her from across the hallway. “Good. Last night was–”

Another guttural yell pierces the air, silencing her.

“I can imagine,” you sigh, staring in the direction of Logan's room. “I'll take care of him,” you assure her, knowing all too well how badly she worries for him every night. “Get some sleep,” you tell her gently. You start to walk toward the sound of his pained cries, when Laura calls your name. You look back at her over your shoulder.

“You're.. only wearing a towel,” she states softly. You glance down, pulling the towel even tighter around yourself. Your bedroom is just on the opposite end of the hallway, but by the time you dress yourself and make it back to Logan’s room, he could hurt himself.

“I’ve been helping him without waking him up for months now,” you remind her. “Let’s just cross our fingers that this time isn’t any different.” She gives you an uncertain nod, and reluctantly retreats back into her room.

You proceed towards Logan's door, turning the handle as quietly as you can. Thankfully, he never locks it. You're good with picking locks, but it's not something you want to waste time with in these instances.

Your heart cracks and simultaneously sinks to your stomach as you click the door shut behind you. He's visible in the pale yellow glow of an old table lamp that he’d left on.

You don't think that seeing him like this will ever get easier - so helpless and vulnerable, not in control of his own mind or body. Before you've even reached his bedside, you're hit with a ripple of panic and despair. You may not be able to see the visions that torment his mind, but his emotions that wash into you paint a vivid enough picture.

He lays flat on his back, his arms at his sides with his fully-extended claws sunk into the fitted sheet and his comforter thrown onto the floor next to the bed. You briefly wonder how many sets of sheets he has had to toss out and replace in the last few months.

His head jerks violently from side to side, as if he’s trying to get away from something that you’re unable to see. “No, no, no,” he grunts through gritted teeth.

You’re silent. It’s best this way - you, Wade, and Laura all agree on this. Everyone who has slept within the same building as Logan is privy to the nightmares that plague him, and the three of you agree that the best way to help him is without him knowing about it. As if the man isn’t already riddled with enough self-loathing for things that had happened in another timeline, the last thing he needs is to feel guilty and embarrassed for waking up his closest friends and loved ones nearly every night. So, as badly as you’d like to comfort him with your words and tell him that he’s okay, he’s safe, he’s just having a bad dream and he’s here in the mansion with you, and Laura, Wade, and the rest of your friends - you don’t.

Instead, you slowly bring your palm to his bicep, mentally conjuring the essence of your powers to flow through your skin and into his body. You feel the surge as the energy breaks through the barrier of your palm and begins to radiate across the flesh of Logan's exposed arm. Usually, he begins to still right away - the loud, angry yelling will dwindle to pained moans that soon cease to silence as he slips back into a calm and dreamless sleep.

This time, however, the groans don't quiet and the sharp thrashes don't still. Your brows furrow together in concentration, forcing more of your energy into his being.

He yells out something unintelligible, digging his claws deeper into the mattress, stuffing falling out around his hands. You try not to panic, growing increasingly confused as to why your powers don't seem to be helping. It's never taken this long to calm him. Normally, placing one hand on him is enough to ease his mind.

His skin is clammy and flushed beet red with thick beads of sweat forming across his forehead and neck. Knowing that you need to force more of your energy upon him, you lean against the edge of his bed so that you can reach across him and place your free hand on his opposite bicep. Just as your palm is about to make contact with his skin, his eyes shoot open.

You yank your hands away from his body, prepared to step back and give him space when he quickly raises off his pillow, his right hand darting towards your face. You instinctively flinch away as the tip of the metal talon between his index and middle finger lands directly across the pulse point of your throat. Your breath hitches in your throat, completely opposite of how his chest heaves up and down with ragged breaths. You're frozen beneath his claws as you wait for him to take in the scene before him.

“You're okay,” you manage to squeak out. “You were having–”

“What the fuck,” he grumbles, his voice raspy from yelling. His eyes dart from your face down to your lower half, lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he takes in your current attire - or lack thereof. His eyebrow shoots up in confusion and he retracts his claws back inside his hands.

“I had just got out of the shower when I heard you yelling.” The words spew out of your mouth like vomit. His gaze moves from you to his mattress, noticing all of the foam that he had ripped out while unconscious. “I was just trying to–”

“Trying to what?” he snaps, interrupting you again. He looks back at you, a mixture of anger and frustration now blooming on his features. “Get your jugular sliced? What were you thinking?” His words are laced with a venom that you've heard directed at Wade many times over the course of the last few months when they're at each other's throats over God knows what - but never, ever has that tone been directed towards you.

“I was thinking that you were screaming loudly enough to wake the whole mansion,” you bite back, crossing your arms over your chest. His harsh stare makes you feel even more exposed than you are. You can tell that your words hit a nerve by the way that he purses his lips together.

“I'm sorry for disturbing the peace, kid,” he spits with a sarcastic huff. The condescending pet name makes your blood boil. “If it happens again, save yourself the hassle and send Wade to risk getting stabbed.”

“It's not a hassle–” you start and then throw your hands up in surrender. It's late, and you're exhausted, and you don't trust yourself to not throw it in his face that it's you who has been soothing him through these nightmares for the last three months, not Wade, and nevermind the fact that you have regenerative powers too, so even if he accidentally did stab you -

He's looking at you expectantly in the thick silence.

“You know what? You’re right,” you give an exasperated shrug, trying to keep your voice even so it isn't obvious that his reaction has hurt your feelings. “It won't happen again.”

He looks as if he’s going to speak, but you are already turning on your heel and stomping out of his room, slamming his door closed behind you.

You retrieve your cell phone from the bathroom floor and start to head to your room, when Laura peeks her head out of her doorway. You pause, quickly trying to conceal any signs of frustration from your expression.

Given the look on her face, you can tell that she overheard the interaction.

“He's just embarrassed,” she whispers sympathetically. You're hit with a wave of her emotions - worry, helplessness, uncertainty. You don't mean to pry. In fact, you usually do everything in your power to keep other's emotions out, but sometimes people feel so many things at once that those feelings just pour into you against your will. “He’s doesn't know how to accept help without feeling like a bur-”

“It’s okay, Laura,” you interrupt her softly. “We knew this is how he would react.”

“I could try to talk to him about it,” she offers, leaning against the doorframe. “Once he calms down some. Explain how you've helped–”

“You don't have to do that,” you assure her. You don't know why it was so difficult to settle Logan's nightmare tonight, or why he woke up this time after months of successfully soothing him, but despite his harsh reaction and telling him that it wouldn't happen again, you were still hopeful that you'd be able to continue to help him. You also wanted to save him the further embarrassment of knowing that this was far from the first occurrence.

“Let's just call it a night and I'll deal with it tomorrow, okay?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but you end the conversation with a quick goodnight and hurry onto your room.

Behind the confines of your bedroom walls, you unhook the towel from around your chest and let it drop to the floor before belly-flopping onto the cool velvet fabric of your duvet. You release a muffled groan into the bed before rolling over and staring up at your ceiling. You hope that no one needs you for the duration of the night, because you are too physically exhausted to walk five feet away to get pajamas from your dresser.

Despite feeling frustrated and hurt at how the interaction with Logan had just gone, you worry for him. You worry that he'll have another nightmare tonight, or that he'll keep himself awake out of fear that he'll have another one. You worry that the friendship that you've developed over the course of the last few months will be affected by tonight's encounter, and as silly as it may be - you worry that he'll feel weird around you after waking up to find you in his bedroom in only a towel in the middle of the night.

The last thing you remember thinking before finally falling asleep is that you wish you could use your powers on yourself to ease your own anxiety.

••••••

The next morning, you smell coffee and hints of vanilla and cinnamon before you're halfway to the kitchen.

This is surprising to you for two reasons - one being that you're typically the one who brews the coffee and starts breakfast. Two being that you expected an empty house this morning. Colossus is usually out with the trainees on Friday mornings, and Wade had told you right before you left for Ontario a few days ago that he, Laura and Logan would be visiting their old roommate - Althea, or Blind Al, as Wade so lovingly calls her - today.

You come to a halt when you enter the kitchen and see who's responsible for the aroma.

With his back turned to you as he pulls a dish out of the oven, you instinctively pull the plush robe that you wear tighter around you as you are hit with the memory of what you wore in his bedroom last night all over again.

“Good morning,” you greet him in a neutral tone as you pull your favorite mug from the cabinet. “Smells good,” you add lightheartedly, not looking in his direction as you pour yourself some coffee.

“Yeah, well,” Logan starts with an awkward clear of his throat. “They're for you.”

Your head snaps to where he's leaning against the kitchen island, next to a circular glass dish filled with fresh cinnamon rolls. It's not as if it's some grand declaration of love - but it turns your stomach into a butterfly garden all the same.

“They're just from a can,” he shrugs, staring down at the pastries to avoid your gaze that's now locked on him. “Probably can't compare to the ones you bake from scratch. It's definitely no steak and eggs like you made for us last weekend–”

“Thank you,” you interrupt him to stop his rambling. You don't need to seek his emotions to know that he is nervous - it's apparent in both his voice and his posture. In fact, you don't think you've seen Logan as visibly on edge since you met him. “This is very thoughtful of you. I woke up starving this morning.”

“I figured you would be after your late night.” He opens a cabinet and pulls out two small plates. “And I just wanted to apologize for.. that.” Waves of embarrassment wash from where he stands just a few feet from you.

You take a step closer to him as he extends a plate to you. “You don't have to apologize, Logan,” you assure him in a gentle voice as you accept the ceramic plate and turn back to the cinnamon rolls. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

“There is, though. You were only trying to help me and I snapped at you. You didn't deserve that, sweetheart.”

“Well, no,” you shrug with a mouthful of bread and icing, hoping that he couldn’t detect the way your heart skipped a beat at the pet name. “I didn’t. But you were startled, and confused. You woke up from a horrible nightmare and the first thing you saw was me hovering over you. I don’t blame you for reacting poorly.”

He takes a step closer to you, digging into the dish to serve himself. There's still mild undertones of embarrassment breaking through the barrier of his emotions, but the main thing that you're feeling from him is relief.

“I talked to Laura before she left this morning,” he says with a fresh hint of nervousness. “She told me what you've been doing for me for the last few months,” he confesses, pausing for your response. You would feel nervous yourself, if it weren't for your ability to know that he isn't feeling any kind of anger.

You're surprisingly relieved that Laura had filled him in on what had become your nightly routine. You knew from the beginning that it was only a matter of how and when he'd realize what was going on. You didn’t like feeling like you were hiding something so intimate from him.

“I'm sorry we didn't tell you,” you sigh. “We just.. didn't want you to feel bad. And we were worried that you would–”

“React exactly how I did?”

You exhale a small laugh through your nose. “Yeah,” you admit. “Something like that.”

“I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. For all of it. For waking you up every night, for snapping at you, for–”

“Logan, really,” you stop him, setting your cup of coffee down to bring your hand to where his is gripping onto the edge of the marble countertop. You give it a reassuring squeeze, and don't pull away as you look up at him. “Please don't apologize. I wanted to help you. It's what people do when they care about you, you know? And you deserve a peaceful night's sleep as much as the rest of us do.”

“If you won't let me apologize, will you at least let me say thank you?”

You smile up at him, reluctantly pulling your hand away from his. You can't help but notice a small note of disappointment emanating from him when your skin breaks contact with him.

“You don't need to thank me either, but..” you hesitate, suddenly feeling a pit of anxiousness in your stomach at what you're about to ask him next. “Now that you know what's been going on the last few months, maybe there’s something you'd be willing to let me try?”

“And what would that be, sweetheart?”

••••••

Later that evening, after the sun has set and your friends have all retired to their private spaces for the night, you make your way to Logan's bedroom under much different circumstances than the previous night.

Tonight, if all goes well, you won't have to worry about startling him from a night terror ridden slumber. Tonight, you are going to attempt to prevent the bad dreams before they can begin tormenting him in the first place.

You were pleasantly surprised when he agreed to your idea as soon as you suggested it. You expected him to reject the offer of help - as he is so naturally prone to doing. You thought that you'd have to try to convince him that he's worthy of this effort. Although he seemed uncertain that this would work, he was willing to give it a shot because he trusts you.

You hesitate for a moment before working up the courage to give a soft knock to his bedroom door. He opens up almost instantly, revealing himself in dark gray sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt with hair that still glistens wet from a recent shower.

You'd be lying if you said the sight didn't make your stomach do somersaults, but you quickly clear your throat, reminding yourself why you're here.

He seems to take in your appearance, too - his eyes trailing from your painted white toenails that peak out from your fuzzy slippers and up to your matching black pajama shorts and tank top.

“Well, you look quite a bit different than you did the last time you were here,” he observes with the kind of smile that brings out the laugh lines around his eyes. He opens the door further, allowing you to walk past him and into the cozy yet minimally decorated space.

“Thought I'd spare you the shock of the towel this time,” you retort, your cheeks heating at the memory. He closes the door behind him and follows you into the room. “So uh, how exactly are you proposing that we go about this?”

You take in the state of his bed - you would never guess that his claws had shredded multiple large gashes down it less than twenty-four hours ago. He must have flipped it over and hoped for the best. You take an apprehensive seat on the edge of the mattress, nervously wringing your hands together.

“Well,” you begin as he takes a seat next to you at the end of the bed. His body is angled so that his knee brushes the skin of yours ever so lightly. “Last night proved that for whatever reason, your nightmares are becoming harder for me to get under control. Maybe with my powers, I can help you relax enough so that you don’t have those kinds of dreams at all.”

You can’t help but doubt yourself - you’ve never done anything like this before, and you truly have no idea if it will be effective. You’re worried that you’ll disappoint yourself and Logan both. Earlier, he seemed apprehensive, too - but sitting here with him now, you’re not feeling any sense of uncertainty from him. Only from yourself.

As if he can feel your hesitation, he takes your hand in his and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Just tell me whatever you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”

You nod, pushing down the feelings that flood through you at the knowledge that not only does he trust you, but he believes in you - enough to help him with such a vulnerable part of himself.

“Okay,” you say, reluctantly pulling your hand from him as you begin to scoot up his bed, so that you’re in the middle of the mattress. You cross your legs at the ankles, and motion for him to follow your lead. He moves to sit directly in front of you, copying your position and sitting so that both of his knees touch yours. You hold out your hands, palms up, and he takes them in his own. You can’t help but think that if any of your friends were to walk in, it would look like the two of you were performing a seance.

“We can stop anytime that you want to,” you remind him. “If at any point you’re uncomfortable and you want to stop, just say the word.” He gives you a small nod and another reassuring squeeze to each hand as your sign to continue.

“I’d like you to start by thinking of whatever it is that you’ve been seeing in your nightmares. You don’t have to talk about it,” you assure him quickly when you feel a spark of anxiety flicker where your hands rest in his. You notice that his jaw clenches at the notion of dwelling on what torments him in his sleep. “Just replay some key images in your head, and leave the rest to me. I’m going to read your emotions and attempt to use my powers to alter them to something more positive. It may take a few sessions of practicing this for it to be effective, but I’m hopeful that we can train your brain to not panic at what you’re seeing in your nightmares.” You pause, giving him a chance to ask questions - or tell you to get lost and forget it.

“Replace panic with peace. Got it.”

“Close your eyes,” you instruct him gently. He obeys without hesitation, though you can't help but notice the small surge of unease that begins to flow from his palms into yours. You counteract the feeling right away, sending back a wave of calm in its place. You watch as he unclenches his jaw and unforrows his brows - a clear indication that he's feeling the energy that you're emitting.

“Now think about your nightmares. Start with your most recent one. Try to remember as many details as possible. I'll be right here, holding your hand and helping you through it,” you encourage him in a soft voice, tightening your hold on his hands.

You begin to release a slow, steady stream of tranquility that flows from your fingertips and into his body. You know that he's doing as you have asked him to do - you can tell he's replaying the images of his latest nightmare by the way it feels as if something is pushing back against your powers.

Guilt, fear, and hopelessness - all push back against their counterparts that you try to instill in him. He grips your hands tighter, the hold on them borderline uncomfortable, but you keep still and allow him to anchor himself to you.

You find yourself thankful that you can't physically see the images that he's working through. The negative emotions that accompany the thoughts is enough for you to know that whatever he's seeing, it's far from pretty.

“You're doing good, Logan,” you offer in a small whisper. You're not even sure if he hears you - he's focused, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. You send a more powerful wave of energy to him and watch as his shoulders slouch in relaxation. You can still feel the pain that radiates beneath your power as it flows through his being - but it’s dull; muted.

“We’re going to switch it up now,” you say louder. “I’m going to continue exactly what I’m doing, but instead of thinking of your nightmares, I want you to think of something happy. Your favorite place, your friends, a good memory - anything that makes you happy.”

His eyes stay closed, but he gives a small nod of his head to let you know that he’s hearing you.

There’s a noticeable shift in the emotional energy that courses through him. His fear fades to joy, dread is replaced with hope. With the positive emotions being amplified by your powers, a faint smile grows across his face and a hint of rosy pink blooms on the apples of his cheeks. Now, you wish you could see whatever it is he's thinking of.

You can't help the smile that forms on your own face, soaking in the moment where he's possibly the most carefree that you've ever seen him.

“I'm going to pull away now,” you tell him gently. You feel a pang of disappointment - it's hard to tell who it comes from. His feelings have bled so thoroughly into your own.

You slowly pull your hands away from his and his eyes snap open at the loss of your emotional influence.

“What do you think?” You almost ask him how he feels - but you stop yourself, already knowing the answer to that.

“I think that you're fucking incredible,” he answers bluntly, his hazel eyes staring at you in awe. You feel your cheeks warm at the compliment, hoping that he didn't hear the way your heart all but stopped in your chest. “I've never felt anything quite like that. Even if I do still have a nightmare tonight.. It was nice to feel so at peace, even just temporarily.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his words. “It’s okay if it doesn't work,” you tell him. “We can try again tomorrow. And I'll be right down the hall if you need me tonight. Okay?” You uncross your legs, hopping off of his bed. You start to wish him goodnight when he grabs your hand in his once more. It feels different than just a moment ago - more intimate.

“Thank you,” he tells you before reluctantly dropping your hand. “For doing this for me - for trying.”

“Of course,” you murmur. You feel lightheaded - you don’t know if it’s from exerting so much of your powers, his words, or the feeling of his hand in yours, but the air in his room feels suffocating and your skin feels flushed. “Goodnight, Logan.”

You give him a soft smile, and then dash out of his room before he can say anything else, closing his door behind you.

After you’ve power walked back to your own room, you spend a while decompressing before even trying to fall asleep - Logan’s words, feelings, and touch replaying through your mind on an infinite loop.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend tossing and turning beneath your sheets before your brain finally gives into sleep. When you wake up, you’re not sure what time it is - your room is dark except for the moonlight that trickles in through your window. You sit up and look around your room, confused as to what woke you up in the first place when a gentle knock sounds from the other side of your door. The soft call of your name from a voice that you recognize right away has you throwing your covers back and all but jumping out of your bed to go open your door.

“Logan,” you exhale in a sleep-ridden voice, eyeing him from head to toe as if to make sure he’s okay. He stands before you in the same sweatpants and t-shirt as earlier, though his hair looks far more ruffled than when you saw him just before bed. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you wake up. I'm normally a light sleep–”

“I think what we did earlier is helping,” he interrupts you. That's when you notice it - there's no fear radiating from him. Instead, you feel a prickle of hope. “I did start to have a nightmare,” he continues. “But I didn't… I didn't feel trapped in it. I was able to pull myself out of it before it escalated.”

You take a step forward, raising your arms to him and pulling him towards you by his shoulders. It takes him a second to process what is happening, but then he wraps his arms around your waist and returns your embrace in a tight hold, nearly lifting you off the ground.

“That's amazing, Logan. I'm so glad,” you murmur next to his ear. You don't even care that it's the middle of the night. After how many times you've woken up to the sound of his tortured screams, you're happy to instead wake up to him standing at your bedroom door with good news.

He pulls his head back enough to look down at you, but doesn't release his hold around you. Your face is so close to his that you can make out your reflection in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for a split-second before his voice snaps you back to reality.

“I'm sorry,” he says, suddenly overcome with a rush of embarrassment. “I shouldn't have woken you up for that,” he all but whispers. “I was just having a hard time falling back asleep and I selfishly wanted to see–”

“Do you want to come lie down with me?”

You can tell the question takes him by surprise. His hazel eyes widen and you can feel the shock that surges through him at the proposal. “No big deal if not,” you add quickly. “I could try to help you fall back asleep.”

His hold on you tightens, and you're hit with a wave of different emotions that answer before he can reply.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he grins down at you. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Before your nerves can get the better of you, you grab him by the hand and pull him through the doorway. He pulls it shut on his way in - the click of the bolt making reality set in.

You don't let go of his hand as you guide him to your bed through the darkness of your room. You crawl onto the mattress and scoot to the opposite side, letting him take the spot where you'd previously been asleep. You hold your comforter open for him as he crawls in next to you. Your king size bed, which normally feels ginormous with only you to occupy it, suddenly feels less than half its actual size. He's not even touching you and you can feel the heat radiate from Logan's body underneath the blanket that you now share.

You're torn. On one hand, you want nothing more than to sink into that warmth and feel him pressed against you as you lull him back to sleep. On the other hand, you don't want to cross any boundaries that can't be uncrossed.

“How do you want me?”

Goddamn. As if your heart isn't already beating a mile a minute, he has to phrase it like that?

You turn away from him, hoping you won’t be able to smell the intoxicating hints of his Old Spice deodorant if you face the opposite direction of him.

“However you're comfortable,” you whisper to conceal any strain in your voice. “Just give me your hand,” you instruct as you reach a hand over your side to where he's nestled behind you. He rolls onto his side so that his chest is a mere few inches from pressing against your back. His large hand clasps around yours.

Forget skipping a beat - your heart all but stops in your chest at what washes over you.

It's faint - as if he's trying his hardest to push it down so that you won't realize that it's there.

Longing.

He exhales, his breath fanning across the exposed skin of your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I thought of you, you know.”

“What?” You lift your head off of the pillow, turning back to look at him in the illumination of the full moon that pours into your room from your open curtains. His face is just inches away from yours from where he lays behind you. “What do you mean?”

“When you asked me to think of something that makes me happy. Every happy memory that flashed through my mind, they were all from the last few months. And they all involved you.” He pauses, rubbing circles across the side of your hand with his thumb.

Longing. Desire. Yearning. They all bubble over and bleed together - his, and your own.

“I thought of the first time we showed up here and you took us in with open arms. I thought of the time I walked into the living room to find you teaching Laura to braid her hair.. and all of the times that you've cooked for us. I could've picked any moment, really. Any moment with you since I met you would've worked.”

“Logan,” you breathe in an almost whiney voice. “Logan, I–”

“Tell me how I'm feeling right now, sweetheart.”

You turn over to your other side so that you're facing him. You prop your head up in one hand, and bring your other to his face that still rests on your pillow. You cradle his jaw in your palm, grazing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb.

“You feel the same way that I do.”

You're not sure if you lean down to him, or if he raises his head to meet yours - all you know is that his lips are moving with yours and his hand is on your lower back, pulling you flush against him and closing what little space is left between your bodies.

He kisses you hungrily, a mess of tongue and teeth that makes your brain turn to static. His beard and mustache tickles the soft skin of your face in a way that leaves you wanting more, more, more.

He hooks his hand under the curve of your ass and hikes your thigh over his own, maneuvering you over his body while keeping his lips locked with yours. With both of his hands planted firmly on your hips, you're now straddling him and feel the evident bulge of an erection through the thin material of his sweatpants and your pajama shorts.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you wanting and breathless above him.

“We can stop right now, if that's what you want,” he whispers - his voice sounds strained, as if the thought alone pains him. “We don't have to go any fur–”

“I don't want to stop.” And to reinforce that sentiment, you grind your core down against his hard length. He releases a noise that’s akin to a growl, sounding from deep in his chest. He grabs you by the shoulders as he raises off of the pillow, shooting into a sitting position and crushing his lips to yours again.

Even with you straddling his lap and your tongues taking turns exploring each other's mouths, you still need him closer - need to feel more of him. You snake your hands between your bodies, gripping onto the hem of his t-shirt and tugging upwards. You break your lips away from his to pull the fabric over his head. As soon as you've tossed the shirt across the room, he's copying the exact motions on you, discarding your tank top.

He grasps a breast in one hand, roughly palming it as he takes the other in his mouth. He tugs your nipple between his teeth, hardening it before soothing it over with his tongue. You encourage him with soft rolls of your hips over the bulge in his pants.

Logan lifts you off of his lap, flipping the two of you over so that you now lay flat against the mattress, underneath him. He hooks his fingers into both the waistband of your pajama bottoms and panties and begins to ease them down your thighs.

“Gotta get you out of these little shorts,” he murmurs, pulling them over your ankles and leaving you completely bare for him.

“Logan, please,” you whimper. You don't even quite know what you're begging for - but he does. He reads you like an open book.

“I know, sweetheart. ‘M gonna take care of you.”

His words send an intense gush of arousal to your core. He pushes your thighs apart at the knees and nestles himself between them, bringing his face level with your pussy.

Your hands fly to his head as his tongue makes contact with your clit. You weave your fingers through the short tufts of his hair, clenching your thighs around the sides of his head as he works the swollen nub with his mouth.

He licks lazy strips from your clit down to your hole and then brings his middle finger to your entrance, swirling it around in your slick before easing it inside you. He groans at your taste and the feeling of your walls constricting around his finger, sending vibrations through your body.

He increases the speed at which he pumps his long finger into your cunt, each time drawing a more sinful moan from you. You buck your hips to meet the thrusts of his finger, chasing the building warmth in your lower belly as it builds and builds.

His tongue laps through your folds and he adds a second finger to his movements. Maybe it's due to the fact that you can feel waves of his arousal in addition to your own and it's amplifying your pleasure, or maybe he's just that fucking good with his fingers and tongue - but you can feel yourself soaking the sheets beneath you. The room is filled with the wet echoes of your walls gushing around his fingers in the silence of the night, and you find yourself thankful that there's several empty rooms in between yours and the other people that you share this mansion with.

He brings his free hand up to your breast and rolls your nipple between his fingers and it sends you crashing around him. The white hot coil in your belly snaps and you cum around his face with a low cry of his name.

He sits up on his knees when you've stopped writhing above him, yanking his sweatpants and boxers down. He pumps his length in his hand that's soaked with your juices, lubricating himself with your essence before he's even inside you.

“Sweet girl,” he coos as he stares down at you in the limited view of the moonlight. “Taste how sweet you are.”

Hovering above you, he props himself up on his forearm and brings his free hand to your chin, tugging on your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Open your mouth for me.”

Feeling drunk in your post-orgasm haze, you don't hesitate to do exactly as he asks of you. You eagerly part your lips wide for him and he hums in satisfaction before releasing a thick drop of his spit from his mouth into yours. It falls on your tongue and you close your mouth, reveling in the flavor of your juices mixed with the flavor of him. You groan at the taste and pull him back down to you by the back of his neck, molding your lips to his.

His cock juts against your folds, torturously teasing you before finally sinking his head past your entrance. You gasp into the kiss as he buries himself to the hilt, stilling momentarily to let you adjust to his size.

“Fuck, Logan,” you groan into his mouth when he begins to move again, pulling half of his length out before easing back in at a steady pace. “So big. Don't know if I can–”

“You can,” he interrupts, and to prove his point he fills you all the way up again. His head rams against your cervix and takes your breath away. “See? You're doing such a good job, honey.”

You've never felt so full before. You swear you can feel him in your stomach. He starts to rock in and out of you, slowly as you acclimate to the fullness of him. He kisses you through it, drinking in each whimper and moan that he draws from you.

“So tight and wet for me,” he grunts when he pulls away from your mouth. He brings one of his hands down to where your body meets his, placing his thumb directly over your swollen clit and begins to rub you with fast, pressured circles that have your cunt clenching around him.

“Close,” you grunt out in between moans of his name. “I'm so close.” He rocks into you harder, making you see stars when he hits that sweet spot just right.

“Gonna cum around my cock?” He mutters between gritted teeth as your walls flutter around him. “Yeah, you are. I can feel it.”

His thrusts become erratic and you know he's right behind you. A few more hard thrusts that have your headboard slamming against the wall and you're cumming around him as he spills into you.

He goes still inside you as you both regain a normal pattern of breathing. He gives you one, two, three wet, open-mouth kisses down your throat before pulling out of you. You whimper at the sudden lack of fullness, already missing the way he fits inside you.

He flops down beside you on the mattress and tugs you into his side, your head coming to rest just above his rapidly beating heart.

“I think I should be able to sleep just fine after that,” he exhales. He trails his fingertips down the exposed skin of your arm. You grab his other hand in yours and pull it up to your mouth, where you plant kisses on each of his knuckles.

“Probably,” you whisper with a laugh. “I think you should probably stay here with me, though. Just in case.” You don't have to look up to know that he's smirking down at you - you can tell by the way he's feeling.

Light. Carefree. Happy. Loved.

♡♡♡♡♡

thanks for reading!!! as always comments & reblogs are so appreciated 🫶🏻

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot. 

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan. 

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him. 

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope. 

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time. 

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name. 

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours. 

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you. 

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero. 

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow. 

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat. 

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life. 

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being. 

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed. 

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable. 

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.  

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts. 

His heart especially, and now it aches. 

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless. 

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds. 

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. 

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years. 

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it. 

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member. 

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something. 

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void. 

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly. 

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost. 

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier. 

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it. 

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle. 

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him. 

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness. 

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.” 

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline. 

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground. 

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further. 

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much. 

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable. 

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look. 

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!” 

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead. 

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too. 

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves. 

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks. 

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless. 

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea. 

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air. 

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it. 

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea. 

He does anyway. 

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size. 

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands. 

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his. 

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile. 

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt. 

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine. 

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough. 

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be. 

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate. 

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going. 

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture. 

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest. 

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that. 

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door. 

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking. 

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm. 

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his. 

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it. 

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear. 

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze. 

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling. 

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system. 

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him. 

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug. 

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh. 

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice. 

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead. 

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with. 

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle. 

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show. 

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one. 

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold. 

“I’d like that,” he manages. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee. 

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again. 

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it. 

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

He sleeps pretty well nowadays. 

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace. 

“Same as usual?” 

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened. 

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion. 

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you. 

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week. 

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again. 

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything. 

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise. 

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this. 

You’d show your Logan off to the world. 

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly. 

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile. 

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development. 

He comes around more and more often. 

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten. 

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you. 

It’s a picture of the two of you. 

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out. 

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with. 

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides. 

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well. 

But not any more. 

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about. 

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it. 

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look. 

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment. 

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you. 

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness. 

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him. 

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory. 

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken. 

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same. 

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass. 

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool. 

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh. 

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning. 

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp. 

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe. 

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him. 

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life. 

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt. 

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.  

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily. 

“Old man,” he chuckles. 

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.  

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands. 

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel. 

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…” 

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate. 

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight. 

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss. 

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for. 

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here. 

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods. 

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove. 

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle. 

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him. 

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces. 

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work. 

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you. 

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life. 

“This is a great one,” you declare. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you. 

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Logan and Wade with shy gn s/o please?

I’m going to assume separate unless told otherwise as poly relationship between Wade/Logan and reader would be cool too, but again unless specified I’m just going to assume it’s separate.

Wade Wilson/ Deadpool

Wade found your shyness adorable but found your reactions to his teasing and flirting.

And he abuses the shit out of that to his hearts content.

Mouse was a nickname that you were given almost immediately from the moment you met as you were quiet and cute as one too that to Wade it just fit you perfectly.

Wade; stop being so fucking cute!

You: huh?

Wade: you heard me! It should be illegal to be as cute as you! You should be locked up for the thing you do to me, but I’d rather keep ahold of the details because half of them might make you faint little mouse.

You: oh. 😶🫣

Wade will make it a tradition to take you by surprise, whether it be by randomly kissing you, hugging you from behind, playfully smacking your ass, it didn’t matter because your tendency to whine his name out in embarrassment ‘waaaaddde!’ Before hiding your face in his chest as he laughs and whispers teasing words into your ear that only makes your flustered state worsen.

Wade didn’t mind that you were shy, he really didn’t as he found it to be one of the many things he loved about you and wanted to protect, he didn’t want you to feel as though you should have to change to better fit him when he was more content with you being you.

He’s never had as much fun nor laughter in his life like he did when he was with you, and Wade considered himself lucky to have someone as soft and sweet as you that he often times thought you’d be better off without a fuck up like him in your life but he’d kept it to himself, disguising it with humour and teasing you instead.

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine

Logan finds you being shy amusing to say the least.

It brought his protective instincts out as someone as soft and shy and softly spoken as you would need him by your side 24/7.

He’s your guard dog, scary dog privilege in the form of a very traumatised man who’s became more familiar with pain and heartbreak than the tender affection and touches you give him.

So you found it best to be patient with Logan and give him time to become familiar with your love and affection until he felt ready to reciprocate in his own way. And Logan appreciated you for that and would let you know his appreciation by planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

Logan is a softy with you and while he’s quick to bite back at other people, with you he’s much softer with his words that they’re practically sweet murmurs whispered within your ear, as he held you against his chest protectively as you both drifted off to sleep.

He more or less acts as your voice whenever you felt discomfort, he’d could easily tell from your bodily language and would immediately step in, and voice your discomfort for you in your stead for Logan knew that you’d rather avoid conflict then delve headfirst into it like him.

However Logan would be the type to try and teach you ways to defend yourself and how to stick up for yourself when he couldn’t, this is probably out of his fear of losing someone dear to his heart again, but he wasn’t about to risk looking you when he could give you the tools to keep yourself safe while he was away.

He gives you his jacket, just make sure that the point gets across that you were his and not theirs, after all he’s a possessive man who doesn’t like sharing what’s his with anyone else.

He didn’t care about anyone else, you were the only thing he gave two shits about alongside Laura Kinney (x 23) other then you two, nothing else mattered to Logan. He just wanted you to be happy for as long as possible.

Side note: he’d love it if you and Laura got along, it’ll mean all the more to him.

[applepiewinchesters]

Every Universe (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This was written while I was slightly intoxicated, I regret nothing though and hope you guys enjoy it. It was proofread but I cannot say there will be no grammatical errors. Regardless, please enjoy!! :) Also, takes place in the Deadpool and Wolverine universe.

Word Count: 4,158 (this bitch is long, for me at least)

Warnings: None really unless you count angst and fluff as well as the mention of butt stuff

Finding out that not falling in love with a man being the sole reason you were sent to the void seemed like a pretty patriarchal reason to essentially be damned but who were you to question the TVA.

The day you were sent to the void you’d seen the news, MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AFTER ATTACK AT XAVIER’S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS, names such as Jean Grey, Marie D’Ancanto, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Logan Howlett were read out by the heartbroken looking anchor.

Being a mutant yourself, the news stung and left a pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was an attack by an anti-mutant terrorist group, if they were bold enough to attack the home of Charles Xavier, why not a shopping mall next, or another school full of mutant and non-mutant children alike.

Only minutes after the newscast on the tragedy started four rectangular, orange portals opened in front of and behind you. Four men dressed in odd looking military uniforms stalked towards you. You didn’t even have time to attempt to fend them off before they grabbed you, holding you down while you attempted to break free but even with your mutation, they were too strong.

All you remembered was one of them placing some weird stick against your stomach and you screamed as you essentially dissolved into nothing.

When you woke you were found by who you now knew as Blade, and were told you were in the Void, where you would stay until you died or were killed by a fellow member of said Void.

You’d been there for a what you thought was probably a few years when a couple of Deadpool and Wolverine variants were found by Laura in an absolutely fucked Honda Odyssey. She brought them there and Gambit and Blade brought them inside and laid them down. They appeared as if they’d just had a horrific fight or the most violent sexual encounter ever.

The Wolverine variant was the first to wake up, quite literally shooting up into a sitting position while breathing heavily. His claws extended quickly from his knuckles, and he made an almost animalistic sound.

“Easy there killer,” you almost teased, holding up your hands, you’d been the one unfortunate enough to be closest to him when he woke up, so his eyes immediately fixed on you.

Several emotions seemed to flash across his face at once, his look of anger changing to one of shock. His claws disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared just moments ago as you slowly put your hands down, now a little concerned for the man.

“Y/N?”, he asked, his head tilting slightly.

It was your turn to look confused, “Did we know each other?”, you asked.

Sure, you’d heard of Wolverine, of Logan, but you’d never met him personally, you had originally been set to attend Charles Xavier’s school when you were 18 but after an attack on the school the same year your parents had decided against it.

The Logan before you’ s face fell slightly; he seemed almost hurt. It took him a second to respond, “I, uh, I guess not.”

That was when Elektra cut in, explaining to Logan where he was and how she’d found him and Deadpool. While he seemed to only half listen, he got up and found the nearest bottle of Gambit’s booze and started drinking it.

When Deadpool woke up it was a completely different side of weird, you hadn’t had the pleasure of coming across a Deadpool variant, but you’d heard how odd they were, and unfortunately for you, you thought they were exaggerating.

After annoying literally everyone in the room, the Deadpool variant all got you to somehow agree to help him and Wolverine get back to the TVA to save his timeline, as well as a sneak attack on Cassandra Nova. The whole time Logan watched you from the corner of his eye.

He couldn’t completely convince himself it was you. The last time he’d seen you, you were lying dead on the front lawn of the school, killed by a large group of humans, along with almost everyone at the mansion. You were covered in blood and cold by the time he’d gotten there. He’d held onto you until the coroner was nearly begging to take you away.

Logan remembered almost everything about you. Your favorite movie, what food you hated, and even the feel of your hand in his. But when you looked at him with little to no recognition in your eyes, his heart could’ve broken all over again.

You had no idea the conflicting feelings he’d had while you sat only a few feet away. You looked practically the same, maybe older than you were when you’d died in his world, he was older too, maybe you just didn’t want to be with an old man and were pretending not to know him. He was the worst Wolverine after all, he wouldn’t blame you.

But then there were some things you did that reminded him of his version of you, the way your laugh sounded exactly the same, how you sat the same way in your chair, and you even made the same face when you’d taken a drink of Gambit’s whiskey as when you’d sip his occasionally while the two of you sat on the couch in the mansion watching some movie one of the others had put on.

It was you, just, one that apparently hadn’t fallen in love with Logan Howlett. Logan himself couldn’t help but wonder if that had been your reason for being sent here, but thought better of it, deciding he'd probably never have that kind of impact on any kind of world.

After a successful attack on Cassandra and her small army, Deadpool and Wolverine were gone, and you hadn’t expected to ever see them again. Then Cassandra almost destroyed every timeline to exist, and you’d thought for sure those two variants had gotten themselves killed.

But then the TVA came for you and brought you to said Deadpool variants world, which he had successfully and somehow saved with Wolverine’s help. You couldn���t help but notice Logan’s shirt missing this time around. Almost cursing yourself for not trying harder to go to Xavier’s school when you were younger, having a chance to meet your world’s Logan. A man’s abs can do that to a woman.

“Happy to not be in the void and all, but why am I here?”, you asked, eyeing the agents around you and taking in the cracked subway station.

“I thought I’d give a little gift to Wolvie here,” Deadpool replied in an overly enthusiastic manner, throwing an arm around Logan who instantly pushed him away.

“I’m not a gift to give you dumb fuck,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

Deadpool ignored your obvious distain and continued, “Well I figured since he lost you in his world and you never falling in love in your world caused his death that you could stay here with us!”.

Your eyes widened and you had to think about what he’d said for a moment, “I-I got him killed? I got Logan and those other mutants killed?”.

Logan couldn’t focus on the other details once his name left your mouth; he hadn’t heard you say that in almost a decade.

You on the other hand turned to the woman beside you that looked to be in charge.

“Is that the reason I was sent there, because I didn’t fall in love with Logan Howlett and he died because of it?”, you asked, you felt like you could be sick.

The woman sighed, almost regretful, “Yes, it was,” she finally answered you. “Without your help of your mutation those mutants did not survive that attack on the school.”

“Oooooo, trauma plot twist,” Deadpool practically squealed.

“Shut the fuck up!”, you snapped back, making Deadpool whisper a bashful, “Sorry,” and take a step back.

The TVA agents left shortly after, and that was how you found yourself living in a small apartment with Wade, Logan, and the craziest old lady you’d ever met, Blind Al.

Wade and she shared a room as weird as it was, you were given the spare room Blind Al reluctantly let you use, as it was now formerly her grow room, and Logan elected to sleep on the couch.

You settled in somewhat nicely, you still felt awkward in a world that wasn’t yours living with a doofus that you'd grown somewhat fond of and a man you got killed in his other life, but you had new friends, ones that didn’t have a huge chance of dying every day so that was a plus.

Yukio and Ellie had gravitated towards you, you were somewhat close in age, with them being early twenties and you in your somewhat late twenties, they reminded you of your younger sibling’s friends from back home in your previous world.

So, when they invited you to go out a month after you settled in, you couldn’t say no, it would get you out of the house at least, you wouldn’t have to sit and listen to Wade and Logan argue or endure Logan’s kicked puppy look when he thought you weren’t looking.

You felt awful you weren’t the you he thought you were, and you knew it was nothing you could control but after Wade let it slip what had happened to you in Logan’s world you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if the roles were reversed.

So, to hopefully be able to forget about everything for a few hours you got ready, doing some easy makeup and hair, you put on a cute outfit you’d bought earlier in the week, Yukio had begged you to go shopping after finding out you didn’t own anything for “going out” yet on this world.

You relented and picked out a skirt, top, tights, and boots, it was simple yet cute enough to not be mistaken as any old outfit.

When you’d exited your bedroom in your shared apartment shortly before Yukio and Ellie were due to come get you, Wade looked up from whatever the hell he was doing on his phone, which could be anything from porn to angry birds.

His eyes widened slightly, “Got a date?”, he asked, only slightly feigning shock.

Logan had looked up immediately at the mention of a date, he was sipping a bottle of whiskey at the kitchen table. His eyes traveled over your outfit when he thought you were busy glaring at Wade.

“Not that its your business merc but no, I’m going out with Yukio and Ellie,” you stated, tossing a lip balm you had in your hand to your small purse.

“Girls nightttt,” Wade sang, only making you sigh.

As if a divine intervention interrupted there was a knock on the door and when you opened it you found the two girls standing there waiting.

“Hi Wade!”, Yukio exclaimed waving at him.

Wade leaned back in his seat to look around you at Yukio, “Hi Yukio!”.

“Come on,” you told them, moving to leave but a hand on your shoulder made you turn around. It was Wade.

“Now honey,” he began, “don’t take drinks from strangers, don’t go off alone, and don’t hook up with anyone. You know what they say about beer goggles, you’ll be waking up next to the crypt keeper.”

While you rolled your eyes and pushed Wade’s hand off your shoulder although you knew he really did care. Logan on the other hand clenched his jaw. You weren’t his and he knew that, but Wade’s last comment set his teeth on edge.

“I’m a big girl Wade, but thanks,” you told him, turning around and leaving this time without so much as a glimpse Logan’s way.

When the door shut Wade spoke again, “She’s gonna get picked up by every hottie in the club in that outfit. Did you see her legs Peanut?”.

Wade then almost immediately flinched when he felt glass shatter on the back of his head, the alcohol in the now broken bottle staining the back of his My Little Pony shirt.

He didn’t even have to look back to imagine the look on Logan’s face, “Gotcha,” was all Wade replied, picking out a rather large glass shard from the back of his neck.

…

It was hours later when you were so drunk you couldn’t feel the cold outside, but you sure felt good on the inside. The only bad thing was that the other girls wanted to go to another club, and your social battery was just about gone.

You three stumbled out of the club, Yukio and you giggled at something Ellie had yelled at some perv leering at you when you’d walked out. Stopping the other two from turning the opposite way to another club, you spoke rather loudly despite being out of the crowd and loud music.

“I-I think I’m gonna go home! You girls go!” you told them, making Yukio frown.

“Don’t walk home by yourself, call Wade or something,” Ellie commented.

You nodded thoughtfully before gasping, “I’ll call Logan, Wade is doing butt stuff with Vanessa tonight!”.

Your loud comment sent Yukio into a giggling fit and made a guy near you wince, maybe he’d done butt stuff too.

Ellie only nodded, rolling her eyes as you pulled your phone from your purse, scrolling through the very few numbers you’d had, Wade had gotten both you and Logan phones soon after arriving, claiming he needed to be able to send you both funny videos every day. Which were no doubt ignored by Logan.

Pressing on Logan’s contact, you put the phone up to your ear, listening to it ring only once before the call was answered.

“You alright?”, was the first thing out of Logan’s mouth and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I’m great!” you replied, “but Ellie doesn’t want me walking home alone and Wade is doing butt stuff so will you come? I’m only a few blocks from home.”

The whole sentence was sort of rushed and you thought maybe Logan hadn’t heard you correctly because the line went silent.

You were about to repeat yourself when Logan stopped you, “I’m coming,” he told you, you could hear him shuffling around and the sound of a door closing, “What’s the name?”.

Despite having been in the club for well over an hour you had to look up and squint at then brightly lit sign, “Uhhhh,” you mumbled into to the phone, before your eyes finally focused, “House of Yes!”.

You could’ve sworn Logan chuckled, “Be there soon,” was all he said before hanging up.

“Escort secured,” you told the two girls, slipping your phone back into your purse. “He’ll be here soon,” you added, attempting to replicate his gravely tone, only succeeding in making yourself cough and sending Yukio into a laughing fit.

It was only 15 minutes of standing around before Logan showed up, you spotted him first, having turned yourself that way to look for him. He was dressed in his usual jeans, button up, and undershirt, along with a leather jacket he’d picked up recently.

He looked good you had to admit, nearly every girl outside, and even some guys turned to look at him when he walked past. He didn’t give them any sort of acknowledgement though, earning some disappointed looks from a few of them when he walked up to you.

What was it Wade said about beer goggles? Logan was hot without alcohol though, so you shook off the thought.

“Ready to go?”, he asked, eyes scanning over you, not to be a perv but to make sure everything was the same as when you left, and it was, save for the way you swayed slightly and the way you smiled at him like you were so happy to see him. He thought he’d never see that again, but he has to remind himself for what felt like that hundredth time that it wasn’t you, not his you at least.

You nodded, turning around to hug both of the girls, telling them to be safe, although you knew Ellie wouldn’t put up with anyone’s shit.

“Bye Y/N! Bye Logan!”, Yukio exclaimed, waving at you both before grabbing Ellie’s hand as they turned the opposite way.

“Alright, come on,” Logan said, taking a step away from you and waiting for you to follow him to keep walking, he made sure to keep you closest to the buildings, it wouldn’t be too great to have you fall in the street in front of a car.

It was silent for a couple minutes, you stumbled every so often and Logan’s hand always shot out, ready to catch you, but you always righted yourself, giggling as you did, and Logan found himself smiling at the sound.

You caught him smiling after a couple times, narrowing your eyes, “What’re you smiling at grumpy?”, you asked, voice anything but angry.

“Grumpy?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, it’s what I call you sometimes in my head, Mr. Grumpy is also a good one,” you told him in a very serious tone.

“Mr. Grumpy,” Logan found himself repeating, only making you laugh, which made you stumble, nearly knocking into someone walking the opposite way of you both. Logan instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the almost collision and into his side.

You immediately noticed he was warm, you could feel it even with his multiple layers on, it was growing colder now outside as the days went on and you yourself knew without the alcohol, you’d probably be cold but here he was, a personal heater.

“Are you actually just a werewolf?” you asked him, making him stop walking completely and turn towards you, removing his arm from your shoulders, making you pout a bit.

“I am not a werewolf,” he told you seriously.

You groaned, “Okay but you’re really warm, you have claws, you can run on all fours, and you’ve got those little…,” you trailed off, putting your pointer fingers up on each side of your head, attempting to mimic the little swishes his hair made.

Personally, you had no idea if his hair just did that (because he’s a werewolf), or if he styled it that way. You couldn’t decide which option to like more.

When Logan didn’t seem to understand what you’d said, you reached up, lightly running a finger along one of the swoops of his hair. You jumped a bit when his hand caught your wrist as you were pulling your hand back.

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize but it soon disappeared as he let you go, “Sorry,” he quickly said. “Reflex.”

You shrugged, “No harm done,” you told him, and his eyes softened at the way you brushed off his behavior from years of enduring nothing even remotely close to the gentle way you’d just touched him.

Maybe you didn’t think so badly of him. You always seemed so wary, afraid to make him angry, to say something wrong, like he was a ticking time bomb. It put him on edge and made him want to steer clear of you, he didn’t want to scare you off either.  But now, standing there staring at you while you just smiled at him made him relax a bit.

“Let’s go,” you suddenly said, beginning to walk away from him. He was back at your side in moments, and you found yourself bumping into him every so often, apologizing every time you did.

Finally, he wrapped an arm around you again, pulling you back into the warmth of his side. You smiled when he did, stumbling slightly but he held you up easily, not letting you fall.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you told him when you were only a block from home.

“No problem,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead.

There were a few moments of silence before you began to giggle suddenly, Logan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at you, “What?” he asked, hopefully not regretting asking.

“So, you’re not a werewolf?” you asked, looking up at him.

Logan groaned looking away from you, “No, and if you keep asking, you’ll regret it.”

“Ooo what are you gonna do?” you mocked, poking his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart,” he replied, making you stumble at the nickname.

“I would,” you challenged, after righting yourself with the help of Logan’s arm around you.

Logan regarded you for a moment before shaking his head, “You’re drunk, another time.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groaned, “Tell me!”.

“Not a chance,” Logan replied, smirking a bit. He’d been drinking since you left and was buzzed himself, he couldn’t help but smile at your behavior.

The you he’d known had always acted like this, at least when intoxicated. You were whiny, clumsy, and clingy. The way your fingers gripped the back of his jacket to stay up right made his heart ache though and his smile fell.

You noticed his attitude change and became concerned, “You okay?��� you asked, attempting to stop walking, but Logan kept you going.

“Fine” he replied, his hold on you loosening slightly, you couldn’t help but notice.

So, you stopped, much to Logan’s dismay, moving to stand in front of him, swaying slightly as you very determinedly looked him in the eye.

“What’s wrong, did I do something?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice, he could almost feel his heart crack just slightly.

“No, it’s…,” Logan began, his tongue getting tied, he was never great at emotions, that’s why he drank so much. You didn’t have to feel anything then.

“I’m listening,” you reassured, resisting the urge to take his hand.

“You’re so much like…like her, like you,” Logan finally said, not really meeting your eye. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t, you even smell the same.”

Logan had rendered you with nothing to say, could you truly comfort him? Reassure him? You felt yourself sobering up a bit at the thought.

It was a few moments of silence before you found your words, “I know this has been shitty for you too, and I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend. Honestly sometimes I think you hate the fact that I'm not her, me her, whatever...that you hate me. But then you do things like this and it makes me think otherwise. I guess I just don't know how to...approach you, Logan."

Logan felt his heart drop at the word “friend”, and the thought he made you feel inadequate. God he really was stupid enough to think he might have a chance with this version of you.

But he found himself lifting a hand to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up beneath his fingers, “I could never hate you, not in this universe, not in any, got it? Its my fault, for pushing that onto you, making you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, “We’re both just fucked up in our own special way, aren’t we?”.

Logan nodded, dropping his hand, but you caught it in your own, “It’s not your fault either you know, I personally blame whatever bitchass overlord of the universe did this.”

Logan had to keep himself from solely focusing on the way your hand wrapped around his, “But…,” he went to argue.

You put up a hand to stop him, “Enough with the self-pity Howlett, its unbecoming of a man of your nature.”

“My nature?” Logan asked, titling his head at you.

“Yes, the nature of being absurdly attractive,” you admitted, looking away from him as you spoke, attempting to walk away, but he pulled you back, almost into his chest, but he kept you a few inches away, still concerned with scaring you.

“Absurdly?” Logan asked, the smirk returning to his face.

You swallowed hard, “Did I say that? I meant unappealing, completely unsightly.”

Your attempt at saving your future sober self from your drunk self was failing miserably, but Logan gave in after a few seconds, shrugging as he turned, placing his arm around you once more, guiding you towards the apartment building you could finally see in the distance.

“Whatever you say kid,” he told you.

This was the most at home you two had felt in a while, and when you sat next to each other at breakfast in the morning, Logan passing you whatever you needed when you’d asked, Wade gasped dramatically.

“Did you two also engage in butt stuff last night, or is that not your cup of whiskey Wolvie?” Wade asked.

This earned him a fork to the forehead, easily tossed across the table by Logan.

The way you laughed made Logan’s heart skip a beat instead of crack again. For the first time in quite a while he felt hope, and if being here with you meant putting up with Wade’s dumbass mouth, he could make an exception just this once.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I felt like Tumblr was seriously lacking in Logan fluff so here ya go!

[zepskies]

Maybe More Than Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

AN: Here’s another entry for @jacklesversebingo! It’s also based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @lacilou. 💜

Prompt: Window—Letter Opener—Binoculars

Request: I'd love to read about Dean and the reader who's his age or even a little older.

Song Inspo: “Over the Hills and Far Away” by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, bit of hurt/comfort, bit of spice.~

💜 Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Discreetly from the passenger side of the car, you peered through the binoculars again. Your target was in view through the unusual circular window: an average looking white man in his fifties, peeling a tangerine from the comfort of his kitchen.

According to his driver’s license, his name was Martin Reynolds. Sam was investigating the sudden death of his wife, Laura, and the wives of two other men in the small town of Whitebury, Mississippi. Laura was the first victim, so you and Dean were watching Martin for any suspicious activity.

Your companion shifted in his seat. You could hear the give of the well-worn leather against denim. The Impala wasn’t exactly inconspicuous for a stakeout, but he refused to be trapped in your “tiny-ass” Toyota Camry all afternoon. You preferred the term compact.

“What’s our he-witch up to?” Dean asked.

Your lips twitched at a smile.

“We don’t know if he’s a witch,” you said, but you passed him the binoculars.

Dean’s mouth quirked to one side before he took a look. “Well, he probably isn’t a shifter.”

“What makes you say that?”

He gestured back at the window and gave you back the binoculars. You peered over and saw that Martin had half the tangerine in his mouth while he opened his mail with a letter opener. It flashed like silver in the afternoon light.

“If that is silver, it would rule out a lot of things,” you agreed, “but it still wouldn’t tell us why he killed his wife.”

Dean looked over as a white Porsche pulled into Martin’s driveway.

“Hmm, well, I’d say motive is comin’ in hot. Literally,” he said, watching intently when a young woman stepped out of the car. Her dress was as tight as the ponytail tied high on her head, a coil of blonde bouncing down her back.

You sighed, with a roll of your eyes. “Typical.”

You noticed the way Dean’s smirk wiped the boredom away from his eyes. It was annoyingly handsome, along with the neatly trimmed stubble across his cheeks, framing a strong jaw and the enticing bow of his lips. You had to resolve to ignore all of it, heaving a small sigh.

You wedged the binoculars between you both and toyed with the silver rings on your fingers—both a fashion statement and a safety precaution.

“Could be a demon deal,” you said. “Three men sporting Touch of Gray, three wives over 40.”

“Damn. That’s cold,” Dean shook his head, crossing his arms from the driver’s seat. Always from the driver’s seat. “That’d be pretty cut and dry though. Downright stereotypical.”

You gave him a smile. “Since when do you like it complicated?”

“Like it?” he scoffed. “What I like and what I get are on two different fucking hemispheres.”

You sensed bitterness there, underneath the dry remark. You looked away from the scene in the kitchen where Martin was pouring Barbie, his presumed girlfriend, a glass of white wine. Just like you thought, Dean’s brief good humor faded, falling into his resting state. It was a harder look than you were used to seeing on him over the years. His lighter, devil-may-care attitude in his younger days seemed to gain a little bit of edge every time you saw him next.

A few decades of bullshit, blood, and loss will do that to you.

But every time he called, you answered.

“You okay?” you asked. You tried to hide the depths of your concern, but maybe you just weren’t good enough. Dean glanced at you and forced his crunched brows to relax, as if he’d caught himself opening the hatch a little too much. Letting his true depths come to light a little too long.   

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he replied.

Sure. Always good.

You met him with a long look, your head rolling onto your shoulder.

“Hey. You can be honest with me, you know,” you reminded him. “What, you think I’m gonna tell Sam all your secrets?”

Dean smiled a little, but he shook his head, remaining stubborn.

“Look, I’m fine. Just the usual bullshit,” he said. “Nothing you gotta be dragged into.”

You frowned. “What, aside from this hunt? Aside from the last ten years of bailing your ass out?”

That last part was more joking. The truth was, Sam and Dean had helped you just as often as you’d tried to help them.

Now, Dean just shook his head. The fact that he didn’t levy back a smartass response further let you know that something was off with him. 

You bumped his arm lightly over his jacket.

“Come on, tell me all about your man feelings,” you teased. It had its intended effect, bringing a reluctant smile to Dean’s lips. He shot you a look, and you couldn’t help but admire how the dimming sun caught in his eyes, that pale green.

“Whatever. Like I said, I’m good,” he said, deflecting further by turning up his music. Yet another Led Zeppelin song was playing, but at least this one was more mellow. The guitar riff filled the car at a moderate volume. You guys were still on a stakeout, after all.

You shook your head, despite your smile. “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

His brows popped up. “Old?”

You shrugged impishly.

“‘Cause if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a bit more mileage than I do,” he retorted.

You laughed, shoving his shoulder.   

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said. “You’re not even a year behind me. Matter of fact, you’re just a few steps shy of Touch of Gray in there. I can even help you find your shade. I’m thinking, what, medium brown with a hint of silver fox? Could be very George Clooney.”     

The disgruntled look on Dean’s face had you dying.

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” he said, even though his lips were curving upward at the sound of your laughter. Without you knowing, he took in the infectious sound, and the way you pressed the back of your hand against his arm while you tried to get ahold of yourself. It was everything he’d ever liked about you.

Easy. That was what it was, being with you.

The hard part always came afterward, watching you leave.

Letting you leave.

“It’s just…I don’t know,” you said, biting into your lower lip. You smudged your lipstick there, a dark, juicy red. It was distracting enough that Dean almost missed what you said next.

“You seem weighed down.” Your eyes were more serious then, beautiful and warm in their honesty. “Every time I see you, it’s like you’ve got fifty more pounds on your shoulders.”

Dean didn’t have an answer for you, even as he held your gaze.

His cell phone ringing cut through the guitar melody slowly fading into the next song. Dean fished it out of his pocket and answered Sam’s call.

“Hey, what’cha got?”

Your hunch proved correct. Sam tracked down the demon that made soul-claiming deals with a handful of men from the same golf club. All of them bored of their wives, and all of them with too much money on their hands—enough that they refused to lose any of it in a messy divorce.

It was like the opposite of the First Wives Club, and you were sickened.

When you and Dean questioned Martin, he felt just guilty enough to spill his guts.

Sam managed to gank the demon on his own, which left you and Dean with a conundrum: what to do with the marked men who sold their souls. No matter how much justice you thought they deserved, their souls were still damned to Hell either way. As Dean pointed out, that would be price enough to pay.

You were sour about it, but you let Martin and the rest of his scheming bastard friends go…after leaving him with a well-placed knee to the nads. At the very least, he wouldn’t be making any more scheming bastards anytime soon.

Dean was still smirking when you two piled into the Impala. Sam was waiting to be picked up at the bar across town, where he’d found the demon.

“Shut up already,” you laughed.

Dean shook his head, still grinning as he put the car in Drive.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Your smile remained, but not for long as you stared out the window. You liked the evening time, where there was still light enough to see, but the world was winding down in shades of orange-gold and violet. The streetlamps were slowly coming on, lighting the way along the road.

The car pulled to a stop at the red light, there at a busy intersection.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice, deep and a little tired, caught your attention.

“You okay over there?” he asked. He was side-eying you again, this time in concern. You could see it behind the usual gruffness.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said. “Just makes me glad I never got married. Else I might’ve gotten shivved just so he could get out of paying alimony.”

Dean sucked his teeth. “Apparently it’s a bitch.”

You gave him a dry, withering look. He chuckled and briefly reached over to squeeze your arm.

“Hey, come on. That shit’s not happening to you,” he said. “He’d have to be dumb, deaf, and blind.”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile lighting up your face again. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed in a blush, especially with the way he was looking at you, all smirky and charming and unequivocally Dean.  

“Green light,” you reminded him.

He returned his attention to the road. His right hand was molded onto the steering wheel casually. His left rested on his thigh, while his fingers bounced to the beat of a song off his second favorite Zeppelin album. And you knew that, because he’d been playing it on repeat all day.

Many have I loved, and many times been bitten. Many times I've gazed along the open road…

You watched his profile, for a moment spellbound. The sky dimmed over his shoulder, casting him in both light and shadow, gold and dark.

“Have you ever…” You didn’t even know where you were going with this, but you’d already opened your mouth, and Dean was already glancing your way, with half his gaze on the road ahead.

“You ever gotten close to having something real? Someone who's not gonna shiv you when you’re fifty,” you said.

A laugh caught in his throat. “Hell, I never thought I’d see my forties, but here we are. Apparently I’m old.”

He shot you a wry look. You smiled.

“That’s one hell of a way to avoid the question,” you said.

Dean shook his head, this time with a sigh under his breath. For a second, you didn’t think he would answer you. You almost didn’t blame him.

The music filled the silence in between.

Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing. Many, many men can't see the open road…

“Once,” Dean admitted. “I thought I had it, but uh…didn’t take.”

“Was she a hunter?” you asked.

Dean shook his head, his eyes staying on what lied ahead.

“Just wasn’t my life,” he said. “Couldn’t keep dragging her into mine.”

There was a lot there, buried deep. You couldn’t even begin to find a shovel, so you let it be. Though you should’ve predicted the way he turned it back on you.

“And you?” he said, brows raised. “Never had a douchebag in a sport coat, playing Caddyshack at the club every weekend?” 

You shook your head as you laughed. If nothing else, Dean could paint a picture.

“Definitely fucking not.” You rested your chin in your palm, your elbow finding purchase above the door handle. “You know me. I’m either too much or not enough.”

You didn’t notice it then, but Dean looked over at you with a frown tugging at his lips. He didn’t like the melancholy in your voice, or the way you turned to look out the window, like you were trying to hide from him.

Instead of putting voice to any of the thoughts rolling through his head, he kept driving.

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the bar. You were ready to meet Sam for a couple of beers inside. You grabbed your bag resting on the floor between your feet, but Dean’s stayed your hand, his own wrapping warmly around your arm.

You looked over at him with blinking, expectant eyes. He met you with sincerity.

“Anybody who says you ain’t enough, doesn’t know you,” he said. And then, his smile was back, quirking up at the corner. “At least, not like I do.”

Slowly, you smiled back. Your blush fairly radiated down your neck as well as your face, but you crossed your arms.

“So I’m too much. Is that what you’re saying?” you said.

He chuckled. “I plead the Fifth on that one.”

You fell into a fit of laughter along with him, and you both climbed out of the car feeling a little bit lighter. The blaring red neon sign above the bar blinded you for a moment. You turned to see Dean fiddling with his keys, trying to pick out the right one to lock up the car.

Some deep-seated feeling compelled you to go to him. You made your way around the hood and stopped just behind him. You called his name softly.

Dean turned to look at you over his shoulder. He was surprised to find you there so close. It led him to turn around all the way.

You didn’t give him, or even yourself time to think.

You grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled yourself up to press your lips to his. It was more or less a gentle kiss. Just a sweet, slow meeting of lips. You pulled away just as slowly, the heels of your boots lowering back down to the ground.

Dean blinked his eyes open. When he came back to himself, he looked down at you in surprise and with a hint of a smile. He had the imprint of your lipstick smudged across his plush mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked.

You smoothed your hands over his jacket. It was a bit too hard to meet his eyes, so yours landed somewhere around his chest. It was also too hard to say what you really wanted to say, so you settled on half of the truth.

“A thank you, I guess,” you said. “And maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have a little less weight on your shoulders.”

His calloused hand cupped your cheek, and he earned your gaze, blinking up at him through your lashes. You couldn’t name everything you saw in his eyes, but it was more than just surprise or lust. In fact, he seemed to be debating with himself, fighting something deep inside.

You saw the exact moment he made his decision.

“Maybe we should make it count then,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You didn’t even trust your voice, but your gaze drifted down from his eyes, to his mouth. Your shallow nod in agreement was like releasing him from his chains.

Dean framed your face with both hands and drew you into his kiss, like he was breathing life into you. You certainly felt alive.

You clung to the back of his shirt, to his arms, while he gathered you flush against his chest. His strong hands glided their way down the small of your back, eliciting tingles down your spine. All the while, he drew you in deeper and deeper with each new sensuous glide of his lips against yours.

You yelped in surprise when he turned with you in his arms, just to press you into the side of his car. Dean pulled open the door to the backseat, and you climbed in willingly. He followed after you, at the same time you dragged him over by the front of his shirt. Soon his jacket was wrenched off his shoulders along with yours, both tossed somewhere in the front seats along with his shirt.

While you explored the new expanse of tanned skin, roaming your hands over his strong, broad shoulders and dipping down his back, his lips had fastened to your neck, teasing and grazing with his teeth along your pulse point.

You were already moaning and panting in his ear, your body arching to meet his as you slung a leg across his lap. He grabbed onto your thigh and squeezed, pulling you even tighter against him.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Aren’t we a little old to be making out in the backseat?” you said.

“You can be a little old for a lotta things, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice gravel and deep as sin. “But this ain’t one of ‘em.” 

AN: Some spicy flangst there for ya! It was honestly refreshing to write some Dean after working on so much Soldier Boy. I love that guy, but he gives me stress sometimes. 😂 Trying to cure Dean's angst is a fun break! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Bonus shot! Resless Nights:

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

▶️ Keep Reading: Restless Nights

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[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.3

Listen here folks, I remember a lot from the movie however most of those memories are Hugh Jackman's abs

I hope this is alright, I added a few bits and obviously there will be dialogue that I have forgotten but I really hope it's semi-good, I know a lot of you have wanted a third part so hopefully it lives up to your standards 🫶

There be "violence" in this one

<< Part 2 Part 4 >> Masterlist

Logan had spent the journey drinking Gambit's booze and watching you sleep. You looked younger when you slept, less worn. He used to love taking you to your room when you fell asleep grading his pupil's papers or even just watching TV in the sitting room. He'd scoop you up in his arms and secure you safely in your room, then eventually he'd settle you in his. 

You had said the word husband yesterday, that wasn't lost on him. You'd been married to your version of Wolverine. One that wasn't too ‘macho’ to ask. One that loved you freely. He was a fucking idiot for being scared to take that leap. He and you had settled into a fuck-buddy-but-there-were-feelings-involved situation. 

He could've had more with you. 

Maybe if he was with you he wouldn't have been at a bar when the humans attacked.

He was lost without his friends but he was truly wrecked without you. When he found your body amongst the pile of mutants something inside him snapped. He couldn't stop hurting people. It began with the bad, then the semi-bad, then the not bad and eventually he killed innocents. He killed people that didn't deserve it. He made a bad name for the mutants and the X-Men. He killed the X-Men by tarnishing the memory. 

He couldn't be without you again. He'd bring you with him, take you to wherever Deadpool was taking him.

Surely he could convince you.

“You'll have to wake her soon.” Laura's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was staring intensely but not in an intimidating way. He didn't think she could stare without the intensity behind her eyes. She was born with it, through him. 

“I will.” He agreed. 

“You want some?” She raised an open cereal box. He didn't know why but he didn't want to insult her any more. He accepted some and thanked her. It was chalky but tasted vaguely like chocolate. Laura still just watched Logan, every stretch of his jaw as he chewed and eventually swallowed and then she still gazed into his soul  “You love her.” 

Logan didn't think it was a question but responded. He couldn't disagree if he wanted to. “Yes.” 

“I do, too.” She flicked her eyes to your face and then turned her head, repositioning herself on Blade's shoulder. 

Logan stayed still for another few minutes but the silhouette of the giant, Wade called Paul Rudd, became visible in the distance. It was time to wake you. 

He delicately shook your shoulder and you frowned, grumbling and burrowing higher into his neck.

“Baby.” Logan shook you again, and you let out a huff, squinting open one eye. “We'll be there soon.” 

You raised your head and slowly sat up, eyes sleepy and letting out a small yawn. Logan gave you a soft smile as he flattened a piece of hair that had stuck out, his hand slid down to caress your cheek. 

“You could come with us.” 

“With you?” Your brain was still mush. “I can't leave them.” 

“No.” He lied. “You should be up there in the skull with ‘Pool and me. It would be a better vantage point for you.” 

The plan was to have Laura, Elektra, Blade, and Gambit on the offence whilst you were their defence. You always were the protector, the shield of the group. Wade and Logan were going to distract and then use Juggernaut’s helm to bargain with Cassandra Nova. 

You took a moment to consider with your slow brain but then agreed. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.” 

You continued to wake yourself up, preparing for a fight. It wasn't hard to, everyday in this wasteland was a fight. Everyone seemed to work for this Cassandra lady which meant that they wanted to kill you for not. 

In your peripheral you saw Blade open the sunroof, before rummaging in his bag.

Gambit spoke over the radio, “so, ami, ‘e gonna be ‘lastin’ a way through those’re hands.” 

“What he means to ask is how are we going to get through? I feel like that was an integral part of this plan and I have miss-” Wade cut himself off when he felt movement behind him. Blade had stood and freed the rocket launcher, hoisting it over his shoulder and aiming. “Oh my god, where did you get that?” 

El glanced through the rearview mirror and answered, “Punisher.” slamming her foot down on the gas.

“What one there's been like five?” 

You couldn't hear the end of his question as Blade fired the shot, it landed right in the centre breaking the fingers. 

“Hold on!” El ordered as she expertly spun the car to the left. 

Smoke plumed as you all were quick to exit. Elektra, Wade and Blade were to the left side. Logan, yourself and Laura to the right, Gambit was in the middle shuffling his deck. 

The others: mutants, supes, enhanced, all crowded you, waiting for the order to kill. There were familiar faces such as Lady Deathstrike, Toad, Juggernaut and Blob. There were others that you were fairly sure you recognised through their distinctive features despite them having different faces, like Azazel and Pyro. 

There were a good fifty more circling you, Laura smirked putting her sunglasses on. Blade spun his weapons then tapped one on Elektra's sais in a ‘cheers’ motion. Wade had his katanas out and your Wolverines both extended their claws. You and Gambit, the only ones with ‘magic’ powers stayed fairly still, well, as still as he could be. 

Cassandra was standing above you all in the skull of an Ant-Man, you remembered when he got there. She was quick to free him of skin and then organs. Positioning him in this horrid way, using his body as a base. It made you sick when you thought of the palaces and the buildings that came through the portals in abundance. 

“You came back.” She spoke. Her accent was posh but her tone was clipped. Clearly annoyed. 

“You have to send us back!” Wade shouted. 

She gave you a smirk and retreated into the right eye socket. 

Here's where the fun begins. 

“Let's fucking go!” Deadpool yelled. You all let out a war cry, Gambit's being “Allons!” as you all depart at the same time, each of you taking a side and going for it. Blade went toe to toe with Toad, Elektra fought Lady Deathstrike, Logan fought a very large man you didn't recognize, Wade fought a Doc Ock, Gambit took on a group of four, and Laura went for the big guy himself. Juggernaut. 

You were paired with Azazel. The man zapping about, striking you and vanishing before you could catch him. It took his tail tripping you for you to land on your back and actually be in a good-visibility position. Quickly you trapped him in a forcefield. It was an intense battle of power. The field had been a bubble but you wrapped it around his appendages and forced him to stay in one spot. Forced him still. But he struggled. He fought against you, red mist seeping from the forcefield as he thrashed about. 

You had trapped him but couldn’t do anything to dispose of him. If you flung him away he would just reappear and it was getting noticed that you were distracted. Quickly you rose to your feet, arms still extended, shaking with brute force and out of the corner of your eye you could see her. She ran towards you and you dropped on hand flinging a force field in the shape of a disc - you had so eloquently named a forcedisc - at her. It sliced through her side but she didn't stop. 

“El!” You yelled, barely dodging the acid she spat. Your arms stayed extended in the same position but you managed to kick her in the chest as she took a deep breath. She spluttered, acid dripping down her face and landing on her shirt. Her skin was immune but the fabric burned. 

Elektra spun to your call and nodded, having fought with you before she understood what was needed. 

You moved Azazel over to her and Elektra stabbed him, your forcefield opening just as the sai made contact. 

As you focused on the exact millisecond to release your palms, ‘acidgirl’ was able to choke you from behind. You conjured a muzzle over her mouth and held it there. Quickly plucking your knife out. 

Killing wasn't exactly new to you but it always felt bad, no matter if the feeling got smaller and smaller each time. You still felt guilty as you thrust behind and stabbed her stomach. 

Once you released the field her acid fell upon your shoulder. The suit fizzled and you were quick to pull the fabric from your skin. It still burned through but you pushed on. 

“Oit L/N!” Wade shouted over spinning cartoonishly across Logan's back to stab someone. 

You hadn't realised how isolated you were compared to the others, you were right at the back of the group, by the car. You threw out some forcediscs holding them stationary and jumped on them, over the heads of those trying to kill you. You ran, ascending up, towards the skull, flinging a couple out for Wade and Logan. They were quick to follow your cue and you made sure they and you got to each eye socket. 

They entered the right as you perched in the left, finding yourself at a much better position strategically.

Their plan was distraction. Yours was protection. You could do yours in your sleep. Quickly stopping a hammer landing on Elektra and misplacing a punch to Gambit. 

You had gotten more powerful being here. You had to. Your forcefields were no longer merely for protection, they could now be used as a force. Similar to Jean’s telekinesis except you were still using the forcefields, only they were now differently shaped, i.e. the ball that had knocked into the man's fist when he aimed for Gambit's face. 

A gate fell to the floor, landing on the Honda, and a creature stalked out of it, dark claws crushing the car as though it was tissue paper. 

You were quick to try and halt the thing. It was a humongous wolf? You couldn't be sure as it had two sets of eyes and three tails. It was clearly not from your version of earth. 

“Let it go!” Blade yelled up, smiling wide. “I got this!” 

You obeyed his order and focused your energy on Laura. Who had just decapitated Juggernaut. That's my girl. 

Quickly you flung multiple discs for her to jump onto, she was efficient as always and leapt towards the right eye socket when Psylocke's lasso yanked her back.

“Laura!” You screamed, instinctively opening a field around her head and closing your fist, crushing it - you'd never even thought to do that, never once occurred to use your power that way - just in time your baby tossed her backpack into the eye socket and it skidded across the marble floor and straight into Deadpool's awaiting hand.

You hadn't even noticed what was going on behind you. There was talking and now nothing. Sneaking a glance you saw Logan on his knees with Cassandra holding his cheeks. Her fingers disappeared into his skin, he was twitching slightly but she looked peaceful. 

Wade quickly revealed the helm and tiptoed behind her. 

“BOOM!” Gambit’s voice could be heard and then a series of much larger explosions than you were used to detonated. 

You were brought back to the battle at hand and decided that maybe crushing heads was the way to go when you saved El, who had been cornered by two men. 

Blade, having been fighting the beast, was currently sat on top of it and plunged a knife into its head. Downing the creature. 

There actually wasn't an awful lot of enemies left to fight and you were feeling good about the outcome when you saw it.

Alioth. 

The celestial dragon had its gaze set upon you. “Guys!” You called down. “Alioth is coming!” 

Realistically there wasn't anything you could do. You couldn't shield them from this. But perhaps Cassandra could? Did she save people from the dragon? Surely she didn't offer them up, right?

“Get inside!” You ordered and quickly turned to find Wade holding her firmly with Juggernaut’s helmet forced upon her. 

Logan was talking to her and you jogged over. 

“Alioth is coming.” You informed. 

“I can't save you with this on my head.” She taunted. 

“You won't save us anyway!” Wade countered, “Logan, you want me to off her?” His fingers twitched near her neck. 

“No.” Logan shook his head. 

“You sure? I'm right here.” 

“It's not what-Charles wouldn't want that. If he knew about you, my Charles, he would stop at nothing to come find you. To save you. He would've loved you.” 

You had known Cassandra for her reputation. She was the big cheese, she called the shots, she had an immense power and used it to do whatever she wanted. Everyone else were her playthings. But here, with the helm on, she looked small. She was tiny and thin and her eyes glossed over at Logan's words. 

“Mine, too.” You knew you didn't have to speak but you wanted her to know. That was the X-Man in you. Charles’ influence. Everyone deserves help. 

She looked at you and you felt as though she was looking into your very soul. Her eyes, even powerless, were weighty. 

“We can't release her, she'll kill us.” Wade reminded you. He wasn't wrong. What could you do? What should you do? 

You didn't have the time to think of a plan. “We need to hurry up, that monster is on its way.” 

A gunshot echoed through the skull as well as your own. You quickly forced a shield up, covering the four of you. 

Pyro was behind it, pointing the weapon at Cassandra. Your eyes followed the angle to see she was beginning to bleed heavily from her stomach. 

“I am tired of being her errand boy! 'Do this, get that', well no more!” He sauntered towards you all, the gun lowered to his side, you slowly eased the shield back as he spoke. “When is it my turn? First Magneto, then Apocalypse, Scarlet Witch and now Cassandra Nova!” 

When he was within range Logan silenced him with an efficient right hook. You know it hurt, because that man was heavy. 

“Not everyone gets a speech.” 

Blood splurged from Cassandra’s mouth as she coughed. “Shit!”  

“Wade, you have to take her helmet off.” 

“She, again, will. Kill. Us.” He tightened his hold. “You missed it, she said she'd ‘rub herself silly watching’ a second ago!”

“She's dying.” You argued. 

Logan agreed, “she needs her powers to help us, we're stuck here if she dies.” 

Wade let out a frustrated yell before he conceded and yanked the helmet off her. Her body fell to the floor as he let go and you were quick to help her. 

“It's okay, can you hea-” She was already up and standing, leaving you kneeling on the floor. “Oh.” 

You stood to your full height and watched as she kicked Pyro’s body before addressing you. “A wizard came through here. He died and I got this.” She revealed a fancy ring. Causing Wade to gasp and say ‘strange’. “You saved me and I am curious to how this will play out...so I suppose I can get you back, but you better hurry. As your friend mentioned, Alioth is coming.” 

Cassandra raised her arms and spun a circle, forming a physical one as she did. It crackled and sparked and in the centre was a street. There were cars and houses and people. It was home. Or a version of a home. 

It was civilisation. 

After all this time you could smell it. 

“Go on.” She nodded towards the ‘portal’. 

Logan grasped your hand and you were tempted. By god you were. 

But Gambit, Elektra, Blade and Laura. Your Laura who you had to help with her periods and hygiene; Laura who came into your room when she had a bad dream; Laura who had offered to help feed Blade - in a similar fashion that Logan did - because she ‘healed’ and didn't want you guys to suffer. 

You pulled free from him. “I can't leave her.”  

“Y/N.” Logan tried again. “This is your chance to escape!” 

“I won't leave her.” You clarified. 

“I-” 

“Guys, chop chop!” Wade accentuated the words with a clap. 

“Save the world and come back for me.” You offered lamely. It was a very long shot. But what else could you say? You knew he was here to save Deadpool's world, if it worked maybe you could all live there?

“I can't lea-” 

You pushed him away. “Go. I'll be here.” 

.

.

Part 4

[peony-always]

Dial Drunk

wolverine/logan howlett x afab!reader

words - 4k

tags: dp&w!Logan, damsel(ish)!reader, angst angst angst (he has so much potential as a sad wet tomcat), feelings (Logan isn't good at them), use of alcohol, canon-typical violence, !attempted assault!, implied assault

quick an: this is my first full fic!! the ghost of Logan's past hovered over my shoulder as I wrote this, loosely based on Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan but it's more of just an inspiration border creds to @/bunnysrph

Logan was pissed. Furious. He was so overwhelmingly angry with himself that his claws had extended and for a while, he couldn’t retract them. He finally got them to slide back under his skin when the cop standing outside his holding cell door threatened to put him in with the general population if he didn’t put his ‘weapons’ away.

That was the last thing he needed right now. He was already on edge, and being surrounded by people who hated him just for who he was would probably be his last straw. He sighed, slumping back against the dirty concrete wall behind him. He rubbed his temples, taking a few deep breaths to calm his once again rising anger.

He understood why he was in that stupid cell. Bar fights were enough to get a normal person arrested for being drunk and disorderly, but cops were always especially ready to arrest a mutant. He hated that he had let his animalistic side get him here, proving them right about how dangerous he was, but he could only take so much of that stupid guy in the booth behind him spewing ant-mutant hatred right in his face.

“Damn liquor,” Logan thought to himself as his head continued to throb. That in and of itself was enough to make him upset, as he was typically so well acquainted with alcohol that it never got to him. Tonight, however, he had drunk way more than usual, throwing back shots in the dingy bar a few blocks from his apartment as quickly as the bartender could pour them up.

The idiotic man he had beaten at the bar wasn’t the true cause of his anger though. That honor fell to his stupid, stupid brain. It was after the cops had wrangled him and shoved him into their stuffy, too-small cruiser that Logan had made his infuriating error.

The driving officer, a short and stocky man with a pudgy face, had looked back at him from the rearview mirror and said,” The guy you were fightin’, George, he ain’t gonna press charges on ya. He’s in and outta the lockup every other week, and he ain’t gonna be lookin’ for any more trouble than he’s already in. Plus, I think you’re more of a danger to yourself than to anybody else, goin’ around that drunk. You ain’t caused any trouble before, but we still gotta bring you in. Procedure, ya know. Got anybody you want us to call to pick ya up?”

Logan hadn’t even thought about it before your name came spilling from his lips. He hadn’t even realized what he said until they arrived at the jail and the pudgy cop pulled him from the back seat. “Her? Really?” the cop said, suspicion heavy in his voice. “She babysits my kids on the weekends, didn’t know she associated with drunk fighters like you.”

Logan snarled on instinct as he heard the inherent prejudice in the cop's voice before he realized who the cop was talking about. ‘No,’, he thought. ‘God, no.’ He hadn’t seen you in months, and he hadn’t been planning on seeing you ever again. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell the cop he wanted to change his call. He could have gotten him to phone Wade or Laura, they would have picked him up in a heartbeat. 

Maybe he didn’t say anything because he wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay after the long months you had spent apart. Or maybe he was just still drunk, forgetting the past and wanting you to take him home with you, to let him have his seat on the couch while he sobered up, drinking your fruity teas and eating the sickeningly sweet cookies you always bought from the local bakery. “Too much sugar and you’ll rot your teeth out,” he’d tell you with a lopsided smile, knowing how you’d respond. Every time he said it you’d prance up to him and poke a finger into his chest, grinning,” You’re already so sweet that my teeth ache, so what does more sugar hurt?” And then you’d lean up, pecking him on the lips as you move to go back to your tasks. 

His heart ached as that memory resurfaced and his head fell to join his back against the unforgiving chill of the cell wall. He tried to fight it (no he didn’t), but his drink-addled brain was unable to stop the memories of you from flooding back into his system.

Your first meeting, a year ago that felt more like ten since you had left. Logan had been stalking his way down the street, huffing and puffing, pissed at Wade for inviting people over and blaring music when he had known that day was Logan’s only day off for two weeks. He had grabbed his jacket and stormed out into the chilly New York evening, turning left outside their apartment as he made his way toward the nearest bar. He craved a stiff drink, damn Wade and Laura had hidden all of the alcohol in the house from him. They told him he needed to dry out, and he did. He knew it as well as everyone else, but it was hard. After years of drowning his guilt and grief in drink, it made him nervous to let go, to face his days head-on instead of looking at them from the syrupy brown lens of his old friend whiskey.

It was on his way to the bar that he heard it. A muffled cry, the sound of flesh hitting concrete, a grunt of pain. He took off in the direction of the sound, his hyper-sensitive nose smelling the fear lacing the air the closer he got to a dingy alley two streets over. As he rounded the corner, he saw you. Your hands were bound behind your back and there was a gag stuffed in your mouth. Your eyes pled with Logan to save you as your attacker dragged you across the ground, mumbling and lurching back and forth as he pulled you along,” Stupid fuckin’ whore. Women. Always gettin’ in the way of what I deserve. Maybe I’ll put you in the dumpster when I’m done with you, let you rot with the flies.” 

Logan’s nostrils flared as he surged forward, yanking your leg from the man’s grip and pushing you further away as your attacker spun to face him. “What the-” was all the scumbag got out before Logan clocked him, knocking him out with one punch. He really wanted to keep beating on the guy, but his enhanced hearing had him turning toward you as you shuddered, whimpers escaping the gag as tears rolled down your face.

He held his hands up, approaching slowly and kneeling on the dirty ground in front of you and gently pulling the gag from your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut. You let out shuddering sobs as he reached around you to loosen your bindings, careful not to touch you more than he had to. He had experienced more than his fair share of trauma, and he knew how hard it could be to have someone be so close to you when you were going through it, so he made sure to lean back as soon as he had freed you.

However, you immediately proved his assumption wrong. You slumped down against him, your hands fisting his t-shirt as you sniffled and coughed. “Thank-thank you.” you stuttered as you tried to calm yourself. “Thank you so, so much.” Logan tentatively reached around you to pat your back,” You’re welcome, bub. Just doin’ what needed to be done.” As his hand tapped out a soothing beat against your back, you felt yourself begin to come down from the adrenaline rush of almost being kidnapped. You thought back to the man’s ugly words, sniffling again as you whispered, “He was going to kill me.”

Logan bristled immediately, his hand coming to a halt on your back. “Never would have let that happen, ya hear me. I’d have heard ya from a mile away,” he grunted and gently stood to his feet, pulling you up with him. 

“You live close?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Just down the street.”

He finally got a good look at you, and by God were you pretty. Even with bits of gravel leaving red divots in your cheeks and your eyes watery with tears, you were among the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He shook himself out of his daze as you took a deep breath and started walking shakily down the street. He tried to stay close but not too close as you walked, following behind you and scenting the air for any more threats. He sure as hell didn’t want to put you through anything else tonight.

The two of you walked in silence until you finally stopped, turning to face Logan as you stood outside the lobby door of your apartment complex. You managed a slight smile as you looked up at him, “I’m sorry that I’m not inviting you in,” you said. “It’s just that this evening has been hellish and I’d like to be alone.”

Logan shook his head, stepping back, “No, no, I understand, I’ll be-”. You cut him off,” Come tomorrow around noon. I’ll treat you to coffee for saving me.” You said this forcefully, almost demanding him to do as you said. It shocked Logan, and a small smile made it’s way onto his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” You thanked him one more time and headed into your building, leaving Logan standing outside, staring at the doors, more curious about you than he had been about anyone in a good long while. 

He did show up the next day, letting you take him to a quaint cafe and buy him a coffee, plain black, which you teased him for. You spent what felt like hours asking him questions and telling him about yourself, and it felt so right, so natural for both of you. Just being there with you was enough to take Logan’s mind off of the things that haunted him, solely focused on your beautiful face and animated expression.

When you realized you had been yapping at this near-stranger for almost 3 hours, you figured it was time to go, gathering your trash and standing up, blush heating up your cheeks. “Thank you again,” you said. “For saving me last night and for letting me talk your ear off today.” Logan flashed you a small smile, tilting his head slightly, “How about the same time tomorrow then? My treat.”

He watched your face light up and thought to himself that he’d go broke buying you coffee if you’d just keep looking at him that way. You quickly agreed, telling him that you’d definitely be there if he wouldn’t mind you being a little late, as work was a little further than your apartment. 

And so it began, the two of you had gotten closer and closer, until a random Tuesday when you blurted out that you wanted to be his girlfriend, if he’d have you. After teasing you about your blush, he of course agreed, claiming that you had been his girlfriend for weeks and you had just noticed. 

You brought him around to your place, where you cooked with him, watched all your favorite movies, and made love. He brought you around to his place, too. You met Wade and Al, which prompted the discussion about his mutation and history. You took everything in stride, reassuring Logan that his past changed nothing, that you were still his if he was still yours. He found a job at a local community college, taking training classes and becoming one of the campus security officers. He quit drinking so much, instead relying on your perfectly brewed cups of coffee to get him through the day, only having a drink or two after work if you were feeling like it.

Logan had never been happier. It was like you were made for him. He took care of you and in turn, you soothed his battered soul. No one had ever touched him with the tenderness that you did, no one ever made him feel as good as you. His existence had become pure bliss and he felt he finally had a purpose again. 

Your lives went on this way for a year and three months, until, just like with every other good thing he had ever had, he ruined it. 

Logan had come to your place before you got off work, aiming to surprise you with dinner after you had complained of a particularly hard week. He had just stepped through the door when he stopped cold, smelling that someone was here, or had been here recently. It wasn’t a scent he recognized, and he prowled through the apartment, checking every room thoroughly for an intruder. When he found no one, he made his way back to the kitchen, still uneasy.

It was there that he saw the papers on the counter, one neat little stack that would change his life. He moved the blank paper on top and a chill shot up his spine. It was a photo of you, taken when he was sure you thought no one was watching. It showed you through the window of your apartment, a soft smile on your face as you put on a coat over your work uniform. He could even make out the locket around your neck that he had given you for your anniversary. 

He moved on to the next pages, letters detailing your entire life, down to how much your water bill had been that month. 

It was the second to last page that sealed his fate, his name next to a summons, a set of coordinates he was to come to or they would kill you. He quickly thought to himself that he could protect you from anyone who tried to hurt you, then immediately realized that that wasn’t the kind of life he had wanted to give you, always on the run and afraid for your life. No, he would have to end things with you and go take care of this mess himself. It broke him to think of hurting you in the way that he would be required to. You were so resilient, so passionate, and stubborn when it came to him. He would have to destroy all of that to get you to leave him alone.

And so, he sat down in the living room and waited, tucking the papers into his jacket so you wouldn’t see them. Dread filled his bones, dragging him down into the couch and he thought he might not make it out of your apartment alive.

It wasn’t much later when he heard the front door open, your lively humming filling his ears and making him feel so much worse. He stayed seated as you made your way through the apartment, shedding your bag and coat as you went.

“Oh, Lo! You scared me!” you said as you saw him, your hand going to your chest in mock shock. “What are you doing here before me?”

Logan swallowed and spoke, trying not to let his voice shake,”We need to talk.”

Your smile dropped instantly and you moved toward him, balking when he held a hand up to stop you. “Lo, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

The look on your face was killing him, so he looked away as he spoke,”I want to break up.”

You sank down to your knees, squinting as you tried to get him to meet your eyes,” What? Lo, what happened? I promise we can figure it out together. You’ve just got to tell me what’s wro-”

“I cheated,” he said, cutting you off. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I want to be with her.” As soon as he said it, he knew if he could just convince you that he had really broken your trust that way, you’d be done with him.

You laughed slightly, awkwardly,” Logan, that’s not funny. You shouldn’t say things like that. Did I do something wrong or make you mad? I’m sorry for whatever I did, but you really shouldn’t lie.”

The look on your face was almost enough to break his resolve, but the need to protect you won out over his impending grief, “I’m not joking. I’m done with this relationship and I’m done with you. I've found something better.” He felt so wrong saying those words, knowing you feared that you weren’t good enough for him.

“Lo-Logan, please, we can work this out. I can do better, I can be better if you’ll just tell me what you need that I’m not giving you. Please.”

You reached out and grabbed his sleeve, your expression pleading. Logan felt his heart that you had mended shatter back into a million pieces, standing up and ripping his sleeve from your grasp.

“Are you stupid?” he asked, injecting as much venom into his voice as he could. “I said I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you stupid food, or your stupid gifts, or your pathetic love. I’m done. Do you hear me? Get it through your thick skull and stay away from me. I never want to see you again.” He turned away from you as he walked toward the door, stomping over his heart on the way.

He shook you off again as you grabbed his pant leg, still on your knees on the floor. Your voice warbled as you begged.  “Logan, baby, please,” you cried. “I can change I swear. I can be whatever you need. Just please don’t leave me. You’re my whole life. You make me so happy. I can’t-I can’t do it without you. Please.”

He risked one glance back at you, telling himself he needed to see your face one more time to remind himself why he was leaving. The sight of you on the floor, tears pouring down your cheeks, was killing him. He should have known that he couldn’t have you, that something would force him to leave, but he had foolishly hoped that he could spite whatever higher power kept hurting him by keeping you.

“Don’t come around,” he spat with as much vitriol as he could muster. “I won’t contact you, and you don’t contact me. Let’s make this as easy for you as possible. Just forget I ever existed.”

He didn’t look back again, didn’t watch you weep as you began to mourn what you thought would be forever, knowing you could never stop loving him, even now that he hated you.

Logan groaned, leaning forward against his knees as he came back to himself, his heart aching as painfully as it had when he had lived it the first time. After he had left you, he had gone to the coordinates on the papers he had taken from the apartment. They led to a rural town in Quebec, a place he couldn’t remember but felt like he had been before. There, he met up with a gang of mutant hunters who believed that somehow the universe’s Logan had come back from the dead. They tried to kill him again and threatened him with more violence toward you if he didn’t die willingly. Fat chance. Logan was a newly hollow man and had no qualms about tracking and slaughtering every one of the mutant hunters so that his kind could live in a semblance of peace. 

He stayed up north for a while, squatting in an abandoned cabin and letting his instincts rule him. That was better than having his every waking thought be filled with how he had left you broken on your living room floor, believing that he had betrayed you.

Eventually, he went back to Vancouver. Somehow, his job let him come back, and Wade didn’t pester him with questions (probably because Logan had almost bitten his head off after he asked the second one).

He had considered going to your apartment now that the threat against you was handled, but he knew that as soon as he found happiness with you he’d have to leave again. It was for your own good, really. He wanted you to be happy, and you couldn’t be happy if Logan was constantly walking out on you.

So he went to work and started drinking heavily again, which had led him to the inside of a holding cell, coming to terms with the fact that he would be there all night.

As soon has he had laid down on the hard metal bench he had been sat on for hours, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned his head and watched the cop approach, fully expecting him to say that you had hung up as soon as you heard what they were asking of you. Maybe you hadn’t even answered and Logan would get another call. 

What he didn’t expect, however, was for the cop to swing the cell door open and grunt at him, motioning for him to get up. Logan quirked up a brow as he stood, “Is it chow or somethin’?” he asked. The cop chuckled, “You sure you’d rather eat the slop they serve here than leave with the pretty little lady that came to get you? She signed your papers, so you’re good to go. And please, don’t come back.”

Logan almost stumbled as he processed what the cop had said, his mind racing as he sniffed the air. 

You.

You were here, close. Your scent was so strong. Logan’s heart clenched. He truly believed he would never smell you again, the sweet musk of your skin paired with your perfume. He slowly turned, and there you were.

You were soaking wet, your hair drenched and your mascara slightly smudged, a jean jacket falling from your shoulders. Something was wrong, though. You were hunched over yourself, almost cowering in his presence. Your hands shook as you pulled your jacket further up your arms. Logan would have thought nothing of it and assumed you were just cold if you scent hadn’t changed. He could smell fear on you, a fear he hadn’t come into contact with since the night you met.

You turned and started walking toward the jailhouse door, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Logan was following you. He caught up to you in a couple strides, staying slightly behind you to give you your space. All he wanted was to reach out and touch you, to hold you in his arms again, but he resisted. On one hand, he was immensely grateful that you had come to get him. On the other hand, he felt so guilty that you had come to save someone who had broken your heart.

The two of you walked out into the rain, Logan still following you. You led him to a small car, one that you hadn’t had when he left you. He didn’t move as you rounded the car to get in, assuming he’d walk back to Wade’s from there.

“Get in, Logan,” you said quietly. 

He took a deep breath as he opened the passenger seat and got in, leaning forward so as to get as little water on your seats as possible. “Thank you,” he said. “Really, you didn’t have to come get me. I don’t even know why I gave them your name. I’ve just had too much to drink and-”

It was only then that you turned to face him, your face illuminated softly in the hazy light from the lamps lining the street. He scanned your face, his blood running cold as he saw your black eye and split lip, your eyes bright red with shed tears. “Logan,” you said, cutting him off. You took a deep, shaky breath, “We need to talk.”

[yu-huuuu]

𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?| 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘴!reader| chapter: 01, (next part) 02, 03, 04, 05

[🌸] hi hi :> I wanted to upload this here, since probably many don't know it, haha

Summary: Perhaps the most important question is not; "How did you end up in this place?". it is; will you be able to finish the unfinished business that your self from this world left pending?.

...

..

.

You were exhausted, the movie you had gone to see with your friends had lasted longer than you expected. The duration had been three hours, and the idea of a hot bath made the somewhat stiff muscles from sitting for too long cry with joy. It was at least six in the afternoon, the sun was hiding, leaving behind a beautiful sunset.

The air was cool, giving you a little peace. The place you were walking through was lonely, there were no people around, which was weird, since you should be near the park and– oh, you can already hear the happy cries of little children playing. You felt safe, in a way hearing people nearby gave you some security because if someone strange showed up you could run to the park, you know; Just follow the voices and you'll be safe.

Although in extreme cases, you would just use the pepper spray you bought at that cheap store. Fortunately, for you, there has never been an edge case where you had to use it.

You were very close to the park, there was only one more block left for you to arrive. The screams of the children were getting louder, indicating that you were close, you could already hear the adults talking and some dogs playing with their owners.

You were about to get to where the voices were coming from when you felt the air changing and suddenly, you no longer had a ground to step on.

The ground had simply disappeared, leaving you to fall into a black abyss. The laughter of children, the happy voices of adults, became more and more distant until you simply remained in deathly silence. The peace you had before had been giving way to confusion and terror.

The feelings and questions racked every fiber of your being until you simply couldn't take it anymore and passed out.

You didn't know what was in store for you or what would happen once you opened your eyes, if ever.

Maybe when you open your eyes, everything will be alright again.

.

.

.

.

Maybe...

...

The old woman who found you was looking at you with pity... again.

You simply decided to recap what had happened these last few weeks in a lousy attempt to ignore the look 'Laura' was giving you. Apparently, you had woken up in a small town called 'Bibury'... which was in England.

'England?!', was your first thought when you found out where you were, your shock was so great that you couldn't speak for a couple of hours. The kind old lady named Laura had given you some tea to calm you down.

She had practically stayed by your side, patiently waiting for you to come to your senses, for which you were profusely grateful. Sometimes you needed alone time to process things, but not this time, you needed company and before you knew it you were hugging Laura and crying like a baby. She didn't care that you wet her soft coat with your tears. Your worries, your fears began to surface, how-how would you get back home?

You cried for what seemed like the whole day until the moon came up and it was only at that moment that you fell asleep, but before doing that Laura had taken you to a rather dirty and small room, she practically tucked you in like a small child while you sobbed and held on to everything you could reach. She had stayed close to you until you closed your tired eyes.

The next morning, you had a soup for breakfast that Laura had made for you. Having already had breakfast, you called the first number that appeared to you with your phone, which turned out to be your mother's, it rang a couple of times before—

'Sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable or disconnected. If this is an error, try calling to...-'

"What?" It had been the first thing that had come out of your mouth, this was definitely not something normal. Deciding that maybe it was just a mistake, you called back, only to get the same message as before. With a tired sigh you called your dad, and they answered- but it wasn't your father's voice, you called each of your friends or acquaintances that you had in your contact list, but none of your contacts answered, not even your boyfriend who answered the first two or three rings.

Strangely, your dad's number kept calling your phone, you answered twice before giving up. The voice on the other end that belonged to a man sounded strange, almost as if he was in...shock?, although thinking about it, perhaps it was just confusion. The last thing he said to you before you hung up was a "who the fuck are you–?". You just turned off the phone after the last four calls because it wouldn't stop ringing.

Leaving you in your current state, unable to communicate and in a town you didn't know. Laura kept looking at you worried from her seated position. Deciding that enough of wallowing in misery was enough, you got up from the comfortable sofa you were on and sat down next to her. Perhaps socializing with the only person you knew would be better for now, plus when your headache subsides you might think better of what to do next.

Grabbing the small notebook together with the pen you wrote <<don't worry, everything is fine>>

When the old lady took you in, you learned many things about her.

The first thing you learned was that she was 98 years old. And that she was deaf due to an accident she had as a child.

The second thing you learned was that her husband had been killed in World War II. And all because he was enlisted in the army to fight for the allied countries, he had died due to the impact of a stray bullet.

And the third thing was that his son died several years after his father's death, due to lung disease. You felt bad because you were using her son's room, but Laura had told you not to worry about it.

Clutching the small notebook in her wrinkled hands together with the pen, she wrote to you <<you can always tell me anything>>

It could be said that you were lonely and somewhat hopeless, but with Laura by your side you felt that very soon you would be able to find a way to return home.

...

You didn't know what to think when a blond man appeared at the house that same afternoon. What caught your attention the most about his appearance was his beard and the long jacket he was wearing.

"Shit– I was right". Ah, he had the same voice you heard, he was the man of the phone.

Wait- what was he right about?

- - - - - - -

// curiosities //

World War II ended 79 years ago (1945 - 2024), Laura was 20 years old when the war ended. Her husband died when she was 19 years old, her son died of a lung disease that slowly became terminal when she was 27 years old.

- - - - - - -

I want a Laura in my life~ 😩

reblog and give me a big heart if you like it <3 and also comment and tell me what do you think! you can do it in this post or write it in my inbox!

[togrowoldinv]

Meteors

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When you start working on the Barton’s farm, you meet Natasha

Note: It’s been wayyy too long since I’ve been able to make time to write. Hope y’all enjoy this Nat fluff!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

Natasha watches from the front porch as a truck she’s unfamiliar with pulls up in the driveway. Just when she’s about to go ask Laura if she had any idea who was arriving, the woman steps out onto the porch.

“Right on time,” Laura comments mostly to herself.

“Who’s this?” Natasha asks, her attention is piqued.

“The new farmhand,” Laura explains. “She’s been working here every week for about a month now. Clint didn’t tell you?”

Nat shakes her head.

“Well, she’s pretty great at it,” the older woman continues. “Come meet her.”

Natasha follows Laura down the steps and to the truck. You are unloading a bale of hay from the bed of the truck when they walk up.

“Hello!” Laura greets you. She’s always so kind. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” you reply before turning around to actually see her. “How are you?”

You drop the bale onto the group and turn to see more than one person standing there.

“Oh hi,” you say to the new person. She politely lifts the corners of her lips, but doesn’t quite smile at you.

“This is Nat,” Laura says. “Nat, this is y/n.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you say, holding your hand out for her shake. She takes it in hers and the eye contact you make lingers.

“Oh, I forgot I have cookies in the oven,” Laura says. “I’ll be back. Nat why don’t you get to know y/n a bit.”

With that, Laura leaves you there with this beautiful stranger. God, she really is beautiful. You both stand there a little awkwardly before you make a move to talk to her more.

“So, how do you know the Bartons?” You ask.

“I work with Clint,” Nat says. You try not to let yourself go weak in the knees at hearing her voice for the first time. “You’re probably familiar with what we do.”

“Partially,” you say with a soft laugh. “I better get started for the day. I’ll see you around?”

Nat nods and walks back towards the house. You work the rest of the day with Natasha on your mind. She had uttered barely ten words to you, and yet you can’t get her out of your head.

A few days go by before you see her again. It’s early in the morning when you arrive. Natasha is sitting in a rocking chair with baby Nate in her arms. You walk to the porch to say hello.

“Good morning,” you greet her.

“Good morning, y/n,” she says. You try memorize the way your name sounds coming from her lips.

“He’s up early,” you comment.

“Yeah, a little too early. I offered to hang out with him while Clint and Laura sleep in,” Nat replies.

You smile at that.

“You’re here earlier today,” Nat says. You try not to overanalyze why she knows your schedule so well. It’s probably just the spy in her, you think.

“I am indeed. The cows need some extra work today, so I got here early,” you explain. “Come on out to pasture if you get bored. I’ll be there all day.”

“I just might do that,” Natasha replies.

You get a boost of confidence from her words. After you bid her a farewell for now, you drive out to the cattle field.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Barton family wakes up. The kids eat breakfast and start chores. Clint asks Nat to help him with some outside work.

A few hours go by and Laura calls everyone in for lunch. Natasha looks around the kitchen for you, but she doesn’t see you.

“Is y/n eating with us?” She asks.

“She likes to stay out there and work, so I usually take her some food after we eat,” Laura explains. She tries to read Nat’s expression. “You could take it to her today if you want.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah I can do that,” Nat says.

Laura smiles knowingly. The family eats and then Natasha makes her way to you.

At the sight of you wrangling cows, she can’t help but smile. You’ve shed the light jacket you were wearing this morning and she can see how strong you are.

“Oh hey, Natasha!” You say once you see her.

“Hey,” she replies, her head cocked to the side a little to examine your current position. “Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”

“Probably not,” you reply. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Lunch,” Nat says. “Laura’s famous grilled cheese.”

You walk away from the cows and towards Natasha. She stands by the truck, so you open the tailgate and sit on it. You pat the area next to you as a way to ask her to sit.

She hands you the lunch bag and lightly blushes when your hand touches hers.

“Thank you, Nat,” you say. “Wait, do you prefer Nat or Natasha?”

“Either one,” she says, shrugging. “Technically my name isn’t Natasha, but I’ve always gone by that.”

“That is a fun fact,” you say. Nat laughs. You try to memorize the sound. “I like Natasha.”

“Then call me Natasha,” she says.

There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward. You eat your sandwich and watch the animals move around the farm. You wonder what Natasha is thinking about as she swings her legs and sits next to you.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” the redhead breaks the silence. “I feel like I can actually think and be free.”

“Yeah, I love it. Being out on a farm is my comfort place. So far, this one is my favorite,” you say.

“Why’s that?”

“The people. Clint, Laura, the kids,” you say. “And you.”

“I’m already a reason?”

“You were a reason I love this place the second I met you,” you say. You didn’t mean for it to come across so cheesily, but Nat doesn’t seem to mind. “Hey, how long are you staying here for?”

“A few more weeks maybe,” Natasha says. “Why?”

“In two weeks there’s supposed to be a meteor shower. Maybe we could come out in the field and watch it together?”

“Sounds fun,” Nat says, trying to act casual.

“I better get back to helping Clint. He’ll be pissed I let him stack bricks alone.”

You chuckle at her words. You want to ask her to stay, but at least you know you’ll be seeing her around.

And from that point on, Natasha brings you lunch every day. Laura doesn’t even have to ask her to do it. Nat wants to. She seems to sit with you longer and longer each day.

It all leads up to the night of the meteor shower. You wear a nice shirt and jeans and drive over to the farm.

When you knock on the door, Lila answers. You greet the family and have dinner with them. Natasha is in her element here. You can see how she lights up around the kids. And she loves watching you interact with them too.

Once dinner is over, you and Natasha sneak outside. You drive out to the field and lay a blanket down in the bed of the truck.

“Very fancy,” Nat comments.

“Only the best for you, Natasha,” you joke. “Laying down is the best way to see it.”

You both lie down a respectable distance from each other, but close enough that you both have butterflies.

“You know when I was a kid, I loved anything that glowed in the sky,” Nat opens up. “Stars, planets, and things that didn’t even really have to do with the sky. Like fireflies.”

“That’s really sweet, Natasha. I love those too,” you say. “There’s so many out here in the summer.”

“I wish I saw them more.”

“You’ve gotta move out here I guess,” you say. “Oh look!”

You point to the first meteor falling. Nat watches with bright eyes. You can’t drag your eyes away from the way she glows in the night light. Her green eyes are illuminated by the scene happening in the sky.

Natasha turns her head to the side and catches you staring.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away a bit.

“Don’t be,” Nat says. “But you are missing the show up there.”

“It’s fun to watch you watch it,” you say. “You’re beautiful, you know?”

Natasha definitely blushes at that. Her hand finds yours between the two of you. You’re it sure who leans in first, but you end up just centimeters from her lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Natasha asks.

“Please,” you reply.

The distance is shattered between the two of you. Natasha’s kiss is soft, but firm. Her intentions are clear as she moves her perfect lips over yours.

“Now we’re both missing the show up there,” Natasha jokes when she pulls away.

“So worth it,” you say.

You kiss Natasha again. And again. And a few more times before you decide to go back to the house.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” You ask her once you’ve walked up to the front door together.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “Thanks for tonight, y/n. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in a long time.”

“Anytime, Natasha. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she says.

You hug her for the first time and love the way she feels in your arms. It’s like she is perfectly shaped to be in your grasp.

You share a brief kiss before you let her go inside. As you walk back to the truck, you can’t help but do a little happy dance. Natasha watches through the window and laughs.

This is the start of something amazing. You can feel it.

You’re falling for her faster than the meteors fell in the sky. Little do you know, she’s falling for you in the exact same way.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter eight

chapter eight

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: joel's lies and the creeping winter breed discontent as the raiders wait to find out the fate of the man you bit.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, mention of attempted sexual assault (NOT by joel, very unsuccessful), oral, p in v, discussion of dub-con and I guess mind-control?

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tommy Miller wasn’t a man of faith. Never really had been, and especially not now, not after the things he’d seen. Couldn’t fathom the thought of any god who’d let the world go to hell, who’d let his niece die in her father’s arms before she even really got to live. 

He doesn’t believe in much, never has, but he’d put all his faith in Joel. Always had. His first steps were toward Joel. His first word was his name. All his life, he’d followed his brother, even as they fell darker and darker into the end of the world. Even as Joel went down a road he thought he’d never have to follow. 

It was all for Tommy, anyway. He couldn’t turn away from the monster Joel became when it was all to keep Tommy alive. So when Joel turned into a literal monster, straight outta the movies they’d stayed up far too late to watch when Tommy was far too little? 

That was nothin’. A no-brainer. Joel was Joel. You don’t turn your back on your brother, even if he turns all hairy and slobbery and weird. 

So if there had been anyone left in the world who knew them, who had seen the Miller brothers grow, they’d have said it was no surprise that the little one refused to give up when things seemed hopeless. 

Inseparable, they’d say. 

After Joel went missing, one year turned into two, and Tommy Miller never gave up on his brother. 

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Laura said one night over rabbit stew. 

“Nah,” Tommy said, blowing on a spoonful before feeding it to her littlest one — DJ, after her brother, the dead beta — “He wouldn’t have done that to me. If he’s out there, he’s in trouble.”

Laura looked skeptical, but Tess nodded from the other end of the table, wagging her spoon in their direction.

“He’s right. That cranky old bastard mighta given anyone else the slip, but not Tommy.” Tess always sat at the far end, keeping distance between herself and the rambunctious children with razor-sharp teeth. 

“I’m not interested in runnin’ around buck naked, howlin’ at the moon, or dying from a toddler bite,” she’d said. But it didn’t stop her from showing up every new moon for dinner. 

Not more than that, though. She couldn’t bear to see the hope living in Tommy’s heart any more than he could bear to see the pity in her eyes. They all thought Joel was dead. All but Tommy.

“If you’d just turn me,” he tries.

Laura rolls her eyes. “You know it’s not that simple. My bite probably couldn't even turn you. Chances are you’d just... die.” 

“If he dies, I get to shoot her,” Mike says to Cheryl. He’s the other half of the Idiot Twins, you’ve learned. Mike and Randall. Randall’s the one kicking around all pissy in your old cell with the crescent of your teeth debossed in his skin. 

Mike’s the one bitching up and down the hall, shotgun on his shoulder.

Cheryl doesn’t give a shit. She’s only interested in what might happen if Randall doesn’t kick the bucket. 

“The hell you do,” she sneers. “She’s worth too much. Now shut it.”

You’re in the corner on the mattress, Joel’s furry body between you and the door. His hackles haven’t settled, and neither has the tense line of his shoulders. You haven’t spoken since Cheryl came down to watch, but Joel’s kept his eyes on the shotgun the entire time.

You don’t need to talk to know he’s thinking about putting himself between you and a bullet. Your hand finds its way to the thick fur on his neck, weaving gently between tufts. 

It’s not as comforting as it was. 

And oh, he can tell. It hurts. It took him less than a day after your heat ended to start to lose you, and the worst part is that he doesn’t know if he even wants to do what he’d have to, to admit to you that even though he’d never, that he could. He could make you do anything he commanded. 

You’ve been right all this time. Being an omega ain’t fair. He has all the power, and you have all the vulnerability, exposed to him like a wound. Like the one he’s left on your shoulder.

So he’s gotta be the shield, too. The bandage. He’s gonna be the barrier between you and everything that threatens to infect you. Even himself.

Especially himself. 

After the third day passes, the only infection Randall’s gotten from you was the festering bite mark. And really, that wasn’t even from you; that was from locking him in that nasty room with an open wound. That’s kind of on them.

He goes upstairs with Cheryl and never comes back. It’s not just Joel from whom they don’t tolerate disobedience.

Mike sulks but doesn’t try to retaliate. He must be too chicken-shit after seeing what happened to his buddy. They still make him deliver food, but he’s got a new partner now, who doesn’t seem too fond of him. Meal drop-off is a no-nonsense silent affair now, which suits you just fine. 

The difference between you and them has never been clearer. Not just in that you’re the captives, and they’re your captors. Not just in the sickening way they decide if you lived or died.

No. You’re finally seeing it. What they’ve seen all along—the difference between human and something undeniably more.

It’s stark, now. You’re not sure if something changed about you, physically, after your heat, or if it just laid clear the things that changed with the shot. But you can’t pretend anymore, either way. You’re not human. You’re not like them. You never were, really, but now it’s in your goddamn genetic code.

The man wrapped around you is even less of a man, but you think you’re starting to catch up.

He stays resolutely the wolf, but you don’t mind. You haven’t felt much like talking lately, anyway. You’ve gone quiet. It’d be unsettling if you hadn’t sunken to his level of grunts and huffs and whines. 

Why talk when he can’t talk back? Why talk when you already know what he’s saying? When he can understand you better now than ever before?

There’s no need for a charade between you. You’re beasts together. The bite you shared is more of a bridge between you than a bond, but that’s okay. 

Neither one of you were looking to be tied together, anyway. 

The strange, serene silence lasts until the new moon. He doesn’t have much choice, and you’re feeling it, too. The fatigue. The wariness. The loss of security. With the light of the moon in absentia, you’re left undone.

So you put each other back together.

You wake to his hairy face, but it’s human hairy. His coarse salt-and-pepper beard. His morose hazel eyes. 

“Look—” he starts, voice extra gruff from neglect, but you find you’re uninterested in his excuses. 

You kiss him instead, craning your neck to reach his chapped lips, a hand cupping that handsome beard. 

One of his huge hands goes to your waist immediately as he clings to your subject change with relief. 

There’s no trace of heat, now, nor rut. Just you. Just him. His hand, calloused and hot, leaves a trail across your bare skin, achingly gentle. 

You let yourself be coddled, this once. Let him treat you like something precious. Something worth preserving. No claws or fangs, just the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, the heat of his tongue on your nipple. 

A trail of ticklish kisses down your stomach that makes you squirm for more than one reason. When he parts your thighs to make room for himself, it’s as if he’s setting out the fine china. 

Before, he’d always dove in, like seeking the antidote to a snake bite. Eager to gulp down as much of you as fast as he could.

This time, he doesn’t rush. They won’t take him out tonight on the new moon. They’ve given up on making him useful when he's useless. He’s grateful, for once, for his weakness, because it means he can be yours. 

And you? Well. You’re always his. But now he can take his time with you.

His lips brush your thighs, gentle bites with blunt teeth interspersing the worshipful kisses. He presses them to the seam of your cunt, not opening you for him yet, just kissing along your labia and basking in your scent. It’s heady, even when it’s not fragrant with fertility. 

He parts your lips with his tongue. No greedy fingers rend you, just the soft swipe, barely ducking between. He does it, again and again, until he works you wide and waiting. 

A smirk spreads when you gasp at the bump of his nose against your clit, but he doesn’t leave you wanting. He graces it with a tender kiss that leaves you writhing, panting, trying to cant up to meet him. 

He lets you. But he doesn’t let your mewls rush him. He leaves you clit throbbing and drags his attention down to where you weep for him. The noises alone are debauched, echoing in the old shower room, his groans and licks melting into your gasps and cries. 

Your chest aches. It aches with need, with want, yes, but also with a strange sadness. It’s bleeding from him into you. It seems to never leave him, not for a moment, and it drives your hands to his hair, a poor facsimile of the connection you both need and cannot allow yourselves to have. 

It’s enough, though, for now. He’s pleased that he’s pleased you, and doesn’t relent. It’s as much for you as it is for him. He alternates between softly suckling at your clit and licking you clean until he’s drawn two saccharine orgasms from you, leaving you trembling and covered in sweat. 

When he comes back up to meet you, cock resting against your cunt, you take his kiss greedily, and give in. More and more, every moment you’re his, you become wilder. Claimed but not kept. Bound but not burdened. You lick your slick from his beard in a manner more affectionate than arousing. He interrupts, kissing your neck and pushing you down onto the mattress so he can ease his length inside you.

There’s no resistance. You’re soaked and stretched, his thick fingers having reached inside to take his prize from within you. You breathe again once he’s nestled deep within, feeling the pulse and press of him where no man other than him can rightfully claim to have been. 

He rocks his hips, barely pulling out, unwilling to leave the wet heat of you. It’s arduous and delicious, savoring him like this. Feeling the curves and veins of him against your walls, imprinting themselves on you. 

Even now, even fully human, you don’t trouble yourselves with talk. Your ragged breaths fill the room, and he chases your lips for a kiss each time he bottoms out. They’re almost chaste, if only they weren’t so filthy. There’s barely any tongue, and yet, more intense than any you’ve had before. 

You come again as he fills you, spilling deep and letting you both savor the sensation. 

When he pulls out, you shiver. The chill that spreads over you has as much to do with the things left unsaid as it does with the cold basement. You only have the one bra to wear, after all. He tucks the little blanket around you, but it’s a lost cause. 

Neither of you are sure that you want his body heat, with the way things have frosted over after your parting. He waits, eyes closed, until he feels you curl up to him. 

Once you’re tucked into the crook of his arm, his leg slung over you, you finally say it. The two words that have been ricocheting around in your brain since that day.

“You lied,” you whisper to his chest. It stutters as he slips on a breath.

“I did,” he agrees after a long, long moment.

“To me,” you clarify. 

“Yes.”

It’s heavy. It’s loud. Much louder than reality, where it’s whispered, but in your head, it falls with a flat thump.

“You were already scared. I didn’t want to scare ya more,” he says. It doesn’t come out like an excuse. It’s not defensive. It’s just a fact.

Maybe he didn’t mean it as such, but that’s how you take it. You were scared. You were terrified. 

“I don’t care,” you decide. “That’s not how this is gonna work. We’re—we’re stuck together for now whether we like it or not ,and you are not going to decide what I can or can’t handle.” You poke him in the chest with the finger you were inadvertently waggling.

For now? Oh, sweetheart, he thinks, gut aching at your—he suspects—willful naivety. He raises both hands in supplication.

“Alright, darlin’,” he capitulates, gruffer than he means to. 

The way he gives in without a fight but also without an apology stings, but you resolve to lick your wounds later when you’re not itching for a fight. 

“And you better explain. Now. No runnin’.” 

He puts his arms down, and they melt into a slump of a heavy sigh. “I don’ know much. I never do. You ask me all these damn questions when I’ve told you —”

“Stop deflectin’ and fess the fuck up, Joel,” you snap.

He glowers for a moment before sitting up a little to lean against the frigid tile wall. “I suppose…” but he just sighs again.

But you sit up, criss-cross applesauce with the blanket around your lap. And you wait. You’re pretty sure he’ll talk, given his own time to do it. Where your mind never seems to settle, his seems to take a while to boot up. He isn’t stupid by any means; he just needs a minute to organize what he’s trying to explain. 

You’re rewarded for scraping up what was left of your patience when he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t know much. That ain’t ever gonna change. But this was somethin’ I learned from the widow o’ the man that bit me.”

“Ew, wait, you actually got bitten?” 

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Look, don’ worry about that. I keep forgettin’ you were one o’ the experiments.”

You gape at him for a moment. “Eugh,” you shudder. “Fuck, I hate that. Experiment. Damn.”

He gives a little ‘well?’ with the splay of his palms to the sky and watches you with eyes of lead. “Look,” he sighs again. 

You imagine a drinking game involving his sigh count would send you to a swift and shallow grave.

“Y’ain’t gonna like it, but it’s true. To some extent, omegas seem to be… more inclined to listen to an alpha if the alpha talks with a certain tone of voice. S’hard to explain.”

“You’ve done it before,” you guess. “Not just to me.”

“No,” he sighs, and in an imaginary alternate universe, you die of liver poisoning, “not just to you.”

And he tells you of the early days with Laura. When the change first started, and he couldn’t sleep, thinkin’ he might hurt somebody. Somebody that didn’t deserve it. 

“And she told me that Peter would drop his voice into this kind of… register, and he would talk her to sleep. Except one night he was tired himself and didn’t have the energy. So all he said to her was ‘go to sleep.’ And she did.”

“That’s… fucking horrible,” you say. “Not their cutesy couple-y stuff. The… Jesus, the implications of that kind of��” 

Suddenly, you look down at the blanket, picking with the jagged tip of your bitten fingernail at where the ancient fleece was pilling. 

“You, um…” but the words get caught in your chest where someone has tightened a belt, cutting off all connection to the rest of your body, leaving it cold. A thousand logical, reasonable thoughts traverse your conflicted brain. You don’t know him. He’s got a darkness to him. He kills on the regular to keep himself alive. You don’t know him.

But you don’t think he’s the type of man to have done something quite like that. And he’s been nothing but gentle with you, really. Too gentle, like he thought the lightest touch of a claw might split you like a plump plum, skin stretching and giving way for him to flay the flesh underneath. 

You’re made of tougher stuff than that. Mostly. Kind of. In a way.

Oh, damnit. 

“What did you use it on me for?” you say instead. 

His teeth grind at what you almost asked. He figures you were afraid to piss him off by asking. Or afraid for him to lie to your face again. He should be insulted that you’d even consider the possibility that he violated you. 

He reminds himself that you don’t know him. He’s bigger than you, stronger. And he’s just told you he can more or less hypnotize you. 

Shit, this is a right hell of a mess.

You both sigh this time, and you’ve already forgotten your imaginary drinking game self’s corpse. You can feel it this time. The weariness. How it soaks into the marrow and flushes everything out. 

“You need to understand,” he starts seriously. His brows are pinched and eyes narrowed, pitching a sturdy fence around his too-fragile self. “I did not do anything…unsavory. And I didn’t even mean to do it to ya in the first place.”

He scrubs a hand over his face again, and it’s ruddy when he pulls away. “It was durin’ your heat, okay? It wasn’t even anything serious; I just told you to listen to me, and you did. And I…” he grunts and looks away.

You think maybe all this time alone made him forget how to say sorry. 

You’re not sure what you’d do with it anyway.   

So instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath in your nose and out of your mouth. You think vaguely about being nauseous or anxious or infuriated. You indulge in the fantasy of getting truly angry, of letting yourself feel the injustice of it all, the horror.

You entertain thoughts of screams of rage, of violence, of throwing and breaking and banging your fists against the wall, of wrapping your hands around Jim’s throat, of driving yourself mad and bloody in a frenzy for freedom.

The thoughts hurt as much as they help. You take the rage and prod at it until it hides back behind your ribs where it belongs. 

He leans forward, now, elbows on his knees. It’s hard not to be distracted by his dick, but also, you always feel guilty when you ogle it. It’s not his fault he’s been denied of any privacy or dignity. And plus, you’ve been walking around, pussy out, since your heat.

Thinking about that too much makes you sick. 

He sighs again but you feel like maybe this one cost him something more. He sits up straight and puts his hands on your shoulders. “I can’t promise it won’t happen by accident,” he says solemnly.

You chew on it for a while, climbing into his lap and pulling the blanket over yours. He’s trying, and you’re having a hard time staying mad, especially when he’s warm and comfortable.

His arms loop loosely around you, unconsciously rubbing his thumbs against your bare skin. It’s soothing, but you suspect it’s even more soothing for him. 

Your head finds its place in the crook of his shoulder, and it’s your turn again to sigh. “You think maybe I could learn to resist it?” 

He startles a little, looking down at you incredulously. No, looking down at you like you’re something incredible. That’s worse, maybe, because it makes you squirm away from his (albeit minimal) idolatry. 

“Maybe. I don’t know enough about it. But would you even want to try? It would mean me havin’ to…”

“I dunno,” you admit. “Might be worth it. I’ll… I’m gonna think about it.”

He takes what he can take and presses a kiss to the top of your head, a compulsion that’s rapidly becoming habitual. 

Not that either of you are complaining. 

When you think of it again later, in the dead of night, Joel sawing lumber while half-sprawled on the floor, it settles like cement in your lungs. 

He settles like cement in your lungs. Something neither your mind nor body can ignore. And maybe it’s the bond, but you know there’s no chipping him out of there. Not completely. This strange man, who isn’t so strange these days, has instead become something of a warm knit cardigan or a rail on a slippery stair. 

Maybe you don’t need him.

Maybe you’d get by without him.

But, well. You’re better off with him than without. 

Time in your little cell passes all at once and not at all. Winter creeps in, and the basement becomes nearly unbearably cold. You watch jealously as Joel retreats to his built-in jacket, and as much as he tries to be your personal furnace, it only goes so far.

And the full moon comes, and brings a blizzard with it. 

You think maybe they won’t go out, but Jim’s got a particular target in mind nearby that he demands retribution from. And no silly snowstorm is going to stop him.

They take him from you at nightfall, and he watches you shiver as he leaves.

It must be Christmas, because he comes back with a gift.

You honest to god gasp when he shows you his prize. “Thanks, Santa!” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“Arms up,” he says, and you let him have this. You think the wolf must be going out of his mind with possessiveness, and you’re right because he can barely stay only partially transformed. He struggles not to give in to the change, fighting his own instincts and the moon just so he can talk to you.

You don’t say it, but that almost means more than the gift.

You close your eyes as he tugs the ratty sweater over you, either oversized or from a very large man. It fits like a dress, though a very short one. But it means your ass isn’t hanging out, and you’ve got another layer between your poor freezing tits and the breeze that whispers through the rotting grout. 

“Joel, how—”

But he cuts you off. “Don’t ask me, darlin’. You don’t wanna know.” He’s a little tender but a little sharp, too.

“But where—“

“I said don’t ask me that,” he snarls. “Do not fucking ask me that.” He sees the look on your face and softens. “Please.” It’s a whisper, and oh, it hurts. 

You don’t have to ask. You know, now. What it cost him. What it cost someone else. “Thank you, alpha,” you murmur. It has the usual effect, his eyes shining a little brighter as you play with the wolf and let the man be. 

He pulls you against his chest and rubs his chin on the top of your head, soothing the unease in his sternum. “It fucking stinks, though. Gonna have to figure somethin’ out.”

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s not me,” he grunts, and you take the cue to shut up. 

“Atta girl,” he murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “Looks real nice,” he adds and preens when the compliment sends you shyly snuffling your face into his chest. 

You let him hold you there as he scents you, bafflingly large palms smoothing over your neck and rubbing your arms. His musk envelopes you as much as his broad body does, and you keep your cheek pressed against the soft quilt of hair across his chest. When he’s mostly wolf like this, he’s practically covered in it. His soft, strong arms are dark with it; his chest is buried beneath it; it even trails across the plush pouch of his stomach. 

When he’s done proverbially bathing you in him, he steps back, cheeks ruddy and dark eyes anywhere but you. He clears his throat but says nothing. 

You observe him, this forsaken beast of a man. This creature from children’s nightmares, this creature who definitely just gave adults nightmares, but who would put himself between you and your own. 

You close the gap between you, your hand on his chest, another finding its way to his cheek. His eyes stutter and fall closed, only the tiniest sigh escaping him now. A shuddering thing full of far too much for one man, whether he’s actually a man or a beast. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, as if you could ease his aches with your gratitude. As if you could take on some of his pain for your own. 

He kisses you like he knows you’d try.

next chapter

[blcssom]

the cold smile persists as carrie answers in the affirmative. "how..... cute." her tone relays that she thinks it's anything but, eyes still trained on carrie's face even if she refuses to make eye contact. what the other girl is saying (her name's suddenly escaped margo... lennon? lacy? unimportant) gets little more than a small nod of acknowledgement. "i could've sworn you'd mentioned you'd be coming solo.... but, the more the merrier, i guess."

despite all of the confidence she'd felt attending this event with the girl beside her, it all seems to go to shit the second margo points out the elephant in the room. carrie glances at the other girl and then back at her professor, offering a small smile. "...yeah, i guess we are." she puts on a brave face, allowing laura beside her to launch into an anecdote about how scared she was to ask her out as she avoids margo's gaze.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part five

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Five - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.1k

We find our way to the diner Logan had spotted, and it's no wonder it’s deserted—the main source of food seems to be Spam. I grumble as Wade tosses a can my way. “I’d rather drop dead than eat,” I inspect the can, grimacing, “20-year-old Spam.”

I watch as Wade hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and digs in. “Suit yourself, Pumpkin, more for me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan searching for something else in the kitchen, his movements deliberate, but I keep my focus on Wade.

“You said the TVA can fix my mistake?” I ask, my voice low, the weight of the question hanging in the air. I notice Logan pause, then he resumes rummaging, though his silence speaks volumes.

Wade tilts his head, gesturing for me to sit across from him as he pulls off his mask. “Yeah, for sure. My deal with Mr. Grumpy over there is that he’ll help me, and then I’ll help him.” I nod slowly, processing his words.

“And your universe is…?”

“Dying,” Wade replies nonchalantly, shoveling a spoonful of Spam into his mouth. “Because that beautiful piece of ass died in my universe.”

I raise an eyebrow, a mixture of disbelief and sympathy washing over me. “Right, Laura told me about that Logan.”

Wade gasps, his hand freezing mid-bite. “You know X-23? Did she tell you about—”

“I don’t want to hear about my Variants,” I cut him off, my tone firm. Wade’s mouth snaps shut, but not before he gives a sly grin.

“She had a nice piece of ass as well,” he mutters, his eyes tilting downward, clearly checking me out. I wave a hand in front of his face, irritation flaring.

“Eyes up here,” I growl, my voice laced with warning. He meets my gaze with a smirk, unbothered by my anger.

Meanwhile, Logan continues to clatter around the kitchen, his focus intense as Wade calls over to him, “So, what made you finally wear an honest-to-God costume? Mine’s red so they can’t see me bleed. But I can see how yellow would be useful too.”

Logan barely looks up as he retorts, “Have you been checked for ADHD?”

Wade doesn’t miss a beat. “No, but I’ve had several STDs, which were probably caused by ADHD.”

I can’t resist adding, “A walking scrotum like you? Not surprised.”

Wade grins at me, biting the air playfully. “She has a mouth, you should use it more.”

“I’ll cut your dick off,” I snap, my patience wearing thin.

Wade chuckles, undeterred. “What are you looking for?” he asks, shifting his attention back to Logan.

Logan finally pulls out a can of rubbing alcohol, holding it up as if he’s found something worth keeping.

Wade’s eyes widen in horror. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he babbles, shaking his head furiously.

I step closer, recognizing the label. “That’s rubbing alcohol,” I point out, though it’s clear Logan knows.

Wade’s concern deepens as he watches Logan crack open the bottle. “You don’t wanna drink that... Yeah, there you go. Fuck that liver.”

Ignoring Wade’s protests, Logan takes a seat beside me in the booth, the bottle of rubbing alcohol clutched in his hand. He glances over at Wade, a rare look of curiosity crossing his face. “What the fuck are those?” he asks, pointing to the stapled bits of fluff still attached to Wade’s head.

Wade touches the staples casually. “Oh. Back in civilian life, I wear a toupee, but nobody knows.”

Logan’s laughter is unexpected, a genuine sound that catches Wade off guard. For a moment, Wade joins in, his laughter light and carefree—until he realizes Logan is laughing at him, not with him. The smile slips from Wade’s face, a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

“Everybody knows,” Logan says, the amusement fading as quickly as it came.

I frown, studying Logan more closely. He’s different—subtly so, but different. The way he carries himself, the excessive drinking—it was never this bad before. There’s a heaviness in him now, something dark that wasn’t there before.

Wade, perhaps sensing the shift in mood, offers a lifeline. “Wanna talk about what’s haunting you, or should we wait for a third-act flashback?”

Logan’s response is immediate, “Go fuck yourself.”

Wade shrugs, unbothered. “You know, in my world, you’re well-regarded.”

Logan’s gaze hardens. “Yeah, well, not in mine.”

The sadness in his voice is unmistakable, and it tugs at something inside me. We have so much we need to talk about, but now isn’t the time.

Wade, sensing the tension, tries to lighten the mood. “They don’t like me much in mine either.”

Logan doesn’t bite. “You don’t say.”

Wade continues, the bravado in his voice slipping just a bit. “I wanted to be something, you know? I wanted to be an Avenger.”

Logan snorts, his disdain clear. “Fuck the Avengers.”

Wade’s voice softens, a rare glimpse of vulnerability showing. “I didn’t make the cut though. Same with the X-Men. My girlfriend left me like this.”

Logan’s eyebrow raises in surprise. “You had a girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Vanessa,” Wade says, his tone wistful. “When we met, she was a dancer. I mean, our whole life was good. But oh boy, I just fucked that right up.”

Wade spares me a glance, his expression unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s looking for sympathy or just sharing his story because it’s the truth.

“But you,” Wade continues, his voice tinged with admiration, “you were an X-Men. Fuck that, you were *the* X-Man. The Wolverine. He’s a hero in my world.”

Logan’s expression darkens, his voice cold and distant. “Yeah, well, he ain’t shit in mine.”

My eyes cast down, fingers tapping on the counter gently. The weight of Logan’s words hangs in the air, a reminder of the pain and regret that lingers between us.

“We should head out,” I say quietly, breaking the silence that has settled over us.

Logan seems eager to go, standing up quickly, the urgency clear in his movements. The three of us pack up and leave in a rush, exiting the diner and beginning a slow walk. I take the lead, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.

Wade breaks the quiet, his voice unusually soft. “Pumpkin, you never told us how you got here.”

I glance at Logan, knowing he already knows the story. It was one of the first things I told him, the memory still raw. My heart aches at the thought of what we’ve lost, what I couldn’t save.

“I was too slow,” I admit, the words heavy on my tongue. “I tried to change the outcome of our world—the death of my friends, my family—that’s all on me.”

Logan’s voice is a quiet rumble beside me. “No, that’s on me too.”

I shake my head, refusing to let him take the blame. “You couldn’t have known. I did, in a way. I could have practiced more, gotten better, maybe seen more.”

The conversation falls silent, the weight of our shared guilt pressing down on us. I can tell our conversation has run its course.

Next Part

A/N: Fuck it, I’m staying up late to write because this is entirely self-indulgent.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[kittenshift-17]

Omg I feel like any teen wolf fic (sterek fic) you write would be amazing, on that topic ur an amazing writer and I’m glad that one day I stumbled upon one of your fics. And also speaking of sterek fics (or any teen wolf fic) do u have and recommendations on what to read for that fandom???

Okay, so I took my time with this one because I had read some, but not a lot... but oh boy, did I deep dive into the research to bring you some top tier Sterek Fic Recs.

TOP 20 STEREK RECS

Play It Again by metisket ***I LOVED THIS ONE***

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

“Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

There Are No Wolves In California by kitsunequeen

Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red... ------- Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

He realizes the wolf is breathing.

(not so) Pure Imagination by theroguesgambit

"There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm for missingsun

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays

Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 for xXxClassifiedxXx 

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems

Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble.;Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there.

Because of course it does.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

In Case You Didn't Know by Blu_Crowe

Stiles moves into the lofts, and he and Derek start to get closer. Unfortunately Stiles is a moron, and Derek is bad at feelings. They figure it out... Eventually.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.

Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.

Right in front of another Alpha.

Who he was on a date with.

To discuss being heat partners...."

*In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!*

for a good time, call... by EvanesDust for kalika_999

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

Oh shit.

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

Oh God.

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.

Golden Boy by trilliath 

Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.

But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.

It's enough that Derek hesitates.

[gay-dorito-dust]

What Logan and Wade learned when it comes to Isekai Gremlin reader:

Goes feral if not fed for too long

Filthiest potty mouth

Stares into space/zones out

Will sleep no matter what condition of the place can and will sleep on the ground

Personality flipping like a dice

Will randomly goes zoomies

Can and will act like a rapid animal when feeling the nibbles

Will say the most unhinged things at wrong and right times w/ Wade egging them on

Ex: trio sees hanged body

Wade: It looks like he hung himself

Reader:...

Reader: Hung himself like a piñata?

Logan:😑

Reader: should I hit him like a piñata?

Wade: *hands them a pipe*

Logan: WADE NO-

They’ve learned a lot of things about isekai gremlin reader along the way and it’s truly been an experience to say the least for them 😂

Sleep deprived gremlin reader: who is that lady over there in the chair *points to the corner of the room*

logan and Wade: look to see but see nothing and look back at sleep deprived gremlins reader* WHAT FUCKING LADY?!

Could you imagine that lovely trio in the void and they meet electra, blade, Laura and Remy but the moment reader/you see Remy the first thing to come out your mouth is:

My nAMe jeFF.

Everyone just falls silent and now you’ve officially made it awkward. Well done.

You/ gremlin reader: oh my gosh, I just embarrassed myself in front of my celebrity crush how oopsie doopsie of me *giggles*

Wade: THE FUCKER DIDNT EVEN FET HIS OWN FILM WHAT DO YOU MEAN-

Johnny storm, trying to please his case to Cassandra: I didn’t say any of that, he’s lying they’re all fucking lying! Especially that little rodent fucker *points to you as you eat something that you probably shouldn’t*

You/gremlin reader: *stars at him deadpan* you said you’d piss on her corpse before fucking it while gargling Jugernaughts jugernuts. Two can play at this game Chris Evans.

Johnny: who the fuck is that-

Wade: they’re learning from the best

Logan: YOUR BOTH GOING TO GET HIM KILLED

Gremlin Reader/ you: good riddance cuz he’s too fucking weak to hang with us if this is how easily he cracks under pressure. God knows what he’d be like when tortured…slowly and painfully.

Logan and Wade: 💀👀

Gremlin reader/you: I will watch as the crimson blood leak from your neck! *points sharp plastic knife*

Wade: that kid is hardcore goth!

Logan: hardcore goth!

Life with Wade, Logan and reader/ you is never a simple one and besides simple is boring, let chaos and mischief reign supreme!